Her fist, my face.
See, crazy, just like I thought.
And now, the smile was back.
I resisted the urge to cover my privates.
The smile was still there when she said, "No. What I brought was a list."
"A list, huh?"
"Yes. A list of festivals." She paused. "For you to sponsor."
I held out my hand, palm up. "Alright, let's see it."
Her smile faded. "I don't have a printout or anything."
"Right," I chuckled. "And I suppose you don't have the commitments either."
She shook her head. "Commitments?"
"Right. From the hundred festivals."
"Not yet," she said. "But I will."
Sure she would. "Oh yeah? When?"
"When you authorize me to do it."
Now, this I had to hear. "To do what?"
"To sponsor them."
"So let me get this straight," I said. "Your proposition is for me to give you a wad of cash for you to spread around?"
"It wouldn't be cash," she said. "It would be checks."
"Uh-huh. And what would I be getting?"
"The same thing you mentioned last week – exposure. A hundred times the exposure, just like you said." She lifted her notebook computer. "I have a presentation."
Ah, the PowerPoints. "Is that so?"
"Yes, and if you'll just give me ten minutes, I'll run through it."
Ten minutes, my ass. I knew how this went. I consulted my watch. "Alright. You've got seven left."
"What?"
"Seven minutes," I said. "You've used three already."
Was I being a dick?
Hell yeah.
But she'd been stalking me, not the other way around.
When her only reply was an irritated look, I made a forwarding motion with my hand. "So go ahead. Make the most of them."
She sighed. "I meant ten minutes for the actual presentation." She glanced toward the elevators. "So…maybe we could go up to your office?"
Normally, I was a decisive guy. And yet, I hesitated.
Crazy or not, there was something about her. And I was curious. Or maybe I was bored. It had been weeks since anything had held my interest.
But she was holding it.
I stared down at her, wondering why she was so different. Sure, she was pretty. But I'd seen prettier. And yeah, she was on the crazy side. But I'd had crazier.
Maybe it was her eyes. Even though her smile was enough to send a guy running, her eyes were the kind you could get lost in if you weren't careful.
I hadn't always been careful.
In fact, I'd been downright reckless.
In the end, my curiosity won out. "Alright. Ten minutes."
She perked up. "Really?"
"That is what you asked for. Wasn't it?"
"Yeah. I mean, yes. Definitely."
She was cute when she was flustered, and I tried not to smile. No need to encourage the insane, right? So instead, I gestured toward the nearest elevator and said, "Ladies first."
Chapter 9
Mina
His office was incredible – spacious and tasteful in its décor. And although the building also housed a tool-production facility, you'd never know it from up here.
His floor was gleaming hardwood, and his ceiling was creamy white with an elaborate decorative pattern that spanned the whole surface.
Just inside the open doorway, I stopped to give the ceiling a longer look. It wasn't paint. It was plasterwork, obviously original.
As I stood staring upward like a small-town tourist on my first trip to the big city, Chase Blastoviak moved past me and headed straight for his desk.
The desk was huge and ornate, with stylish wood carvings all along the edges. It was situated in front of a wall of mostly windows – the old-fashioned kind, with real window panes.
Thanks to all of my research, I knew a little something about this building. It was over a hundred years old, full brick, and eight stories high.
In a larger city, this would've been nothing to brag about. But here in Bayside, it was the tallest building around, giving me a spectacular view of the modest downtown area and the river beyond.
The building had originally been a soap factory and had sat vacant for nearly four decades until the Blastoviak brothers had purchased it for a song.
Not only had they restored the building to its former glory, they'd also provided good jobs for thousands of people in our local community. If I were dealing with anyone but Chase Blastoviak, who'd proven himself to be a total asshat, I might've felt all warm and fuzzy about whatever role he'd played in making this happen.
But all I felt was warm – no fuzziness included – as Chase sat behind his desk and told me, "You can set up on the table."
I glanced around and spotted a classic conference table located near the other bank of windows.
Yes, he had a corner office, but this wasn't surprising. He was, after all, an owner of the company.
I gave the table a worried frown. "Are you sure you want me to set up there?"
"Yeah. Why not?"
"Well, it's just that I'm not sure you'll be able to see my presentation from your desk." I winced. "My screen isn't that big."
In response, he opened his top desk drawer and pulled out a small remote control. He pointed it toward the far wall, and soon, a white projector screen slid down from a wall-mount that I hadn't noticed until now.
As he settled in at his desk, Chase said, "There's a cord on the table. Just plug it into your computer."
Yeah, right. It was never that simple. I'd given plenty of presentations while employed at the bank. Equipment never worked the way it was supposed to.
And there was something else that Chase didn't know. My presentation was longer than ten minutes – several times longer in fact, but only if I included the slide show at the end. Although the slides weren't necessary, they were a huge selling point.
But already, the clock was ticking. I scurried toward the table and set my computer onto its glossy surface. I found the cable and plugged it into the appropriate slot.
To my surprise, the system worked without a hitch. Already, the image on my computer screen was showing up oh-so clearly on the much larger screen across the room.
This should have been a good thing.
It wasn't.
Like a total idiot, I hadn't taken into account my wallpaper – meaning the random image my computer showed when I'd been away for more than five minutes.
This particular image was of me.
In a bikini.
Oh, God.
The bikini was red and skimpy – not obscene, but not modest by any means. I was striking a sexy pose, as if I were a high-end fashion model, and not merely a local girl hitting the beach with her sister.
Natalie had emailed me the picture just last week to remind me that life was filled with good things, too.
With a little gasp, I dove for my keyboard, even as I silently cursed myself for not changing the image to something else beforehand. But in my own defense, the images rotated from my primary image folder, which had plenty of respectable pictures, too.
Still, this was a huge rookie mistake, and I felt my palms grow sweaty as I worked frantically to bring up the actual presentation.