Page 80 of The Sebastian Guarantee
“I’ll get you a towel, and then we can talk,” Sebastian called.
“Woman with menstrual cramps coming through,” she belted, ignoring the man as she charged down the dock, passing by Jeremy’s snickering buddies. Soaked to the bone, she ignored them as well because she’d passed the point of no return.
She was truly a woman with no fucks left to give.
Entering the bustling food tent, LETIS participants edged away from her, murmuring softly like they were accommodating a bear emerging from hibernation. It wasn’t that far from the truth. Her belly growled, and she pursed her lips, surveying the scene. Hot dogs, hamburgers, and boxes of Tech Tween chocolate chip cookies lined the main serving table. She plucked a basket from the stack, loaded it with four hot dogs, then grabbed a box of chocolate chip cookies and shoved it under her arm. She could feel all eyes on her. How was that for giving everyone anotherglimpse, anotherwhiff? She’d surely piqued everyone’s senses by now.
She ignored the whispers and focused on her tray of food. She took a breath to help slow her hammering pulse. What she needed was solitude. She could barricade herself inside her room and pray Sebby was smart enough to give her some space. That’s what she’d do. She made her way to the condiments table and picked up a bottle of Dijon mustard, ready to dress her dogs and haul ass back to her room, when a voice caught her attention.
“Pay up, Drewler, you lost the bet. You said you’d have Phoebe crawling back, begging to date you again. It looks like she’s the one trying to get away from you.”
Bet?
“I’m happy to pay,” Jeremy balked. “Phoebe Gale is certifiable. It might have been worth taking her back since she’s hot and was on the brink of making a fortune. But she’s bat-shit crazy. Even with a last name like Gale, nobody will want to partner with her. She’s not even worth stringing along as a side piece. What do I need her for? I’ve already got an angel investor waiting in the wings. Pretty soon, I’ll be loaded, and she’ll be some loser trying to build a website for chicks that nobody cares about.”
He’d been gearing up to use her again—as a joke, as entertainment for his douche canoe friends—and she’d nearly fallen for it. She should have seen through his saccharine-sweet demeanor. The man didn’t care for her—he’d never cared about her. He was out for himself. She could stomach that. She could also bear the sting of being made to look like a fool. But she couldn’t allow him to belittle Go Girl.
She lifted her chin, and a peculiar calm descended. She set down the Dijon, eyed a container of Sriracha, then slid her gaze to a fire-engine red bottle of hot sauce with flames on the label.
Bingo!
She palmed the bottle, assessing its weight, as a cunning smirk twisted her lips.
The container was full—but not for long.
She peered through the crowd and locked in on her target, standing beneath an umbrella with a trio of men rocking man buns.
Sauntering out of the tent, she came up to the men just as Jeremy doled out soggy one-dollar bills to his douche canoe crew. She couldn’t feel the rain, couldn’t feel her blouse plastered to her wet skin, and she could no longer hear the murmurs of the crowd. “I’ve got a bet for you, Jeremy,” she cooed.
“What?” the man stammered, eyeing the bottle. He took a step back toward the water’s edge.
She assessed the condiment. “I have a feeling this will burn. But we’ll let you be the judge.”
“Phoebe, I—” he began.
With his stupid jaw nearly hitting the ground, he gave her the opening she required. Just like she’d done at the bistro, she raised her arm and let the hot sauce rip. She’d aimed for his face when she’d tagged him with Dijon. Tonight, she zeroed in on his big fat lying mouth like a condiment marksman. And bull’s-eye, baby! She filled that sucker like she was manning a fire hose.
“Water, water!” Jeremy garbled, sticking his tongue out like a toddler and flapping his hands.
“I can help with that,” Sebastian offered, coming out of nowhere. He tapped the juddering and jerking Jeremy. The man took another step back, then another, then . . .
Splash!
Jeremy Drewler hit the lake.
The crowd released a collective gasp.
He thrashed in the shallow waters, spitting and hacking. “You can squirt hot sauce or mustard or whatever the hell condiment you can get your hands on at me, but you’re the one who let me treat you like crap. The day we met, all I did was talk to you in line at the food truck. Guess what? I hadn’t used your dumb app. I heard the food truck guy call you Phoebe Gale. That’s the only reason why I asked for your number. But you loved it. You ate up the attention. You even thought I was your match. You texted it to Sebastian the night we met six months ago and told him that.”
“You looked through my phone?” she bit out.
He shrugged like an insolent child. “You left the chat open when you went to the bathroom.”
“You’re a terrible person,” she shot back, adrenaline surging through her body.
“I’m an opportunist. But you’re the one who answered my one a.m. texts, and you’re the one who considered taking me back. Was I an ass for betting I could get you back? Maybe, but you’re the one who makes it so easy to trample on your heart.”
Jeremy Drewler might have been the worst of the worst, but he wasn’t wrong. Her gut twisted. Humiliation thickened in her throat. In that flash of shame, she thought of her parents. What would they think of their daughter? Their daughter was no man-eater. She was a doormat. Swallowing past the emotion, she willed herself not to crumble. Right or wrong, she would not give Jeremy Drewler the satisfaction.
