It Happened One Week by Joann Ross Page B

my life.” Kelli was staring at Dane the way a religious zealot might stare at her god. “Oh, I do believe I’m going to enjoy this week.”
    “We’re not here to enjoy ourselves,” Greg ground out. “It’s not a damn holiday.” He turned his sharp gaze on Amanda. “That’s the guy you hired to lead the adventure exercises?”
    Call her petty, but Amanda found watching Greg literally seething with masculine jealousy more than a little enjoyable. Less enjoyable was the realization that Kelli’s and Laura’s lustful looks and comments had triggered a bit of her own jealousy.
    “Not exactly.”
    Blond brows came crashing down. “What does that mean?”
    “I’ll explain later.” She cast a significant glance down at her watch. “You’re the one who wanted to stay on schedule, Greg. Come with me and I’ll introduce you.”
    The introductions were over quickly, neither man seeming to find much to like about the other.
    “The plan,” Amanda explained to Dane, “as it was originally laid out to me, works like a relay race. Team members pair up, two to a kayak, paddle out to the lighthouse, circle it, then return back to the beach where the next group takes their places in the kayak and follows the same course. The best combined times for the two out of three heats is declared the winner.”
    Dane nodded. “Sounds easy enough.”
    “Easy for you to say. You haven’t seen this group in action.”
    Seeing her worried expression and remembering what she’d told him about this week being vastly important to her, Dane understood her concern.
    “Don’t worry, Ms. Stockenberg,” he said in his best businesslike tone, the one that had served him well for all those years in the big city, “before the week’s over, you’ll have turned your group into a lean, mean, advertising machine.”
    “That’s the point,” Greg Parsons snapped.
    Amanda, who’d detected the sarcasm in Dane’s tone, didn’t respond. Instead, she introduced Dane to the others, then stood back and ceded control to the man she hoped could pull it off.
    He didn’t raise his voice above his usual conversational tone, but as he began to explain the basics of kayaking, Amanda noticed that a hush settled over the suddenly attentive group. Even the men were hanging on every word.
    It was more than the fact that he was a stunningly goodlooking male specimen. As amazing as it seemed for a man who’d been content to stay in the same job he’d had in high school, Dane Cutter definitely displayed leadership potential, making Amanda wonder yet again what had happened to sidetrack all his lofty career goals.
    Perhaps, she considered, once this week was over and she’d earned the position of Northwest creative director, she’d offer Dane a job in management. After all, if he actually managed to pull this disparate, backbiting group into cohesive teams, helping him escape a dead-end life in Satan’s Cove would be the least she could do.
    Then again, she reminded herself firmly when she realized she was thinking too much like her autocratic father, there was no reason for Dane to be ashamed of having chosen a life of manual labor. It was, she admitted reluctantly, more honest than advertising.
    Dane gave the teams a brief spiel about the versatility of kayaks, demonstrated forward and bracing strokes, explaining how the foot-operated rudder would help steer in crosswinds or rough seas, and skimmed over the woodpaddles-versus-fiberglass argument.
    Amanda was not surprised to discover that despite the introduction of high-tech Kevlar and carbon-fiber models, Dane remained an advocate of wood. The fact that he obviously felt strongly about a century-old inn proved he was a traditionalist at heart.
    When he asked for questions, Kelli’s hand shot up. “Shouldn’t we be wearing wet suits like yours?” she asked.
    “It’s not really necessary,” Dane assured her, making Amanda extremely relieved. She figured the sight of Kelli Kyle in a neoprene