"So that's when you competed for the crown, huh?"
"Yes." Her mouth tightened like she thought I was mocking her. Maybe I was. Maybe I wasn't.
Either way, I was having a hard time figuring her out. Yesterday, she'd flaunted two beauty shots – the bikini picture and the one from the pageant. But today, she'd gone all family-friendly.
A change in tactics?
Or maybe it was all about the festival.
Hey, stranger things had happened.
Across from me, she said, "So, are you satisfied?"
I gave her a good, long look. No. I wasn't satisfied. The truth was, I'd been feeling distinctly unsatisfied ever since she'd wheedled her way into my office yesterday afternoon.
Usually, I was good at figuring people out – learning what made them tick and what they were really after.
But Mina was a mess of contradictions. And, as I studied her from behind my desk, I started to wonder if maybe she wasn't the crazy one.
Maybe I was. Because for better or worse, I wanted to figure her out.
In reply to her question, I reached into my top desk drawer and pulled out the remote for the projector screen. I pointed it toward the far wall and told Mina, "Go ahead. Make your pitch."
Chapter 17
Mina
As his words echoed out between us, I felt a surge of relief along with a tiny twinge of annoyance. Make your pitch?
It was a long way from an apology or cripes, even the barest admission that he'd misjudged me.
Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers, so with a tight smile, I stood and returned to the conference table where I'd left my computer. By the time I lifted its lid, the projection screen across the room was already down, waiting for me to begin.
This time, the oversized screen held no surprises – no random bikini shots or pictures of me with a sash and crown. And there'd be no surprises either.
Last night, I'd moved every personal photo from my primary image folder. Afterward, I'd filled the folder with images from my slide show – meaning the fifty or so slides that I'd tacked onto end of my PowerPoints.
I'd done this not only to avoid embarrassment, but also to ensure that if my computer went into sleep-mode, Chase Blastoviak would be treated to a nice, safe festival photo – and not a random shot of me, looking like I wanted to party in his pants.
The image on the screen now showed workmen – local guys, mostly – setting up a big festival tent. All of them wore toolbelts, and a few of them carried hammers. One of the guys was using his hammer to pound a tent stake into the ground.
I was particularly proud of this photo because the guy's hammer had a blazing orange handle in the trademark style of Blast Tools.
At his desk, Chase Blastoviak said, "Subtle."
I stiffened. Was he mocking me again?
But when I glanced in his direction, he looked quietly impressed, as if he liked the fact that I'd snuck a photo of his product in there.
Huh. Maybe in this case, he meant "subtle" as a compliment.
Yeah, right. And maybe a whole carousel of ponies would fly out of his butt.
On the screen, I let the image linger for another moment before I brought up my actual presentation. Just like yesterday, the opening slide read, "Blast Tools Summer Sponsorship Blitz."
Conscious of the time, I moved quickly to the next slide, the one showing the logo for Blast Tools.
Finally, I took a deep breath and launched into my pitch. "As I mentioned yesterday, the summer season is filled with festivals all over the Midwest. Those festivals represent a huge opportunity for some goodwill advertising."
As Chase listened, I went on to explain that most festivals had at least some sponsorship, usually from local businesses. However, when local companies went under, they were often replaced with national chains.
Without local ownership, these newer businesses didn't always feel the same obligations as the mom-and-pop places they'd replaced.
Looking to drive the point home, I explained what had happened with the Tomato Festival, how it had been sponsored by Skeezak Hardware for three decades until the hardware store went out of business.
I was just about to tell him how this left a gaping hole in the festival's finances when Chase asked, "Are you serious?"
I stopped to look at him. Of course I was serious. "Yes. They went out business last August."
He frowned. "Last year."
Was that a question? Or a statement? Choosing to split the difference, I replied, "Right."
He leaned back in his chair. "So, why are you coming to me now, half a year later?"
Wasn’t it obvious? "Because we need a new sponsor – a major sponsor, in fact."
"I got that," he said. "What I mean is, why the emergency now? Aren't you a few months late?"
Boy, was I ever. But it hadn't started out that way."Well, the thing is, we did get a replacement sponsor, but they backed out."
"So I'm your second choice."
Now if that wasn't a loaded question.
Even now, as he grilled me like a cheeseburger, he looked too delicious for words. His face was gorgeous, and his hair was thick and lush. And his body was nothing to sneeze at either.
Plus, he was filthy rich.
Chase Blastoviak would be nobody's second choice.
But of course, he wasn't talking about himself. He was talking about Blast Tools.
Happily for me, I had the perfect response. "Actually, we did approach you, but you turned us down."
He gave me a skeptical look. "You sure about that?"
Under his penetrating gaze, I felt a tiny twinge of doubt. But I had seen the documentation. Last year, the festival committee had sent an official letter asking Blast Tools for sponsorship support.
When the festival committee received no reply, a committee member had paid Blast Tools a personal visit. The member had been turned away. By who, I had no idea.
Chase himself?
Not likely, unless he was lying to me now, pretending to doubt my story just to throw me off my game.
Regardless, I explained, "Your company received a letter.
