Christian von Koenigsegg scratched his bald head, looking torn.
What Bella said wasn't particularly profound—he understood the logic perfectly.
Industries like racing and horse riding were fascinating that way. Aside from the elite few at the very top, most drivers and riders couldn't actually afford the million-dollar machines they piloted. High-end resources stayed locked in the hands of the ultra-wealthy, while everyone else served as glorified accessories—training relentlessly just to enhance rich people's hobbies.
Christian knew plenty of engineers and racers in the industry. They all praised his cars endlessly, but after the compliments dried up, that was it. None of them could afford to buy one. Even if someone somehow scraped together enough money, a high-performance sports car was far less practical than an SUV in everyday life.
Who needed 0-to-100 acceleration times when picking up groceries?
Right now, the only buyers were the wealthy.
"We don't really know that market," Christian admitted stiffly.
"Of course you don't. That's why we should cooperate first." Bella had anticipated this. "You consign the car to me, I handle the sale, and afterward you pay me a commission."
Both sides found the arrangement satisfactory. Having someone volunteer to sell cars on consignment? Koenigsegg naturally had no objections.
For Bella, it was a risk-free test. If the car didn't sell—if there were unforeseen differences between the two worlds—she could simply return it. No loss.
For now, they'd maintain a partnership. Once she had real capital, they could discuss investment.
Bella and Natasha left Paris on a chartered plane arranged by the embassy. After landing in New York, they transferred immediately without leaving the airport and flew on to Los Angeles.
Charlie picked them up. During dinner, Samantha studied both girls carefully, and only when she confirmed they seemed completely unaffected did she finally relax.
"I thought California was dangerous and foreign countries were safe. Turns out California's actually safer. For the rest of this vacation, don't run around anymore! Just stay home."
Both girls nodded earnestly, expressions perfectly innocent.
Who was responsible for the Paris bloodbath? No idea. Never saw a thing.
They played their roles flawlessly—obedient daughters who knew nothing.
Back in Los Angeles, Bella launched her money-making plan by contacting Koenigsegg in Sweden. The company sent an engineer who arrived with their latest model: a silver-gray Koenigsegg CC8S.
Right now, Koenigsegg couldn't even be called a nouveau riche in the sports car industry—they were complete newcomers. As a result, the price hadn't yet reached the stratospheric levels of later years. One car cost €690,000. For a sports car like this, profit margins were minimal—most of it was cost.
Among the people Bella knew, the richest was undoubtedly Tony Stark, who also happened to love collecting cars.
Sure, Tony always drove Audis in public—but driving cars and collecting cars were two different things. Selling a Koenigsegg to him was definitely the right move.
Her goal was simple: as long as it sold, that was enough. Whether he drove it around town or let it gather dust in a warehouse had nothing to do with her.
She knew the way by heart. When they arrived at the Malibu villa, the chubby bodyguard Happy looked at her with total exasperation.
"Don't look at me like that," Bella said breezily. "I'm telling you—Koenigsegg is a seriously good car. I don't tell just anyone about it!"
Her attempt to treat Stark like a cash cow was way too obvious. No wonder the bodyguard wasn't giving her a warm reception.
That said, Happy knew his cars. Just from the CC8S's appearance alone, he could tell this machine was anything but ordinary.
Stark, seemingly having lost all interest in Bella, didn't bother hiding what he was doing this time.
When they found him, he was playing beach volleyball with two scantily clad women.
Tony was taking on both opponents at once. The two voluptuous girls across the net clearly understood his preferences, giggling and swaying with exaggerated movements. Watching how enthusiastically they played, Bella half-expected something silicone to pop out.
"Hi, Tony. Brought you a new toy." Bella leaned casually against the car and patted the hood.
We're not exactly on a first-name basis, are we? Tony complained internally.
Still, he'd always been tolerant toward women—especially beautiful women.
Even though their values were almost irreconcilably different, he didn't chase her off.
Then his gaze—originally casual and distracted—caught on the smooth lines of the Koenigsegg CC8S.
He tossed the two girls aside without hesitation. The billionaire strolled over with barely restrained interest and asked, pretending not to care:
"What are the specs?"
The Koenigsegg engineer who'd come with the car was a typical tech nerd. English was Sweden's second language, and most people born after the 1940s could speak it, so naturally he could too.
Tony's earlier display with the two women didn't bother Bella in the slightest, but it left the engineer completely flustered.
Seeing her teammate standing there wide-eyed and tongue-tied, clearly unsure where to start, Bella immediately took over.
She'd reviewed the car's data once, and with her memory, giving an overview was easy.
"655-horsepower engine. All-aluminum turbocharged. 32 valves. Zero to 100 km/h in just 3.2 seconds. Current top speed is 395 km/h. Maximum speed can be maintained for 9.9 seconds, and even at the end, terminal velocity still hits 235 km/h. Braking distance is—"
Whenever she mentioned specific numbers, she raised her voice slightly to emphasize the car's extraordinary performance.
Power was the focus. She went through every data point meticulously.
Safety? She mentioned it in passing. Someone as reckless as Tony Stark didn't care about safety.
Fuel consumption? Not mentioned at all. The billionaire didn't lack money—no need to save him fuel costs.
Saying this car was fuel-efficient would be an insult.
"Can I take it for a spin?" Stark pointed at the car.
"Of course."
Bella stepped aside. Stark didn't even bother changing clothes—sand still clung to his feet, arms, and hands. He dropped straight into the driver's seat, floored the accelerator, and roared out of the Malibu villa.
The bearded, bespectacled tech-nerd engineer looked like he wanted to say something but ultimately stayed silent.
Bella and the chubby bodyguard sat off to the side, waiting for Stark to return.
Not far away, the two models still playing volleyball immediately darkened. Their gazes toward Bella turned hostile.
How dare this car saleswoman lure away our sugar daddy?
Bella sensed the malice, but it was still within normal range. Finding it boring, she pulled out pen and paper from her bag and continued writing.