The Spiral Down (The Fall Up #2)(7)

“Make whatever joke you want as long as you get me safely on the ground. See you in the morning,” I said dismissively, jogging down the stairs. My stomach sloshed from the movement. “Ugh,” I groaned, folding my hands over my midsection and heading straight to the limo door that Carter was holding open for me. “I feel like death.”

“You don’t look much better,” my hair and wardrobe stylist, Macy, said as I slid into the seat beside her.

I moaned, leaning down to rest my head in her lap. “Carter says I need a miracle.”

“And a breath mint,” she corrected, pulling a small metal tin from her bag and popping one in my open mouth. She tangled her fingers in my hair as I closed my eyes.

It had been a crazy-long day, and add two panic attacks and what felt like a gallon of gin and tonic into the mix and I was spent.

“Well, the good news is your hair is supposed to look like you’ve slept on it for a week,” she said. “Bad news—it takes at least an hour for me to make it look like that.”

“I can live with bad hair. Just let me sleep,” I pleaded, stretching my legs across the seat.

I heard Carter climb in the other door right before I felt the car pull away.

“If you promise to give me fifteen minutes before we get there, you can relax for now,” she said, scratching the top of my head.

“Mmm,” I hummed.

“Oh, and hey. I managed to get Robin that new Hermès bag she wanted. It should have been delivered earlier this afternoon.”

Whatever sleepiness I’d been feeling left me on a rush. My eyes popped open wide, my gaze landing directly on Carter, who was sitting diagonally across from me. His expression of concern matched mine.

“What bag?”

“The Hermès. She called last week and said you told her to call me since it hadn’t been released yet.”

I swallowed hard and immediately pushed myself out of her lap. “Who paid for it?” I asked Macy while holding Carter’s gaze.

“I put it on your account.” Her gaze swung to Carter before turning back on me. “Shit. Was I not supposed to do that? She said it was cool with you.”

“How much?” I asked ominously.

She chewed on her bottom lip. “Well, I mean, the collection hasn’t been released to the public yet. I got it at a steal.”

Clenching my teeth, I lost my temper. “How f*cking much, Macy?”

“Ten grand,” she squeaked.

Carter and I both cursed in unison.

His phone was at his ear before I’d dug mine from my back pocket.

“I talked to her before we took off…the first time. She seemed fine,” I informed him.

“I’m on it. Get some rest and sober up,” he replied.

That was going to be impossible though.

The drone of Robin’s unanswered phone echoed in my ear as I continuously pressed redial. The shock of adrenaline was more sobering than any cup of coffee, shower, or nap possible.

“Henry,” Macy started. “I’m really sorry. I had no idea it would be an issue. I mean, I’ve done stuff like that for her in the past.”

It was a huge issue, but it wasn’t her fault.

“No. I know. It’s okay.” I slid my arm around her shoulders and pulled her into my side.

“What’s going on?” she whispered as I once again caught Robin’s voicemail.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

Mainly because, until I got in touch with Robin, I was going to do enough worrying for everyone.




The show had been a disaster. I’d more than sobered up on the way over to the arena, but I had been left with a splitting headache. There was a reason I didn’t drink liquor very often. That “very often” being exclusively limited to when I was forced to fly.

I couldn’t imagine how I had sounded as I’d aimlessly wandered around the stage. Sure, I was naturally talented, but most of my success was directly linked to my charisma in front of an audience. Performing was in my blood. Usually, I couldn’t be dragged off the stage at the end of a concert. However, that night, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Robin weighed heavily on my mind.

She still wasn’t answering the phone, and Carter’s guys had come up empty-handed at her apartment.

She was gone.

Again.

And I was gutted.

Again.

After a phone call to my assistant, I managed to get our departure time out of San Francisco moved up to first thing the next morning. I needed to get back to check on her. Then I needed to hit the road later that afternoon if I was going to make my next tour stop—the thought of getting back on the bus being the only thing that relaxed me.

I loved life on the road.

Just not in the air.

“Calm down,” Carter growled.

I blinked. I was on the verge of passing out. I wasn’t sure I could get much calmer than out cold.

“Commercial,” I whispered around the lump in my throat.

“We had no other choice.”

“I own a private jet,” I returned, doing my best to keep from falling apart. It was a lost cause. I’d been a wreck since we’d first arrived at the airport.

“Right now, you own a broken private jet. Call me crazy, but I’m thinking I’d rather travel on a plane that passed inspection this morning.”