Blitz (Blast Brothers #3) - Sabrina Stark Page 0,8
I was feeling emptier than I had in years.
Erin's voice interrupted my thoughts. "And I'm supposed to give you a message."
"From who?"
"From the blonde."
I recalled the name. "Mina Lipinski."
"Right." Erin gave her notepad a long, worried look. "But it doesn't make any sense."
With a scoff, I replied, "It wouldn't be the first time."
"Alright." Erin looked up. "I'm supposed to tell you that she's got a hundred festivals."
I felt my eyebrows furrow. A hundred festivals?
What the hell did that mean?
And then, it hit me.
Shit.
It was that blonde.
Chapter 7
Mina
The receptionist was an icy blonde in her mid-forties. By now, she and I should've been on a first-name basis. I knew her full name – Gretchen Vogel – assuming the nameplate on the edge of the reception desk belonged to her and not to somebody else.
And she knew my full name, because I'd given it to her at least a dozen times during the past four days.
I'd begun my vigil bright and early Monday morning, when I'd walked into the main entrance of Blast Tools and asked to see Chase Blastoviak.
I'd been polite, professional, and very persistent – not just on Monday, but on Tuesday and Wednesday, too.
Each day, I'd been told the same thing – that I couldn’t see him without an appointment. And each day I'd replied that I'd be happy to wait for his next opening.
The first time I'd said this, Gretchen had coldly informed me that he had no openings. Undaunted, I'd taken a seat anyway, telling Gretchen that I'd wait as long as it took.
Sure, it had been a gamble, but what did I have to lose? Even if I was never ushered into his office, I'd still have a decent chance of catching him in the lobby, whether on his way in or out.
Unfortunately, the gamble didn't pay off – not on Monday, anyway.
I'd stuck around until the lobby closed, but never spotted him, not even once.
On Tuesday, Gretchen had told me that I was wasting my time. On Wednesday, she'd spent hours giving me dirty looks, even as a steady stream of employees and visitors came and went.
But it wasn't until Thursday – meaning today – that she'd begun to make serious noises about calling security. Maybe she would. Maybe she wouldn't. But I knew one thing for darn sure.
I wasn't letting him off the hook.
Was I being foolish?
Probably.
But it had been one full week since I'd lost my barista job, and I was still hopping mad – and more motivated than ever.
During the past week, I'd been doing research, lots of research. In fact, I was doing research on my little notebook computer right now, even as I waited for Gretchen to either call security or get me that appointment already.
At the moment, she was giving me an ominous look, as if to say, "Boy, are you gonna be sorry."
But didn't she know? I was already sorry.
I should've slapped Chase Blastoviak when I had the chance. But I hadn't.
And even now, a good slapping wasn't part of my plan.
I was still planning to make him pay, just in a different way, that's all. And maybe, later on, when the debt was settled, I'd give him the slapping he so richly deserved. Or at the very least, I'd tell him exactly what I thought of him.
Until then, I'd keep my cool even if it killed me.
It was such a noble idea, and I cherished it for another ten minutes until I happened to glance around and see who else, but Chase Blastoviak, exiting the nearest elevator.
At the sight of him, my pulse quickened, and heat flooded my face. On raw instinct, I leapt to my feet. Finally.
When our gazes locked, I strode toward him, taking my notebook computer with me. He stopped just outside the elevator doors and frowned like I was a dog preparing to hump his leg.
Was he going to bolt?
Not if I could help it.
Chapter 8
Chase
It was her, alright. In the sunlit lobby, she was just as pretty as I remembered – prettier, in fact. She was wearing a tailored blue dress that perfectly matched the blue of her eyes.
On purpose?
Without a doubt.
The dress covered more than it revealed, but her hair was long and loose. It fell past her shoulders in long, sun-kissed waves that shimmered in the light of the afternoon sun.
I frowned. Sun-kissed?
Shimmered?
What the fuck?
Next, I'd be spouting poetry or breaking into song. I'd never done either of those things, and wasn't about to start now.