Web Design Contract Red Flags Worth Arguing About

A web design contract is usually four pages and nobody reads page three. That's where the trouble lives. Not in dramatic language — nobody writes "we will hold your site hostage" — but in small omissions that only matter later, when you want to leave, or when the project has been "almost done" for five months.

I'm not a lawyer and this isn't legal advice. For anything over a few thousand dollars, or anything with a multi-year term, pay a lawyer an hour to read it. That hour is cheaper than the dispute. What follows is what to look for before you get that far, based on contracts small business owners get handed every week.

The domain gets registered in the agency's name

This is the one that causes the most damage and the least noise upfront. The contract says the agency will "handle domain registration." Fine. But "handle" can mean they register it with their own company as the registrant, their email as the admin contact, in their own registrar account.

Years later you want to move. Now the thing your customers type into their phone belongs to someone you're in a disagreement with. Transfers require the current registrant to approve them. If the relationship ended badly, or if the agency simply stopped answering email, you're stuck.

Ask for this instead: the domain is registered with your business as the registrant and your email address as the admin contact. You hold the registrar login. The agency can have access as a technical contact. If you're not sure what your current setup looks like, this walkthrough shows you how to check who actually owns your domain in about five minutes.

Hosting you can't leave

Many agencies host the sites they build. That's reasonable — it's easier for them and often easier for you. The red flag isn't hosting. It's hosting with no exit.

Watch for a contract that doesn't say what happens to your site files if you cancel. Some say nothing at all, which means you're negotiating from zero at the worst possible moment. Others are explicit that the site is "licensed" to you while you remain a hosting customer, which means the thing you paid to build evaporates the day you stop paying monthly.

Also watch for proprietary platforms. If the agency built your site on a system only they can run, there is nothing to export even if everyone is friendly about it.

Ask for this instead: a clause that says on termination, for any reason, you receive a complete copy of the site files and database within a stated number of business days — ten is normal — at no additional charge. And ask directly, before signing: "If I leave, can another developer run this site?" A yes that comes with hesitation is a no.

No definition of done

Most stalled projects aren't stalled because someone is lazy. They're stalled because nobody wrote down what finished looks like, so it never arrives.

A contract that says "design and build a modern, responsive website for your business" has defined nothing. How many pages? Is the online ordering system in scope or is it "phase two"? Does the price include migrating your old blog posts? Does it include setting up the contact form to actually reach your inbox?

Ask for this instead: a page-by-page list in the contract or an attached scope document the contract references. Name the pages. Name the integrations — booking system, POS, payment processor, email list. Name what isn't included, because that's the half people argue about. If the proposal is vague, the price is vague too, which is one of the reasons three quotes for the same job can differ by thousands.

"Unlimited revisions"

This sounds generous. It is usually the opposite.

Unlimited revisions with no definition of a revision and no timeline means the agency has promised something they cannot afford to deliver. One of two things happens. Either they get slow and unresponsive once the project goes past profitable, or they quietly define "revision" so narrowly that changing your homepage headline counts as new work.

A bounded number is more honest. Two or three rounds of feedback per page, with a stated turnaround, tells you the agency has thought about how long this takes.

Ask for this instead: "Two rounds of revisions per page. Each round delivered within five business days of receiving your consolidated feedback. Additional rounds billed at $X per hour." Now you know what you're buying and they know what they're selling. You can also ask what happens after launch — a lot of small changes come up in week one, and a contract that includes a 30-day post-launch fix window saves an awkward conversation.

Content due from you, with no deadline

This is the clause that's missing rather than present, and it's the most common reason a six-week project takes seven months.

The agency needs your menu, your service descriptions, your staff bios, your photos, your hours. You're running a business. The content sits on your to-do list. Nobody has agreed when it's due, so nobody chases it, and the project quietly dies.

The flip side: some contracts set a content deadline and then say the project is deemed complete and fully billable if you miss it. That's too far the other way.

Ask for this instead: a content checklist with a due date, and a stated consequence that isn't nuclear. Something like: if content isn't delivered within 30 days of the kickoff date, the project timeline shifts accordingly and the agency may invoice the milestone to date. You want a deadline that creates pressure on you — because it will — without handing them a reason to walk away with your deposit.

Also check who writes the words. Many contracts assume you do. If you thought you were buying copywriting and the contract says "client provides all content," find out now.

Auto-renewing terms with a short cancellation window

Monthly maintenance and hosting agreements often renew for another full year unless you cancel within a narrow window — thirty days before the anniversary, in writing, by registered mail. Miss it and you've bought another twelve months of a service you'd decided to stop.

These clauses aren't evil. They're just designed so that doing nothing favours the vendor. The fix is simply knowing the dates.

Ask for this instead: month-to-month after the first year, cancellable with 30 days' notice by email. If the agency wants an annual commitment, ask for a renewal reminder clause — written notice to you 60 days before the renewal date. Any agency comfortable with their own service will agree to remind you.

Two more lines worth reading

IP assignment. Look for language that says ownership of the design and custom code transfers to you on final payment. "On final payment" is fair. "Agency retains all rights" is not, unless you knowingly bought a template licence.

Payment schedule tied to milestones. Deposit, design approval, launch. Avoid schedules where the final payment is due before you've seen the finished site.

Before you sign

Read page three. Print it if you need to. Mark the six things above and ask about each one in a single email — a good agency answers in a paragraph each, without getting defensive. If the answers are vague or the tone shifts, that's your information.

Then, if the number is meaningful to your business, have a lawyer read it. Contract review for a standard services agreement is not expensive and it is the cheapest insurance in this entire process.

If you're still shortlisting, the questions in this list are worth asking before you get to the paperwork — they'll tell you which contracts you even want to see. And if you want a read on how a Toronto web agency should structure a small-business engagement, our own terms are plain-language for exactly the reasons above: you own the domain, you own the site, and you can leave.