Page 86 of The Sebastian Guarantee
Barefoot, she entered the cozy chapel. With six polished wood pews and a raised altar at the front, the simple space had a sacred feel. She walked down the aisle and sat in the center of the last pew. Her chest welled with emotion. Despite never having set foot in this place, she recognized the view. She admired it every day when she made her morning coffee. First, she’d read the note card with her high school yearbook quote about the future belonging to those who believe in their dreams, and then she’d gaze at the picture of her parents on their wedding day.
And now she was in the chapel. She stared ahead and imagined her mom and dad standing mere feet away, gazing into each other’s eyes as they exchanged vows.
“When did they get married, Pheebs?”
She kept her gaze trained on the altar. “June twenty-second, five years before I was born.”
Sebastian set his pack on the pew and slipped in next to her. “I found them. They signed the book,” he said softly, then rested the ledger on her lap.
Melanie Funke and Andrew Gale.
She ran her fingertips across her parents’ signatures. “What do you think my mom and dad would want me to do, Sebby? Partner with an investor on Munch Match or hold out for Go Girl?”
Sebastian wrapped his arm around her. “I think they’d want you to succeed in your field. Munch Match is your ticket to do that.”
She chewed her lip as the signatures on the page grew blurry.
“You said it yourself a few days ago,” Sebastian continued. “For Go Girl to work, you’d need a major organization to partner with you. You don’t have that.”
She slid her gaze from the book and concentrated on the empty altar, wishing she could have one minute to see her parents in flesh and blood. She’d ask for their guidance and tell them how much, even in death, they’d enriched her life.
“I guaranteed that I’d help you find success, Pheebs. You’ve got your pick of investors for Munch Match. Take my advice, not as your friend, but as your life coach and the person looking out for your business interests.”
Conflicted, she exhaled an audible breath. “Maybe you’re right.”
A bang from the back room echoed against the stone walls.
“That’s got to be the door. The latch must be broken. I’ll take care of it,” he said and headed toward the source of the sound.
She returned her gaze to the book, smiling at her mother’s loopy handwriting and her father’s sharp, slanted lines. Even in their writing, they complemented each other. She should take a picture. Shit!She’d left her phone at the lodge. But Sebastian hadn’t. Opening his pack, she took out the notebook and set it on the seat next to her, then proceeded to sift through the bag, searching for his cell. The book on her lap shifted as she moved the bag, and the pad fluttered open and fell to the floor. She set the backpack aside and glanced down. The breath caught in her throat as she read the words highlighted in neon yellow.
Objective: Collect data on Test Subject 1 to demonstrate that the Sebastian Guarantee techniques produce a successful outcome. PUSH THE FASTEST ROAD TO SUCCESS. This is imperative. Per potential investors, no convincing data means no investment funds.
Her stomach dropped, and her breathing grew ragged. She turned the page, then the next, skimming Sebastian’s notes.
“The rain stopped, but the wind is still blowing,” Sebastian remarked, coming toward her, then skidded to a dead stop. The color drained from his face. “What are you doing with my notes?”
“I was looking for your phone. I left mine at the lodge. I wanted to take a picture of my parents’ signatures. I figured I’d use yours. Your pad fell out, and I . . .” She trailed off.
“It’s not what you think it is, Phoebe.”
But she knew better. “It’s exactly what I think it is. I’m your Sebastian Guarantee case study test subject.”
He didn’t answer.
She turned a page of the notebook. “Before following the Sebastian Guarantee protocols,” she read, her voice void of emotion, “the subject was flailing professionally and personally. Subject could be described as nerdy, socially awkward, and unconcerned with presenting herself professionally—for example, wardrobe choices.”
“Phoebe,” Sebastian called.
She waved him off. “There’s more, but you know that, don’t you?”
He didn’t reply.
“Subject also lacks direction regarding career trajectory,” she continued. “Subject makes poor choices when it comes to dating and relationships. Subject leads with her heart and not with her head.” She closed the notebook. “That’s what you think of me?”
“Pheebs,” he eked out, his voice a cracked husk of a sound.
“Answer the question, Sebastian.”
