Riley stood in front of Henry, Jenny, and Mark, taking in what they were telling him: all three of them sold on his client, and set on getting Ronan signed today. It caught him off guard, a pleasant kind of surprise, but the professional in him didn’t let it show.
"Alright. That’s what I like to hear." He gave them a nod. "I’ll take my client down to business affairs and get it handled right now."
Mark nodded back. "Good. Diane, down in business affairs, is already expecting you two to come settle the contract."
Ronan dipped into a bow and thanked him. Mark laughed and waved a hand, shooing him on his way, and with that the two of them left the room.
The moment they were out in the hall, Riley clapped a hand down on Ronan’s shoulder. "Good work in there, kid. Come on, let’s go get you paid."
Ronan fell in behind him, letting Riley lead, since the man clearly knew his way around the building.
* * *
Five minutes later, a floor down in the network’s business affairs office, Ronan and Riley sat across the desk from Diane Smith, the contract laid out between them.
"Before we sign, Ronan, I want you clear on how this is set up." Diane folded her hands on the file. "At your agent’s request, we’re bringing you on as a W-2 employee instead of an independent contractor. That means NBS carries you on payroll and withholds your taxes for you, so there’s no quarterly filing, no big bill in April, and no accountant to chase it all down. The catch is the number. Your fee’s $40,000 an episode, but after tax and CAA’s commission come out, the check reads smaller than that. I’d rather you hear it from me now than think we shorted you later."
Ronan nodded, relief plain on him. "That’s fine by me. I’ve never had an accountant, and sorting out my own taxes is the last thing I want. Even if the check’s lighter, I’ll take simple."
"That’s exactly why I set it up this way." Riley angled toward him. "First real deal, no business manager yet, he doesn’t need the paperwork on top of everything. Plenty of actors run it the same way, for what it’s worth."
Diane gave a small, dry nod. "As long as he knows. You’d be surprised how many open that envelope, see a number well short of what they signed for, and call me sure they’ve been robbed. I’d rather skip that."
"He won’t." Riley’s voice warmed. "First real payday in five years of trying. He’s not about to fuss over a tax line."
Ronan just smiled, warm and a little embarrassed, and let the two of them settle it.
They worked through the rest, Diane pointing him to each signature, and when the last was down she slid a check across the desk. $24,000.
Something rose in Ronan he couldn’t name. Real money, $24,000 of it, made out to him, sitting in his hand. He’d held checks off extra work before, a couple hundred dollars for a long day in the back of a frame. Never anything close to this. He kept his face together, but on the way out his fingers gave a small quiver he couldn’t still.
Riley clocked it, of course, and patted him on the back as they walked. "How’s it feel, kid? That’s $24,000 in your hand right there. Butterflies going yet?"
Ronan let out a breath. "Yeah..." Then, sheepish: "Is that embarrassing? Getting this worked up over a paycheck?"
"Nah, that’s normal." A chuckle rolled out of his agent. "First real check I ever landed, I felt like I’d made something of myself. $20,000 in commission off a client’s movie deal. Floated on it a whole week. And that was just my cut of somebody else’s job. You’re holding your own fee, kid. ’Course you’ve got butterflies."
That put something at ease in Ronan. He looked down at the money again. "With this, I can finally clear what I owe my landlord, and the bills behind it. And even after all that, I’m still sitting on around $20,000."
"That’s right." Something close to pride sat in it. "Welcome to having money, kid. Stick with me, and you’re not going back to how you were living. Those days are done."
"Thanks, Riley."
"So what’s the plan for it? Save it, put it to work?" Riley raised a hand before the kid could take it wrong. "Not sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. Just curious how you think."
Ronan huffed a laugh. "It’s fine. Fair question." He thought a second. "Some of it I’ll tuck away somewhere it earns a little interest. And... maybe I’ll finally buy a car."
"A car, huh?" A grin spread across Riley’s face. "Had it up to here with LA’s sorry excuse for public transit? Want your own set of wheels?"
"Pretty much." Ronan let out a tired breath. "A car would make the daily grind way easier. This city doesn’t put any thought into moving people around who don’t drive. I’ve half worn my legs off biking everywhere: the bar, the grocery store, whatever shift I picked up. Only place close enough to walk is Mr. Park’s."
Riley laughed. "What do you expect, kid? Car’s king in LA. Half the country, really. The car companies love us for it."
Ronan shook his head, a dry laugh working loose despite himself.
"Tell you what." The grin stayed on Riley. "How about I ride along with you to the dealership? Help you pick something out."
"I’d love that." Ronan brightened, then caught himself. "As long as it’s not putting you out?"
"Not even a little."
"So what would you point me toward?"
Riley looked him over a second. "Honestly? For you, I’d say something around $20,000."
Ronan’s eyes went wide. "$20,000? That’s way too much."
"Hey, don’t sweat it." Riley waved it off. "Remember what that check actually is. It’s an advance, and only on the one episode. You’ve still got eleven more coming that you haven’t seen a dime on yet. You’ll earn it back and then some, trust me."
Ronan turned that over. "...Yeah. I guess you’re right."
"And a car in that range?" Riley added. "It’ll still be running strong years from now. Money well spent, every dollar of it."
* * *
Downtown, that afternoon, Ronan and Riley walked into Angeles City Motor, and a salesperson was on them almost before the door swung shut. A young woman, and a striking one.
She had the look the city stamped on its own: sun-warmed skin, hair somewhere between honey and gold falling loose past her shoulders, and a bright, effortless prettiness she plainly knew what to do with. Trim, put-together, the kind of face that belonged on a billboard off the 101.
"Hi, I’m Samantha." She came up with a ready smile. "What can I do for you two today?"
"My client’s after a car." Riley kept it simple. "Budget’s $20,000."
Samantha nodded, thoughtful. "For that, I’ve got a good handful I can show you. And which one of you is the client?"
Riley tipped his head toward Ronan.
Her gaze moved to him, traveled over his face and frame, and caught there a beat too long before she reeled it back to business.
"Well, hi there. Nice to meet you." Samantha put the smile back up. "Can I get your name?"
"Hi. I’m Ronan."
"Ronan." She let it sit, something amused tugging at her mouth. "That’s a good one. You don’t hear it every day." A soft chuckle went with it.
Ronan just smiled back, easy and oblivious.
Off to the side, Riley caught the whole of it — the look that lingered, the chuckle, the way the woman had lit up the second she got a proper eyeful of the kid. He kept the laugh behind his teeth.
’This kid.’ He gave his head a small shake. ’Doesn’t have the first clue she’s into him.’
Ronan, for his part, only followed the saleswoman off.
She walked him through the lot: Honda, Toyota, BMW, a few others besides. He climbed into whatever caught his eye, turned the engines over, took a couple around the block.
By the end of it, he’d made up his mind. Honda.
"I think I’m going with the 2013 Honda Accord. The EX sedan." Ronan ran a hand along the roofline. "I can’t really explain it. Just feels worth the money. I sat in it and everything settled. Comfortable, and quiet, quieter than any of the others."
Samantha dipped her chin. "Good eye. If that’s the one, sir, I’m not going to talk you off it."
With Riley walking him through the paperwork, Ronan signed where he needed to and paid the car out.
And as the two of them were about to pull off the lot with it, Samantha came up to Ronan’s window one last time.
"If anything ever gives you trouble with it, you call me." She passed a small card through to him. "That’s my number. Direct line."
Ronan looked the card over and tucked it away. "Thanks. I’ll be sure to call if the car ever acts up."
Samantha nodded, a flicker of hope behind the smile. Then the Honda pulled out, and it was gone.
Riley looked over at his client, and for once the man had absolutely nothing to say.