“Ray’s been waiting since ten o’clock.” Will flipped his arm to reveal his watch. “Only ten minutes.” They should have let the man stew for an hour. “Remember, I want to be the one to fire his ass.” Because he’d been the one to hire him. It had seemed like a good choice at the time, but a year ago, Ray Passal’s work ethic had nosedived. In the worst possible way.
“I know you’re pissed. I am, too,” Daniel said, his voice as crystal clear as his image on their state-of-the-art conferencing equipment. For the meeting, he’d tamed his unruly wavy hair and donned a suit jacket over his big shoulders. “But we don’t want to deal with the lawsuit if you beat the crap out of him. Even though he definitely deserves it.”
“Spoilsport,” Sebastian said, lounging in his chair.
“Personally,” Matt said, “I’m willing to pay for a ringside seat.”
They all knew Will had been the fighter, even if he hadn’t had a physical knockdown since he was sixteen, and he had to admit his blood was up today, itching to pound Ray into the plush conference-room carpet.
Instead, he asked Evan, “What’s the latest report?”
A couple of days ago, Evan had discovered that the majority of the deals Ray was claiming commission on weren’t Ray’s at all—at least, not for the past year. He was stealing sales from the people who worked for him. More specifically, he was bullying his sales guys into splitting commissions and giving him credit for their work.
“I’ve identified eight deals in the last year. Nothing prior to that.” Evan had meticulously checked every project Ray had been involved in. “Carstairs reported working with Martin on the Castaway Ridge project. Hanson dealt with Barry on Midland.” The list was long, all major multimillion-dollar deals. “And of course, there was Headley on La Verne. He worked with Drucker.”
The La Verne transaction had been Evan’s first discovery when he’d spoken with Headley, who’d offhandedly mentioned he’d never met Ray Passal, despite the fact that Ray’s signature was on the paperwork. He’d dealt exclusively with Drucker and was so impressed with the young sales guy’s abilities that he’d told Evan the man deserved a bonus. When Drucker was questioned, he’d said Passal had made him sign a contract the first day of his employment, splitting all commissions fifty-fifty with Ray because, supposedly, all the leads came from him. It was take it or leave it, sign or lose the job.
That was total bull. None of the Mavericks had ever approved such a contract. And the leads hadn’t come from Ray. He was a bully with a pen and an authority complex.
Which pushed all Will’s buttons.
Will had taken a short, fast ride in his Lamborghini Miura this morning to work out his tension before the confrontation, but his gut was still simmering with anger. He’d wanted to see Harper, drink in her sweet scent, steep himself in her like a balm. But he knew he couldn’t let her see him like that, all keyed up and ready to rumble. He couldn’t let her guess at the Road Warrior still lurking inside.
Yet somehow, just the thought of her eased the churning in him. Enough for him to breathe, to close his eyes a single moment, and feel the touch of her hand on his arm. And help him calm down enough to act rather than react.
“We’ll start with Headley, Drucker, and the La Verne deal,” he said.
Sebastian grinned, but it was a smile that promised retribution. “Since we’ve got a fox in the henhouse, let’s play cock of the walk with him.”
Will hit a button on the intercom, buzzing their executive assistant to usher Ray in. The man who entered was forty-five, but today he looked ten years older, his jowls sagging with the extra pounds he’d put on.
“Hey, Will.” His gaze jittered nervously around the room and up to Daniel’s face on the video screen. “I didn’t realize everyone would be here.”
“It’s an executive meeting. That means all of us.” Daniel hard-eyed the guy with a laser-sharp gaze.
“Sit,” Will commanded.
There was only one chair on the opposite side of the table. Sebastian had lowered it so that when Ray faced them, he looked like an overgrown kid in a child’s seat. He couldn’t even rest his elbows on the table.
“What’s up, guys?” Ray was trying for friendly, but Will could hear his fingernails tapping on the arm of his chair.
Will simply said, “La Verne.”
Evan opened a folder in front of him, withdrew a stapled sheaf of papers, and shot the package across the table. “The contract.”
Ray barely caught it before it hit him in the chest.
“Your signature is on the last page,” Daniel said, his crisp voice echoing out of the screen.
“Ah, yes,” Ray said slowly, hesitantly, his face reddening.
“And you took half the commission,” Matt added, specifically avoiding the word earned.