21. Chapter 18
Sloan
“This is not a fucking negotiation, Sloan.” Tanner yelling on the phone is not the way I wanted to break the high I was feeling when I woke up this morning after the best makeout session of my life.
“I’m not doing a puff piece on Jax,” my voice, still coated in sleep, is a cross between a laugh and disgust that I don’t recognize.
“No one said anything about a puff piece.”
“You just said you want me to run a series on Jax. Show Mango Bay all he has to offer, talk about his sex appeal, extreme talents, and lean into his charm. That’s a puff piece, Tanner.
” I blow out a breath and continue before he has a chance to object.
“You know what things like that can do to an athlete. That’s why you never let me participate in interviews like that as a player. ”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Sloan. You need to lean into his success in your interviews, not hide from it.” As always, his ill intentions are cloaked in an encouraging facade.
“You are insufferable. That’s literally the opposite of what you said a few days ago.
I refuse to create a situation where fans get an exploited look at him, build unrealistic expectations that he can easily disappoint, and build audience fatigue.
No, Tanner.” I’m firm in this decision. I will not let him ruin Jax.
“I don’t think you understand how this works, Sloan. I’m your production manager, and I have to sign off on all the interviews you do.”
“Well, you can’t sign off on an interview that doesn’t take place,” I say, hanging up the phone and slamming it down.
I pace the room in frustration for a total of ten seconds before picking it back up and calling Ali. Luckily, she answers right away.
“Hey,” she says with sleep still evident in her voice.
“What exactly does Tanner have control over when it comes to interviews?”
“Hang on.” I hear a shuffling noise, and then her voice again. “What do you mean? I need more information.”
“He called me and told me I have to do a puff piece on Jax. I said no. He said he has to sign off on all interviews.”
She sighs, “Ok. First of all, a puff piece will not only ruin his image, it will also destroy your credibility. Second, when we met with the management team last week to amend this, they said he got final approval on all interviews before you filmed them, which is why you didn’t have to change the language in your contract.
We can’t force you to cover stories. That would be grounds for a rewrite because it changes the integrity of the show.
Tanner having final approval ensures that the interviews align with the company’s vision. That’s it.”
“So he can’t make me?” Relief rushes over me, but doesn’t stay long.
“No, but he can keep you from doing…well, anything else. He just needs to justify why it doesn’t align with the company, and that wouldn’t be hard to do.”
“Would he do that? Wouldn’t that kill his chances of moving up?” I ask, panic in my voice.
“Yes, yes it would. So he won’t do that, but he’s trying to scare you into letting him have control.” She sounds so sure, but it doesn’t calm my nerves.
“Why?” The question is just as much for me as it is for her.
“Sloan,” her voice is suddenly urgent, and it makes my throat constrict. “Do you have a copy of your contract that was transferred to him after you got hurt?”
“Of course. Why?” I ask, not liking where I think this is going.
“You were dating when you signed that, right?” I hear her moving around, and it makes me uneasy.
“Yes. I thought we were going to get married. Why?” My words are abrupt, not knowing where else to place my frustration and anxiety.
She doesn’t answer me, I just hear frantic typing on the other end.
“Ali,” she takes a breath before answering.
“Do you think Jax would be willing to compare your contract to his?” Her question is sharp and clinical, and I don’t like it.
“I don’t want to ask him to see his contract. That’s none of my business.” Tears sting my eyes, and I don’t even know why.
“You don’t have to see his, but I need him to look over his and then look at yours as it stands now.”
“Ali, what is going on?” My knees get weak, and I have to brace myself against the wall to stay standing.
“When you signed over your contract, control defaulted to Tanner. I think it was, in theory, a way to protect the money you got from the Moonshines, but…” Her voice trails off.
“Are you looking at my contract? How do you have access to it?” I curl into myself on my couch, feeling betrayed by her. I thought I could trust her.
“No, I’m looking at mine. Particularly the part that outlines the restrictions and obligations in connection with BKC and the other show I help produce.”
That brings me a small bit of relief before my anxiety spikes back up again, “What’s different?”
“I can’t tell you that, Sloan, but I need you to look into the clause in your contract for the reversions.”
“For what?” I clarify around the lump in my throat.
“What happens if you get fired?”
I rush over to my computer and open the files containing my contract with the Moonshines and the one that was transferred to Tanner. I split my screen and scan both documents until I get to the reversion clause.
Frantically, I look them both over a few times before talking. “They look exactly the same. I don’t understand.”
She takes a heavy breath, “That’s what I was afraid of. What do they say about free agent status transfer?”
Again I scan the document, not fully understanding what she’s getting at.
“It says: The athlete is considered a free agent after the terms of the contract have been fulfilled, or if the organization or any employees violate any terms of the contract.”
“Ok. What happens if they terminate the contract for any reason?” she asks.
My eyes frantically continue reading, but tears are making it hard to focus on the text, “The organization can terminate the contract at anytime given sufficient evidence that the athlete is not fulfilling the obligations of the contract, is involved in unlawful or suggestive behaviors, engage in public or private affairs that do not align with the organization, or fail to conduct themselves in a collaborative, professional, and respectful manner.”
I feel like I’m being thrown into an ice cold bath. “He’s baiting me. He’s starting fights with me so he can terminate my contract, isn’t he?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Sloan, what happens if they, the rights holder, terminate the contract?” Her words are more hurried.
I begin to cry, and I can’t stop my voice from shaking. “There is a clawback clause.” I swallow. “I owe back any signing or performance bonuses paid,” I summarize.
Tanner and I shared a lawyer when this was written, so it never occurred to me to have it reviewed. We were living together, dating—getting married one day.
“I got my injury settlement after we signed everything, and Tanner signed it back over to me as a bonus, claiming it would be taxed differently. Plus all the bonuses I’ve made doing BKC.”
“Sloan,” she says my name, trying to comfort me, but it’s no use.
“Ali, I’m not asking Jax to compare our contracts. That feels gross.” I shake my head as if she can see me through the phone.
“Babe, I don’t think you need to after reading all that. I think you need to get a lawyer to help you find a loophole.”
I shake my head, “I did. He used the same language as the Moonshines. There isn’t one. I need to play nice and get him to violate the terms somehow.”
That’s what Daddy would have said to do.
“Sloan, you need to talk to your lawyer,” she tries to reason with me.
I finally ask the question that’s been gnawing at me for the past few minutes. “What did your paperwork say… that… made you ask about my contract?”
“It said to report any difficult or unprofessional behavior.” She lets out a shaky breath.
Fighting with your boss. Check.
Refusing to cover stories. Check.
Fraternizing with a player. Check.
“Ali, I have to go.” I hang up the phone without waiting for a response and curl into a ball, unable to protect myself from the pain Tanner caused—again.