Power Play

by Anna DePalo

  “Polite is not the adjective that comes to mind, Serenghetti,” Marc joked.

  Jordan sat back and draped his arm along the top of their booth. “Hilarious.”

  “Serafina didn’t seem particularly friendly toward you at the Puck & Shoot,” Vince observed.

  Jordan regarded both his teammates. Since when had the Razors’ goalie become an astute observer of human interactions? “So are you guys going to do the show?”

  Marc looked like he was enjoying himself and not ready to give up the fun. “So this Serafina is an in-law, your physical therapist, a waitress at the Puck & Shoot who, come to think of it, I should have recognized from your brother’s wedding even if she was dressed up...and the special guest on your mother’s show?” he drawled, rubbing his chin. “Seems as entangled as you’ve ever been with a woman, Serenghetti.”

  Jordan shrugged and adopted a bored tone. “Sera cooks, and Mom’s liked her since her cousin married Cole.”

  Marc looked at Vince like he wanted to crack up. “Well, if your mother likes her, I guess that seals the deal.”

  “Not quite,” Jordan replied drily. “I’ve got to get you two jokers to add some suspense to the whole episode.”

  “Not romance?” The defenseman adopted an exaggerated expression of shock.

  “It’s a cooking competition, Bellitti.”

  “And has this honey-blond physical therapist ever wanted to be on air?” Marc joked.

  “No. And she’s not into hockey guys.” It couldn’t hurt to drive the point home.

  Marc’s eyes crinkled. “Meaning you’ve failed with her? The legendary Jordan Serenghetti charm hasn’t worked.”

  “I haven’t tried.” He hadn’t tried to get to bed with her. Not really. Not yet...

  “This I might have to see,” Marc said, warming to the subject.

  “If you go on the show, I’ll prove that I can make Sera melt.” A little extra motivation would be good for Marc.

  The defenseman laughed again.

  “Guys...” Vince said warningly.

  “You’re on, Serenghetti,” Marc said, his eyes gleaming. “I’ll let my agent know. Because I think you’re not going to win.”

  “Don’t be too sure.”

  “And when you do lose,” Marc persisted, “what do I get?”

  “The satisfaction of knowing I failed.”

  The Razors’ defenseman laughed again. “I’m magnanimous. I’ll hold to my side of the bargain, even if you haven’t accomplished yours by the time the show tapes.”

  “Merciful is your middle name, Bellitti,” Jordan remarked drily.

  Vince shifted in his seat and muttered, “I’ve got a bad gut about this...”

  “We know, Vince. You’re out of this bet,” Jordan said resignedly. “As far as you’re concerned, you’ve seen no evil, heard no evil. Just do me a favor? Show up and do the program. And if you can outcook Bellitti, it’ll be a bonus.”

  * * *

  Sera couldn’t believe she’d agreed to this. But here she was, in Camilla’s office, eyeing Jordan and waiting to tape a cooking show. They’d already gone through the necessary paperwork with producers, and they’d met with Jordan’s mother. Camilla Serenghetti was her usual bundle of energy.

  Tipped off by Jordan, Sera had dressed in what she considered appropriate: a solid blue sweater and slacks—soon to be covered by an apron, anyway. Jordan had mentioned, and she’d known herself, that busy patterns didn’t work on camera. She’d donned some delicate jewelry and had done her own hair and makeup—though she figured the show’s staff would do some touch-up before she went on air.

  They were in a lull while Camilla spoke with her producers on set and they waited for other guests and the audience to arrive and taping to begin. After she’d reluctantly committed to doing the show—thinking of Dante, Camilla and the favor she owed Jordan after her car accident—Jordan had informed her that the taping would be a cooking competition with him and a couple of Razors teammates as contestants and her as the judge. It had been too late to back out, but she couldn’t help feeling a little bit like the star of The Bachelorette, being asked to choose among several single men.

  Still, she felt poised, professional...and sexy under Jordan’s regard. She had to put that night behind her—even though every time she was near him now, she had to fight the urge to touch him, slip back into his arms, and... No, no, no. Still, his magnetism was so strong, she could feel the pull as if it were a tangible force.

  Ignoring the frisson of awareness that coursed through her at the thought, she focused on a framed photo of Jordan and his brothers when they were younger that rested on a nearby windowsill. Picking it up, she asked, “Is this you around age ten?”

  Jordan tossed her a surprisingly sheepish smile. “No, that was me at twelve. I’ve hidden that photo every time I’ve been to Mom’s office, but she keeps setting it back out.” After a pause, he added, “I was a late bloomer.”

  Sensing a chance to rib him, Sera felt her lips twitch in a smile. “In other words, for the longest time, you were an underdeveloped, small and scrawny kid?”

  “Going for the jugular with three adjectives, Perini? How about we leave it at small?”

  “Wow, so you came late to your lady-killer ways...”

  He bared his teeth. “How are they working?”

  She resisted reminding him that he’d agreed to be on his best behavior today—her sanity depended on it. And she was still processing this new bit of information about Jordan. She’d assumed...well, she didn’t know what she’d thought, but she’d always figured he’d sprung from the womb as a natural-born charmer. Apparently, she’d been—and, wow, it hurt to admit this—wrong.

  “Braces on your teeth?” she asked, setting the photo back down.

  “Check.”

  “Glasses?”

  “Sometimes, until laser-vision surgery.”

  “Acne?”

  He nodded. “I’ll cop to the occasional teenage blemish.”

  “Nose job?”

  “Now we’re going too far.”

  She smirked. Rumor was, back in the day, all the Welsdale girls got boob jobs and cars for their birthdays—because they could.

  “I leave the cosmetic surgery to the models and Hollywood starlets,” he added, as if reading her mind.

  At the reminder of the types of women he’d dated, she folded her arms. Because now they were back on comfortable ground. He’d started late, but he’d made up ground in the playboy arena with a vengeance. “Making up for lost time these days?”

  “Let’s not get all pop psychology on me.”

  No way was she backing off. She was enjoying this. Nodding at the picture, she asked, “How many of your dates have seen this?”

  “None, fortunately. Not one has been in Mom’s office. But WE Magazine ran a Before They Were Famous feature not long ago, and they dug up an old Welsdale newspaper article of me posing with my team in a youth-league photo.”

  “Horrors,” she teased.

  Jordan shrugged easily. “I got over it. Not even a nick in the public image.”

  “The carefully constructed persona stayed in place?”

  “Fortunately for my sponsorship deals. Image is everything.”

  Sera widened her eyes. “Wow, so I just put it all together...”

  “What?”

  “Doctors, nurses, therapists. They’re all uppermost in your subconscious.”

  “Hold on, Dr. Freud.”

  “You have a fixation with those in the health-care field because of your own sickly childhood.”

  Jordan arched a brow. “So you’re saying that the reason I’m attracted to you is because you’re a physical therapist?”

  “Bingo,” she concluded triumphantly, feeling a tingle of awareness at his admission that he wanted her.

&n
bsp; “How much psychology have you studied?”

  “I took a few courses on the way to my PT degree, but that’s irrelevant.”

  “Right,” he responded drily. “Here’s another theory for you. I like blondes. See? My theory even has the beauty of simplicity.”

  Sera dropped her arms. “You’re not taking me seriously.”

  Jordan tilted his head. “Don’t you want to argue that my attraction to blondes stems from the newborn period? You know, when I might have been placed next to babies with wisps of light hair in the hospital?”

  Sera resisted rolling her eyes.

  “Hey, you started this. Anyway, does it matter? You’re here, about to go on television—”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “—and whether I like your physical-therapist scrubs or just women with cute blond ponytails is beside the point.”

  Sera reluctantly admitted he had a point. Still, if she could pigeonhole and rationalize their—uh, his—attraction, it would be easier to manage. Aloud, she said, “Why do you like me? You shouldn’t, you know. We’re bad for each other. I come with strings attached as an in-law, and that’s contrary to your MO. And you’re the type of on-and-off the field player that I think should come with a warning label.”

  “Maybe it’s the forbidden aspect that drives the attraction.”

  “Maybe for you.” Damn it, he was right.

  “Okay, for me,” he readily agreed and then checked his watch. “Ah, I’ve got to warn you before you go on—”

  “What?” Sera’s sublimated nervousness kicked up a notch.

  “My father will be in the audience, and he has delusions of getting on television.”

  “He doesn’t know your mother’s show may get canceled?”

  Jordan shook his head. “After his one guest appearance, he thinks he can make it better by becoming a staple on the program.”

  “And why not?” Sera asked. “He’s about the only Serenghetti who hasn’t been on television regularly.”

  Cole and Jordan had both been on televised NHL games, not to mention postgame interviews. Their brother, Rick, was a stuntman with movie credits who was married to a famous actress. Jordan’s younger sister had done fashion shows that had been broadcast. And Camilla had her own television program, of course. Sera could understand why Serg felt left out of the limelight. He wasn’t only dealing with his poststroke infirmities but also with not appearing on the marquee alongside the rest of his family. As a physical therapist, she’d seen his frustration in plenty of patients and could sympathize.

  “If he wants to be on television, he should consider commercials for a construction industry supplier instead,” Jordan muttered.

  “Then why hasn’t he?”

  “Because he fancies himself a sommelier these days.”

  Sera felt a tinkling laugh bubble up. “A wine expert?”

  “Bingo. And guess whose show he thinks would be perfect for a regular guest segment.”

  “Oh.”

  “Right.”

  “Your father just wants to be understood.”

  Jordan snorted. “He’s tough as nails and ornery.”

  Sera tilted her head. “So you’re telling me this because he might spring up from his seat in the audience and shout something?”

  “He can’t spring up from anywhere these days,” Jordan muttered. “And believe me, the only reason he’d shout a comment is to tell me I’m doing something wrong.”

  “Does he do that at your hockey games, too?” Sera asked, amused.

  “If he does, he’s too tucked away in the stands for people to really notice. Anyway, my point is he may try to insert himself into the show somehow, and I don’t want you to be surprised by anything...unexpected.”

  “How does your mother feel about this turn of events?”

  “Like the breadwinner who has a temperamental kid on her hands.”

  Sera laughed.

  “Suddenly she’s the star, and he’s cast in her shadow. Though, I don’t think he’d even admit to himself that’s what he’s feeling.”

  Sera tapped a finger against her lips. “There’s got to be a solution to this.”

  Jordan shrugged. “If there is one, I haven’t thought of it.”

  Just then, one of Camilla’s producers stepped into the room to call them on set.

  “Ready?” Jordan asked, searching her gaze.

  Sera shrugged. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Showtime. In more ways than one...

  Nine

  She was supposed to have had one rule: never get involved with a player.

  Except Jordan actually seemed kind of cute and endearing at the moment wearing an apron, but still looking masculine. He was prepared to make a fool of himself under the bright television-studio lights. All for the sake of his mother. Aww.

  Sera straightened her spine against the traitorous thought. She needed to get him in top shape and marketable for Dante and his team—and his sponsors. Nothing more.

  “Hi, Sera!” Marisa waved as she stepped into the studio with her husband and scanned for an empty seat.

  Sera’s eyes widened. “What are you doing here?”

  “Returning the favor,” Cole replied, shooting a look at Jordan.

  “What favor?” Sera knew she sounded like a parrot, but she couldn’t help herself.

  She’d avoided mentioning her appearance on the show today to Marisa, which meant... She focused her gaze on Jordan, who wore a bland mask.

  Cole cast his brother a sardonic look. “Jordan came as comic relief when Marisa and I were guests on Mom’s cooking show before we were married.”

  “Oh.” Sera remembered teasing her cousin about the significance of that appearance for her relationship with Cole—which was why she hadn’t wanted to mention her own cameo today in return to Marisa, who might get the wrong idea.

  “We thought about bringing Dahlia,” her cousin went on, oblivious to Sera’s distress, “but we figured she was too young to—”

  “—watch her uncle Jordan get outmaneuvered.” Cole chuckled.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Jordan replied.

  Cole flashed a smile. “Payback, little brother.”

  “And thanks to the fact that Mom still has a show, you have the chance,” Jordan grumbled.

  Just then, Serg Serenghetti walked into the studio, all the while chatting with a producer.

  “Excuse me,” Cole said. “I’m going to help Dad find a seat.”

  Jordan watched his brother walk away and shrugged. “The Serenghettis have arrived in force.”

  Sera bit back a groan. Great.

  As if on cue, more Serenghetti family members entered the studio. Rick and Chiara Serenghetti were followed by Jordan’s sister, Mia. Even though Chiara wore glasses and a baseball cap, so as not to be identified as a well-known actress, Sera recognized her immediately.

  Sera swung back to Jordan and asked accusingly, “What is this? A Serenghetti family reunion?”

  Jordan shrugged. “News to me, too.” Then he stepped forward and addressed his middle brother. “What are you doing here?”

  “We’re here for moral support,” Rick replied sardonically.

  “For whom?” Jordan replied.

  Sera was wondering the same thing. In this wilder-than-dreams scenario, it was hard to tell who needed help more: her, Jordan or Camilla, whose show might be in the crosshairs of new management.

  Mia Serenghetti walked up, holding a cup of coffee and looking on trend in the way only a budding fashion designer could. She caught Sera’s gaze. “Nice job bringing my youngest brother to heel.”

  Sera blew a breath. Despite her best intentions, it was as if she and Jordan wore bright neon signs: Get These Two Together. Still, as everyone laughed, Sera pasted a smile
on her face. “Thanks, Mia, but I’m not in the market for—”

  “—reforming bad boys,” Jordan finished for her wryly. “Yes, we know.”

  Mia’s gaze swung from Sera to her youngest brother and back. “Finishing each other’s sentences. Interesting.”

  That comment earned a laugh from Rick and Chiara.

  Sera held up her hands. “No, we’re not. We’re boring. Very, very boring.”

  “Better hope that’s not true for the sake of Mom’s show!” Mia replied, taking a sip of her coffee.

  Fortunately, Sera was saved from the need for further comment because the studio staff—including the middle-aged producer who’d summoned her from Camilla’s office earlier—started hustling everyone into position.

  Minutes later, Sera pasted a smile on her face for the cameras and went with the agreed-upon script. “Gentlemen, start your kitchen appliances.”

  The audience chuckled.

  Okay, so she was here as an alleged cooking expert to judge Jordan’s kitchen skills against those of two Razors teammates he’d cajoled, charmed or blackmailed into appearing as contestants today.

  Jordan was so in trouble. And frankly, so was she. When she’d agreed to this, she’d thought she was volunteering for some sedate affair. She should have known better with the Serenghettis.

  “Jordan, let’s start with you,” Camilla said in a drill-sergeant tone as she stopped at his counter station.

  “Playing favorites, Mom?” Jordan asked, and then winked at the camera. “I always knew I was first.”

  Camilla ignored him. “What will you be making?”

  “Pasta alla chitarra with fresh mackerel ragù, capers, tomatoes and Taggiasca olives.”

  Sera couldn’t help a look of surprise. She was shocked Jordan even knew what a Taggiasca olive was.

  Jordan winked at the audience. “You can call this dish The Jordan Serenghetti Pasta Special.”

  Sera raised an eyebrow because Jordan seemed not the least bit nervous about his ambitious recipe. Fine, let him try. Shouldn’t she have known by now that he was always up for a challenge?

  Marc Bellitti volunteered that he’d be making a ravioli dish with a secret family recipe for vodka sauce. And Vince Tedeschi said he’d prepare pollo alla cacciatore with mussels.