Sailing at Sunset - Cindi Madsen Page 0,46

demographic. More than that, I think with a few of the right placements, we can get there.”

“Where’s the wiggle room?” The question came from Josh, and she glanced at him, a strange buzzing noise invading her mind as she blinked at him. “Think about sailing. It’s about reacting to changes and improvising and enjoying the journey. Shouldn’t you have more of that kind of flexibility in your marketing plan?”

Uh-oh.

Josh immediately knew he shouldn’t have jumped in, and the firm line of Danae’s jaw confirmed it. He’d gotten caught up in feeling like part of the group—a group that he’d grown to really like. Then he’d been thinking about how much he’d relished his time sailing Barton’s Fortune 703 model, a sailboat that was speedy and comfortable, and took very little effort to manage. Any company that paid that much attention to craftsmanship and functionality deserved to do well.

More than that, he wanted Danae and her team to succeed.

“A five-year plan doesn’t mean there’s no wiggle room,” Danae said. “It’s a long-term goal. It’s what we’re working toward at Barton Boating Company. My goals don’t just change with the wind, and when it comes to marketing a business, enjoyment isn’t my top priority. That’s for after we succeed on launching this campaign.”

Awkwardness crept through the air, everyone glancing in other directions. Josh’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, waiting for him to figure out whether he should to try to explain himself further or attempt to soothe Danae’s ruffled feathers.

Mark cleared his throat and pointed his fork at the projection on the wall. “I’m glad that newspaper ads are still in the budget. I was worried you’d rule them out, Danae, and our demographic still likes to drink their coffee while they read their paper, same way they’ve been doing for decades. But of course you’d take that into consideration, so I never should’ve doubted you.” He sat forward in his chair, drawing Danae’s gaze. “I’ve got a great partnership with several of the staff members of the local papers, and they give us a great rate, too, so we can do a lot more with a lot less.”

“Honestly, I considered trimming it,” Danae said, “but I thought about what you said during the meeting at the vineyard, and decided it was worth holding onto for a while more.” She smiled at Mark, and he smiled right back.

Oh, sure. Mark had implied that she had no idea what men wanted, and suddenly he was the good guy?

It seemed like his suspicions about Mark trying to win Danae back were spot on, and her ex had just pulled ahead in their unspoken competition. Not that Danae was a prize to be won, but if she were comparing him to Mark now, Josh doubted he’d come out ahead.

For the rest of meeting, Josh sat silent, tuning out the business talk. He’d never wanted to be part of it again, so why had he gone and put his foot in it?

With the restaurant about to open up for normal hours, Danae took down her presentation, and used the company credit card to pay the bill—in spite of his insistence he pay for his own meal.

Obviously she didn’t need his tour guide skills, since she hardly let him give any facts or took any of his advice. She could probably sail the boat herself if it came down to it, too, leaving him to wonder what he was even doing tagging along on every outing, getting involved. Throwing out ideas no one wanted to hear.

Maybe he should do his own thing from now on.

A cloud of tension hung over them as they made the ten-minute walk to the ship, starkly contrasting with the happy, carefree mood they’d felt on the way there. Vanessa and Paige spoke in clipped tones and one-word answers, and Danae charged down the street as if she were being timed and had a record to break.

Mark and Franco hung back, as if they were wary about getting caught in the crossfire, and a general grumpiness lingered. Why hadn’t Josh’s common sense kicked in sooner? Preferably before he’d given his input on Danae’s plan.

About an hour later, he was on the boat, bent over and fiddling with one of the winches, when he heard someone approach. Call it pessimism or intuition, but foreboding tiptoed along his spine.

“We need to talk,” Danae said.

Josh winced at the words every male dreaded. He’d heard the phrase way too many times before, the prequel