At the sight of it, I almost groaned out loud.
Just shoot me now.
Chapter 10
Chase
Inside my office, Brody was laughing his ass off. "And you're meeting with her again?"
I liked a good joke as much as the next guy, but unlike my brother, I wasn't laughing.
Nearly twenty-four hours had passed since my meeting with Mina Lipinski, and I'd spent far too many of those hours wondering what she was up to.
It was distracting the hell out of me, which might explain why I'd made the dumb-ass decision to tell my brother about yesterday's meeting.
After that pageant photo, Mina had practically ripped the cord from the computer and rushed out of my office faster than you could say, "Point me to the nearest loony bin."
But that wasn't what she'd said. No. What she'd said was, "Fine. I'll be back tomorrow."
Tomorrow was today.
According to Gretchen, Mina was already here in the building. She'd arrived twenty minutes ago, a half-hour early for our scheduled meeting.
To Brody, I replied, "Too late to cancel now."
"Oh yeah? Why's that?"
"Because the meeting's in ten minutes."
"So?"
"So I'd be a dick to back out. Don't you think?"
"Since when has that stopped you?"
Never.
The truth was, I'd never been one to play by the rules, and canceling a meeting last-minute – or simply not showing up at all – it would hardly be the rudest thing I'd ever done.
Hell, it wouldn't even get an honorable mention.
When my only reply was a tight shrug, Brody gave me a long penetrating look. "So, what aren't you telling me?"
Shit.
I was in no mood for an interrogation, especially from my little brother – the guy who'd come to believe that he had all the answers, ever since his engagement to the love of his life. His words. Not mine.
In my world, love wasn't something that lasted a lifetime. It was something that might last a night or two, or maybe a month at best.
Me – I wasn't the kind of guy to stick around.
And I sure as hell didn't worry about what people thought of me. Yeah, I could play the game as well as the next guy, better even. I was a good talker and an exceptional doer.
If I were the humble type, which I wasn't, I might hesitate to say that I'd worked plenty of miracles on the marketing front. Against all odds, I'd taken a local startup and made it a household name.
My biggest miracle was our reality show, Blast. When I'd first suggested it, my brothers had thought I was nuts.
Good thing for me – or more accurately, them – I had the final say on marketing and publicity.
I'd pitched Blast as a sexy remodeling show starring three hot, single brothers who didn't always see things eye-to-eye.
I hadn't been lying.
Life had handed me and my brothers plenty of lemons, but as far as looks, we'd come out alright – more than alright, if I cared to brag about it, which I had, repeatedly, while pitching the show.
Hey, you had to use what you had, right?
To the surprise of both of my brothers, I'd managed to get a one-year commitment from the Home Network, whose viewers matched the demographics of our best prospects, do-it-yourselfers who didn't mind getting dirty.
That was five years ago.
Since then, the show's popularity had skyrocketed, along with the sales of our tools. Already, Blast was the network's number-one hit show of all time. The show wasn't just free advertising for our products. It was free advertising for all of us, meaning me and my brothers.
These days, we were so famous, it was hard to walk down the street without being recognized, and we'd all received plenty of unique offers as a result – movie roles, cameos, endorsement opportunities, and even marriage proposals from multiple fans.
To my share of these proposals, I'd replied with the truth. I wasn't the marrying type.
Hell, I wasn't even the boyfriend type.
I was the type to offer up a good time and leave it at that, which made my reaction to Mina Lipinski all the more unsettling. I'd seen her only twice, and neither time had been good.
And yet, here I was, getting ready for round three.
What was it about her, anyway?
Already, I'd wasted too many hours trying to figure it out, along with an embarrassing amount of time imagining her in a bikini, the red one from the picture.
As far as bikinis went, it was relatively tame. But she'd looked good, even while striking that ridiculous pose.
Even now, I could still see her, standing on the beach with a cocked hip and raised arms. She'd been making a kissy face at the camera.
I still couldn’t decide if she'd been hamming it up for a friend or posing for real. She was a mystery that I was trying to figure out, even while kicking myself for thinking of her at all.
And then, there was the beauty queen shot. In that photo, her smile had nearly bowled me over. It had been different from the smiles I'd seen in person. Very different. Because for one thing, I hadn't felt the urge to cover my privates.
But I had felt other urges, especially when revisiting the bikini shot in my dreams. The whole thing was nuts. Maybe I was nuts.
Here I was, acting like a kid in high school, and not someone who'd been around the block a time or two. Or a hundred.
I was still trying to figure it out when Brody said, "Scale of one to ten, how crazy is she?"
It was a good question. And for once, I didn't have a good answer, so I said the only thing that made sense. "Ask me in an hour."
Chapter 11
Mina
Once again, I was sitting in the lobby of Blast Tools. But this time, I had an appointment.
And boy, had Gretchen been delighted to hear that. Oh sure, her words had been perfectly polite as she assured me that she would let "Mr. Blastoviak" know that I was here. But the pinched look on her face said something else entirely.
Obviously, she was annoyed that in spite of her warnings, my persistence had paid off. Or maybe she was just sick of seeing me camped out on the same sofa that I'd been occupying all week.
On this, I could totally relate.
I pulled out my cell phone and checked the time. It was 3:51.
I blew out a nervous breath. Nine more minutes.
This would be our second official meeting. Our first one hadn't gone so great – and not only because of my stupid photos.
Yesterday, I'd spent most of my time not pitching my ideas, but rather defending my claim about attending the Tomato Festival every year of my life.
He thought I was a liar.
He hadn't bothered to hide it either.
Too bad for him I'd been telling the truth. And I could prove it, too.
Soon, he'd be eating his words along with a big ol' helping of humble pie, assuming that Chase Blastoviak had a humble bone in his rock-hard body.
I gave a silent scoff. Him? Humble?
Not likely.
Still, I felt an evil smile tug at my lips as I imagined him apologizing for misjudging me. And just maybe, he'd feel like an ass for demanding proof.
Hey, a girl could dream, right?
I was still trying to enjoy this little fantasy when my cell phone buzzed in my hand. I glanced down and saw a text from my mom, asking, "Can you talk?"