Gross Margin by Laurent Quintreau

Author:Laurent Quintreau
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781407093420
Publisher: Random House

7th circle: Castaglione

… patience, my angel, one day I will be yours as you will be mine, in me, and that day you will realise with icy horror that it’s too late, much too late to back out or consider a withdrawal, that’s right my angel, glance at your beloved sorceress, play the alpha male, get into role, head of the pack, leader of men, yet another whose mummy must have always been saying my son you are the most handsome, the cleverest, yeah right, just so you can behave in this pathetic, pathetic way, and this poor woman letting herself be tortured, a victim of her own incompetence, and she didn’t exactly get a good deal from mother nature either, she must be letting herself go, it’s her own fault if she won’t obey the rules, poor fool, I must say her mind resembles her body, twisted and discordant, she lashed out at me during the last breakfast briefing, about the deregulation of employment rights in developing countries, internationalists of the world unite, luckily no one was listening, I bet she votes socialist, and that brute Stoeffer knocked his coffee over, I won’t be inviting them next time, I’ll bring de Vals and Pujol, they may be completely incompetent but at least they know how to behave in company, after all I’m the one who organises the breakfast briefings, here we go, the idiot is asking her to account for the bad debts, taking advantage to give her an ultimatum, she has two months to get them all paid, otherwise he will be forced to undertake retaliatory measures, ha, it’s a battle of nerves, he wants her to resign, that kind of attitude is beyond me, humiliating someone else to establish one’s own power, that’s a particularly masculine perversion, men are pathetic, I’m with Valerie Solanas and the Queer Studies gang, we should neuter them all at birth, less testosterone, more peace, now there’s an idea, hey, I hope Jean-Christophe hasn’t been sick today, yesterday he brought up all his fish-flavoured crunchies, poor baby, it must have been to do with getting attacked at the weekend, my blood just froze when I saw that monster rushing towards him, my poor sweetheart, you fought valiantly but how could you beat an opponent ten times bigger than you, oh, I can see his master grabbing him by the collar and beating him with the leash while poor little Jean-Cri was lying on his side screaming his head off, dreadful, and then the stress of waiting at the vet’s, if he hadn’t survived I’d have taken out a contract on that moronic hound, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, I don’t understand how Françoise can take all this without saying a word, if I was her I’d have stormed out by now, but then I’m not her, in twenty years perhaps but not yet, that idiot is frightened of me, I can tell, he must somehow sense that

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