Page 2 of My Totally Unfair Deal

“Thank you.” I take the private elevator to the rooftop and set a timer for fifteen minutes.

That’s all I need to end a three-year relationship, and I’m not remotely surprised this guy hired me to do it for him.

Rachel’s already at the booth, sipping champagne with crossed legs and perfect posture. From where I’m standing, you’d never guess she once faked a terminal illness to get out of paying a month’s rent.

“Good evening, Rachel.” I slide into the seat across from her and flash a smile. “How’s your day going?”

“Um, fine.” She tilts her head. “Do I know you?”

“Your dress is stunning,” I say. “Really brings out the green in your eyes.”

“My eyes are brown.”

“My compliment still stands.” I wave down a server. “Whiskey, neat.”

“Do I need to call security?” she asks, already looking around the room. “I don’t know how the hell you know my name, or why the hell you think you’re welcome to sit in my boyfriend’s seat, but?—”

“Your boyfriend, Tucker, is actually the one who sent me.” I rip the Band-Aid clean. “He doesn’t want to be with you anymore. And by ‘anymore,’ I mean not even for another second. He has a moving crew pulling your belongings out of the apartment as we speak.”

She stares at me, blinking.

“Although there have been three decent years between you,” I continue, “he feels like you’re no longer growing together. He wants you to know it’s him, not you. Also, he won’t fight you for custody of the dog—Tulip—that you two recently adopted.”

“Tulip is a cat,” she hisses.

“Wait, what?” I lean back. “Aren’t cats deathly allergic to tulips?”

“Yes...”

“So, why the hell would you ever—never mind.” I pull my standardFair Deal: Breakup Contractfrom my pocket and slide it across the table.

“What the hell is this?”

“This is a legally binding contract between you and Tucker that lays out what the future will hold for both of you as you walk into the land of singledom.”

“Legally binding? Oh, okay…” She pulls a lighter from her purse and attempts to flick a flame under the edge of the contract.

“I came prepared.” I sip my drink as it arrives. “Fireproof paper.”

She flicks again and again, until she finally gives up.

“Let me get this straight,” she says. “Tucker didn’t have the balls to break up with me, so he asked you?”

“No, he paid me. I’d never do this for free.”

“So, you’re that much of a heartless asshole?” she asks. “You take joy in hurting someone on behalf of others?”

“Let’s redirect the anger where it belongs: him, not me,” I say. “While you’re doing that, feel free to sign this contract.”

“No. I’ll just talk to Tucker myself.” She grabs her phone.

“He blocked your number.”

She calls him anyway, and it doesn’t ring. It goes directly to voicemail.

“If it makes you feel better,” I offer, “I provide other services. Rebound strategies. Emotional resets. Wardrobe overhauls for a new life…”

“Get the hell away from me.”

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