“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.”
My hands trembled as I lifted a bloody mary to my lips. I didn’t give a single damn that it wasn’t even seven in the morning yet. We’d been alerted at five that my plane wasn’t going anywhere. Carter had assured me that I had nothing to worry about. I’d assumed he had secured another plane. I’d just never considered he hated me enough to make it a commercial flight.
Not only had the paparazzi and fans stormed me the second I’d exited the limo, but I’d had to fight my way through security and a never-ending terminal in order to voluntarily buckle myself into a flying metal coffin. Then, to top it all off, they didn’t have gin and tonic.
If that wasn’t a sign of impending doom, I wasn’t sure what was.
“I can’t do this,” I said, yanking my seat belt off and fighting to my feet.
His heavy hand landed on my back, forcing me back into my seat and then shoving me down so my head rested on my knees.
“Deep breath. You’re gonna be fine.”
“A fiery death is rarely considered fine,” I choked out.
“Just breathe.”
“I can’t’!” I struggled against Carter’s pressure on my back, knocking my drink from the cup holder and into his lap.
“Son of a…” he seethed. “Relax.”
“Let’s rent a car, ” I argued as I broke into a full-body sweat.
“Robin has a ten-thousand-dollar purse and hasn’t been seen or heard from since yesterday. You have a sold-out venue to be at tomorrow, and unless you’ve unlocked the magic of adding hours into a day, we don’t have time to drive home. Now, you can get your ass off this plane and drive. But you will be doing it alone.”
I gritted my teeth.
The legs of a flight attendant appeared at Carter’s side. “I brought you some napkins, sir.” She paused. “Would…uh…Mr. Alexander like another bloody mary?”
“You happen to have anything a little stronger hidden back there? Maybe a fistful of Valium?” he asked, not a drip of humor in his voice.
“Don’t even think about it!” I spat at the floor.
Carter groaned. “Yes. He’d love another drink.”
“Of course.” She stalled for a minute as if she’d never seen a grown man in the middle of panic attack being physically restrained by his bodyguard before.
Fucking amateur.
“How’s it going?” a man in a pair of jeans asked as his legs stopped at our row.