Negotiating Position
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2025 by Walter Reimer

Prompt: limit


It had been a good day so far despite the snow falling outside. Well, at least the snow was falling outside; if it had been falling inside, it certainly wouldn’t have been a good day. Pedantic, perhaps, but at times it’s useful to be more precise.

Things were nice and quiet, and Chuck was curled up comfortably in his favorite chair, reading a book as steam curled up from a fresh mug of hot cocoa on the table beside the chair. A fat dollop of marshmallow cream had been added to the beverage, and Chuck was looking forward to taking a sip from it when he was finished with the chapter he was currently reading.

The gray fox’s ears flicked back as his cell phone began to ring. A glance at the screen and he swiped it to voice mail. There had been a number but no name, and he sensed no urgency about the call. If it had been important, they would leave a message.

Time passed, and he finished the chapter, judged the mug of cocoa had cooled just enough to be hot and still drinkable, and had raised the mug to his lips.

The phone rang again.

Chuck completed the sip – ahh, rich and creamy and hot – before he looked at his phone again as it continued to ring. Yes, it was the same number, and he felt his brush move.

Finally, it reached the requisite number of rings and went to voicemail. Chuck took another drink of the cocoa and waited. No icon popped up to alert him that he had voicemail. The fox sat back and took another deep swallow of his cocoa before opening his book to the next chapter.

He was partway through when the phone began ringing. Yes, the same number.

Chuck huffed an irritated breath through his nose and answered the call. “Yeah?” he said.

“Chuck Adams?” asked the disembodied voice.

“Who are you,” Chuck asked, “and why should I care?” He used his tone of voice to communicate clearly that his tolerance was close to reaching its end.

“Hello,” the man at the other end said. “I’m calling on behalf of A-One Realty about the property at,” and he rattled off the address of Chuck’s home, “and we’d be interested in selling your property as is.”

“Oh, would you?” Chuck asked, swishing his tail.

“Yes, we would,” the caller said.

“Fine,” and the fox sat up, his brush flagging about. “Here’s what it’ll take for me to put my signature on your papers. Ready?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Good. One million dollars, cash; your company pays all taxes, points, fees, et cetera, including the outstanding balance on my mortgage, and your company’s owner, boss, whatever, kisses my asshole – not my butt, the actual anus – in the middle of my town’s central park at high noon on the closing date.” Chuck paused for breath and asked sweetly, “Do you think you can match my offer?”

There was a brief silence. “Sorry to bother you, Sir. Have a good day.”

“I was, until you called.” Chuck ended the call and reached for the cocoa. Yes, it was still nice and warm.

He took another drink of his cocoa, switched his phone off, stuffed the phone under a pillow, and resumed his reading.

Gradually Chuck relaxed and began to enjoy the day once more.

Then the doorbell rang.

The gray fox slammed the book closed and looked up, his right eye starting to twitch.




end