Page 49 of Waiting for You

Andrew dropped his heavy bag on the rug, scanned the room, and flashed a brilliant smile. "This is going to be fun."

"What gives you that delusional confidence?" I deadpanned.

"I haven't been to Hawaii in years," he admitted, walking over to unlatch the balcony door and let the warm salt air spill in. "Last time I flew out, I barely saw sunlight outside the conference room."

"How many times have you been?"

"Twice, maybe? Both for work." He turned back, leaning against the glass frame. "I've never done the tourist thing. The beaches, the snorkeling, whatever grueling itinerary Violet's planned."

"Oh, she's got a minute-by-minute itinerary," I warned him. "And we'll be executing it."

He laughed out loud. "Of course there's an itinerary."

"Violet's always been like this. I honestly think she might have some kind of undiagnosed… I don't even know. She just loves a structured plan."

"Thriving on routine doesn't mean something's wrong with a person," he offered.

"I was joking," I said. "Mostly."

He smiled, then drifted over and sat on the edge of the king bed, resting his chin in his hand as he studied my face.

"I wasn't sure I'd fit in," he confessed. "With your inner circle, I mean. I almost declined the invitation."

"I know you did," I murmured. "But how else are you supposed to get to know someone if not by dragging them somewhere they've never been, surrounded by the people they love?"

He considered it. "That's a surprisingly good point."

"I have them occasionally."

He smiled again, his blue eyes crinkling. "How do you know her?" he asked. "Violet, I mean."

"We met in college. Randomly assigned as freshman roommates, and we just clicked. That was it."

He nodded, taking in the history. "I don't have friendships like that," he admitted, a trace of melancholy in his voice. "In the corporate world I grew up in, your father's world, those dynamics don't exist. Every person holds a strategic position. There isn't much room for people who are just in your corner." He paused. "It's an incredible thing, the loyalty you've got with her."

"She's my family," I corrected. "Someone I chose."

We let a comfortable silence settle over the room.

"Why'd you agree to all this?" I finally asked, breaking the quiet. "The arranged-dating thing. My father's heavy-handed introductions. The whole circus."

He didn't flinch, his blue eyes steady on mine. "It was an easy decision," he answered, blunt. "Your father is one of the most ruthless men in our industry. If there was even a microscopic chance of connecting myself to his empire, to the network he's built, I was going to take the meeting."

I stared at him. The corporate math was sickeningly obvious.

"There's nothing wrong with that kind of honesty," I conceded. "He's offering a lot of leverage."

"He is," Andrew agreed. "But that leverage only gets handed to me if you actually agree to marry me."

"You don't think I'm attractive enough that you'd want to marry me for my personality?" I teased.

He let out a booming laugh. "You're objectively gorgeous," he assured me. "But the financial acquisition crossed my mind first."

I laughed, a genuine, unforced sound with no bitterness under it. There was no tension between us at all, which was fast becoming one of the things I appreciated most about Andrew Maxwell.

He excused himself to use the bathroom. I sank onto the edge of the mattress, staring out the open balcony door as the sun began its slow descent toward the water, turning the waves a liquid gold.

Andrew's phone lit up on the nightstand where he'd left it, and I didn't mean to read it, but my father's name doesn't ask permission.