He did in his truck. I knew this for a fact, because we all did – carried a few tools in our vehicles just in case.
But I saw what he meant. "Hey, at least it was our screwdriver." I knew because I'd spotted the orange handle.
Brody asked, "But what about the car?"
"What about it?"
"Was it hers or somebody else's?"
I laughed. "That's what I asked."
"And…?"
"And boy, she loved that. But yeah, the car was hers."
Sounding less than convinced, Brody asked, "You sure?"
"Sure enough."
"So where are you now?" he asked.
"On M-13, heading back from her place."
"No shit?" he said. "But I thought you were done with crazy chicks."
I had mentioned such a thing, but it didn't matter. Brody was reading it all wrong.
I told him, "I was just giving her a ride."
He chuckled. "I bet."
"Not that kind of ride," I said. "I was doing her a favor."
"Come on. You're joking, right?"
"No. Why?"
"Well, you're not exactly the chivalrous type."
Chivalrous – it was a funny word coming from my little brother, who had more rough edges than a pine tree. But then again, he'd been engaged for a while now, and his rough edges weren't as sharp as they used to be.
Sure, he was still tough as nails when it came to work. But as far as the rest of it, he'd gone all soft and sentimental.
It was annoying as hell.
But I got what he meant.
The truth was, he didn't know the half of it. I'd offered Mina double the favor. I'd volunteered not only to drive her home to get her keys, but also to return her to her car.
She'd politely declined the second half, even after I'd assured her that I'd be heading that way anyway.
Her car was parked just a few blocks away from my office, which was maybe ten blocks from my condo. I'd told her so, too.
But it hadn't mattered. She'd still turned me down, assuring me that she'd have no trouble finding a ride back to her vehicle.
As for myself, being turned down for anything was an odd sensation, one I hadn't experienced in a while.
Maybe she was crazy.
To Brody, I said, "Get this. She lives on a farm."
"No way," he laughed. "Like with cows and chickens?"
I hadn't seen any cows or chickens. But hey, a farm was a farm, right? I replied, "Probably."
"What, you don't know?"
"It's not like I stayed for dinner," I reminded him. "I just dropped her off."
"So…" he said. "Did you walk her to up the door?"
"It wasn't a date. It was a favor." And even if it were a date, it had been a long time since one of those had ended with a walk to the door. No. These days, my dates ended a lot more interesting, usually between the sheets.
Or on the sofa.
Or wherever.
It's not like my partners were picky.
The call ended with Brody reminding me that he was leaving for Colorado in the morning.
This wasn't a surprise. Brody spent a lot of time out of town, almost always for the same reason – to fix up yet another house for Blast – the cable show that had made our tools a household name.
Soon, I'd be heading to Colorado myself, along with Mason, who hated the show the way cats hate water.
But me? I didn't mind. Blast was my brainchild.
I'd made it happen through persistence and charm. It hadn't been as hard as you'd think. When I wanted, I could charm just about anyone – with the possible exception of Mina Lipinski, and maybe her dad.
It didn't matter.
Mina, I could handle.
And as far as her dad, it's not like I'd ever meet the guy.
Chapter 26
Mina
It had been only twenty minutes since Chase had dropped me off, and I'd spent most of those minutes in my parents' living room, giving them an update on everything that had happened.
I'd begun by explaining how the bank had backed out of the initial sponsorship, and I'd ended by telling them that Blast Tools had agreed to take up the slack.
When I finished, I expected my parents to be just as thrilled as I was.
They weren't. Or at least, they didn't look thrilled.
My mom asked, "Why didn't you tell us sooner?"
Wasn't it obvious? "Because I just found out."
"I don't mean about the new sponsorship," she said. "I meant the old one. Why didn't you tell us that it fell through?"
The reason for this should've been obvious, too. "I didn't want anyone to worry." I smiled. "And now we don't need to. So that's good news."
Mom still wasn't smiling. "But you still should've said something."
"I would've," I said. "But I figured I'd first try to find a replacement. And I did. So we're all set. You see what I mean, right?"
"No. I don't see." She gave me a no-nonsense look. "If you've got bad news, I shouldn't have to hear it from Ginger Hawthorne."
Oh.
Right. Ginger. And don't get me started on Emory.
I grumbled, "Yeah, well maybe Ginger shouldn't have gotten all blabby."
"Or maybe," my mom said, "my own daughter should've told me the bad news herself."
I winced. "I know. But I was just thinking, if I solved it, no one else would need to panic, that's all."
My mom sighed. "Boy is Ginger gonna love this."
I wasn't following. "Love what?"
With a grimace, she said, "I'll have to apologize. You do know that, right?"
Crap. I hadn't thought about it, but now, I saw what she meant.
My mom was a real stickler about such things. It was one of the many things I loved about her. She wasn't afraid to say she was sorry, even to people she didn't particularly like.
I could only imagine what she'd said to Ginger.
Earlier, on the phone, she'd given me only the highlights. But if I knew my mom, things had gotten a little feisty.
And of course, my mom wasn't the only one who needed to apologize. But in my case, the person who deserved an apology was actually worth it.
I looked to my mom and said, "I really am sorry. I didn't realize anyone else knew – about the bank, I mean."
"It shouldn't matter," my mom said. "You should have told me regardless." She and my dad shared a look. "You should have told all of us."
She was probably right. But didn't she get it? I'd wanted to deliver a solution, not more problems. Heaven knows the festival had enough of those already.
And now, I wanted to celebrate, not focus on the bad stuff. "I know. But now we have Blast Tools. And they'll be a perfect sponsor." I summoned up another smile. "Come on. This is good news. And I literally just found out."
My parents shared another look, but said nothing.
I tried again, this time with more pep. "And I heard it from Chase Blastoviak himself."
My dad frowned. "Wait a minute. You don't mean the guy from Blast? He was the guy who drove you home?"
I nodded. "Yup, that was him, alright." Maybe I should've mentioned it sooner, but I'd been so excited about the sponsorship itself, I hadn't thought to tell them who specifically had given me the good news.
Too late, it struck me that my parents might have wanted to meet him. I mean, it wasn't every day a celebrity showed up on their doorstep – or in this case, in their driveway.
My dad was still frowning. "He didn’t put the moves on you, did he?"
I blinked. "Chase? No. Of course not." I didn't bother explaining why.
Apparently, Chase found me repugnant, so repugnant that he'd rejected me outright the first time we'd met, even in spite of the fact that I'd never offered.
How humiliating was that?
In cheerier news, I didn't want him putting the moves on me.
Oh sure, he looked pretty, and he could be surprisingly charming when he wasn't being a jackass. But pretty b
ad boys had never been my thing.
And besides, I had no interest in a social disease, festering or otherwise. If the rumors were true, the guy really did get around.
Looking more disgruntled than ever, my dad said, "Chase. That's what you're calling him?"
I hesitated. "Well, it is his name."
"So you're on a first-name basis, huh?" He said this like it was a bad thing.
"Actually," I replied, "I'm not quite sure."
"Why not?"
I tried to think. "Well…I guess it's because I haven't addressed him by any name." It was true. And there was a reason for this. Chase had done nothing to indicate we were on a first-name basis. And yet, calling him "Mister Blastoviak" felt just a little bit silly.
My dad said, "Oh yeah? And what does he call you?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "I mean, he hasn't said my name either."
My dad stared toward the driveway, as if he had X-ray vision, and wasn't liking what he saw. "Well, if he calls you sweet-cheeks or anything like that, you get the hell outta there."
Sweet-cheeks? I couldn’t help but laugh. "Out of where?"
"Wherever," he said. "The guy's trouble. You be careful."
I knew what he meant. Chase did have a certain playboy reputation. But to be fair, I had no way of knowing whether Chase did the pursuing or was merely happy to say yes to whatever offers came his way – unless, apparently, the offers came from me.
The reminder wasn't a jolly one. Not only had he assumed that I wanted to have sex with him, he'd also turned me down.
It wasn't merely insulting. It was doubly insulting.
But my parents didn't need to know any of this, just like they didn't need to know that Chase had gotten me fired.
I loved my family more than anything in this world. We were the kind of family that stuck together no matter what. And for this, I was eternally grateful.
Still, there was a downside. If they knew how awful Chase had acted, especially in the beginning, they would almost certainly hate him.
They wouldn't even care about the festival – or the fact that Chase was a rich celebrity, or that his TV show was a personal favorite in their own house.
They'd totally despise him. And they wouldn't bother to hide it either.
Cripes, my dad seemed to hate him already.
As for my mom, she was looking more exasperated with every passing moment. With a sound of irritation, she said, "Bob."
My dad turned to look. "Yeah?"
"She's twenty-five, not fifteen."
I smiled. That's exactly what I'd been thinking. My mom and I really were a lot alike. And the way I saw it, this wasn't a bad thing.
My dad practically snorted, "So what? The guy's a jackass."
No kidding.
Still, I had to point out the obvious. "But I thought he was your favorite character."
"Sure," my dad said. "On the TV. Not in my daughter's pants."
"Bob!"
Again, my dad turned to look. "Yeah?"
My mom sighed. "You're embarrassing her."
Yup. He sure was.
At least my mom was acting rational.
But then, she gave me a good, long look even as she supposedly spoke to my dad. "Our daughter is very smart. I'm sure if they do get…intimate… she will use plenty of protection."
Oh, God.
Plenty of protection?
As if one condom wouldn’t be enough?
I sighed. I really did need my own place.
In the living room, my mom was still giving me that look. "Right?"
"Uh…" Gosh, where to begin? "Honestly, you don't need to worry. Our relationship is all business."
My dad leaned forward. "He didn't try to kiss you, did he?"
Oh, for crying out loud. "No."
He gave me the squinty-eye. "You sure?"
"Of course I'm sure."
I didn't get it. My dad might be a little old-fashioned in some ways, but he'd never acted like this before. And he knew I wasn't a virgin. He had to know, because my mom knew, and they told each other everything.
Plus, I was a grown woman. Until just a couple of weeks ago, I'd been living in my own place, where I could've done just about anything with anyone.
When my dad's only reply was a sullen look, I added, "I think I'd remember if Chase Blastoviak tried to kiss me."
Boy, would I ever.
In fact, I could almost imagine it. He had a nice mouth and a terrific smile. If someone smiled that good, they'd surely be a great kisser, right?
My mom asked, "So, what are the details?"
I was still thinking about Chase's lips – and maybe a few other parts. Absently, I replied, "Sorry, what?"
"The sponsorship," my mom said. "You said it's for the Tomato Festival and a hundred other things?"
"Right," I said. "Other festivals. It's a huge ad blitz."
"How huge?"
"Actually," I said, "we didn't get into the specifics."
My dad asked, "So how do you know he's legit?"
What kind of question was that? "You know he's legit. You even watch his show."
In the living room, my dad looked far from convinced. "You get anything in writing?"
"Not yet," I admitted. "But I'm meeting with him tomorrow afternoon." I smiled. "Trust me, it'll be great."
Or at least I sure hoped it would be great.
With Chase Blastoviak, I never quite knew.
Chapter 27
Chase
In my condo, the sound of knocking jolted me awake. Earlier, I'd fallen asleep on the sofa while binge-watching something forgettable on the TV.
The TV was still on, but the volume was on low. I gave the screen another glance and decided that the show looked just as dull as it had when I'd dozed off.
I sat up and glanced at the nearby clock. The time was just past midnight, and I'd been asleep for maybe two hours.
Alone.
By choice.
What the fuck?
I was wearing jeans, but no shirt. No shoes or socks either.
At the door, my visitor pounded again.
Shit.
I knew the knock.
It was Mason. And judging from the sound, he was royally pissed.
But hey, what else was new?
And it's not like I hadn't been warned.
It had been at least six hours since I'd talked to Brody, and I hadn't heard anything since – not from him or Mason.
Now, judging from the racket, I was about to hear plenty. About what, I had no idea.
I stood and reached for the remote. I flicked off the TV and ambled toward the noise. Any other visitor would simply use the doorbell. But not Mason.
It was like the guy liked pounding on my door.
I pulled it open and said, "Can I help you?"
He greeted me with a familiar frown. "What the fuck?"
"And your point is…?"
Like myself, Mason was tall and muscular, with dark hair and dark eyes. Tonight, he was wearing jeans and a dark jacket. With a hard look, he asked, "You got something you want to tell me?"
I shrugged. "I dunno. Do I?"
He shoved his way past me and headed toward the living room. Over his shoulder he said, "Get rid of her."
I looked around. "Who?"
"How should I know?" he said. "Just tell her to leave, so we can talk in private."
Finally, I got what he meant.
Now, this was fucking embarrassing.
I was home alone. And I'd been alone for at least a couple of months. Even the few times I had gone out, it had been for business, not pleasure.
But hell if I'd be explaining myself to Mason. With a scoff that he'd never understand, I told him, "She already left."
Yeah, a couple of months ago.
I couldn’t even remember who "she" was. A blonde, brunette, maybe a redhead. Lately, the faces had been running together, like a movie played in double-time.
From the look on Mason's face, he wa
sn't buying it. He glanced toward the master bedroom and asked, "Do I need to check?"
"Check what?"
He made a sound of irritation. "Your bed."
I gave him a look. Asshole.
Already, I'd had enough of his shit. And he should know better.
Even if I did have a guest, I wouldn't be tossing her out just because he said so.
I replied, "Sure, if I can check yours."
His jaw clenched. "What?"
"You wanna check my bedroom? Be my guest. But I'll be doing the same to you."
He practically growled, "Just try it."
As if I would. Not too long ago, Mason had gotten engaged to someone a lot nicer than himself. I liked her. Hell, everyone liked her.
But that didn't mean I wanted to see her naked.
Sure, she was cute and all, but even I had some sense of decency.
Some.
Just not much.
As far as Mason, I hadn't seen him this angry since last year – meaning all of last year, until Cami.
Before her, he used to be in a shitty mood all the time.
These days, he was positively jolly in comparison.
Except for now.
So either the thing with the fiancée had gotten old, or something was seriously yanking his chain.
Just to be a dick, I asked, "Problems at home?"
His frown deepened. "What?"
I made a show of looking at the nearby clock. "Well it is midnight."
"So?"
"So she kicked you out, huh?" I gave a casual shrug. "Can't say I'm surprised."
It was a joke in more ways than one. His fiancée was a sweetheart, and the truth was, I couldn’t see Mason getting kicked out of anything, much less his own home.
He was too stubborn for that.
In reply, he tossed a big black book onto the coffee table. It hit with a thud, and I gave myself a mental kick for not noticing it when he first came in.
Probably, he'd tucked under his arm, but that was no excuse. I was seriously off my game.
I spared the book half a glance. "What's that?"
Mason's mouth tightened. "As if you don't know."
I turned and gave the book a longer look. He'd tossed it face down, so all I could see was the back cover.
From here, I could just barely make out the small picture of the author, along with a few paragraphs of white text, too small to be readable at a distance. Once again, I zoomed in on the photo. It showed a woman with lots of blonde hair and plenty of makeup.
Blitz: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy (Blast Brothers Book 3) Page 10
