Page 3 of Protecting Mr. Fine

We were the only three people in the cabin with the exception of the flight attendant, who was busy doing something inthe galley at the front of the jet. Since I was sitting behind the pair, I wondered if maybe they’d forgotten I was there because they began discussing financials using very specific and very large numbers.

Kenji’s voice was low and calm. “The original education fund in Barlo is growing faster than the fund manager expected. She wants you to consider splitting in two and possibly designating the second one as merit-based.”

“Instead of increasing the amount of need-based scholarships? I’m not sure, Kenji…”

“I told her you’d say that,” he said with a chuckle. “She said that the need-based applicants are fully covered at this time. But if you want to continue focusing on need-based kids, you can expand into the neighboring counties, or her team can research?—”

“Can’t we do both?” Zane asked. “I mean, didn’t we already talk about expanding into Terrell and Mitchell counties?”

Kenji’s dark hair flashed between the seats as he nodded. “Those funds have already been established, and the one in south Fulton is still running strong, especially with the corporate matching programs we have there.”

As they continued to discuss the scholarship funds, I learned that these were scholarships for kids in his home state of Georgia who were living in poverty. Instead of college scholarships, they were scholarships that fully funded elementary through high school projects, helping teachers with supplies, learning assessments, technology, field trips, and even additional teaching staff. His funds covered hot meals for all kids in those schools regardless of need, and he even made plans to visit each school once a year for a quick meet and greet to give the kids bragging rights.

Once he and Kenji had gotten through the topic of his education projects, Kenji went over contributions to local foster care systems in the cities where he was playing concerts.

Chest tight, I remembered the intel in Violet’s client file. Zane had lost both his parents to addiction. His father had been convicted of drug-related violence before dying in prison when Zane was inelementary school, and his mother had died of an overdose only a few months later. After that, he’d been raised by his grandmother and various other extended family members in a tiny town in Georgia.

I’d also learned that the town of Barlo, Georgia, had been dirt-poor until only a couple of years ago when Zane had begun funneling serious money into the town to revitalize it and bring much-needed jobs to the people there. Even his choice to use Barlo in his stage name had contributed to the town getting an influx of tourism money.

I’d had a pang of sympathy when I’d first read his story, as anyone would. Admiration, too, for what Zane had made of himself.

But that afternoon on the flight from LA to Toronto, listening to Kenji review what had to be millions of dollars in charity funds, I learned just how selfless and generous Zane Hendley was, and I…

I realized I didn’t just have a minor crush on Zee Barlow, the nice guy, killer performer, kick-ass singer, and hot single gay man who seemed to hook up with someone in every town he played.

I also genuinelylikedand respected Zane Hendley.

Which was kind of a problem since I’d resolved to keep my professional distance and not allow any feelings to sway me whatsoever.

Hubris cackled,I told you so.

Zane was the kind of man who would pay to fix a backstage crew member’s flat tire when he overheard the guy couldn’t fix it till payday. Who’d stay up all night making sure his closest friends heard his voice first thing on their birthday. Who fell asleep every day listening to an animal facts podcast because his hairstylist’s brother produced it. Who’d stop halfway through a perfect take to encourage his drummer to take a call from his kid. And who asked me—me, the guy who was supposed to be worried abouthim—before every single concert if I had a comfortable place to sit while he performed.

Was it any wonder I wanted to be around him all the time, to soak up his presence, to protect him for reasons that had nothing to do with my job?

And Zane Hendley needed my protection.

The man bordered ontoonice. Sometimes he was late taking the stage because he couldn’t walk away from someone whose feelings might be hurt if he ended a conversation abruptly, so I became the heavy, growling at him to get a move on before he disappointed his fans.

He also refused to be treated like the VIP he was. He insisted on rolling with any punches. He didn’t want his actions to negatively affect anyone, which meant he pretended to be fine when he wasn’t.

Hundred-degree fever and chills? He’d say he wasfineto perform the final long set in Detroit.

Suspected sprained ankle after slipping down a wet ramp? He wasfineto do that night’s choreography in Anaheim.

Giggling teenager tried to turn a selfie into a make-out session by kissing Zane’s cheek just before she snapped the pic? He wasfineto keep the meet and greet going and even dubbed meBear—a nickname that stuck and managed to hit me in the solar plexus every time he used it—when I snarled at the girl and confiscated her phone to delete the picture.

Learning that his grandmother needed an urgent heart cath procedure right before taking the stage in Munich? He wasfineto do the show… but could someone please arrange a quick flight home to be with her before the Zurich show in four days?

No matter what obstacles landed in his path, Zee Barlo made sure to tell everyone on his team he was fine.

But over time, I began to see thatZane Hendleywas not fine. Zane Hendley was bending over backwards to look out for everyone except himself. Zane Hendley was killing himself to make sure tobefine so that everyone else around him thrived. Zane Hendley was terrified of letting anyone down.

Zane Hendley was the walking definition of a person who set himself on fire to keep everyone around him warm.

And it began to make me angry. So angry, in fact, that I could no longer keep it to myself.

About six months after I started the job, hubris finally won.

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