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The secret to getting people to tell you things is that you repeat their last few words. There’s nothing more stimulating to people than their own words.
Maybe it’s just because she’s a stranger in an elevator, but I even confess how my specific dream of having a clan of girlfriends in the Big Apple was inspired by reruns of Sex and the City.
My mom was super independent—she was amazing. There was nothing she couldn’t do. Until, you know…”
“Just repeat what you know over and over,” she’d said. “You don’t need more argument than a rule. A rule is the end of an argument.”
It was an awful punishment because there’s nothing more repugnant to the human soul than wasted labor, squandered time. Time is one’s most precious resource.
Lying to oneself is one of the most idiotic habits. Just one more won’t hurt. Maybe this time will be different. How gullible do you have to be to believe a lie that you yourself tell yourself?
“Nah, it’s too real to be an act,” Nisha says. “I think, it’s like, if a farmer has a hundred acres, and he robs all of the nutrients and minerals from ninety-nine of his acres in order to give all of the goodness to one favorite acre, that’s Malcolm. All the goodness that he has goes to that negotiating table, to the deal-making process. But the rest of his crops completely suffer.”
“I don’t see goodness or being friendly as finite,” I say. “I don’t think a person only has a specific amount of friendliness to spread around like nutrients in a field. I think goodness is unlimited. One of those things where, the more you use it, the more you have. Like laughter.”
I suck in a breath, reminding myself that I’m in charge here. Malcolm’s not in charge; I’m in charge. “I get it—you’re a billionaire. But guess what? That doesn’t mean that you get to go around bribing people and doing whatever ridic thing flies into your mind.” “Whatever ridic thing flies into my mind?” His brown eyes become warm as he smiles. “I don’t know, most days being a billionaire does mean that.”
In the world of negotiation, a black swan is a term meaning an unknown, unseen factor at work behind the scenes. A black swan is something like a hidden corporate history, an owner’s secret belief, an unknown need that drives the negotiator. In current events, it’s typically an unexpected circumstance or a catastrophe that radically changes everything going forward. People have black swans too—a person’s black swan might be a secret burning desire, or a trauma that drives them. Understanding a person’s black swan gives you insight into why they do the things they do, and lets you predict what
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Warmth spreads across my chest as I watch her take one and set it on a plate. She picks it apart and eats it in her bird-like way. At one point, she closes her eyes in pleasure. It’s a rich pastry, and she’s enjoying the forbidden hell out of it, and I’m enjoying the hell out of her.
“What is it that you want, little country mouse?” he asks softly. “For you to have empathy for these people.” “Negotiation one-oh-one,” he says, “never ask for something that a person doesn’t have to give.” “All humans are capable of empathy,” I say. “Including you.” A deafening silence hangs in the air. You sure about that?
“Inspiring a person to feel empathy for those whose lives he might upend only works on somebody who cares, who wants to avoid being a villain. Me? I know what I am. I’m a bad man, Elle, and I’m perfectly comfortable with it. I’m the villain in everybody’s story, and I always will be.”
Suddenly I’m pulling my day planner out of my bag in order to show him my system of stickers, including stars, lightning bolts, and hedgehogs. I don’t know what’s come over me—it feels intimate, like showing him a piece of myself, the secret of how I run. And I want him to see.
I slide my hand up her arm and cup her chin, repositioning her face for a gentle kiss, now—a simple brush of my lips over the center of hers, and then a quick kiss for my favorite freckle.
“I feel completely undone,” I whisper. It’s a piece of honesty; I feel undone and disorganized and all messed up.
“A relationship is just about showing up,” he says. “It’s all you can really do. Show up. Say things. Hang in there. Do your best.”
It’s midnight and there’s no yesterday and no tomorrow and I’ve gotten lost with the villain in my story.
And for a second we feel like partners, balanced evenly on a fulcrum, perfectly in sync in this one true moment.
I love how I feel around her, I love the way she looks at me, I love the secrets in her eyes, and the hidden bravery in her heart. I love the way her nose curves and the freckle next to her mouth. I love the way she juts out her chin when she’s trying to be bold. I love the way her pale brown hair glitters gold in the sunlight. I love that she can’t be bought. As if she’s priceless.
During negotiations, I always know what to say to pull a person toward a given goal, a given destination. What do I say when a person herself is the goal? When she is the destination? Her feelings, her well-being.
She presses her hands to her face. “I just always let everyone down.”
“My mother died of cancer,” she continues. “You probably know that already.” “Yeah,” I say. “What it doesn’t say is that I let her die.” “When it comes to cancer, we usually don’t have a choice,” I say.
“Look, you get to hold conflicting feelings,” I say. “You get to want to save her and want it to be over with. You get to want her to live and want her to stop suffering, even when she wants to keep on suffering. You get to be messy.”
She smiles her huge smile. “Well, Malcolm, they say that anybody can take on the clients who want coaching, but it takes a real coach to help the uncooperative ones.”
People’s glares, once you get used to them, are easy to take after a while, even amusing.
I take a short rest and lay my head on his shoulder, briefly closing my eyes. “People say you’re a villain, but you’re really just niceties challenged,” I mumble.
“People retrain work forces all the time,” I grumble. “It’s not that much of a coup.” “But you never do that,” she says. “It’s unexpectedly positive. The unexpected is always newsworthy, and accelerating a positive spin on a positive story is far easier than putting a positive spin on something outlandishly negative.”
“A building is just a collection of bricks,” she says. “It would’ve been wrong to keep the building through deceit. You have to look at yourself in the mirror. We all have to look ourselves in the mirror each day.”
The irony of my behavior doesn’t escape me. I’m the one tossing her out onto the street. AJ only made her miss a few meals.
“This is what I want for you. No strings attached,”
“You punched him.” I lean in. “Nobody steals my girl’s lunch money.”
“This is terrible,” he says. “I have thoroughly ruined my reputation as a villain, and it’s all your fault.”
