Page 4 of The Sebastian Guarantee
This was her dream, but it was in no way even close to a reality. She needed organizations to agree to partner with her and more resources, aka investors who could supply her with cold hard cash, to make it happen. Hence why she needed to snag an invite to LETIS.
Mophead yawned, clearly not interested in her career plans or female empowerment. He shrugged. “I figured you had a trust fund stuffed with billions of dollars.”
She had a trust fund but couldn’t access the money until she was thirty-two—not that it was any of this random dude’s business.
She restrained herself from rolling her eyes. “I plan on making my own way in tech.”
A woman standing behind Mr. Nosy Mophead craned her neck to look past the man. “Did you meet your perfect match at a food truck?”
Had she met her perfect match?
Phoebe pictured Jeremy. With his strawberry blond locks twisted into a low man bun and horn-rimmed glasses, he was a mix of trendy nerd meets hipster app developer.
“I met someone a while back at a food truck, and things are . . . good,” she answered as a prickly sensation worked its way down her spine. That was odd. Jeremy could be her perfect match. It was possible, right?
“Do you have a sexual fetish for hot dogs?” Mophead asked, staring at his smartphone.
What the hell?
Her jaw dropped at the crazy question. “Why would you ask me that?”
He held up his phone. “It’s on your Info Darling page.”
This had to be a joke.
“I didn’t even know I had an Info Darling page.” She tucked her hot dog under her arm, then opened the internet browser on her phone. Info Darling pages were for famous or infamous people. She was a twenty-four-year-old small business owner trying to make it in tech. Who would make an Info Darling page for her—and post that she was a frankfurter freak?
Wait a hot second! She had a pretty good idea of the culprit. She schooled her features. “You can’t believe everything you read online. I simply enjoy eating hot dogs.”
“Because they make you horny?” Mophead pressed.
That earned him another set of foot taps.
“Because they taste amazing,” she barked, when her phone pinged an incoming email. She stared at the screen and forgot about the ridiculous Info Darling page as she gazed at the subject line.
Invitation to LETIS, RSVP ASAP
This was it.
She opened the email. There, in digital glory, was her ticket to what could be a life-altering event. “Hank, it’s the LETIS people. They want me.”
“Tell those leafy-greeners your answer is yes,” the man replied and gave her two thumbs-up.
She skimmed the message.
Tap the accept invitation button, and you’re in. Details will be sent in a follow-up email.
She tapped the button. Not two seconds later, her phone pinged. But it wasn’t the incoming email with more info on LETIS. This time, the ping alerted her to a text—a text from Jeremy.
Are you free to grab a drink now? I’m not far from your place. I need to ask you a question—an important question.
An important question?
Did Jeremy want to take things to the next level? Did he want to date her exclusively?
Maybe Jeremy Drewler was her perfect match.
She hammered out a reply.
