Rex barked out a laugh, startling a junior salesman hovering nearby. "History? Don't try to feed me the brochure again. I asked a simple question: how much for this exact car? Or is that too much for your 'curated' brain to handle?"
The jab landed like a slap. The manager's fingernails dug into his palm behind his back. This son of a bitch! Smug little bastard… He's playing me like a fiddle. But I can't lose him. I can't!
So, with a strained grin, he leaned closer, lowering his voice again. "If… and I stress, if … you're serious about taking this one, I may be able to authorize a… special arrangement. But such arrangements come at a premium."
Rex's smirk widened as he straightened up. "Premium, huh? You want me to pay more for a car that's been gathering fingerprints for half a year?"
The manager froze for half a second. His smile wavered. His soul screamed. This is torture. Actual torture. Why did I even open my mouth? He's wringing me out like a wet rag.
