Peerless Perverted Actor Has a Celebrity Harem?!

"How much?"

Evelyn Harcourt looked at Park with a calm expression: "For the Principal Client arrangement, 100,000 Cels per month."

Park stared at her, Evelyn waited.

"One hundred thousand."

"Yes."

"Every month?"

"That is generally how monthly retainers work for the package you want."

Park slowly lowered the document in his hand. "Do I get adopted by the firm at that price?"

She laughed. "No. We charge extra for emotional support."

Damn.

One hundred thousand Cels every month was not going to bankrupt him. That wasn’t really the problem. Park had grown up in this life surrounded by amounts of money that would have caused his old self to develop immediate chest pain, and the resources sitting behind his name made the fee perfectly manageable.

It still hurt in that primitive little corner of his soul where money remained money and six figures leaving an account every thirty days deserved at least a respectful funeral.

"Park, you get access, continuity and breadth." Evelyn folded her hands over the desk. "You pay one fixed retainer each month. Routine legal work within the agreed scope is covered. We do not start an hourly clock because you called me to ask whether a clause is dangerous, and you won’t receive a separate invoice every time Intellectual Property reviews a registration or Corporate prepares ordinary company documents."

That made Park feel slightly better.

Slightly.

Evelyn continued. Entertainment and Media would handle his agency relationship, recording agreements, acting representation, endorsement contracts and future project agreements. Private Client would deal with his personal commercial affairs and long-term asset structures once they became necessary. Corporate could establish and maintain his career company. Intellectual Property would protect his professional name, music and trademarks. Privacy and Reputation would become very useful the first time fame encouraged someone to treat his private life as community property.

AVC’s tax lawyers could coordinate with whichever accountant Park eventually chose, and Evelyn would remain the relationship partner sitting above all of it, which meant Park wouldn’t need to hunt through the forty-storey building every time his life found a new way to become legally annoying.

"What isn’t covered?"

"A major lawsuit requiring a litigation team for six months. Acquiring a large company. Selling a catalog worth hundreds of millions. A complex international restructuring. Criminal defense. Large regulatory proceedings. Anything sufficiently extraordinary that assigning twelve lawyers to you for three months would make the rest of the firm wonder whether they still worked here."

"Comforting."

"We would agree separate fees before substantial exceptional work begins."

"So if NX sends me a contract tomorrow?"

"Covered."

"An endorsement?"

"Covered."

"Someone steals one of my songs?"

"The ordinary enforcement work begins under the retainer. If it turns into three years of litigation involving twenty defendants and four countries, you’ll be receiving another conversation."

Park nodded. "Fair."

"If you call me at eleven at night because you’ve signed something without showing me first, however, I reserve the right to insult you free of charge."

"That should be listed as a benefit."

"It is one of our more exclusive services."

Park grinned... Evelyn slid a much thinner agreement across the desk.

"This is the Principal Client engagement. Read it."

Park did.

This time, his research actually helped but not enough to make him suddenly believe he could represent himself, because the previous hour had murdered that fantasy and buried it beneath several hundred pages of contractual vocabulary, but enough that the document didn’t look like encrypted scripture.

The identification was:

CLIENT: NATHANIEL PARK

That was it: no household, parent, agency or person with a larger title hovering above his shoulder.

Nathaniel Park.

The confidentiality section underneath made it even clearer. AVC represented him. Information related to his matters could not simply be handed to relatives, employers, agents, managers, companies or curious people with important surnames because they demanded it. Park could authorize disclosure where necessary:

Otherwise, his lawyer worked for him.

He read those paragraphs twice.

Evelyn noticed but didn’t interrupt.

For some reason, signing an entertainment contract had never felt quite as important as signing this little agreement.

Maybe because NX wanted a piece of what Nathaniel Park might become but this document simply established that somebody would be sitting on his side when everyone started asking for pieces.

Park picked up the pen.

"First payment is today?"

"Today, then on the same date each month."

He signed.

A hundred thousand Cels disappeared shortly afterward from his premium card with considerably less ceremony than Park thought such a sum deserved. His phone confirmed the transfer while Evelyn signed the firm’s portion, closed the agreement and placed it neatly to one side.

Then she looked at him: "Good." Park put his phone away. "You’re my client now."

That sounded strangely well.

Park’s smile became smaller and more genuine. "Good."

Evelyn pulled the NX contract back between them as though the sentimental portion of the afternoon had now exceeded its statutory limit.

"Next question. How much authority are you giving me?"

Park frowned. "Meaning?"

"Negotiation authority. Some clients want every change brought back to them before I answer. Others give me parameters and let me negotiate inside them. Neither approach is wrong. One is considerably slower."

Park thought about sitting beside his phone while Evelyn called because NX had moved an acting commission from nine percent to eight-point-five.

"No. Nothing gets signed without me, and if something materially changes, I want to know. But you don’t need to call me every time somebody moves half a percent."

"Good."

"I want final approval over everything."

"You will have it."

"And if you think I’m making a stupid decision?"

"I’ll tell you."

"What if I still want to make it?"

"I document that I advised you against it, then help you make the least stupid version available."

Park smiled. "We’re going to get along."

"That remains to be seen."

They spent the remainder of the afternoon deciding exactly what Park wanted before AVC ever contacted NX Arc.

The first thing Evelyn did was kill the idea of negotiating from fear: "You don’t begin at what you’ll reluctantly accept," she told him. "You begin at what you can reasonably justify."

For his masters, Park wanted forty percent.

Evelyn didn’t laugh:

"For releases fully funded and developed by NX, forty is aggressive for someone at your stage," she said. "Which does not make it useless. Your audition appears to have given you unusual leverage, and they are the ones trying to sign both careers before either has properly begun. We ask for forty."

"And where do you think we land?"

"Thirty to thirty-five would be a strong result on company-funded masters if the rest of the package remains favorable."

Twenty-five percent was the hidden floor the System would never allow NX to steal from him.

His writer’s share was easier.

"One hundred percent," Park said.

"Yes."

"No discussion?"

"None worth having. Your writer’s share remains yours. Publishing administration is negotiable. Ownership surrender is another conversation entirely."

NX could administer publishing for a reasonable percentage if it actually provided administration, collection and exploitation services, but Park would not casually hand them his songs forever because somebody booked a studio and ordered lunch.

Songs created for other NX artists would require separate agreements before delivery.

No automatic work-for-hire conversion, no blanket clause claiming everything Park wrote while signed. No compulsory songwriting quota. No clause quietly transforming a midnight melody recorded in his bedroom into corporate property because an NX employee happened to hear it later.

There was recoupment:

Evelyn drew a large circle around one section of the draft: "This dies."

Park leaned over. "That bad, huh?"

"It allows far too much discretion over what can be charged back against your music income."

They narrowed it to approved direct costs connected to his actual recording and release activity. Recording expenses, agreed producers, approved music videos, specifically authorized campaign expenses and other clearly identified development costs could be recouped where appropriate.

AVC office rent, executive lunches, vaguely described corporate overhead and whatever creative accounting creature crawled out from under a spreadsheet at three in the morning could find another victim.

Acting and music also wouldn’t subsidize one another.

If his first album cost too much, NX couldn’t casually reach into acting income to recover the deficit. If one film failed, his music royalties didn’t become the emergency fund.

"No cross-collateralization between careers," Evelyn said.

His initial term became another fight waiting to happen. Park wanted two years. Evelyn expected NX to push for considerably longer, especially after his audition.

"Three years is where I would be comfortable compromising if the exit protections are strong," she said. "A fourth year only through mutual agreement or a meaningful renegotiation triggered by performance milestones."

Park retained the final right to reject individual acting projects:

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