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?"

Nope. Not a chance.

Normally, I loved talking to my mom, but with only a few more minutes until my meeting, I couldn't afford to take any chances. Plus, the lobby was nearly empty, and Gretchen was watching me with far too much interest, even as she pretended to be engrossed in her computer.

I knew she was pretending because every time I happened to glance in her direction, our eyes would meet for the briefest instant before she'd look back to her monitor, as if to prove she'd been studying it all along.

By now, I knew better. One time might be a coincidence. But half a dozen times? Not likely.

As far as the text from my mom, I was just getting ready to reply that I'd call her in an hour when another text arrived, also from my mom. This one said, "It's kind of an emergency."

I felt the blood drain from my face. The last time I'd gotten such a text, my dad had fallen of the roof of our smallest barn. He'd broken both of his legs, along with a wrist, too.

With my heart in my throat, I hit the call button, even as I turned away from Gretchen in hopes of maintaining my privacy.

When my mom answered, I asked, "What's wrong? It isn't Dad, is it?"

"Your dad?" she said. "No. It's Ginger."

I hesitated. "Ginger Hawthorne?" Even though I wasn't a huge fan of the woman, I'd still be sad if she fell off our barn. Okay, I knew this wasn't likely the case, but my mom wasn't the type of person to use the word "emergency" lightly, so I knew this had to be serious.

I asked, "Is she okay? Did something happen to her?"

"Something's gonna happen to her," my mom said. "I can promise you that."

I smiled with relief. Dad was okay. And apparently so was Ginger. For now, anyway.

I asked, "So, what's going on?"

"I'll tell you

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