Page 14 of Negotiating Tactics

“I’ll just be here for a little while,” I said, pretending my voice didn’t sound shaky, breathless.

His nostrils flared.

“I’ll be here much longer than that, so it stands to reason that you would let me have the room that I like best and the one I use so much I had my favorite mattress put in it,” he said.

He sounded so fucking reasonable that I felt honor bound to say, “There’s not just the time to consider. I’ve already unpacked and gotten comfortable. The other rooms are lovely. And since this isn’t your home, it shouldn’t be too much of a hardship to stay in one of them.”

“No. But it shouldn’t be too much of a hardship for you either. And that room is as much of a home as I have, so I’d appreciate you giving it to me,” he said.

There was the faintest hint of strain in his words, but contrary to common sense, I didn’t let that dissuade me.

In fact, it only made me dig in.

“Well, as I explained, this is a very trying time for me, and I’ve gotten comfortable there. I’d like to keep it,” I said.

His eyes narrowed slightly, though his face quickly returned to its placid expression. “Well, as I explained, I consider that room mine. So I want it.”

His stance didn’t give anything away. His posture hadn’t changed, and he didn’t look upset, but I could see he was digging in.

And I was too.

Besides, I appreciated a good fight.

It was why I was so good at my job.

I didn’t pick fights, but if they came, I was more than up for the task.

“Well, Noah, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to insist,” I said, using that blandly professional tone that I knew could drive people to therapy.

It didn’t seem to have an impact on him.

In fact, he didn’t say anything. He just kept leaning there, looking at me.

Looking at me for so long that I had no choice but to look away.

“And I’m afraid I have to go. I trust that you’ll be a gentleman and leave my belongings exactly where they are,” I said.

He didn’t miss the meaning of that sentence: don’t touch my shit.

I waited for him to say something, contradict me, but instead he pushed off the wall and grabbed the coffee. “Do you want to take coffee for the road?” he said.

My brow wrinkled, confusion setting in.

“What? No,” I said.

I was ready for pushback, but he offered me coffee?

Fucking weirdo.

He was throwing me off, but I refused to let it show.

I shook my head, then looked back at him. “You didn’t answer my question,” I said.

“What question is that?” he asked.

“The one about me being certain that my things would be exactly where I left them,” I said.

He refilled his coffee.

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