“Yes.”
“I like you too.”
His chest tightened.
She continued:
“More than is convenient.”
“Which is irritating.”
“But you’re right.”
“We finish the car.”
“Then decide whether there is anything worth risking.”
The Single Dad smiled faintly.
“You negotiate romance like an acquisition.”
“I negotiate everything.”
“I noticed.”
She stepped closer.
Not touching.
“I can wait.”
The Single Dad looked at her mouth.
Then back at her eyes.
“That’s the problem.”
“What?”
“I’m starting to hope you do.”
She smiled.
Then walked away.
He spent the next hour failing to concentrate.
The auction relaunch was scheduled three weeks later.
The announcement became international news.
LOST CGTR PROTOTYPE FOUND IN MANHATTAN AUCTION.
Collectors flew in.
Museums called.
Manufacturers called.
Lawyers called more than anyone.
Estimated value climbed.
Eight million.
Twelve.
Fifteen.
Then twenty-five.
One specialist suggested forty if two major collectors fought.
The Single Dad’s discovery bonus became impossible not to think about.
At thirty million, his share would be seventy-five thousand dollars.
More than enough to clear debt.
At forty million, one hundred thousand.
Enough for his daughter’s school fund.
A home down payment.
Security.
That word mattered more to him than luxury.
The Female CEO never discussed his bonus.
Good.
The night before the auction, they stood alone beside CGTR001.
The car had not been restored.
That was intentional.
Cleaned.
Stabilized.
Preserved.
Its scars remained.
The Single Dad approved.
The Female CEO ran one hand just above the body without touching.
“Tomorrow someone takes it away.”
“Yes.”
“Does that bother you?”
“A little.”
“You could bid.”
He laughed.
“With what?”
She smiled.
“Optimism.”
“Does the auction house finance mechanics?”
“For unreasonable interest.”
“Tempting.”
They stood in silence.
Then the Female CEO said:
“I received an offer.”
“For?”
“The company.”
The Single Dad turned.
“Your company?”
“Controlling stake.”
“How much?”
She told him.
The number was absurd.
He stared.
“You could walk away.”
“Yes.”
“Will you?”
“I don’t know.”
The Single Dad leaned against the workbench.
“What do you want?”
She looked toward CGTR001.
“Nobody asks me that.”
“Everyone asks.”
“No.”
“They ask what I’m going to do.”
“What I recommend.”