Billion Dollar Chance - Linnea May Page 0,25

in the room.

Anyone but Ella.

“110,992 US Dollars!” I shout, while raising my plate for the last time. I know that no one will outbid me on this one, not only because the number is so much higher than the last bid, but also so specific that it startles my competitors enough to throw in the towel right then and there. The trip becomes mine, placing a significant donation under my name, while I receive curious looks from all sides. I know they’re wondering what this was all about, why I would choose such a high and random number to secure this peculiar item.

It’s a very high number alright, but it’s anything but random. And Ella is the only one in here who could possibly see that.

My eyes wander to the side, meeting her astonished gaze, looking at me with an expression that leaves my silent question unanswered.

But I like the way her chest is heaving with palpable excitement when the trip is officially awarded to me.

Chapter 12

Ella

“What was that all about?”

My question is almost drowned out by the wave of applause that fills the hall as the auction comes to an end. Gabe doesn’t grace me with a response, other than his trademark smirk. Instead, he signals for the waiter to refresh our champagne. Again. As if my head wasn’t spinning enough already.

The exclusive trip to the Galapagos Islands was the last item to be auctioned off, bringing the auction to an end that no one—especially me—saw coming.

Why did he buy this trip? Is he seriously considering going there?

My thoughts are running in circles, trying to make sense of this damn riddle Gabe laid out for me. My gaze is fixated on him, watching as he receives our champagne and politely nods to the waiter before he finally reciprocates my probing stare.

“Look at this way,” he says. “One less stupid moneybag soiling the precious environment on those islands.”

“So, you’re not planning to go?” I want to know. “You just bought it so no one else could?”

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

I know he’s enjoying this. Me, curious and confused, poking at him with a bunch of questions and therefore bestowing him with the undivided attention he appears to crave. He knows exactly how to push my buttons, even after all these years. And what’s worse: It’s still working.

“Well, if this is your idea of fun, fine,” I go on, turning away from him to feign lack of interest.

He raises his glass to me as I reach for mine, but I ignore the gesture and drink without paying attention to him. My hand is shaking all too visibly and I know it’s a stupid idea to continue drinking, but I need something to calm the impatient rage inside of me.

“You didn’t even notice, huh,” I hear him say. The tone of his voice is different this time, lower and oddly beaten, as if I let him down in some way.

“Notice what?” I retort.

He sighs when I cast him a quizzical look, and he’s outrageously handsome while doing so. A faint line emerges between his brows as he narrows his eyes, fixating me with a surprisingly stern expression. We remain like that for a few moments, our eyes locked onto each other while I wait for a response that never comes.

“Never mind,” he produces eventually, averting his gaze from me.

“Notice what, Gabe?” I probe. “What the fuck are you talking about? And why did you buy this trip? Are you trying to mock me or something?”

He shakes his head while another smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. It’s a different kind this time, though. He doesn’t look sovereign or condescending like before, but rather… sad?

“Gabe, seriously, what’s—”

“Wanna dance?” he asks nonchalantly, bypassing my question from before. He nods toward Mr. Pomery and his bimbo companion, who just jumped up from their seats to follow the announcers invitation to enjoy the rest of the evening and “hit the dance floor.”

“No,” I respond. “I want to talk about the proposal! You said we would talk once the auction is over.”

“We can start talking while we dance,” he suggests. “Come on, just one song.”

The little wink he adds to his proposition sends an unwelcome wave of heat to my cheeks, and I hope to God that it goes unnoticed by him.

“One dance,” I insist, raising my index finger for emphasis. “But that’s it. No more postponing, no more evading, no more distractions.”

He looks amused but nods along as I speak, before he gets up and reaches