Already I'd heard enough. Whether she was full of it or not, the answer remained the same. "Look, even if you're serious, it's too small."
"What do you mean?"
"It's small potatoes, which means you're talking to the wrong guy." This was true. Yeah, I oversaw the whole marketing and advertising budget, but I had plenty of people below me. They were the ones who handled the local do-gooder stuff, not me.
And I wasn't going to waste their time any more than my own.
The pretty blonde shook her head. "But it's tomatoes."
"What?"
"It's tomatoes," she repeated. "Not potatoes. You did hear that, right?"
Was she serious? I almost laughed. "What, you've never heard the phrase 'small potatoes' before?"
She bit her lip like she didn't know what to say. She had nice lips, sweet and full, and I couldn't help but wonder if she was drawing attention to them on purpose.
Probably.
Too bad for her, she was months late to the party. I turned to go, only to stop when she called out, "But wait!"
Against my better judgment, I turned back to look. I said nothing, even as she hit me with those baby blue eyes of hers. Shit. A guy could get lost in those eyes if he wasn't careful.
I hadn't always been careful, especially where women were concerned. But I was a new man – or least, I was trying to be.
Shit like this wasn't making it any easier.
She said, "You did hear it was a major sponsorship, right?"
"Yeah, so?"
"So that's hardly small potatoes."
"It is to me," I said.
"But—"
"Listen, bring me a hundred festivals, and we'll talk."
Was it a lie?
No. Not the way I saw it.
The odds of her bringing me a hundred festivals were just above zero. I was a gambler at heart, and I was liking my odds of never seeing her again.
From the open doorway, she eyed me with obvious confusion. "But…if I were asking for a hundred sponsorships, that would be a hundred times the money."
"Yeah. And a hundred times the exposure." I made a show of looking at my watch. "Like I said, I don't deal with small stuff."
And now, she was back to biting her lip. "Oh. I see."
Did she? I had no idea. All I knew was that I had better things to do than pass the time with someone who was either nuts or trying to scam me – because her story was filled with all kinds of holes.
Whether she realized it or not, I was familiar with the festival in question. The Tomato Festival – it took place every July in Hazelton, Michigan, which was maybe thirty minutes north of Bayside.
As a teenager, I'd hit the festival every year, going on the cheapest nights and overstaying my welcome.
There was no barbecue contest – just carnival rides, fresh tomatoes, and locals looking to drum up excitement for a pretty generic vegetable. Or was it a fruit?
I didn't know, and I didn't care.
I studied the blonde's face for a long moment as she did that thing with her lip. It was sexy as hell, and it might've captured all of my attention, if only her eyes weren't just as sexy.
I felt myself frown. Just what was her angle, anyway?
In the end, I didn't take the time to find out. Instead, I turned away, leaving her to shut the coffee shop door – or not.
Sure, I felt like a dick walking off like that, but I was done being distracted by a pretty face – or even worse, a pretty face wrapped around the mind of a crazy person.
From behind me, she called out, "I'm gonna hold you to that!"
See? Crazy. Just like I thought.
I didn't stop – and with good reason, too. Crazy or not, she was the most tempting thing I'd seen all month. And the last thing I wanted now was to be tempted.
So I kept on walking like any sane man would do.
And I didn't look back.
Chapter 4
Mina
Didn't he get it? I wasn't worried about a hundred festivals. I was only worried about one.
The truth was, I'd gotten myself into a bit of a pickle. It wasn't my fault, but that didn't make it any easier when I considered how many people I'd be letting down if I didn't figure out some sort of solution to the whole sponsorship thing.
Two months ago, I'd lost my corporate communications job when the local bank I'd been working for – Farmland Financial – had been bought out by a much larger bank, a global powerhouse named Globalton Holdings, which was headquartered in London.
London was a long way from Hazelton, Michigan, which probably explained why Globalton Holdings had not only fired most of Farmland's local staff, but had also terminated all local sponsorship agreements, including yup – you guessed it – the Hazelton Tomato Festival.
I'd gotten this bit of bad news only three days ago when I'd called Globalton Holdings to follow up on the sponsorship agreement.
Their response? Sorry, that was with Farmland, not us.
Supposedly, they'd sent an official letter – not that I'd ever seen it.
Regardless, the news had been the final pickle in the crap sandwich that I'd been munching on since mid-January, when I'd lost my job with no warning whatsoever.
Now, the festival was short one major sponsor – the major sponsor, not that anyone realized it. Even now, everyone assumed that Globalton Holdings would honor the original agreement.
I could totally relate. Until three days ago, I'd assumed the same thing.
Still, I'd been working like crazy to confirm it, even while searching for a new job – meaning a real job, not the barista gig, which I'd only accepted because I needed some source of income in the meantime.
The whole thing was incredibly frustrating. Here I was, twenty-five years old and back to working the same sort
