“I could take a look at it for you,” I offer. “If you want.”
Killian shrugs. “Knock yourself out.”
I slide off the bed and pad over to the counter, picking up the stack of papers and flipping through the first few pages.It’s dense, full of legalese and fine print, but the numbers start jumping out at me almost immediately.
…and they don’t look right.
I flip to the section outlining the payment structure, my frown deepening with every line I read.
There’s a breakdown of earnings, split between Killian and his manager, and the percentages are... wrong.
Extremely wrong.
“Killian,” I say slowly. “Does your manager always get double the amount you earn?”
“Hmmm?” He’s lying on the bed, eyes closed as if about to drift off. “What’re you talking about?”
“This contract.” I carry the papers over to him and point at the relevant section. He finally sits up for a glance. “According to this, Dez is getting fifty percent of the earnings from this sponsorship. You’re only getting twenty-five. The other twenty-five goes to your team and everybody else you employ.”
Killian squints at the page as if trying to make sense of it. I can tell from the frustration flickering across his face that the numbers aren’t clicking for him when he looks at the breakdown.
It’s not his fault. He’s mentioned before that numbers sometimes appear backward to him. Dez has obviously been taking advantage of that fact.
“I’ve never paid attention to how much Dez makes,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “The money’s never mattered to me. I just sign where he tells me to.”
“Well, itshouldmatter,” I say. “Killian, this isn’t right. You’re the one doing all the hard work in that ring. You’re the athlete, the star, the reason these sponsors are paying anything at all. Your manager shouldn’t be taking half your profits while you only get a quarter.”
His scowl returns, his jaw pulling tighter. “When you put it like that, stray….”
“Do you have copies of your other contracts?”
“Should be in there somewhere. Bottom drawer.” He’s jerked his chin toward the dresser against the wall. The one he keeps stuff like his underwear and socks in.
I cross over and pull open the bottom drawer, rifling through the mess of papers until I find a folder stuffed with old contracts and agreements. I carry the entire thing back to the bed and start spreading them out, scanning each one for the payment breakdowns.
What I find makes my stomach roil.
“Killian,” I say in disbelief. “It’s not just this one contract. It’sallof them.”
He leans over my shoulder as I point out the numbers on page after page. In some contracts, Dez takes fifty percent while Killian gets twenty-five. In others, the split is even worse—sixty-five percent to Dez, only twenty to Killian.
“That fucking weasel,” Killian growls, his hands curling into fists. “He thinks I’m too stupid to notice. Thinks I can’t do the math, so he can skim whatever he wants off the top.”
“You’re not stupid,” I say firmly. “He’s a con artist who’s been taking advantage of you. There’s a difference.”
“I’ll be paying him a visit to find out what the fuck this is about. Real soon.”
“You should. But please don’t put him in the hospital.”
His expression lightens slightly as he grabs my chin and drags my mouth over to his for a kiss.
“Always trying to be my conscience. He’d deserve it if he’s been cheating me this long.”
I can’t argue that point—if Dez really has been cheating Killian so blatantly, he would deserve some karma.
“You know what? You up for going out for dinner instead?” he asks. “I’m thinkingdinner and a movie.”
I smile. “I would like that. It’s been a while since we’ve hit up the Rialto.”
