Page 8 of Protecting Mr. Fine

My eyes zeroed in on the spot where Zane’s tan hand met Landry’s slightly paler skin with a laser-like intensity.

I immediately looked away, afraid Landry might have noticed me looking, though Zane hadn’t.

“Now they want me in Paris a full week before the shoot.” Landry threw himself into a chair and pouted, which I had to admit was not a bad look on him.

I was sure Zane thought the same… and I told myselfthatwas neither here nor there, either. Zane’s friend was tall and beautiful, as most fashion models were, and my principal was an even more gorgeous, openly gay man. It was only natural that there was an attraction there.

Even if they hid it when they were in public or with their other friends, I’d heard what Zane and Landry got up to behind closed doors.

And it was none of my business.

If I currently wanted to grab Landry, drag him away from Zane, and buy him a one-way ticket to… someplace populated by actual bears… that had nothing to do with my crush on my principal and everything to do with wanting Zane to focus on the very real security threat rather than on his friend’s modeling woes.

I inhaled a breath. “Folks, I’m going to need you to get the hell out of here. Zane needs to be moved now… and without an entourage.”

Landry side-eyed me. “It seems to me he’d be better protected if we walked as a large unit circled around him to keep the riffraff at bay.”

I could just imagine the janky-ass circle these fuckers would attempt. It bore absolutely no resemblance to anything taught in a close-protection skills course. “A ball cap disguise will do a better job of getting us out of here without drawing attention than a circle of hot rich men. No offense.”

Landry flicked his long, blond hair over one shoulder and sniffed. “None taken, obvs.”

Zane peered at me and tried to fake a grin as if he was super chill and not at all affected by the target stamp. “You think my friends are hot?”

I saw right through his “fine-ness” as I always did. Zane was terrified that someone had gotten close enough to ink that target on him, and I felt the twist of guilt deep in my gut.

I hadn’t been there with him in that moment it had happened. I’d let myself get distracted by Noelle and her incessant attempts to reconcile with her former client.

“Hot like too much wasabi, hot,” I grumbled. “The kind that makes you sweat and want to die at the same time. Let’s go.”

As I waited impatiently, Zane said goodbye to his friends.

I reached for Zane’s arm and felt his muscles contract. Now was not the time to be distracted by his biceps and the feel of his warm skin on my fingers. There wasnevera good time for that.

I handed Zane the ball cap I kept as a makeshift “disguise” for him and spoke into the radio using our prearranged code. “Lou, coming out west-side door in three. All clear?”

“Copy. Clear to the vehicle. Echo Delta.”

Zane moved a little closer to me as we headed for the door leading from the backstage area to the staging lot outside, where the SUVs would be idling. Ed Hilton always drove the second vehicle, so we would head straight for that one this time.

Zane finished stuffing his long hair into the cap and tilted his face down. He’d already changed out of his sweaty Majestic Rocks T-shirt and into a clean black T-shirt with no markings. I threw a plain black windbreaker over his shoulders and nudged him to put his arms in it. Not only would the windbreaker help hide his recognizable tattoos, but it would also cover more skin to keep any happy-stamper from getting easy access to him again tonight.

Lou’s voice came over the radio. “West-side door still clear.”

She and I had worked together long enough that we both knew this meant the east entrance.

“Coming out.” I opened the east-side door and pressed my hand against the small of Zane’s back as I guided him out. The staging lots were supposed to be free of any fans, but I’d learned long ago that there were always fans among the backstage crew and facility people who were authorized to be in these restricted areas.

“Straight to Ed,” I murmured. “Second vehicle.” Zane’s nod was jerky and mostly covered by the ball cap. His chin was tucked down, and I felt the stress coming off him in waves. “Almost there.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

“Right.”

I opened the SUV door just as someone off to our left shouted, “Zee! Can we get some autographs! Zee! Over here!”

Once he was identified by a fan on the far side of a chain-link barrier, others nearby began to scream and shake the fence, creating a cacophony. Facility security personnel moved over to quiet the crowd and protect the fence’s integrity while I basically shoved Zane into the vehicle and lunged in after him.

“Let’s go, Ed,” I called.

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