Damn, especially Grice.
The more Seb thought about him, the more convinced he became that the slimeball was working for Sucroz. And now that a complete stranger was running loose in the city with knowledge of his stupid fake-girlfriend plan, Seb had a PR disaster on his hands that had the potential to ruin him once and for all.
Fake-Cassie had said she needed money. What if she approached Sucroz with a story?
Seb could deny the claim of course, but Grice had photographic evidence of her, and if Seb’s suspicions about him were right then …boom!
Another shitstorm.
Bye-bye Strive.
Bye-bye his sponsorship.
And bye-bye his last Olympics.
Seb scrubbed his face. Missing out on his crucial funding was bad enough, but the Get Living summer campaign … man, he couldn’t screw that up as well. He had to tell Mikey the whole, embarrassing truth so they could prepare for the potential fallout. If putting Seb’s sorry ass on a flight back to Vancouver was the answer to putting things right, then so be it.
If you want something bad, you make sacrifices, his coach Frank always said. But sacrifice integrity?
Huh. Seb was becoming more like his mom every day.
Dun … dun dun … duuun dun dun dun dun. The theme fromJawsbelted out of his phone and scared the crap out of him. His mother’s ringtone. Seb rubbed his temples. Yep, the woman really could smell failure and weakness like a shark could smell blood.
“Hi, Mom.”
“What’s this I hear about you relocating to England?”
Well, I’m just fine, thanks. How are you?
Seb stared at the ceiling. “It’s exactly as it sounds. I’m working for Michael Adams on his summer campaign.”
“Michael Adams?” Her tone told Seb she was mentally scrolling through the news headlines Mikey had caused several years ago, when he publicly ended his brief marriage to the glamour model Saskia Williams and fled to Australia for a few weeks to clear his head. Seb hadn’t garnered all the details, but whatever Mikey had done during that time obviously helped his mental attitude even though there were still people out there—like Celeste Clarke—who judged him. “Really, Sebastian. That man walked out on his life. Who does that? He’s irresponsible.”
“Mom,that manis an Olympic legend. He’s set a ton of records. He’s also the CEO of a very successful chain of fitness centers, as well as the founder of the Get Living Campaign,anda very happily married man with several children. He’s a walking infomercial for responsibility and stability.”
“Regardless, I saw his father last year at a gala dinner, and he had his hands all over a woman at least half his age. It was disgusting.”
Seb pulled the phone away from his ear, having heard her views on convention and propriety a zillion times since his arrest in Vegas.
Really, Sebastian. Call girls?
Mom, they were nothing to do with me. Those women arrived way after I’d thrown up my lunch and passed out in the bathroom.
That’s just charming to hear.
It was also the truth.
“Your father’s memorial service is set for August twenty-fifth,” Celeste said. “We’ll scatter his ashes afterward.”
“August? I’ll still be in England then. I won’t be able to make it. I have commitments.”
“But, really, Sebastian, you have to be there. How would it look if you don’t attend?”
Like the truth.“Maybe you should’ve consulted me first before you went ahead and arranged it?”
“Really, Sebastian.” His mother puffed impatiently. She should have christened him Really because that word had preceded his name for as long as he could remember.
Really, Sebastian, do you have to make so much noise? Really, Sebastian, I can’t just take time off work to attend your swim meet. Really, Sebastian, after all those years of training, couldn’t you have managed at least silver instead of bronze?
