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“I can’t believe my son didn’t confirm tonight’s show with you!” he exclaimed, a self-deprecating smile on his face. “I swear, he has been a bit too big for his britches since getting back from Titan.”
He took a seat in Najette’s chair.
Panic-tinged rage fueled me as I spoke, my words deceptively calm. “Why did Najette say I have a contract?”
He frowned. “Because you do?”
My hand gripped the flier harder before I released it, letting it fall to the floor. “Show me.”
He nodded placatingly and placed his briefcase on the desk, his face disappearing from view as he opened it. I sat back in my chair, my brain working overtime trying to put the pieces together.
But really, I knew.
I knew.
And I still rebelled against it even as the forged signature on the page Terry produced confirmed it.
I glanced up at Terry and back down at the contract, which was somehow only one page long. That didn’t seem right.
The bulk of the words blurred together as I scanned it before studying the bottom of the page again. My apparent signature there was close but not from my own hand.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, channeling the best of my loved ones to get me through this. Opening my eyes, I leveled Terry with a stare.
The man I had, for a very brief time, thought might have been my father-in-law.
Thank you, fate, for intervening.
I tapped the page. “Explain to me the terms.”
“They're listed on there,” he said hesitantly, shifting in his seat.
My jaw ticked as I stared him down, my eyes watering from the force of the glare instead of repressed tears, thank goodness. It seemed I was currently past tears.
He shifted his large frame around in the chair for several seconds before he cracked and picked up the page.
“Signed on October 19th of this year, for the term of three years, you committed to a Lady Luck appearance every Friday and Saturday night for the duration of the off-season— the day after Labor Day through April 1st—with extra appearances per the discretion of the entertainment manager on every holiday and special event date, as recognized by Fortuna Casino & Resort.”
“And the compensation?” I asked flatly.
“Starting at $39,000 per year, salaried, to be re-evaluated at the end of the contract term.”
He looked rightfully uneasy at that. There’s no way that kind of salary could have been negotiated with anyone sane. I thought it through for a moment, replaying the events of the last two months before it clicked, and I sat up rod-straight in my chair. “What else?” It came out as nearly a whisper.
Terry produced a handkerchief from inside his suit jacket and wiped his brow. “That’s the bulk of it.”
“I don’t think it is.”
He was all hesitation, so I knew I was on the right track as I held out my hand.
He looked down at the paper as if he could dissolve it by mere will before handing it over, looking anywhere but at me.
I snatched it from his hand. Probably the first time I’d snatched anything in my life and had to bite back the urge to apologize.
It would be a miracle if I made it out of this building without throwing up again.
I scanned the document until it found the heading COMPENSATION AND BENEFITS. I passed over the measly salary and found what I needed.
I stood up from my chair, folding the contract and stuffing it into the pocket of my jeans, suddenly wishing I had some sort of business satchel or shiny briefcase to put it in so I didn’t feel like I was back in high school, carrying around an elaborately folded note from Cody.
