"Thank you."
I sat. Smoothed my pants. Folded my hands in my lap.
Sebastian wasn't here yet.
"How are you finding your last day?" Mr. Kahale asked.
"Bittersweet," I admitted. "I'll miss this place."
"It has that effect on people." His eyes crinkled slightly. "It's had that effect on me for eighty-three years."
The door opened behind me.
I didn't turn, but I felt Sebastian enter. The shift in the air, the weight of his presence. He moved past my chair and sat in the one beside me, close enough that I could smell his cologne. Fresh. He must have showered again after leaving my room.
"Mr. Dubois." Mr. Kahale nodded. "Thank you for joining us."
"Of course."
I glanced at Sebastian. He was sitting straight, hands resting on the arms of his chair, his expression carefully neutral. He caught my eye and something flickered there. Nerves, maybe. Or anticipation.
I turned back to Mr. Kahale and started running through my pitch in my head. The history. The preservation plan. The numbers Priya had compiled, the projections for sustainable growth, the commitment to maintaining the cultural heritage that made this place?—
"Thank you both for taking the time to experience my hotel."
Mr. Kahale's voice cut through my thoughts. I blinked, refocusing.
"I know you've both prepared extensively for this meeting," he continued. "But I won't be needing your pitches."
The words didn't register at first. I stared at him, certain I'd misheard.
"I've already come to a decision."
Silence.
I could hear my own breathing. The distant crash of waves outside the window. The creak of Sebastian shifting in his chair beside me.
Mr. Kahale closed his eyes. His weathered hands pressed flat against the desk. He looked like a man about to deliver news he didn't want to give.
"I've chosen Mr. Dubois."
Sebastian.
I let the word settle. Waited for the sting of disappointment, the sharp bite of loss.
It came, but softer than I'd expected. A dull ache rather than a knife wound. I'd meant what I'd thought this morning. The hotel would be in good hands. Sebastian would take care of it. And we would figure out the rest together.
I turned to him and smiled. "Congratulations."
He looked at me. Something strange passed across his face. Relief, maybe. Or gratitude. He reached for my hand, squeezed it briefly, then rose to his feet, held out his hand to Mr. Kahale.
"Thank you," he said to Mr. Kahale. "I promise you won't regret?—"
"Why are you thanking me?"
The words were sharp. Cold. Nothing like the warm, weathered voice I'd come to know over the past two weeks.
Sebastian stopped mid-sentence. His hand, still extended in a gesture of gratitude, hung in the air.
