Page 70 of Animal Beats

Exhaling, I realize I have to get in touch with Nina about this. She might have an idea about how to handle this debacle. In any event, I need to warn her.

What happened to Río to make him drink like a fish? He was so different in his room earlier. When we both were naked.

Stop it! This is why I knew sleeping with the drummer was all sorts of wrong.

My job here is to prevent a complete disaster. I open my cell and text my boss. Which fails because we’re in the middle of the river. Great.

I approach the boat’s captain. “Hi. Thanks for picking up Mr. Sullivan.”

His blue eyes shine. “I never want to lose any of our customers overboard.”

Where was he when I was in the water?

Ignoring my truth, I ask, “I was wondering, though, if you could maybe keep this little incident to yourself? Untamed Coaster can make a large donation to your boat as a thank you.”

“I appreciate the gesture, missy, but the boy didn’t do anything wrong—he just lost his footing when we hit a wave. No biggie.”

Perhaps the captain is right. I guess I could spin it as a simple slip and fall. Will this really work?

I open my cell’s notes app and begin writing down possible PR moves I can take. One, quote the captain and call it an accident. I glance at Río who has another beer to his lips, and mark it as “low probability.”

Having everyone sign NDAs? Yeah, another non-starter.

Put out a press release before the media gets hold of the story? Say it was an accident, UC’s drummer wasn’t harmed, and the boat trip was amazing tour of the river around Lisbon. Perhaps by giving accolades to the cruise, the incoming will be deflected? This is my best idea yet. Over the swarm of bees in my stomach about my lost bet, I start drafting.

After we tour a bridge made by the same team that designed the Eiffel Tower, and check out the gorgeous monuments along the way, we return to the dock. I better get Río to the hotel so he can sober up for the concert tonight. At least we have several hours beforehand—he’s going to need every minute to sleep it off.

Taking a deep breath, I approach the drummer. And the barnacle, namely the woman he singled out before, attached to him. I try the sensible route. “Río, we have to get to the hotel so you can prepare for tonight’s gig.”

Fuzzy brown eyes skewer me. Then bounce to the woman attached to his torso. His naked torso. “My babysitter says I have to go back now.”

She gives me a dirty look, then eye fucks the drummer as if he were a bottle of the country’s favorite port. “I’d love to see your hotel.”

Hell to the NO. “We don’t have that much time, Miss, ah⁠—”

She ignores me and kisses Río on the lips. “I’m sure I can make it worth your while.”

I knew what we had wouldn’t last, but I’m not about to be thrown aside like I meant nothing. I force my lips upward. “Sorry. No guests. Manager’s rule.” Better tell Luke about this rule.

Río stirs. “Sorry darling, my Babysitter’s right. I need to prepare for tonight. How about I leave a ticket for you at Will Call, and we can see each other afterwards?”

She runs her fingers through his hair.

Something sharp twists in my chest.

She replies, “That sounds divine.”

The boat attaches to the dock with a couple of bumps. Thankfully, the drummer stays dry this time.

I address everyone onboard. “Thanks for a very eventful cruise. I know a lot of you took photos and videos, but the band would appreciate your not posting anything until tomorrow.” I let that soak in for a moment. “We don’t like to give out our whereabouts in real time, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Sorry lady!” One guy yells from my right side. “Already got his splash posted to my socials!” A couple of people murmur their agreement.

Great.

Plan B, publish the press release as soon as possible. Toward that end … “Río, we have to get back.” He doesn’t move. “Now!”

He offers me a salute, then speaks with all of the passengers. I would physically move him if I thought I had the ability, but he’s taking his sweet-ass time. Lovely. At least he’s in another photo with the boat’s captain, which I capture on my phone and send—together with my draft press release—to my boss. This has to bring some sort of positive press. I offer up a prayer that Platinum Records won’t see this spectacle. Or care about it.