Page 62 of The Sebastian Guarantee
Yep, he’d busted out theboyo. He also wanted to throw a few well-placed jabs and knock the smug prick down a couple of pegs. Thank Christ he’d been raised by a master yogi who’d taught him to harness his powerful emotions. Otherwise, thistechbrowould be walking with a limp for the rest of his life.
Sebastian gestured toward Jeremy’s squad. “Why don’t you get back to your little man bun-ettes? But before you do, remember one thing.”
“What’s that?”
Sebastian tapped into his spiritual side and looked the man over. “Your aura is absolute bullshit, and I have the distinct feeling the universe is preparing one hell of a karma cake for you. Word to the wise—don’t press your luck with me.” He hadn’t lied to the man. The guy’s vibe was Shit Central.
“Don’t you trust Phoebe to make her own choices?” Jeremy sassed.
This guy was a manipulative knob-headed prat.
Sebastian took a step toward the man and towered over him. “I trust Phoebe completely, but I sure as hell don’t trust a bloody tosser like you,” he gritted out, drifting back into his British accent.
He was done with this fool.
Uninterested in Jeremy’s reply and finished with whatever game the man was playing, he walked away. He had to gather himself and focus on what mattered—and that was Phoebe. He needed to find her so they could get to their room and strategize. Did he want to tell her everything Jeremy had said? Hell yes, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t allow Jeremy to monopolize their time at LETIS. One mention of the guy wanting her back would send her into a tailspin. She had to stay sharp.
He scanned the lodge and found Carla Lopez chatting with the investors, but Phoebe wasn’t with them.
Where had she gone?
He searched the room, combing through the LETIS participants who’d migrated inside. But she wasn’t with any of the lanyard-clad clusters chatting and exchanging business cards. He touched his pocket and felt the bits of metal. She couldn’t have gone to their room; he had both keys. Still, he knew she hadn’t left. He could feel her energy—her bright, bubbly, loving energy.
“Phoebe Gale, you are truly a lifesaver.”
His ears perked up, and he wound his way through the maze of people. Two women broke off from a group and cleared the way for him to see across the room. At the sight of Phoebe sitting around the quilt with Mae and her friends, the muscles at the base of his neck loosened. The jittery irritation brought on by his tête-à tête with Phoebe’s ex made way for a soothing sense of calm.
He glanced over his shoulder and was relieved to see Jeremy and his man-bun brigade heading back toward the boathouse. He’d have to keep an eye on the man and Phoebe’s mind off the conniving snake.
Taking a few breaths to center himself, he focused on Phoebe and strolled toward the group. “What’s going on over here?” he asked with a crease to his brow. Now that he was closer, he could see four cell phones on the quilt in front of Phoebe, along with an ancient laptop.
Phoebe looked up at him and gifted him with a grin—the grin she only smiled for him—and the last of his residual anxiety melted away. She’d put on her glasses and twisted her hair into a bun. She looked . . . radiant—her own version of Phoebe 2.0.
“Sebastian Cress,” she said, making introductions, “you know Mae Edwards. These are her friends, Enid Timmons, Theodora Sanchez, and Shirley Miller.”
He nodded to the women. Dressed in wooly cardigans, the group gave off kindly granny vibes. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“And so lovely to meet you, the son of the—” Enid Timmons began.
He knew what was coming.
“Boxing’s British Beast,” he supplied, used to people bringing up his father.
With white bobbed hair and a curious glint in her eyes, Enid was the smallest of the quilting quartet. “No, dear, not your father. I was talking about your stepmother, the creator of the Wham Bam Thank You Libby Lamb vibrator.”
Had he not still been standing, he would have sworn his heart had stopped beating and he was dead—dead as a mortified doornail.
Shirley nodded enthusiastically, her ebony skin glowing in the firelight. “It’s an excellent device. Top-notch.”
“Always my go-to vibrator,” Theodora agreed.
Sebastian’s mouth opened and closed like a befuddled trout. He wasn’t expecting that from the quilting grannies. And was he sweating? Yes, Jesus, he was nervous-sweating all over the damned place. This might be worse than when Mibby and his dad sat him down for the sex toy talk years ago.
“I agree. I love the updated version with the new settings,” Phoebe added.
“What?” he eked out. “You’ve got one of Mibby’s vibrators, too?”
“Just about every woman I know either has the Wham Bam or the Rainbow Screamer,” she answered, then tossed him a little wink, letting him know she was thoroughly enjoying his pearl-clutching reaction.
