Eli pushed out a breath and held up his hands. “Okay.”
Pres and I peered across the table.
“Okay, what?”
“What’s the number?” Eli questioned.
“Five years, twenty percent off the top.”
Eli whistled. “You think you two are worth that much?”
“We’re worth more,” Preston said before I could.
“And my payout for each fight?” he asked.
“We’re probably looking at eighty to ninety thousand per fight for your first contract,” I answered.
“The fuck?” Eli yelled as he stood. “Eighty to ninety per fight? And I have to pay you twenty percent off the top and another ten to the coaches and training team, right?”
“That’s how it works,” Preston said. “Ninety is a solid number for a new contract.”
“Solid my ass. You aren’t the one getting fucked up in the cage,” Eli demanded.
“We’re both fighters,” Preston replied.
“Used to be,” Eli quickly retorted, looking between us both, frowning. “Neither one of you fights anymore.”
“Correction,” I interjected, “Preston is fully retired from fighting. I am not.”
Eli snorted. “Whatever. Ninety per fight ain’t enough. Not considering everyone who gets paid before me. And with what, only two fights a year, pretty much?”
“Two fights are more than enough,” I said. “This is only your first contract. Once you prove yourself, the league’s offer will be more.”
“Also, that’s base pay,” Preston added. “Your more lucrative deals will come in the form of sponsorships.”
“Which we’re already in the process of nailing down for you,” I said.
Eli was silent for a beat. A skeptical look appeared on his face.
“What’s the problem?” I asked. “You’re young, healthy, and just starting in this business. You’re not able to demand top dollar.”
“Especially with those two losses in your amateur career,” Preston added.
“Then what’s the point of all of this?” Eli demanded. Gone was the bravado he’d worn when he first entered the conference room.
“The point is you get a career doing what the hell you enjoy,” Preston said, his face reddening in irritation.
For all accounts, the deal we were offering Eli was one of the best for someone his age and with his experience. With two fights per year, his base salary would come in around $180,000. Yes, he would have to pay a significant portion to us as his managers and to his training staff, but he’d still make out pretty well, financially, if he kept his shit tight and didn’t overspend.
Plus, with the sponsors we could line up for him after his first or second fight, he could stand to make mid-six figures within the next two years.
“Two years? You expect me to wait two whole years?” he demanded after I explained all of this to him.
Both Pres’ and my patience were dwindling rapidly.
“This is a deal of a lifetime,” I said.
I couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t throwing himself at this opportunity. But Eli had dollar signs in his eyes. He was more concerned about the money than having a long-term career, it seemed.
