"So, we should talk."
You nodded solemnly, "Yeah, we should."
"It's...it started good, everything you wanted was in there, but it's gotten bad, Y/n," He never seemed so serious before, "It's hard to believe."
You ducked your head, playing with your fingers in your lap as you sat across from your brother in Stark Tower, "Thanks for looking into it."
"I picked you out some lawyers," He continued, his tone lighter, "Some real ruthless sons of bitches and I had them sign NDAs so this wouldn't come out until you're ready," You peered up at him at that with confusion – you had told him you wanted to deal with this from within, not publicly, but then he quickly cleared up, "To confront Johnny."
"Oh. Right. Yes."
"I know you don't like confrontation, Y/n," He sighed, burying his face in his hands with a groan, "But he's been using you like a cash cow for his shady shit since like a year after you signed with him. If that."
"How bad is it really?" Your voice came out small and you knew you'd have to work on it.
"He gets twenty percent," He told you, but you knew that already, "He's supposed to use that money to pay people like the three stooges you call bodyguards, your stylist, photographer, nutritionist, on and on," He waved his hand around, "Because twenty percent of the millions you're constantly raking in is a lot, but as a manager, he manages your money for the most part. He's even supposed to be paying your accountant – thing is, he's been pocketing the twenty percent and using your money to pay everybody."
"So," You were trying to wrap your head around this because, you know, you left school at an early age and you didn't really look at the bank stuff all that often – as in rarely ever, "Say I make a total of three hundred thousand dollars per concert I-"
He laughed loudly at that, cutting you off, and you furrowed your eyebrows with a frown, "Oh, baby sis, that's adorable," He teased, and you huffed before, "You're making three million dollars every performance you go out, shake some ass, and sing like you're alone in the shower."
You gaped at him, and you could see a flash of sadness in his eyes, "What? I'm making that much just for performing?? How is that possible! How come I'm doing brand deals and campaigns and having to fight with my merch team about high prices when – but that means..." You let it sink in as you slumped back in your seat, your eyes darting across the edge of his desk while your mind raced, "Tony...I..."
"You make more in a year than dad does in three and he hates it." He joked, secretly loving how you both have 'sensitive' relationships with Howard.
You could feel yourself getting angry when you concluded, "And Johnny's been collecting twenty percent for himself."
"Which is exactly why I'll be more than happy to sue his ass for everything he's taken over the past five or so years – plus, damages, of course," He smirked, and you looked up at him defeatedly because you felt like such a fool, "Hey. You didn't know. It's not your fault, okay?" His voice was softer, and you nodded, then he added more smugly, "But people are gonna learn that nobody fucks with a Stark and is the only one to get off."
You snorted a laugh, "No brain to mouthhole filter."
"You're the one saying 'mouthhole'." He deadpanned and you made a face, not knowing what the problem was, as you got up to leave, "Oh, and Y/n?" He was looking at his phone as you turned back to him with raised eyebrows, "We really gotta talk about that other thing."
"What other thing?" You sighed dramatically, "I love you Tony, but I can only stand so much of you before I need a break."
"Shut up," He smirked, "And I'm talking about your tech stage problems. The stuff with the paparazzi too," He glanced up at you as you looked away uncomfortably, "It's alright, but some big boss dude caught on and he came in asking questions."
"I don't know how it happened." You admitted honestly.
He waved it off, "One thing at a time. Tell Johnny you know and you're coming for him – I'm watching all his transactions and I want to see the asshole panic and clench up."
"Ew. You did that one on purpose."
"I never don't do things on purpose."
"I hate you."
"Enjoy Italy with your side piece!"
"Can't be a side piece if she's the only one I've got!" You shouted back as you left, but you ran into someone as you did, "Oh, shit, excuse me."
"No trouble," His deep voice assured, "Nice to see you again, Y/n Stark."
You furrowed your eyebrows, not recognizing him, but then just gave a polite smile before heading down the hall – you meet so many people, usually you're good at keeping track – as you shrugged it off.
After talking with Tony, you felt good and confident enough in the moment to talk to Johnny about what's been going on. You didn't want to lose your nerve with time, and you had invited Natasha to Italy with you a few days ago on your third date when you two snuck into a movie theater to see a screening of Pretty in Pink, ending up in her lap halfway through. Anyone who's not a Molly Ringwald fan can suck a dick.
She said yes, but she wanted you to meet her friends first, so you agreed to stay over at her sister Yelena's place for the night so you could meet Bruce, Clint, Sam, Carol, and Steve. It didn't really surprise you that most of her friends were guys considering the field she trained in was dominated by them and since you knew she was a whole fruit bowl, you really just had to worry about this Carol person. You're quite pathetic when you're jealous. And you get jealous easily. You just would never tell her that. Shit. She probably knows. But hey. She agreed to go to Italy, so she obviously likes your buns.
"There you are!" The person you were both looking for and hoping to not find appeared out of the elevator up ahead and you should really force him to use the stairs because elevators held a special place in your heart, "Flying off to Italy, I hear! Good," He tried to come off joking when he waggled his finger at you with a forced menacing look, "Don't come back without an album ready to go, alright? I told Greg and Patty you'd be there, and they agreed to meet you at the studio whenever you're ready."
You frowned, "The studio is in my house. And I'm on holiday."
"Yeah, but there's a side entrance." He waved it off, ignoring the second part, but you couldn't blame him for that because you were constantly writing lyrics, between shows, on holidays, on airplanes – whenever the mood struck.
"Johnny, I know."
"Well," He scoffed with a smile, a bit of sweat by his brow, "I would hope so. It's your house."
"Not about the goddamn door – about the money!" You didn't mean to shout, drawing some eyes, but you didn't regret it either, and you felt sick when his face drained of color, confirming what Tony had told you.
"I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. But you signed a-"
"A contract, yeah," You nodded, "But see the thing is, is that while I owe your label another album, you've been stealing from me. For years. I've given you millions – the mansion, the cars, the designer clothes, jewelry, watches, all of it. So," You straightened your posture, "I'm going to sue you for it back and in case it wasn't obvious, you're fired."
He huffed a dark laugh, "If you fire me, I'll ruin you. Nobody will host a faggot for anything. I'll leak something about a drug and sex addiction along with it and they'll eat up that excuse – you've been in this business long enough to know everyone behind closed doors aren't into people like you. I'll take you down with one phone call and you'll never play stadiums again under any label, with any management support."
A smile slowly curled at your lips, and he looked a mix of shocked and confused as you leaned forward to whisper with a mischievous glimmer in your eyes, "Oh, I'm counting on it."
