Page 16 of The Sebastian Guarantee
SEBASTIAN
Misogynistic wanker?
Stealing cars meant for little girls?
Sebastian’s mouth hung open like a perplexed flounder. Had Briggs lost his mind?
Wait!Maybe the man hadn’t.
First, Tula had mentioned a news alert about tweens, and now Briggs was making wild accusations about kids and cabs. Could they be related? Too bad his addled mind couldn’t connect the dots.
“Briggs, I can’t make heads or tails of what you’re saying. I took two cabs yesterday. One brought me home from . . .” He couldn’t saythe bar. “From a restaurant near the airport,” he continued. “And before that, I’d hopped in a cab at the airport in the pouring rain with a gaggle of people chasing me. It was a bloody circus,” he lobbed back, falling into the cadence of his childhood accent. He took a breath. “And I sure as hell didn’tstealan automobile from anybody—let alone little girls. Help me understand why my publicist would call me a misogynistic wanker.”
“Stand by,” Briggs snapped.
A series of chimes dinged on Sebastian’s cell as text after text stacked up like planes lining up for takeoff. He scrolled through the mix of pictures and headline screengrabs.
Internet’s Sexiest Man Leaves Girls Crying in the Rain
British Beast’s Playboy Son Snubs Children
An unsettling heaviness set in as he thumbed through picture after picture. He seemed to be guilty of what the headlines had proclaimed. He hit play on a video, and a knot twisted in his belly. Looking like the King of the Playboy Douchebags, he stared at the screen, watching as he strode past three girls carrying a bulky cardboard box. They looked a little older than Tula—probably eleven or twelve.
Tweens!Shit!
Now the alerts made sense. The muscles at the base of his neck tightened. The video caught him ignoring the struggling kids. Instead, he’d shielded his eyes from the rain and dropped his cell. The recording caught him swearing under his breath as he scooped up the phone. He’d been assessing the damage when a cab pulled up to the curb. The girls started for it, but he’d bypassed the queue.Dammit!He hadn’t even noticed the line—or the girls.
“You cut off the kids and their chaperone and nicked their cab,” Briggs supplied. “It made them late to their Tech Tweens Fall Festival.”
Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Who are the Tech Tweens?”
“It’s a robotics club for tween girls aged ten to twelve. The older girls, the twelve-year-olds, gather every year. They work on projects and sell cookies to try to earn enough money to go to Disneyland. The box they were holding contained their project. They were supposed to be in a video with other Tech Tweens and missed out because you took the last cab before a bus had a tire blowout. It skidded and came to a halt, blocking traffic into the airport’s arrivals area.”
This incident had to be plastered on every celebrity gossip site. He could picture the video views skyrocketing and his reputation tanking.
“Briggsy, I didn’t mean to take their cab. I was being chased through the airport. I barely knew up from down. I just wanted to get out of there.” He watched the video again. “Bollocks,” he rasped, again sliding into his old accent.
“Bollocksis bloody spot-on, lad. Nearly everyone I had scheduled to meet with you canceled.”
Sebastian braced himself. This couldn’t be happening—not when he was on the cusp of turning over a new leaf.
“Who’s left?” he asked, manifesting positivity. That’s what Mibby would want him to do. He pictured his stepmother’s serene expression. If she were here, she’d tell him to breathe, center himself, and set an intention toward fulfilling his destiny.
“That’s why I’ve been trying to get ahold of you, Seb,” Briggs replied, his voice rising an anxious octave. “I was able to talk one group of investors into meeting with you.”
Hallelujah!It only took one.
“Thank you, Briggsy,” he gushed while mentally high-fiving his killer manifestation skills.
“But your meeting is in twenty minutes.”
Sebastian fell over as his whole world went topsy-turvy.
Goodbye, killer manifestation skills. Hello, Panic City.
He got himself upright and broke out into a cold sweat. “Twenty minutes? I don’t think I could even make it to the kitchen in twenty minutes. I’m—”
“Still sloshed,” Briggs challenged.
