Page 7 of The Sebastian Guarantee
“I haven’t heard from him in ages,” she replied, losing the spring in her step. Why had Sebastian told Aria and Oscar he was returning to Denver but not her?
“When he’s not banging airheads,” Aria huffed, “he calls to check in and say hello. But those calls are getting fewer and farther between. Do you guys know what’s going on with him? I’ve tried to ask him if he’s okay, but he always changes the subject. I don’t get it. Last year, he was stoked about doing his own thing and building a life-coaching empire. The guy earned an MBA in eleven months. We know he’s smart as hell. He had everything going for him. He was a fitness phenomenon, living with a purpose and sharing his tips and tricks. Then six months ago, his social media went from inspiring people to be their best selves to guzzling Grey Goose with bimbos like an entitled playboy. I love Seb like a brother, but what the hell is he doing—vying for douchebag of the century?” She glanced away, then groaned. “I’ve got to go. The new makeup lady is headed my way with a bottle of tan goo. Give me strength to fend her off. Love you guys. Congrats again, Pheebs.” Aria blew a kiss, then left the video call.
Phoebe took another bite of her hot dog and focused on Oscar. “Will Seb be okay?”
“It’s Seb,” Oscar answered, not really answering. “What else is going on with you, Pheebs?”
“I met a couple who used my Munch Match app. They told me they fell in love in line at a Mr. Cheesy Forever food truck. Your dad’s businesses are rocking.”
“Yep, too bad his son can’t get his shit together,” Oscar replied, then shook his head. “Let’s not talk about my dad and me.”
“Okay,” she said, switching gears. “I’ve got more news. Remember how I told you about Jeremy, the guy I was seeing?”
“The drooler?” Oscar shot back.
Phoebe huffed. “He’s not a drooler. Well . . . he does drool, but who doesn’t? Anyway, he texted me. He says he’s got something important he wants to ask me. It has to be about taking our relationship to the next level. That’s got to be good, don’t you think?”
Oscar grimaced like he’d stepped in a pile of dog crap. “I don’t know, Pheebs. A while back, Aria mentioned she had a bad feeling about him, and Seb thinks the guy sounds like a real tool.”
“Sebastian discussed Jeremy with you?” she blurted. She’d only mentioned Jeremy to Seb a handful of times. And thinking back, when she’d spoken of him, Sebastian’s countenance had hardened, and he’d ended the call abruptly. She’d wanted to press the subject with Oscar, but the bistro came into view before she could get more details. She’d have to pick Oscar’s brain later. She had a date with destiny. Her pulse kicked up. This would be the place where true love would strike. Her match was about to reveal itself. She could feel it in her bones.
Years ago, she’d asked the famed matchmaker Madelyn Malone if she, Aria, Oscar, and Sebastian would find their love matches. The woman’s response had stayed with her to this very day. It came to her every night before she fell asleep. The matchmaker said that matches are a matter of the heart and don’t always reveal themselves. And then she’d gone further. She’d waved them in, and with the air of mystery and magic sparking between them, she’d divulged that their matches had already been made. It was a beautifully romantic notion. As a girl, she’d imagined it as a love seed just waiting to bloom and grow in her heart. Was that seed about to sprout?
She studied the bistro. The happy hour crowd was in full effect. The restaurant’s doors were propped open, allowing the patrons to mingle and move between the patio and the indoor seating and bar area. Music and laughter carried on the cool fall breeze, calling to her as if Mother Nature herself knew a life-altering event was about to take place.
Phoebe exhaled a slow breath and spied Jeremy sitting at a table on the patio. The guy was talking to a woman—a woman with her breasts spilling out of her top. She wore sky-high heels, and her ensemble didn’t leave much to the imagination. Phoebe glanced at her overalls and sneakers, then looked up and caught Jeremy squeezing the woman’s hand before she strolled away.
Why would he do that?
Self-doubt twisted in her belly, but she couldn’t jump to conclusions. She was here at his request. He’d reached out. This well-endowed woman could be an old friend or an acquaintance.
“Your match has been made,” she whispered like an incantation, mimicking the nanny matchmaker’s rich, Eastern European accent.
“What did you say, Pheebs?” Oscar asked.
And OMG! She still had Oscar on the video call.
That could be a good thing.
“Oscar,” she blurted, “I’m at the bistro, but don’t hang up. I’ll record the rest of the call so you can hear everything Jeremy says to me. It’s not like I’m being sneaky. To be fair, I’d end up telling you. This gets the info to you firsthand. Then I’ll have video proof that Jeremy Drewler might be my love match.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think the drooler is your love match?”
“There aren’t a whole lot of guys lining up for the job.” She jammed the hot dog into her mouth and took a colossal bite. Why had she said that? She didn’t need a boyfriend. Sure, she’d fantasized about findingthe one. But it wasn’t her only goal in life.
Since she was a girl, she’d dreamed of becoming a savvy entrepreneur. She wanted to be a force in the tech world and bring women to the forefront of the industry. Still, she couldn’t deny that she liked the idea of working with a partner. She’d grown up watching her aunt and uncle collaborate. Their love had fueled Gale Gaming’s success, and it still did. It was hard not to pine away for a love that lifted you up and always had your back. A love worthy of a true love match. She and Jeremy were sort of like her aunt and uncle. They were both in tech, and while he hadn’t shown much interest in her idea to create Go Girl, he might warm to the idea—especially if an investor from LETIS signed on to fund the project.
“Shit,” Oscar mumbled.
“What is it?”
“A news alert about Seb popped up on my phone.”
“What does it say?”
Oscar’s brows knit together. “It doesn’t make sense. It says Sebastian Cress, son of British boxing champion Erasmus Cress and yoga guru Libby Lamb-Cress, leaves children in the pouring rain while he snaps selfies and steals their cab. It also says tap for pictures and video.”
That didn’t sound like Sebastian. He adored kids. He was crazy about his eight-year-old sister, Tula. This must be a misprint or a case of mistaken identity. She was about to convey this to Oscar when Jeremy waved to her.
