One obnoxious billionaire. One small-town girl with heart. They don't belong together. Really, they don't.

Mina Lipinski. She's a girl with a problem, and the only person who can solve it is Chase Blastoviak, the most obnoxious guy she's ever met – slick, cocky, and way too jaded for his own good.

Chase Blastoviak. He's given up crazy chicks for a reason, which means that Mina Lipinski, the girl begging Blast Tools to sponsor a hometown farmers' festival, is definitely off-limits – especially now that he's avoiding troublesome temptations.

Too bad for both of them, each has something the other needs. Mina needs the sponsorship to keep her hometown traditions alive. And Chase? Well, he needs a girl like Mina, whether he realizes it or not.

**Blitz is a fun, full-length enemies-to-lovers romantic comedy with a guaranteed happily-ever-after!**

Sneak Peek

Chapter 1

Chase

Like a jackass, I stood along the side of the long, country road, watching the Chevy Malibu – her Malibu, speed off to God-knows-where, leaving me stranded on the roadside.

Now that was a first.

I tried to laugh. The laughter stuck in my throat like a pill too big to swallow. Shit.

When Mina's car disappeared from sight, I gave a loose shrug and started walking. Her loss, right?

Except it didn't feel that way. My jaw was tight, and I felt sick to my stomach – so sick that I might've lost my lunch if I were the kind of guy to lose anything over a girl.

I wasn't. And besides, what was that old saying? Girls were like buses, right?

The thought had barely crossed my mind when a little silver sports car screeched to a stop beside me. The passenger's side window slid down, and an attractive brunette leaned her head out of the open window and smiled. "You need a ride?"

Her eyes were hungry, and her smile was bright. When my only reply was a stony look, her gaze dipped to my crotch. With a flirty laugh, she said, "Oh, come on. You know you want to."

The hell I did.

My gaze shifted to the forty-something redhead in the driver's seat. Her eyes looked just as hungry as the brunette's, even as she called out, "Don't mind me. I'm just the driver."

Oh, for fuck's sake.

I turned away. "No thanks."

Again, I started walking. As I did, the car crept along beside me, keeping pace with my steps.

The brunette poked her head further out of the window. "If it's about my mom, we could always make her walk."

The redhead sputtered, "What?"

Ignoring this, the brunette said, "She doesn't mind, honest."

The redhead made a sound of protest. "But I'm wearing high heels!"

With a sigh, the brunette turned vaguely toward the driver and hissed, "Yeah? Well, so am I. Big freaking deal."

The redhead gave a sigh of her own. "But you're not gonna be the one walking."

"So what?" the brunette said. "You've got a cell phone. Call for a ride."

"But it's my car!"

As they bickered back and forth, I picked up the pace.

Just shoot me now.

As far as the women, I'd seen them before.

I knew them.

And not in the biblical sense.

The brunette's name was Emory, and the redhead was her mom, a woman named Ginger Hawthorne, who was a real piece of work. I'd known both of them for maybe three months now, and we hadn't been friendly.

My choice, not theirs.

I knew both of them through Mina, the girl who'd left me stranded.

But this wasn't the reason they were stalking me today. The truth was, this sort of thing happened to me more than you'd think.

There was a time when I might've found it funny, or hell, even worth pursuing.

Not anymore.

Not since Mina.

At the thought of her, my chest tightened, and I felt myself swallow. God, I'd been such a jackass.

Not today. Today had been her fault as much as mine.

No, I meant the day we'd met, when I'd had Mina pegged for something she wasn't.

At the memory, I frowned in the afternoon sun. I should've been nicer from the beginning – a gentleman instead of a jackass. Courteous instead of cocky. Sweet instead of sour.

But I'd been none of those things.

Damn it.

Too late now.

Or was it?

The brunette's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Hey! Aren't you listening?"

I kept on walking. "Nope."

She gave another sigh. "But if you weren't listening, how'd you know to answer?"

I stopped walking and gave her a long, cold look. By now, the brunette was hanging halfway out the window. Her hair was long and lush, and she was wearing a tight yellow T-shirt. No bra.

She looked good. And she knew it.

But she wasn't Mina.

I told her, "Listen, I'm not interested, alright?"

She frowned. "But why not?"

If I cared, I might've told her that I was a changed man, that easy hookups weren't my thing, and that I was no cheater.

I loved another girl.

Mina.

My heart clenched. I loved her so much that it hurt.

But it hadn't always been that way – not in the beginning, that's for damn sure.

God, I'd been such a tool.

Pun intended.

Chapter 2

Mina

Four MonthsEarlier

If I were smart, I wouldn't do it.

And yet, I wasn't feeling smart. I was feeling determined and just a little bit lucky. For the past three days, I'd been burning brain cells, trying to solve one heck of a sticky problem.

And there he was – my solution, standing just outside the coffee shop, where I'd been working as a barista for less than a week.

It was mid-afternoon, and the coffee shop was utterly empty, except for yours truly. See? It was luck. It had to be.

From behind the counter, I studied my quarry through the big front window. The guy was tall, dark, and impossibly handsome, with the kind of looks that would make anyone stop and stare, even if they didn't know who he was.

He was standing in profile near the coffee shop door, talking on his cell phone – or rather, listening to his cell phone, considering that his lips hadn't moved once since I'd spotted him standing there.

Whatever he was hearing, it wasn't making him happy. In fact, he looked downright ticked off, which surprised the heck out of me.

I'd seen the guy hundreds of times, but I'd never seen him looking like that. Then again, this was the first time I'd seen him in person and not on my TV screen.

Still, I knew his name as surely as I knew my own.

Mina Lipinski. That was mine. Not his. Obviously.

No. His name was Chase Blastoviak of Blast Tools. The guy was beyond famous, and not just here in Bayside, Michigan, where Blast Tools was headquartered.

Chase, along with his two brothers, starred in Blast, a weekly cable show on the Home Network, where the three brothers used their own brand of tools to remodel older homes or sometimes build new ones.

Blast was a huge hit, and was it any wonder? All three brothers were insanely gorgeous, packed with muscle, and fascinating on their own.

But together? They were a force to be reckoned with.

Thankfully, I was only reckoning with one – my preferred one for what I had in mind.

I bit my lip and continued to stare as I debated doing the unthinkable.

On the TV show, Chase wore regular work clothes – jeans and T-shirts mostly, along with classic work boots and the occasional flannel overshirt.

Not today.

Today, he was dressed for business in a dark, tailored suit that fit his masculine form to perfection, not that it mattered. A guy like him? He'd probably look terrific in a potato sack.

From the privacy of the coffee shop, I let my gaze rake the length of him. His shoulders were broad, and his hips were narrow. His legs were long, and his stance was easy, even as his face betrayed his displeasure at whatever he was hearing.

When he frowned, I frowned, too.

Sure, I was feeling lucky, but I'd be feeling a whole lot luckier if he were getting good news – and not whatever he was hearing now. From the look on his face, you'd almost think he'd just tested positive for one heck of a social disease.

My frown turned into a grimace as I recalled who I was watching. Chase Blastoviak was a notorious womanizer. Cripes, maybe he had tested positive for something-or-other.

But I couldn't let that stop me.

He was here.

I was here.

And odds were, I'd never get such a chance again – so before my courage slipped away, I sidestepped the counter and scurried toward the entrance, intending to pounce the moment he got off the phone.

In what had to be a sign, he ended the call just as I reached the glass door. Without pausing to gather my wits, I yanked the door open wide and blurted out, "Hey, can I buy you a coffee?"

He turned to look, and his mouth tightened. "No thanks."

Crap.

And of course, I felt beyond foolish. Still, I dug deep and summoned up a friendly smile. "Then how about a mocha? Or maybe a smoothie. Everyone likes smoothies, right?"

It was late March, and although the sky was sunny, the air was crisp and cold. Still, I held the door firmly open as Chase Blastoviak silently appraised me like a farmer sizing up a prized hog.

As he did, I almost started to squirm because even I realized that I didn't look my best. My blonde hair was tied into a tight ponytail, and my red apron was marred by a long streak of brown – not coffee, but chocolate from a wayward squirt of mocha sauce.

When he finished his appraisal, all he said was, "Sorry, I'm not interested."

I blinked. "You mean, you're not interested in a smoothie, or—"

He sighed. "Look, I don't want to fuck you, okay?"

I stifled a gasp. "What?"

"You heard me."

Yes. I had. And I didn't appreciate it one bit. Coldly, I informed him, "That's not what I was offering."

His gaze was too jaded for words. "Wasn't it?"

My jaw clenched. What a total jackass.

"No," I gritted out. "As a matter of fact, it wasn't." I put my hands on my hips, and immediately regretted it when the door – now free of my grip – whacked me in the ass.

Ignoring this indignity, I focused on the larger issue at-hand. As I glared up at him, I demanded, "And just where you do you get off, anyway?"

With a low scoff, he replied, "Well, not at your place, if that's what you're asking."

"Oh, for God's sake," I said. "I wasn't trying to get into your pants. I was trying to talk to you."

"Is that so?"

My chin jerked upward. "Yes, actually."

From the look on his face, he didn't believe this for one minute. "Oh yeah? About what?"

"Well, actually…" Damn it. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Still, I took a deep, calming breath, summoned up my best professional smile, and just said it. "I was hoping you could sponsor the Hazelton Tomato Festival."

(End of Sneak Peek)

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