Thanks for reaching out.
Yes, I’m interested in your one-week project, which you’ve described as a “sprint”—a fun euphemism for seven days of sheer panic.
When do you need me?
Darn, I’ll actually be on a cruise with my family that week, but I suppose I could find a quiet corner near the soft-serve machine to crack open my laptop.
What’s my day rate, you ask?
It’s steep—but commensurate with my over fifteen years of experience in a highly specialized field.
You don’t have the budget for that?
I see.
Well, in the interest of working together in the future, I will, as a courtesy, cut my rate in half this one time, knowing we’ll likely never work together again.
But it’s still worth it because, as a freelancer, I get to work remotely.
And by “work remotely,” I mean that I will graze the vast breakfast buffet until lunch and take an obnoxiously long and slightly rocky shower before opening a single work-related email.
What’s that?
You need me to come into the office for this project?
