Page 33 of The Sebastian Guarantee
Her smile returned. “No, my thoughts are about skin.”
“Skin?” He touched her cheek. “Your skin is fine—luminous, actually, which is surprising since you’ve inhaled processed meats like a ravenous hyena since you were six years old.”
“Not skin-skin,” she chuckled. “My style and outer appearance. Skin is a gaming term for what a character looks like—their clothing or costume. Often, as you progress through a video game and earn more coins or whatever currency the game employs, you’re offered the chance to upgrade your skin.”
She wanted a life upgrade.
The breath caught in his throat. This was precisely what he needed: a person demanding a rapid-fire makeover. Phoebe Gale could be the before-and-after test subject. Her transformation could prove his methods weren’t some pie-in-the-sky ideas.
“Come with me to LETIS and coach me through it,” she pleaded, taking his hand. “I want investors to see me as strong and capable, not nerdy and disheveled. And when it comes to men, I want to be in charge, but I also want to show those jerks who dated me because they wanted to meet my aunt and uncle that I’m . . .” She swallowed hard.
“What?” he pressed.
“That I’m someone a guy would be proud to have by his side. I want them to wantme. I want them to look at me and think, ‘Phoebe Gale is out of my league.’”
This could work. If he wanted to succeed, it had to.
He held her gaze. “You’ve got to follow my instructions to a T. Will you consent to that?”
“Yes!” she cheered. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Make me bold and persuasive. Make me irresistible so I can go in with confidence. An investor will see me and know I’m capable of making Go Girl a success.” She squeezed his hand. “You’re nothing like those butthole guys who only wanted to use me, Sebby.”
His heart nearly stopped. He wasn’t one of those buttholes, was he? If he succeeded, they’d both win. He wasn’t using her—exactly. He was answering a friend’s call that just happened to serve two purposes. Should he tell her? No, he didn’t want to muddy the waters. It might make her nervous if she felt like a lab rat. He’d keep the case study to himself. He would tell her everything after they succeeded. That made it okay, right?
He ignored the gnawing feeling in his chest. “Phoebe Gale, I’ll help you become the person you want to be.”
“You’ll do it? You’ll help me?”
A tingle worked its way down his spine. “I’ll do more than that. I’ll give you a guarantee.”
Energy pulsed between them. The possibilities in the air were palpable.
She cuddled into him and sighed a dreamy little sound. “Say that again, Sebby. Except, this time, use my title from back when I was a girl and do it in your old accent.”
He exhaled and pictured seeing her for the first time through the car window when he was nothing but a scared, knobby-kneed kid. All chestnut braids, and sparkling blue eyes, Phoebe Gale was sunshine, pure and wondrous.
His pulse kicked up. He had a sneaking suspicion that agreeing to help her would either be the best decision he’d ever made or the worst.
He exhaled a slow breath. Hoping the universe knew what it was doing by throwing Phoebe into his lap in his time of need, he wrapped his arms around his best friend. “Phoebe Gale,” he began softly in a British accent, “Princess of the Hot Dog Fairies, Bearer of Cookies, and Eater of Pizza, I give you the Sebastian Guarantee.”
Chapter7
PHOEBE
Phoebe rolled over and hugged her pillow to her chest. Half-awake and half-asleep, she inhaled . . . what the hell was that?Vegetables?She couldn’t remember the last time she’d bought something from that food group. Could her neighbors be cooking? That had to be it.
She rubbed her temples, and holy martini-binge aftermath, her head pounded. She slapped the pillow onto her face, reveling in the coolness, when muted voices caught her attention.
“These are brilliant pieces. You’ve really come through for us. Thank you.”
She sighed, listening to the cadence of Sebastian’s voice.Brilliant—another one of the British words that crept into his dialect every now and then.
And then it hit.
Sebastian was in her apartment because her life had become a giant shitshow. Wait, her life wasn’t a complete shitshow. As if she were rewinding the tape in her mind, she went over the events that had led her to this moment, curled up in her bed wearing—she touched the sleeves—yep, a trench coat.
From Hank’s Franks to learning she’d gotten into LETIS to the Jeremy debacle, followed by a kind soul footing the bill for her to drink her weight in martinis, and then Sebastian showing up like a white knight, it was safe to say she’d been caught in a whirlwind of absolute insanity.
She tossed the pillow onto the end of her bed, then rested her hand in the empty space next to her. Like the pillow, it was cool to the touch, but it hadn’t been like that all night. Sebastian had slept there. With him at her side, she’d fallen asleep listening to him recite the title she’d given herself in first grade.
