“Selling one?”
“No.”
“What?”
She pointed toward the floor.
A small flashlight sat there.
Twelve-dollar model.
Same kind he had used on CGTR001.
He laughed.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I know.”
Beside it sat a small box.
His expression changed.
The Female CEO took a breath.
For once, confidence abandoned her.
“I run companies better than I do this.”
The Single Dad said nothing.
She continued:
“You walked into my auction hall wearing dirty boots and immediately told me my experts were wrong.”
“That was rude.”
“It was.”
“You insulted my estimate.”
“Also rude.”
“You flirted with me during an authentication crisis.”
“You started that.”
She smiled nervously.
Then:
“You gave me a version of my life where success wasn’t the only thing happening in it.”
The Single Dad’s chest tightened.
“You gave me a family I didn’t know I was allowed to want.”
“She opened the box.”
A simple ring.
Elegant.
Not absurdly expensive.
He noticed.
She knew him.
The Female CEO said:
“I don’t need you to rescue me.”
“I don’t need you to become someone else.”
“I don’t need you to leave your garage.”
“Though I would appreciate less oil in the house.”
The Single Dad laughed.
She took his hand.
“I just want you there.”
“When the auction goes wrong.”
“When nothing happens.”
“When your daughter tells us both we’re embarrassing.”
“When the dog destroys another sofa.”
“When we get old enough that neither of us can kneel beside a race car without assistance.”
His eyes burned.
The Female CEO inhaled.
“Will you marry me?”
The Single Dad looked toward the flashlight.
Then the box.
Then her.
“Your appraisal is still terrible.”
Her mouth fell open.
He smiled.
“Yes.”
She hit his chest.
Then kissed him.
The Single Dad wrapped his arms around her.
No auction.
No cameras.
No collectors.
Just two adults standing where an argument had begun.
When they separated, the Female CEO whispered:
“I hate you.”
“No.”
“You don’t.”
She smiled.
“Unfortunately.”
They married the following spring.
Small ceremony.
His daughter stood beside him.
The golden retriever attempted to eat one floral arrangement.
The Female CEO’s board chairman gave a speech that was too long.
The Single Dad’s sister told embarrassing stories.
The auction specialist who had originally valued CGTR001 at seventy thousand attended.
The Single Dad raised his glass.
“Seventy thousand.”
The specialist shouted:
“Move on.”
Everyone laughed.
The Female CEO looked toward her husband.
Still strange word.
Husband.
He smiled.
She smiled back.
Years later, people would retell the story incorrectly.
They would say a poor mechanic discovered a forty-million-dollar car and married the billionaire who doubted him.
Too clean.
Too convenient.