Читать книгу Second Chance With The Ceo - Anna DePalo - Страница 11
ОглавлениеCole had to wait a week to corner his brother because Jordan had three away games. But he figured their parents’ house was as good a location as any for a showdown. As he exited his Range Rover, he looked up at the storm clouds. Yup. The weather fit his mood.
When he didn’t spot Jordan’s car on his parents’ circular drive, he quelled his impatience. His brother would be here soon enough. Jordan had replied to his text and agreed they would both stop by the house this evening to check on how their parents were doing. So Cole would soon have blessed relief from the irritation that had been dogging him for the past week. Marisa and his brother—over his cold dead body.
Cole made his way to the front doors. The Serenghetti house was a Mediterranean villa with a red-tile roof and white walls. In warmer months, a lush garden was his mother’s pride and joy, keeping both her and a landscaper busy. As Serg’s construction business had grown, Cole’s parents had traded up to bigger homes. The move to the Mediterranean villa had been completed when Cole was in middle school. Serg had built a house big enough to accommodate the Serenghetti brood as well as the occasional visiting relatives.
Cole’s jaw tightened. If Jordan had been contacted by Marisa, then his brother needed to be warned off. His brother had to understand that Marisa couldn’t be trusted. She may have changed since high school, but Cole wasn’t taking any chances. On the other hand, if Marisa had been bluffing about asking Jordan to be her second choice, so much the better. Either way, Cole was going to make damn sure there wasn’t anything going on.
Memories had snuck up on him ever since Marisa had traipsed back into his life. Yeah, he’d taken a lot for granted when he’d been at Pershing—his status as top jock, his popularity with girls and the financial security that allowed him a ride at a private school. Still, there’d been pressure. Pressure to perform. Pressure to outperform himself—on and off the ice. He’d set himself up for a fall by trying to outdo his biggest game, his latest prank, his most recent sexual experience...
Back in high school, Marisa had been outside his inner circle but had seemingly been able to look in without judging. At least that was what he’d thought. And then she’d betrayed him.
Sure, he hadn’t liked it one bit when Jordan had turned his charm on Marisa at the boxing gym. But it was because he hated to see his brother make the same mistake he’d made. It had nothing to do with being territorial about a teenage fling. He didn’t do jealousy. Marisa was an attractive woman, but he was old enough to know the pitfalls of acting on pure lust.
As a professional hockey player, he’d always had easy access to women. But after a while it had started to lose meaning. When Jordan had joined the NHL, he’d given his younger brother the talk about the temptations facing professional athletes from money and fame. Of course, Jordan was a seasoned pro these days—but Marisa presented a brand of secret and stealthy allure.
He should know.
Cole tensed as he recalled how ready Jordan had been to succumb to temptation last week. Because his brother had been on the road for away games since then, with any luck he’d been too busy for Marisa to reach him.
Cole opened the unlocked front door and let himself in. The sounds of “We Open in Venice” hit him, and he wondered if his mother was again playing all the songs from Cole Porter’s Kiss Me, Kate. She loved the musical so much, she had named her firstborn after its legendary composer.
Cole thought his life didn’t need a soundtrack—least of all, that of the musical based on Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew. Still, was it a coincidence—or the universe sending him a message? He had about as much chance of taming Marisa as of returning to his professional hockey career right now. Not that he was going to try. He was only going to make sure that he and any other Serenghetti were outside Marisa’s ambit.
He made his way to the back of the house, where he found his mother in the oversize kitchen. As usual, the house smelled of flowers, mouthwatering food aromas...and familial obligation.
“Cole,” Camilla said, pronouncing the e at the end of his name like a short vowel. “A lovely surprise, caro.”
Although his mother had learned English at a young age, she still had an accent and sprinkled her English with Italian. She’d met and married Serg when he’d been vacationing in Tuscany, and she’d been a twenty-one-year-old hotel front-desk employee. Before Serg had checked out in order to visit extended family in the hockey-mad region north of Venice, the two had struck up a romance.
“Hi, Mom.” Cole snagged a fried zucchini from a bowl on the marble-topped kitchen island. “Where’s Dad?”
“Resting.” She waved a hand. “You know all these visitors make him tired. Today the home-care worker, the nurse and the physical therapy came.”
“You mean the physical therapist?”
“I say that, no?”
Cole let it slide. His mother had a late-blossoming career as the host of a local cooking show. Viewers who wrote in liked her accent, and television executives believed it added the spice of authenticity to her show. For Cole, it was just another colorful aspect of his lovable but quirky family.
“You beat me to the food. Did you taste the gnocchi yet?”
Cole turned to see Jordan saunter into the kitchen. Cole figured his brother must have driven up as soon as he’d entered the house. “How do you know she prepared gnocchi?”
Jordan shrugged. “I texted Mom earlier. She’s perfecting a recipe for next week’s show, and we’re the guinea pigs. Gnocchi with prosciutto, escarole and tomato.”
Camilla brightened. “I tell you? The name of the show is goin’ to change to Flavors of Italy with Camilla Serenghetti.”
“That’s great!” Jordan leaned in to give his mother a quick peck on the cheek.
Cole nodded. “Congratulations, Mom. You’ll be challenging Lidia Bastianich in no time.”
Camilla beamed. “My name in the titolo. Good, no?”
“Excellent,” Cole said.
Camilla frowned. “But I need to schedule more guests.”
“Isn’t that the job of the program booker at the station?”
“It’s my show.”
Jordan made a warding-off gesture with his hands. “Remember when you had me on last year, Mom? I made you burn the onions that you were sautéing. And Cole here wasn’t much better when he was a guest.”
From Cole’s perspective, he and Jordan had been worth something in the sex appeal department, but his mother’s show would never have mass crossover appeal to the beer-and-chips sports crowd.
Before he could offer to sacrifice himself again on the altar of his mother’s show-business career, Camilla started toward the fridge and said, “I need somebody new.”
“I’ll put in a word with the Razors,” Jordan offered. “Marc Bellitti likes to cook. And maybe a member of the team can suggest someone with better skills in the kitchen than on the ice.”
Cole turned to his brother. “Speaking of ice, great game for you last night. You would have scored another goal if Peltier hadn’t body-checked you at the last second.”
Jordan grumbled. “He’s been a pain in the rear all season.” Then keeping an eye on their mother, as if to make sure he wouldn’t be overheard, he added, “Guy needs to get laid.”
At the mention of sex, Cole locked his jaw. “Has Marisa Danieli contacted you?”
Jordan cast him an assessing look. “Why do you ask?”
“She still needs a guinea pig for her fund-raiser. As I understand it, you’re eager guinea pig material.”
Jordan’s lips quirked. “Being the test subject isn’t half bad sometimes. Anyway, she wanted you.”
“I told her no.”
“Admirable fortitude. The guys in the locker room would be impressed.”
“I’m asking you to tell her no.”
“It hasn’t come up.”
Cole relaxed his shoulders. “She hasn’t tried to reach you?”
“Nope. And quit focusing on the decoy. I’m a bad one. There’s something else you’ll find a lot more interesting.”
Camilla set a big bowl of gnocchi on the counter and announced, “I’m goin’ to check on your father and be right back.”
“Take your time, Mom.” Cole knew his mother was worried about his father’s rough road to recovery. It had been several months since the stroke, and Serg still had not made a complete recovery—if he ever would.
When their mother left, Cole turned to Jordan and wasted no time in getting to the point. “What is it?”
“Word is that the job for the new gym at the Pershing School is going to JM Construction.”
Cole’s lips thinned. She’d done worse than get Jordan on board for her fund-raiser.
As far as jobs went for a midsize construction company like Serenghetti or JM, the new gym at the Pershing School was small-fry. However, JM would get the attendant publicity and goodwill.
Damn it. They’d been outbid twice in the past few months by JM Construction. Like Serenghetti, JM operated in the New England region, though both sometimes took jobs farther afield. Serenghetti’s main offices were in Welsdale—at Serg’s insistence—but they kept a business suite in Boston for convenience, as well as a small satellite staff in Portland, Maine.
“You know this how?” Cole demanded of his brother.
“Guys talking down at the Puck & Shoot. If you hung out there, you’d know, too. You should try it.”
“A lot happens at the Puck & Shoot.” Cole recalled that Marisa had found out how to run him to ground from a tip at the bar.
“The drinks aren’t bad, and the female clientele is even better.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t spotted Marisa there.”
Jordan snagged a cold gnocchi from the bowl and popped it into his mouth. “She doesn’t look like the type to be a sports bar regular.”
“A lot about her may surprise you.”
His brother swallowed and grinned. “I’m sure.”
“Jordan.”
“Anyway, I was killing time. Someone brought up my recent ad campaign, so I mentioned an opportunity to do a little local promo for the Pershing School. I asked if anyone was interested.”
“Putting in a good word for Marisa?” Cole asked sardonically.
There was laughter in Jordan’s eyes. “Well, I knew you didn’t want to volunteer. And you’d have my head on a platter if I did the fund-raiser.”
“Good call.”
“But I felt bad for her, to be honest. She was even willing to tangle with you in order to find a celebrity.”
“She knows what she’s doing.”
“She seems like a good sort these days. Or at least her cause is a good one.”
“Right.” Whose side was his brother on?
“Anyway, you remember Jenkins? He graduated a couple of years after you did and played in the minors for a while?”
“Yeah?”
“He said the rumor was that JM Construction had the inside track on building the gym. So he thought it was curious I was mentioning the school fund-raiser to the Razors. He indicated it was mighty magnanimous of me to try to find a recruit for JM’s cause.”
“Oh yeah, it was.” Cole resisted a snort. “Still feeling sorry for Marisa?”
The woman had more up her sleeve than a cardsharp.
Jordan shrugged. “She may know nothing about who’s getting the construction contract.”
“We’ll see. Either way, I’m about to find out.”
* * *
Life was full of firsts—some of them more welcome than others. Cole had been her earliest lover, and now he was giving her another first. Marisa stepped inside Serenghetti Construction’s offices, which she’d never done before.
The company occupied the uppermost floors of a redbrick building that had once been a factory, square in the middle of Welsdale’s downtown. The website stated that Serg Serenghetti had renovated the building twenty years ago and turned it into a modern office complex. For years she’d felt as if she would never be welcome inside, but now she’d gotten a personal invite from Cole Serenghetti himself. It showed how life could turn on a dime.
Of course the actual call had come from Cole’s assistant. But Marisa had taken it as a sign that Cole might be softening his stance. She was willing to hold on to any thread of hope, no matter how thin. Because as much as she’d bluffed, she had no Plan B. She hadn’t tried to contact Jordan Serenghetti because it would be preferable for Pershing to have someone who’d graduated from the school as a headliner. Besides, she was sure Cole would block any attempt to recruit his brother.
In the lobby, Marisa tried not to be intimidated by the sleek glass-and-chrome design—a testament to money and power. And when she reached the top floor, she took a deep breath as she entered Serenghetti’s spacious and airy offices. The decor was muted beiges and grays—cool and professional. The receptionist announced her, took her coat and then directed her down the hall to a corner office.
Her heart beat in a staccato rhythm as she reached an open doorway. And then her gaze connected with Cole’s. He was standing beside an imposing L-shaped desk.
The air hummed between them, and Marisa steadied herself as she walked forward into his office. She’d dressed professionally in a beige pantsuit, but she was suddenly very aware of her femininity. That was because Cole exuded power in a navy suit and patterned tie. This was a different incarnation than his hockey uniform, or his hardhat and jeans, but no less potent.
“You look wary,” Cole said. “Afraid you’re in for a third strike?”
“You don’t play baseball.”
“Lucky you.”
“You wouldn’t have summoned me if you’d meant to turn me down again.”
“Or maybe I’m a sadistic bastard who enjoys making you pay for past transgressions again and again.”
Marisa compressed her lips to keep from giving her opinion. His office was devoid of personal items like family photos and as inscrutable as the man himself. She wondered if this room had been Serg’s office until recently, or whether Cole had just avoided settling in by bringing mementos.
Cole smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “So here’s the deal, sweet pea. Serenghetti Construction builds the new gym at Pershing, no questions asked. I don’t want to hear any garbage about handing off the job to a friend of a board member.”
“What?”
“Yeah, surprised?” he asked as he prowled toward her. “So am I. I’ve been almost dancing with shock ever since I discovered you wanted me to be a poster boy for someone else’s construction job. And not just anyone else, but our main competitor. They’ve underbid us on the last two jobs. But that’s quality for you.”
“I’m sure the construction would be up to code. We’d have an inspection,” she said crossly.
“Being up to code is the least of your worries.”
Marisa felt as if she’d shown up in the middle of the second act of a play. There was a context that she was missing here. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. What friend of a board member?”
Cole scanned her face for a moment, then two. “It would figure they didn’t let the teacher in on the discussion. Have you ever sat on a board of directors?”
She shook her head.
“The meetings might be public, but there’s plenty of wheeling and dealing behind the scenes. It’s you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. We’ll go with the headliner you want for the fund-raiser, but you’ll back my guy for the construction job.”
Marisa felt the heat of embarrassment flood her face. She’d thought she’d been so clever in her approach for Pershing Shines Bright. She hadn’t even let Mr. Dobson know she’d talked to Cole because she’d thought her chances of success were uncertain at best. She’d wanted the option of persuading Mr. Dobson to go with someone else without the appearance that she’d failed.
Now she felt like a nitwit—one who didn’t know what the other hand was doing. Or at least, didn’t know what the school board was up to. She wanted to slump into a chair, but it would give Cole an even bigger advantage than he had.
“That kind of horse-trading is corrupt,” she managed.
“That’s life.”
“I didn’t have any idea.”
“Right.”
“You believe me?”
He made an impatient sound. “You’re a walking, breathing cliché. In this case, for one, you’re a naive and idealistic schoolteacher who’s been kept out of the loop.”
“Well, at least I’ve improved in your estimation in the last fifteen years.” She dropped her handbag onto a chair. If she couldn’t sit, at least she could get rid of some dead weight while she faced Cole. “That’s more than you would have said about me in high school.”
“At this point I have a good sense of when you’re to blame,” he shot back, not answering directly.
“Meaning you have plenty of experience?”
Cole gave her a penetrating look and then said, “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to tell the principal—”
“Mr. Dobson.”
“—that you’ve got me on board for the fund-raiser, but there’s one condition attached.”
“Serenghetti Construction gets the job.”
Marisa had been on a roller coaster of emotions since walking into Cole’s office. And right now elation that Cole was agreeing to be her headliner threatened to overwhelm everything else. She tried to appear calm but a part of her wanted to jump up and down with relief.
Cole nodded, seemingly oblivious to her emotional state. “Let Dobson deal with the board of directors. My guess is that the member with ties to JM Construction will have to back down. If Dobson plays his cards right, he’ll marshal support even before the next board meeting.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“He will, especially if I say Jordan will show up, too, even though he’s not a graduate of the school. Pershing isn’t a public school that’s legally bound to accept the lowest bid on a contract. And giving the contract to Serenghetti Construction makes sense. The money that the school would save not having to pay a big name to appear at their fund-raiser tips the balance on the bottom line.”
She sighed. “You’ve thought of everything.”
“Not everything. I still have to deal with you, sweet pea.”
His words hurt, but she managed to keep her expression even. “Bad luck.”
“Bad luck comes in threes. Getting injured, needing to take over a construction firm, you showing up...”
“We’re even,” she parried. “I’ve been cheated on, gotten dumped by my fiancé and had to recruit you for the fund-raiser.”
He smiled, and she thought she detected a spark of admiration for her willingness to meet him head-on. “Not so diplomatic now that you know you have me hooked.”
“Only because you’re willing to be ruthless with your competitors.”
“Just like your douche bag fiancé?” he asked. “How did you wind up engaged to Sal? Are you hanging out in sports bars these days?”
“You know from personal experience that I visit boxing gyms.” She shrugged. “Why not a sports bar?”
His eyes crinkled. “You showed up at Jimmy’s only because you were tracking me. You’d probably claim your appearance was under duress.”
“I’m not going to argue.”
“You’re not?” he quipped. “What a change.”
“You’re welcome.”
His expression sobered. “For the record, you don’t know what to wear to a gym.”
“I came from school dressed like a teacher,” she protested.
His eyes swept over her. “Exactly. As I said, you’re a walking cliché.”
“And you are frustrating and irritating.” She spoke lightly, but she sort of meant it, too.
“Talk to my opponents on the ice. They’ll tell you all about it.”
“I’m sure they would.”
“It’s nice to know I bother you, sweet pea.”
Their gazes caught and held, and awareness coiled through her, threatening to break free. She wet her lips, and Cole’s eyes moved to her mouth.
“Are you still pining and crying your eyes out for him?” he asked abruptly.
She blinked, caught off guard. She wasn’t going to admit as much to Cole of all people, but she’d done enough pining and crying in high school to last a lifetime. Still, it would be pathetic if she’d met and lost the love of her life at eighteen. Her life couldn’t have ended that early.
“For whom?” she asked carefully.
“Piazza.”
“Not really.”
She’d dated since graduating from Pershing, but nothing had panned out past a few dates until Sal. It was as if she’d needed to lick her wounds for a long time after high school—after Cole.
There’d been initial shock over Sal’s betrayal, of course. But then she’d gotten on with her life. She had a low opinion of Sal, and she was still angry about being cheated on. But she wasn’t lying in bed wondering how she was going to go on—or wishing Sal would see the light and come back to her.
She’d been prepared to be hit by the despair that had assailed her after her teenage fling with Cole. So either she’d matured, or her relationship with Sal hadn’t been as significant as she’d told herself. She refused to analyze which was the case.
Cole shrugged. “Piazza isn’t worth it. He’s a cheating a—”
“You’ve never cheated on a woman?” They were getting into personal territory, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking the question.
Cole assumed a set expression. “I’ve dated plenty, but it’s always been serial. And you never answered my question about how you met Piazza.”
“Why are you interested?” she shot back before sighing in resignation. “We did meet in a bar, actually. Some teachers met for Friday night drinks, and I was persuaded to go along. He was an acquaintance of an acquaintance...”
Cole arched an eyebrow, as if prompting her for more.
“He was steady, reliable...”
“A bedrock to build a marriage on. But he turned out to be so reliable, he cheated on you.”
“What do you suggest constructing a lasting relationship on?” she lobbed back. “A hormone-fueled hookup with a woman as deep as a puddle after a light rain?”
She didn’t pose the question as if it was about him in particular, but he could read between the lines.
“I haven’t even tried for more. That’s the difference.”
“As I said, Sal appeared steady and reliable...” And she’d been desperate for the respectably ordinary. All she’d wanted as an adult was to be middle class, with a Cape Cod or a split level in the suburbs and a couple of kids...and no money worries.
Sal had grown up in Welsdale, too, but unlike her, he’d attended Welsdale High School, so they hadn’t known each other as teenagers. When they’d met, he’d been working for a Springfield-based sports management company, but was often back in his hometown, which was where they had gotten acquainted one night at The Obelisk Lounge. Sal traveled to Boston regularly for business, but he and his firm mainly focused on trolling the waters of professional hockey at the Springfield arena where the New England Razors played.
Cole looked irritated. “Sal is the sports version of a used car salesman—always preparing to pitch you the next deal as if it’s the best thing since sliced bread.”
“As far as I can tell, a lot of you sports pros believe you are the best thing since sliced bread.”
They were skimming the surface of the deep lake of emotion and past history between them. Every encounter with Cole was an emotional wringer. You’d think she’d be used to it by now or at least expecting it.
Cole shrugged. “Hockey is a job.”
“So is teaching.”
“It’s the reason you made your way back to Pershing.”
“The school was good to me.” She shifted and then picked up her handbag.
Cole didn’t move. “I’ll bet. How long have you been teaching there?”
“I started right after college, so not quite ten years.” She took a step toward the door and then paused. “It took me more than five years and several part-time jobs to get my degree and provisional teaching certificate at U. Mass. Amherst.”
She could see she’d surprised him. She’d gone to a state school, where the tuition had been lower and she’d qualified for a scholarship. Even then, though, because she’d been more or less self-supporting, it had taken a while to get her degree. She’d worked an odd and endless assortment of jobs: telemarketer, door-to-door sales rep, supermarket checkout clerk and receptionist.
