there was some fun time, she scheduled a twenty-minute break.
“Here, right?” the driver asked, and Danae glanced up, surprised to find herself at the marina already.
She thanked the driver, climbed out of the car, and immediately added a tip and a positive rating so she wouldn’t forget. She pushed her glasses up her nose and headed toward the beautiful Barton Boat in front of her. A Fortune 703 model, which was their biggest, most luxurious sailboat.
Perhaps she should’ve worn her contacts instead, since out on the water her lenses would likely be speckled in no time. But she disliked her contacts, and the wind might dry them out. Constantly wiping her glasses on her pink cardigan seemed like a better option than applying an entire bottle of eye drops a day. Besides, she’d seen the harbor before, so she’d stick to the middle of the boat and work while everyone else took their break.
Naturally, she was the first of her team to arrive. Possibly before their captain, as she didn’t see anyone else. Ooh, if Mr. Wheeler doesn’t show, does that mean we can go back to the office to do our work?
Since Danae had put so much effort into planning and re-planning the trip, she couldn’t decide if she’d be more frustrated or relieved.
As she climbed aboard the sailboat, nostalgia slammed into her, transporting her back in time a couple of decades. There was the familiar sway under her feet, the sound of flapping canvas and lapping waves, and the scent of saltwater and wood. She ran her hand along the railing, which wasn’t nicked or rusted in places, like it’d been on Dad’s boat.
Be careful near the edges, NaeNae, Dad used to warn, since she’d lean over the railing as far as she could to peer into the water. That was back when she was young and trusted things to catch her, before she’d had enough life experience to realize there weren’t a whole lot of guarantees in this world.
Franco’s husband dropped him off at the dock, and when Justin unrolled the window to call out a greeting to Danae, their bulldog, Jack, and cairn terrier, Rose, blocked her view, yipping and barking.
Franco pushed his sunglasses on top of his dark hair and continued to wave goodbye to his family. It had cracked her up when she’d discovered the dogs the men had owned before getting together shared the name of the couple from Titanic. She had declared it was totally meant to be in the early days of their relationship, and while Mr. Web Developer had rolled his eyes, he hadn’t refuted it, either.
One by one, everyone else began showing up: Vanessa and her two chic matching suitcases, Mark and his leather duffel bag, and then Paige, who said a fifteen-minute goodbye to her fiancé before climbing aboard as well.
Finally, there he was, the one person she didn’t recognize. Danae gripped the handle of her compact roller suitcase and strolled over. “Josh Wheeler, I presume.”
Slowly, he spun around, and it shook the Etch A Sketch in Danae’s mind, erasing everything she’d planned to say. The early morning sun danced across strands of his disheveled hair, highlighting the copper streaks hidden in the brown.
A groove formed between his eyebrows as he studied her, and her throat went dry as she superimposed this guy’s image over the one she’d expected—an older, grizzled seafaring type who grumbled about “newfangled technology.”
So what if Josh Wheeler was mildly attractive—hold the mild? Or had eyes the same azure color as the water in the harbor behind him?
“Go ahead and get settled, and we’ll be pushing off shortly,” he said.
His voice jerked her back to herself, the words she’d intended to say slowly reforming in her brain. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the final schedule, and a couple of the last-minute changes I’ve made.”
His mouth flattened into an ambiguous line. “You must be Danae. Sender of all the emails.”
A prickling sensation swept across her skin, leaving her unsure how exactly to respond for a couple of seconds. Deciding professional was never the wrong way to go, she held that part of her façade firmly in place.
“I am.” She hugged her planner and stack of itineraries to her chest and extended a hand. “Danae Danvers, Chief Marketing Officer. And you must be the guy who doesn’t reply to emails.”
Okay, so she’d failed at remaining strictly businesslike there at the end.
Josh didn’t make a move to shake her hand. Simply skimmed his hand