Page 20 of The Sebastian Guarantee
He relaxed a fraction, then glanced between the sisters. “I want people to live happier, more satisfying lives. I’d like you to invest in my life-coaching business to do just that. With proper funding, I can share my expertise through multiple outlets, such as online venues, print and e-book formats, and in-person events. It’s a lucrative endeavor. Self-improvement is a fifteen-billion-dollar industry with eight percent yearly gains. With your help, we can carve out a piece for ourselves while doing real good for real people. In essence, we’ll be changing lives for the better.”
Boom!Succinct and to the point.
“Why do you need our money, Sebastian?” Bernadette pressed. “Your parents are rich and famous. Your father is a former champion boxer, co-creator of Pun-chi yoga, and now a philanthropist, and your stepmother, Libby Lamb-Cress, is not only the other half of creating Pun-chi yoga, she’s also the face of female sexual empowerment.”
He was ready for this question. “That’s true, but I’m committed to building a business independently, without using my family’s connections.”
“Do you recommend sex toys in your life-coaching business model?” Bernadette pressed, then raised an eyebrow.
“What?” he stammered. He hadn’t even considered anyone asking this question.
He almost dropped the helmet as a memory resurfaced. In it, he recalled the day after he’d turned thirteen. Mibby and his father had asked him to join them at the kitchen table. His parents then explained he was old enough to learn the true purpose of the toy Mibby’s company made. He’d thought it was a submarine water toy—and a cool one at that! When they’d explained it was a sexual gratification device called the Wham Bam Thank You Libby Lamb Deluxe Vibrator, his brain exploded. Okay, it didn’t exactly explode, but sweet Jesus, it felt like it had melted into a pile of mortified goo.
“No bloody way,” he cried in a mish-mashy British-American accent, which was also the exclamation he’d blurted after his parents had asked him if he wanted to talk more about sex toys.
Claudette frowned. “You do not believe in women empowering themselves sexually? You say you want to help people live better lives. Does that not include one’s intimate life?”
Had it gotten hot in there?
He hadn’t delved into the sexual empowerment side of life coaching, per se. But he had to address the question. He shifted his stance. “I support people enjoying sex. I’ve had sex with many, many, many women. Tons of them. They’ve all left satisfied. Believe me, I didn’t need to seek out experts to know what to do in the bedroom to help people gain more confidence in that area of their life.”
Claudette and Bernadette’s gazes dropped below his belt.
He might have gone overboard with that explanation. And more than that. What was he doing—persuading them to invest in his life-coaching business, or had he switched fields in the last five seconds and plunged into the male escort arena? He had to get this meeting back on track—a track where he didn’t sound like a womanizing man-whore.
“My philosophy for maximizing confidence and empowerment,” he continued, doing his best not to sound like a gigolo, “can be utilized in every aspect of a person’s life—professional and personal. I grew up steeped in fitness and mindfulness. My master’s degree in business has afforded me the knowledge to strategically target a broad audience. It also assists me in guiding those wanting to start their own companies. The sky’s the limit. I guarantee, I’m presenting a worthwhile investment. You just have to believe in me.”
That certainly sounded good, but did he believe in himself? He was currently working overtime to make it seem like he did.
Claudette narrowed her gaze. “Is there a unifying theme to your life-coaching plan? Something that hasn’t been offered. A fresh take, if you will.”
Despite being grateful for transitioning away from vibrator talk, this topic might be even worse. He had volumes of knowledge, but he hadn’t distilled the information as succinctly as he’d wanted. Project Confidence was too vague. But he couldn’t say that. “I can cite articles and expert opinions. I’ve traveled the world, meeting one-on-one with researchers at the top of the health, fitness, psychology, and business fields.”
Bernadette shared a look with her sister and pursed her lips. “Have you seen the results of your particular style of life-coaching with a test subject or subjects?”
A lump formed in his throat.
The short answer to Bernadette’s question was no.
The day he’d read Phoebe’s text and his life had gone to shit, he was supposed to meet with a chef that morning. In the afternoon, he’d scheduled time to work on recruiting subjects. He’d bailed on the former and blown off the latter. But he couldn’t divulge that info.
Asserting confidence, he looked between the women. “That piece of my program is in progress.”
It wasn’t a complete lie. He’d planned on testing his theory. He just hadn’t gotten there yet.
Claudette frowned and jotted a note on a pad of paper.
Dammit!He needed to assure them he was the real deal. What he needed to do was accentuate the positives. That’s what he’d coach a test subject to do—play their strongest card.
“Along with my knowledge base,” he began, “I should mention that I have quite a following on social media. My brand has generated tremendous interest and awareness. The desire is there.”
“We’ve seen your social media pages,” Claudette answered as her gaze dropped below his belt again. “There is, as you say, significant desire.”
Was he there so they could ogle him? Had one of these women—or both—messaged him about carrying his baby? It sure seemed like it. And dammit, he was back to the gigolo zone.
The woman in white on the phone, who he’d completely forgotten was there, stepped forward. “Madame Bernadette, Madame Claudette,le partenaire silencieux.”
He didn’t have to speak French to understand that the woman had mentioned a silent partner.
