A Loving Light
Copyright© 2026 by Marc Nobbs
Chapter 14: What’s In It For Me?
“What a game!” Sam said as we stepped out of the hotel and into the Georgia sun. “What a result! History!”
Two cars were waiting for us under the canopy outside the St Regis lobby. Two big, black Cadillac Escalades. The damn things were even bigger than the ridiculous Range Rovers the posh boys from the villages on the outskirts of Micester liked to drive.
Thomas, the same driver who had picked us up at the airport and driven Ben and me here, was standing by one car, impeccably dressed in a black suit, white shirt and black tie. I didn’t recognise the identically dressed driver standing by the other car.
“Chloë,” Sam said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you ride back with Adebenayo? Get to know him a little. Paul, you ride with me. Give us a chance for a private chat.”
Chloë smiled her movie-star smile. “Of course.” She walked up to Ben and linked her arm with his. “Come on, Ben, you can tell me all about that speech at the director’s meeting Marie mentioned in our group chat.”
Ben shot me a panicked glance before his professional mask fell back into place.
Sam looked at me and grinned. “I’ll apologise to him later.” He gestured towards his car. “After you.”
I climbed aboard the enormous SUV—and I mean that literally, it had a step on the outside of the car to help you into it—and settled into one of the plush cream leather seats. Sam settled into the separate seat beside me, and the driver closed the door behind him, sealing us in a cocoon of quiet, luxurious privacy. A few moments later, we pulled out of the driveway and into traffic. The city slid smoothly past the tinted windows, letting us see the world while keeping it from seeing us.
“So, Paul,” Sam said after a few minutes, “How are you doing? I hear that the past couple of months, since we first met in London, have been a bit crazy for you.”
I gave him a half-smile. “You could say that.”
He chuckled. “Well, get used to it, son. This world you now occupy isn’t just high-stakes and high-reward, it’s crazy as hell. I don’t think you ever really get used to it. What you really need is someone to keep you grounded. Keep you from getting too big for your cowboy boots.” He paused. “Someone who will tell you when you’re being a dick.”
“And you have that?”
He nodded. “I’m lucky. I married my sweetheart—my Georgia Sweetheart—before things got too wild.” He paused. “You’ve still got time to find yours.”
“You think so?”
“Oh, I know so.” He sighed. “I built a good team around me, too. People I trust, not just ‘Yes men.’ That’s important, you know. Having people who will say ‘no’ when you need to hear it.”
I nodded. “I get that.”
We fell silent for a few more minutes until Sam said, “Have you appointed a Rep yet?”
I looked at him and said, “Huh?”
Even in the presence of Hollywood royalty, I still managed to say something that made me sound both ignorant and stupid.
“A tour rep. Your representative on the tour.”
“Isn’t that who we’re going to interview now?”
Sam shook his head. “No, that’s the tour manager.”
“Exactly. That’s the person who’s going to manage the whole tour for me.”
“No,” Sam said, firmly but with the same kindly smile you give to an eight-year-old who has just told you the reason it gets dark at night is that the sun goes to bed. “The tour manager works for the artist, not the promoter.”
“But I’m paying them.”
“Indirectly.”
“What do you mean?”
He thought for a second. “The deal you’ve negotiated with Kayla’s management is a guarantee or split, right?”
I nodded.
“What’s the guarantee amount?”
“Seventy-five thousand per show.”
He frowned. “Seems high. What’s the split?”
“Sixty-five to her, thirty-five to me.”
He nodded. “Wow. That’s a hell of a deal. Adebenayo negotiate that for you?”
I nodded. “Ben and Amiee.”
“You should thank them. They’ve done a hell of a job. Trading a high guarantee for that split in your favour is smart. I’d have expected seventy, thirty at most and more likely eighty, twenty. They’ve done well. Really well.”
“Why do you keep using his full name?”
He smiled. “Ben is a sharp-suited lawyer from a fancy office in Soho. I prefer to speak to the man who grew up on the streets of Brixton.”
“So, it’s a power thing? You’re letting him know you see him as the boy from Brixton, not the man he is now.”
“It’s a respect thing. ‘Ben’ is a lawyer. Adebenayo is the man who survived the struggle to become a lawyer. It’s the name he felt he couldn’t use growing up for fear of ridicule or worse. When I use his full name, I’m telling him I see the real man, the man behind the mask. And that I appreciate just how hard he’s worked to get where he is. Or to put it another way, I hear you, Adebenayo. I see you. And I get it.”
“And you think he knows that?”
Sam nodded. “Trust me, coming from someone like me, someone who understands the struggle ... he knows.”
I nodded. “Okay. Fair enough. But what’s Carly’s ... I mean, what’s Kayla’s fee got to do with the tour manager?”
He took a breath and frowned. It felt to me like he was working out how best to explain something complicated to someone with no industry knowledge.
“Think of it this way ... As the promoter, you are doing everything necessary to put on a show in a city. You’re renting the venue, selling the tickets, and ensuring that customers and performers have refreshments and bathroom facilities. You’re advertising the show and doing everything you can to pack out that auditorium. Essentially, your job is to provide the stage and the audience.
“You’re then contracting an artist, to put on the actual show. That fee, either the guarantee or the split, is the contracted payment to for providing the show. You’re not paying Kayla to sing a few songs on stage; you’re paying her LLC to do everything it needs to do to put on the show.”
I nodded. “Okay ... I still don’t see how that relates to the tour manager. Aren’t I paying them to do all that other stuff you talked about—the advertising and the merchandise and catering and stuff?”
He shook his head. “No. The tour manager’s job, their only job, is to make sure that Kayla and everyone else on the tour, are where they need to be, when they need to be there, with all the equipment they need, to put on the show you are paying them for.
“And all of those people, from the tour manager down, are paid by Kayla’s LLC.”
He paused.
“Paul, the tour manager’s responsibility is to Kayla. Not you. That’s why you need a tour rep. Someone whose only job is to look after your interests. Your investment. Hell, my investment.”
“Oh, okay. I didn’t realise...” I shook my head. “So ... who? Marie?”
Sam shook his head. “No. You need a specialist. Someone who’s done this before and knows the game inside out.”
“Well, where do I find them?”
Sam grinned. “I know someone. Husband and wife team, actually. They’re sort of semi-retired, but they’ll jump at something like this. Plus, they owe me a favour. Based here in Atlanta. I’ll give them a call.”
He took his phone from his pocket, unlocked it and selected a number from his contacts. Then he held the phone between us and put it on speaker.
“Sam. Hi. What’s up?”
“Isaiah, you got any plans this evening?”
“Tickets to Symphony Hall. Why?”
“Cancel it.”
“Sam, these are—”
“I’ll cover it. And make sure you get a seat tomorrow night instead. You and Susan are coming to dinner. There’s someone I need you to meet.”
“Sam—”
“Isaiah, trust me. When have I ever let you down? You’ll want to meet this man.”
“Who is he?”
“Kid named Paul Robertson. Say hi, Paul.”
I looked at Sam. “Er ... Hi ... Er ... Isaiah.”
“Hello, Paul. What’s the deal then, Sam?”
“Paul’s funding Kayla Valentine’s tour. As am I. We need a tour rep.”
“Okay, understood. When and where?”
Sam looked at me.
“We’re eating at Ecco Midtown, but meet us at the Four Seasons at seven. We’ll be on the Ballroom Terrace. After I introduce you, we’ll head to dinner from there, and the three of you can get to know each other.”
“No problem. I’ll see you at seven.”
I stared at Sam as he put his phone away. Then I blinked and stared at him again. Then blinked again.
“Thank you, Sam. For looking after me, I guess.”
“You’re new at this, kid. You need a guiding hand, that’s to be expected. But let’s be clear, I’m not looking after you, I’m looking after my investment.”
I nodded. “Understood.”
“Excellent. Now ... Tell me more about this mission of yours.”
“PAUL!”
We had barely set foot inside the Four Seasons’ lobby when the blonde-haired cowgirl rushed towards me. I was just about able to open my arms before she slammed into me and hugged me tighter than I’d ever been hugged before.
“I’ve missed you so much,” she said, breathlessly. “So much.”
I wrapped her up in my arms and whispered, “I missed you too... Sweetheart.”
“Your Alabama Sweetheart. Always.”
“You do realise it’s only been two weeks? Right?”
“Two weeks, two days.” She sighed. “Longest two weeks and two days of my life.”
She hugged me tighter for a second, then let me go. She stepped back and turned to Sam.
“Hi, Sam. Is it all sorted?”
“All done,” he said with a smile. “Your tour officially has the Well Bred seal of approval.”
“Yay! That’s so exciting!” She leapt forward to hug him, then stepped back and addressed Chloë. “You too?”
“Absolutely. I never thought that English Rose would have its name on a tour poster before a movie poster, but there you go. Happy to be involved.”
“Come on,” she said, taking my hand. “They’re all waiting for us upstairs. Fourth floor. We’ve got about half an hour before the candidates are due to arrive, and Glenn wants to give us the lowdown on them before they do.”
We’d booked two meeting rooms on the fourth floor. The Ballroom Terrace—an outdoor space about a thousand square feet—was our ‘base of operations.’ Marie had arranged for it to be set up as a reception and waiting area.
We’d meet the candidates there at the start of the process, then Kayla, Glenn, Sam and I would interview each of them in turn in the Boardroom, a much smaller room on the other side of the hotel, while Chloë played the gracious host to the others on the Terrace.
Her role was just as important as the interview. We wanted to see how they interacted with each other, and with Chloë, Marie, Lana, and Ben.
It was an unconventional way of doing things, but then this whole tour was shaping up to be unconventional.
Marie, Lana and Glenn were waiting for us on the terrace when we got there. I went over to Marie and Lana first, while Kayla took Sam and Chloë over to introduce themselves to Glenn ‘properly’—their previous introduction on the video call a week earlier not really counting in Sam’s book.
“I like to look people in the eye and shake them by the hand,” he’d said to me in the car on the way over.
“How’d it go?” Marie asked.
I nodded. “All good. Apparently, I made a powerful ally in this town without even realising it.”
“How?” Lana asked.
I shrugged. “Ask Maddie about it over dinner.” I turned to Marie again. “Did you bring it up from the concierge for me, or do I need to pop down and get it?”
“It’s on the table over there,” she said, nodding towards one of the tables laden with snacks and drinks.
“Oh no, they’ve set up one of those fancy coffee machines from the rooms,” I said. I looked at Lana. “How many have you had?”
She grinned. “Just the one. But we’ve only been here ten minutes. I might be due for another.”
I rolled my eyes, then went over to the table to collect Glenn’s gift. Once I had it, I went over to where he was still talking with Sam and Chloë. Sam must have noticed the bottle in my hand, because he slapped Glenn on the arm and said, “I must go and say hello to the rest of Paul’s team. Let me know when you want to do the briefing.”
Glenn nodded, then smiled at me.
“Did she crack a rib when she hugged you?” he said.
I grinned. “Nearly, but not quite.”
“She’s been like a cat on a hot tin roof the whole way over. And still a bundle of creative energy. You know she’s already got another three songs practically written since the Oscars ceremony. They need work, but she’s on a roll. I need to find her a songwriting partner. Someone who can work with her during rehearsals and while she’s on the road.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” I said. Then I held out the bottle to him. “For you,” I said. “A little taste of Scotland’s finest.”
He took the bottle. “Thank you, Paul. I didn’t expect—”
“It’s just courtesy, right? Actually, if you know this town, I was hoping you could tell me where I could find some of the local tipple to take back home to my friends.”
He grinned. “You’re talking to the wrong man. Ask me the same question in Nashville, and I’ll take you right to the perfect liquor store. But here...” He shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to ask the big man over there. It’s his city.”
I nodded. “I’ll do that.”
“Okay, I started putting feelers out for this role about a month ago, when it became clear how much progress you were making on the album, Kayla,” Glenn said.
We were gathered around the large oak table in the Board Room—all eight of us.
“And I have to say, the buzz in Nashville over this tour is palpable. It’s electric. Especially after your Oscar win and the amount of praise the advance copies of Alabama Sweetheart are getting.” He looked directly at Carly.
“Kayla, you are seen as being on a meteoric rise to superstardom, and there are a lot of people who want to ride that train with you.”
Carly blushed.
“I had over sixty people contact me to express an interest,” Glenn continued, “and almost three-quarters of those turned into formal applications. I’ve spent two weeks looking through résumésand making phone calls, and I’m certain that the four candidates coming to see us today represent the best possible choice between experience, youth, safety and risk.”
“Let’s see them then,” Sam said.
Glenn had five leather folders with him, and he handed one to Kayla, one to me, one to Sam and kept one for himself. He held up the fifth file. “I’ll leave this on the terrace in case you need it.” Then he opened it and took four ten-inch-by-eight-inch photographs from inside, which he placed on the table, side by side. There were three men and a woman.
He pointed to the first one—a man in his forties or fifties, it was difficult to tell from a photo that could easily have been several years old. It was the kind of headshot you’d find on just about any corporate website anywhere in the world.
“Robert Evans,” Glenn said. “MBA from Duke. He’s got over twenty years of experience in the big leagues. He’s run global arena and stadium tours for some of the biggest names in the business. He’s the label’s choice—but they do have a small stake in his tour management company—and he is the safest of safe hands. This guy will have everything running like a Swiss watch. He’ll have back-up performers to his back-up performers on standby.”
Sam frowned. “Isn’t this tour a little ... small-fry for the likes of him?”
Glenn nodded. “My thoughts exactly. But I don’t think his mind’s on this tour. It’s on the next one and the one after that and the one after that. But the fact that this guy is interested shows how much confidence Nashville has in Kayla. There are drawbacks, though.”
“Which are?” I said.
“He’s a numbers guy. Likes his spreadsheets. And he’s not known as a ‘people person.’ It wouldn’t surprise me if he delegates the day-to-day management of this tour to one of his subordinates and oversees it from a distance. I also think he’s not going to buy into the concept of the tour. Everything you want to do around the show—the visits to youth music groups, the meet and greet with women from shelters, all that, he’s going to see as ‘nonsense.’ He’ll question why you’re going to watch some kids’ orchestra when you could be rehearsing.
“After our meeting last week, I put together a brief ‘concept document,’ and all four candidates have seen it. I’ve asked them to come here today prepared to tell us how they can help us achieve the tour’s goals. How can they help with the mission and truly show people that we hear them? I’m keen to hear what Evans says, because that’s not his comfort zone. Not by a long way.”
“He already doesn’t sound like the one for us,” Carly said.
“I’m inclined to agree,” said Glenn. “He’s only here because your label wants him here. But let’s at least talk to him first.”
We all nodded.
“Who’s next?” Sam asked.
Glenn pointed to the second photo—the woman.
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