The Dealer
He’d tried to negotiate, to barter a deal. He’d rationalized. He’d reasoned. He’d pleaded. Hell, he’d begged. And he’d failed. Miserably.
After all his arguments, all the guy would tell him was, “I’ll think about it.”
Think about fucking yourself, he was dying to say back. Donald Trump would have said it.
Maybe it was true, after all, that nice guys finish last. Hell, he hadn’t been able to finish at all last night. She’d finally said, “I’ve been done for ten minutes now. Can we call it quits?”
Maybe she should go fuck herself, too.
Then and there, he made a vow to himself. He’d do whatever it took to get ahead. No more playing by the rules. And no more playing nice.
Hell, the whole world could just go fuck itself.