Page 55 of The Sebastian Guarantee
Chapter11
SEBASTIAN
One room. This had to be a joke. But their host wasn’t laughing.
What the hell was the universe throwing their way now?
Sebastian glanced at Phoebe. She smiled her oh-shit smile—the one that looked like her lips might snap from being stretched like a piece of taffy. But her nails digging into his forearm gave away her true reaction.
Mae looked between them, clinking the metal room keys in her hand. “Your room is quite spacious, and there’s a folding cot in the closet.”
“I’m sure the room is perfect. We’re happy to have it,” he replied and accepted the keys. “Phoebe and I have been friends for years. We’ll be fine sharing a room.”
Phoebe’s nails retracted, and she released his arm. They could handle this. There was a cot. They could keep it professional, right?
“Wonderful!” Mae chirped, then peered into the Jeep. “I see you left your keys on the dash. Bruce will take care of parking your car. Now, I’m going to sit by the fire. My quilting group is in town, and we have quite a bit to sew and catch up on. So I’ll let you get to your first event.” Gifting them with one last smile, she started toward the lodge.
He jogged to get ahead to open the door for her. Peeking inside, he spied three women by a roaring fire. All around the same age as Mae, the group was bent over a table covered with a quilt and patches of fabric. Mae shuffled inside, and he rested his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “We appreciate your hospitality, Mrs. Edwards.”
“You’re very welcome, dear,” she answered, then glanced over her shoulder at Phoebe, who was staring down at her pink stilettos, oblivious to the woman’s attention. “My goodness, just look at her,” Mae said softly as the warmth of her words took on a dream-like quality.
My goodness, just look at her?That was an odd statement. He was about to ask Phoebe if she recognized Mae Edwards when two women, one with short red hair and the other with a long black braid, carrying champagne flutes and wearing LETIS lanyards, breezed past him, exiting the building after Mae entered. He’d barely released the handle when a gasp pierced the air.
“Phoebe Gale?” the woman with a braid blurted.
Phoebe swayed atop the heels but regained her balance. “Yes, I’m Phoebe Gale.”
“I owe you a debt of gratitude,” the woman crooned. “I met my husband because of your food truck app.” She touched the card attached to her lanyard. “I’m Carla Lopez, one of the editors for Techy Times. I wrote about your matchmaking food truck app. This is Tracey, my assistant.”
Phoebe lit up. “It’s nice to meet you both. Thank you for writing that piece, Carla. I’m so happy for you, and I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude, too. I think your article is what earned me an invitation to LETIS. Perhaps Techy Times nominated me?”
Carla shook her head. “We don’t have anything to do with that.”
“You don’t?”
“No, Zinger was in charge of extending invites to the tech innovators this year.”
“I see. I wasn’t sure how that worked.”
“Are you here promoting Munch Match as a matchmaking app?” Carla asked, then took a sip of champagne. “I’m sure you could make a fortune if you sold the algorithm. Everyone and their brother are looking to launch the perfect dating app. I can’t even tell you how many I tried before meeting my husband thanks to yours.”
Phoebe twisted a lock of hair nervously, then released it. “No, not exactly. I’m hoping to secure funding to create an online community that connects and empowers girls and women across the globe. I’m calling it Go Girl.”
Carla nodded, then took another sip. She glanced his way as he returned to Phoebe’s side, then scanned his name tag and frowned.
That was not a good sign.
“Did you come with Sebastian Cress?” the Techy Times editor asked Phoebe in the same tone one would use when enquiring about rancid cheese.
Despite Janelle reporting otherwise, it appeared not everyone had moved on from his Tech Tweens snub.
Phoebe looked between him and the frowning Carla. “I did, and I can see from your reaction that you’ve seen the viral video.”
“I was a Tech Tween,” Carla quipped, her scowl deepening as she glared at him. “I cannot believe you’d do that to twelve-year-old girls.”
This was not how he wanted to start the weekend. “I never meant . . . I didn’t mean,” he stammered.
Phoebe rested her hand on his arm. He met her gaze as an eyeball conversation ensued where she told him to shut his trap. He wasn’t about to argue.
