Page 29 of The Sebastian Guarantee
Phoebe patted his cheek. “Sebastian Cress, you are a peach,” she finished, then hiccupped before teetering toward the front of the shop.
He flashed the clerk a weak grin. “My friend is feeling a little—”
“You’re Sebastian Cress from the internet,” the saleswoman interrupted, giving him a once-over.
“Yeah,” he answered warily. If someone had asked twenty-four hours ago if he wasthe Sebastian Cress, it would have most likely come with a request to take a picture or get his autograph. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Hopefully, this store didn’t sell cookies.
“I own this shop,” the woman explained. “I’ll comp your friend the clothing. In fact, I’ll give her anything she wants. But I’d like you to do something for me in exchange.” She handed him her business card.
“Such as?”
“Post about my store. It doesn’t have to be much. A few lines. You have a massive following, and I could use the publicity.”
“That’s a generous offer, and I’m happy to do it. But are you sure you want me to post about your business?” He checked on Phoebe and found her near the front by the entrance. He lowered his voice. “I’ve had some recent negative media coverage.”
The owner waved him off. “I saw it, but don’t worry. Some singer in a boy band got caught cheating on his girlfriend. It hit the internet thirty minutes ago. It’s blowing up online. I haven’t seen one post about you hating twelve-year-old girls since the latest online scandal du jour started filtering in.”
He stood there, dumbstruck. “Okay.”
She checked her watch. “We close in two minutes. I’d appreciate it if you made that post.”
“Yeah, all right, sure.” He slipped his cell out of his pocket, grateful that, despite it being cracked to hell, it still worked. He banged out a message about finding a gem of a shop that his best friend loved. And look at that. This had to be another sign that his situation was improving. If anyone could use some good juju, it was him.
“I’m craving cookies, Seb,” Phoebe called from the front.
He shook his head and chuckled. “You’ve been craving cookies since you were six years old,” he answered without looking up as he tagged the business in his post.
A bell chimed, and he grinned. Another good omen. If Mibby, in her cosmic, spiritual know-all, was there, she’d mention that the random ringing of a bell could be the universe’s way of letting one know a new journey was on the horizon.
“Sebastian?” the shop owner said.
“Yes?”
“About your friend.”
“Uh-huh.” He added a few hashtags to get the shop more exposure, then tapped the post icon to spread the word through his social media accounts.
“She just ran away.”
Not again!
He pocketed his phone and the business card as the good juju evaporated.
Wildly, he checked the store. “Phoebe left in nothing but lingerie?”
The woman looked past him out the large front window. “That appears to be the case.”
He plucked her beret from the dressing room bench—he didn’t have time to gather the rest of her clothes—and started for the door. What the hell was she thinking? Then again, the woman loved cookies almost as much as she adored hot dogs. He darted past a rack of frilly panties and spied the trench. “Do you mind if I take this for my friend? I’ll post about it.”
“The sexiest man on the internet with over a million followers can take whatever he likes,” the owner replied.
As much as he hated that title, he was thankful to have it today.
He burst out of the store . . . and immediately hit the brakes. Standing not five feet from the entrance, a lingerie-clad Phoebe wobbled precariously, holding out her arms for balance.
A guy in a flaming red sports car drove by and whistled. “Hey, hot stuff!”
Sebastian stared down the driver. The prick hit the gas and disappeared down the street.
