Page 49 of The CEO Enemy

There he stands, paddle raised.

Tall, confident, with a perfect poker face. He has always had a knack for making a grand last-minute entrance (especially when it comes to breaking hearts).

But right now, it feels like two hundred thousand bricks have dropped on me.

The auctioneer seamlessly adjusts, acknowledging the new bid. “We have two hundred thousand dollars. Do I hear two hundred-fifty thousand?”

I clench my paddle. I can’t match him.

In our talk beforehand, Sean and I capped the auction budget at one hundred thousand dollars.

When Richard’s gaze meets mine, anger roars inside of me at his smug face. It wasn’t a mere coincidence that he arrived late and overlooked my bet—no, he’s well aware I want it. I know what Richard is doing—because I’ve seen him do it before. If he thinks he can gift it to me later, arguing that he just tried to raise its value for me, he’s wildly mistaken. While I don’t doubt the drawing is going to be worth much, much more in a few years, I can’t get into debt. I can’t push the limits for this piece that has captured my soul.

Sean looks at me, aware of my turmoil, leans in and whispers, “May I?”

Yes, I nod.

His lips brush against my knuckles before he faces the auctioneer.

“One million dollars,” he says, his voice cutting through the room.

The crowd gasps.

Faces fall.

My heart leaps.

He said it as if it were nothing. Like he ordered pancakes. Like he asked for a napkin.

“Two million dollars,” Richard counters.

More gasps.

Double jerk.

“Three,” Sean says without blinking.

Holy moly.

The atmosphere is charged with the thrill of anticipation. All eyes swivel back to Richard Rutherford. My heart is about to pound out of my chest. Its rhythmic thumping echoes in my ears.

Do not match, do not match, I think.

Richard seems to assess the situation, then shakes his head—no. Art has never held much interest for him, and he’s unaware of its value. What he isn’t unaware of is Sean’s determination. He recognizes my fiancé would sell his soul to bring joy to my heart.

He gives Sean a nod of acknowledgment, a silent and polite concession.

“Going once... going twice…” The room holds its breath. Me? I’m sitting on the edge of my seat, wondering if I’ll need CPR by the time the hammer falls.

“Sold, for three million dollars.”

The auctioneer brings the hammer down. Thunk!

I let out a breath, my shoulders drop, and tension melts away in my body.

It’s ours.

The room erupts into a wave of applause, not just for the victorious bid but for the intensity displayed by both men in the epic exchange. I fight to hold back my too-obvious delight at Sean securing the most significant piece of the evening. Undoubtedly, the art magazines will be full of the dramatic showdown at the auction. Critics will analyze the significance and catapult the artist to new heights of recognition.

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