by Anna DePalo
The master suite in his Welsdale condo included a large marble bath and a walk-in closet. He’d bought the place—on the top floor of a prewar building in the center of downtown—in order to have a home base during his hockey career. Not to mention that like the rest of the Serenghettis, he was a keen real estate investor.
The condo had been a place where he could retreat during the off-season without becoming an extended houseguest of his parents. His brothers kept places nearby, while his sister preferred to stay at Casa Serenghetti—as the siblings sometimes jokingly referred to the family manse—when she was in town.
He opened the glass door to the shower stall and then stood under the lukewarm spray, waiting for it to cool him down before he grabbed a bar of soap and lathered up.
He told himself he’d been dreaming about Marisa only because he wanted to win. Sex was just a metaphor for crashing through her defenses. Then he’d have some relief from this frustrating dance that they were engaged in.
Certainly he didn’t want a round two with her. He wasn’t even sure he trusted her...
After dressing, he made the quick drive to his office at Serenghetti Construction. He’d just reached his desk when the receptionist announced that she had Mr. Dobson from the Pershing School on the phone.
Interesting. It appeared Marisa had spoken with Pershing’s principal, and Mr. Dobson was wasting no time getting the wheels turning on his end.
Through careful questioning of his contacts, Cole had learned that a Pershing board member was golf buddies with the CEO of JM Construction. He didn’t have solid evidence that JM Construction had been a shoo-in for building the gym, but it was enough. In the end, proof didn’t matter anyway. He needed that job to go to Serenghetti Construction and not JM.
“Mr. Dobson, Cole Serenghetti here. What can I do for you?” Cole made his voice sound detached, even a bit bored.
Dobson engaged in pleasantries for a few minutes, as if he and Cole already knew each other and the call was an ordinary occurrence. Then without missing a beat, the principal thanked him for agreeing to headline Pershing Shines Bright, and invited Serenghetti Construction to submit a proposal for building the gym.
Cole leaned back in his chair. Since coming to his office last week, Marisa must have delivered the message at Pershing that the fund-raiser and the construction job were a package deal. Still, he needed to make sure there was no doubt about this understanding. He expected at least a handshake deal, if not a signed contract, before the school benefit took place.
Drawing on the business savvy that he’d gotten at an early age by observing Serg, Cole said, “I have an architectural partnership that I work with. I suggest setting up a meeting for next week where we can discuss the vision for the new gym as well as talk about costs and the timeline. Afterward, I’ll submit contracts for your review.”
Dobson paused a beat and then heartily agreed with Cole’s suggestion.
“Feel free to invite any of the directors on your board to the meeting next week,” Cole continued. “I want each and every one of them to be comfortable with the Serenghetti team.”
There was another beat before the principal responded. “I can assure you that the board couldn’t have been more pleased to hear the Serenghetti name mentioned in connection with both the fund-raiser and the construction of the gym. They need no reassurance.”
Cole smiled, glad that he and Dobson understood each other. Clearly, the principal was savvy himself. He appeared to have done the math and realized that a free appearance by a hockey star or two was worth plenty to the school’s bottom line. Cole made a mental note to call Jordan and tell him that both of them would be showing up for Pershing Shines Bright.
Thinking he needed to do Marisa a favor for keeping her word, Cole went on, “Invite Ms. Danieli to the meeting, too. If she’s in charge of the fund-raiser, she’ll need to be able to speak knowledgeably to potential donors about the building project.”
“Excellent idea,” Dobson concurred. “I will let her know.”
As soon as his conversation with the principal had ended, Cole called his youngest brother and put him on speakerphone.
“Put the Pershing School benefit on your calendar,” he told Jordan without prelude. “I’ll email you the date and time when I get them from Marisa. You and I will be making an appearance in our best penguin suits or closest equivalent.”
As he spoke, he opened a blank email and began drafting a message to Marisa. Did she have a black-tie event in mind? He hadn’t concerned himself with the details up to now. He also needed to tell her that Jordan would be participating, too. He didn’t pause now to analyze why he was relishing communicating with her, even if just by email, after the dead air between them since she’d shown up at his office.
Jordan’s unmistakable chuckle sounded over the phone line. “First, you told me to stay away from Marisa, now you want me to attend her fund-raiser with you. Which is it? And more important, will you be a good date?”
Cole figured he should have expected Jordan’s needling. “You wouldn’t be my date for the fund-raiser, numbskull.”
“Why, Cole,” his brother cooed, “you do know how to break someone’s heart. Did I lose out to Marisa, or is there another teacher who’s gotten you hot under the collar lately?”
“Later, Jordan.” Cole punched the button to end the call.
He finished his email, and then, after finding an address for Marisa on Pershing’s website, fired it off.
Leaning back in his chair again, he allowed himself momentary satisfaction at cutting off JM Construction. Now all he needed to do was wait for Marisa to come calling with the details...
* * *
The second time wasn’t as intimidating, Marisa thought, as she walked through Serenghetti Construction’s offices on a Thursday afternoon.
Last week she’d sat in on a meeting between Mr. Dobson and Cole and his architectural firm to discuss the contract to build Pershing’s gym. The talk had been about use requirements, building permits and environmental impact. Then there’d been a discussion of hardwood, maple grades, subflooring, HVAC systems and disability access. Marisa had jotted notes to keep up with the onslaught of details. She’d been aware of Cole’s gaze on her from time to time as he’d talked, but she’d kept her head down and stayed in the background, asking only a couple of questions.
She was a teacher, not a builder, but she’d known as soon as the meeting was over that she would have to do some serious studying if she hoped one day to be an assistant principal. School administrators like Mr. Dobson had more on their plate than the curriculum. They were also responsible for the physical condition of the school buildings that they oversaw.
In fact, she had done a little online research this past weekend because today she had to deal with Cole all by herself. She was supposed to look at architectural plans and give her input to Mr. Dobson. The principal had asked her to look at the plans for other athletic facilities built by Serenghetti Construction.
She should be happy about her expanded responsibilities because maybe it was a sign that Mr. Dobson would consider her for a promotion. But instead, her thoughts were on Cole. Since their meeting last week, her communication with him had been limited. They’d exchanged brief emails about the time and place of the fund-raiser, and he’d signed off on the use of his bio and photo.
But her active imagination had filled in what had been left unsaid. She’d gone over every look and word that Cole had given her during their meeting with Mr. Dobson and the architect. She’d also replayed their last conversation at his office—especially the part about wishing their relationship had turned out differently.
She was grateful to him for agreeing to do the fund-raiser. And vulnerable and attracted...
Danger, danger, danger... She could never become involved with Cole. Not with her family history. She’d lived with the consequences of the past her whole life, even if she hadn’t known the details until her twenties.
Bringin
g herself back to the present, she gave her name to the receptionist, who directed her toward Cole’s office with little fanfare.
When she reached Cole’s door, he looked up, as if sensing her there.
“Marisa.” He stood and came around his desk.
Her pulse picked up, and she stepped into the room, resisting the urge to hug her light blazer to her instead of leaving it draped over one arm. As usual, she was hit with an overwhelming awareness of him as a man. Today he was dressed in a suit but he had shed his jacket and tie. Still, even though he wasn’t in full corporate uniform, he appeared every inch the successful and wealthy business executive.
Marisa shifted. She’d dressed in a striped shirt and navy pants—an appropriate and understated outfit in her opinion. She dared him to take note of her clothing one more time and call her a cliché.
Cole’s eyes surveyed her as he approached, but he said nothing.
Did she imagine that he lingered at the V created by her shirt, his gaze flickering with heat for a moment? It was like being touched by a feather—light, and yet packed with sensation.
When he stopped in front of her, he asked without preamble, “What did you think of our meeting with Dobson last week?”
She resisted saying she thought of it as her and Mr. Dobson’s meeting with him. “It went well.”
Cole nodded. “Dobson wants you to see some older plans today. Every job is unique, but I’m guessing he wants to cover his bases and have you do some due diligence.”
“In case he needs to account for the way the construction contract with Serenghetti came about?”
Cole gave her a dry look and inclined his head. “You’ll be the one doing the explaining since you’re here today. You’re going to get a sense of what past clients have gone with.”
“Okay.” She really was in the hot seat. “Do you have plans for other gyms that Serenghetti has built?”
“One or two.” Cole arched a brow. “You might as well get acquainted with the nitty-gritty of construction. Nobody plays around here. Least of all me.” He pulled his office door open wider and indicated she should precede him out of the room. “You can leave your stuff here. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Marisa dropped her handbag and blazer on a chair and then walked beside Cole down the corridor and around the corner.
Stopping in front of an older-looking door, Cole retrieved keys from his pocket and opened two different dead bolts.
“I guess not everything at Serenghetti Construction is state-of-the-art,” she remarked lightly.
Cole quirked his lips. “The new Pershing gym will be, don’t worry. This building dates back to the 1930s, and we kept the old-fashioned storage room with concrete walls and dead bolts. It’s where we keep confidential files and old documents.”
He opened the door and flipped the light switch.
Marisa saw a small room lined with metal cabinets. A walkable strip down the middle extended about seven or eight feet into the room.
Cole moved inside, and Marisa watched as he scanned the cabinets.
“There must be a few decades’ worth of files in there.”
“Building rehabilitation is a substantial share of our business,” Cole answered, glancing back at her. “We refer to these plans when we do renovations or additions to existing structures, either for returning clients or new owners.”
“I see.”
He looked amused. “Come on in.”
Reluctantly, she let go of the door and stepped inside. She let her gaze travel over the cabinets because the alternative was allowing it to settle on Cole. The labels on the metal drawers were a mystery to her. “How do you know where to look?”
Then, hearing a click behind her, she turned to see that the door had creaked shut. Pushing aside a prick of panic, she said, “I’ll, uh, step back out to give you more room to search for what you’re looking for.”
She grasped the door handle and tried to turn it. The door, however, didn’t budge. She jiggled the handle again and pushed.
“Now you’ve done it.”
She swung around, her eyes widening. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve locked us in.”
She gave him an accusatory look. “You told me to step inside!”
“But not to let the door close behind you. There’s a doorstop outside. Didn’t you see it?”
“No!”
“Are you afraid of small spaces?” he asked sardonically.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She had a fear of Cole and small spaces.
“Breathe.”
“I don’t want to suck all of the air out of the room.”
He looked as if he was stifling a laugh. “You won’t. Does this happen often?”
“It comes and goes,” she admitted. “I’m not claustrophobic, but I’m not a big fan of tiny areas, either.”
“Relax.”
She sent up a prayer because she was in sensory overload right now, and his nearness in the closet-like space threatened to short-circuit her. “You’re finding this amusing, aren’t you?”
“Vasovagal syncope, claustrophobia... It keeps getting better and better with you.”
“Very funny.” She’d never put her best foot forward with him. She felt exposed, her vulnerabilities on display.
“You could scream for help,” he suggested. “It might suck all the air out of the room, so think about whether you’re willing to go for broke...”
“The only reason to scream is because you’re making me crazy.”
He stepped toward her, bringing them within brushing distance. “There’s always your cell phone.”
“I left it in your office along with my handbag.” She perked up. “What about your phone?”
“Ditto except for the part about the handbag.”
She lowered her shoulders. “How could you let this happen?”
“I didn’t,” he said with exaggerated patience.
She grasped at any topic she could in order to take her mind off her panic. “Did you ever think that Serenghetti Construction might be your second career after hockey someday?”
“No, but I have a construction background, thanks to working summers at Serenghetti Construction to earn money. I majored in management at Boston College, but I also took community college classes in bid estimating, drafting and blueprint reading that helped at the summer jobs.”
“Because your father always wanted you to succeed him at Serenghetti Construction.”
“Someone had to, but I never committed.”
“And then your hockey dreams were cut short.”
He gave her a droll look. “For a woman who doesn’t like to confront uncomfortable topics, you sure don’t mince words.”
She frowned. “What topics don’t I like to talk about? I’m just wondering whether it may have been hard to come to terms with your new situation.”
He folded his arms. “Like you haven’t come to grips with the past?”
“What do you mean?” He was way too close.
“Us.”
“Some of us weren’t lucky enough to have a Plan B that involved a job in the family business.”
His gaze sharpened. “Oh no, you don’t. I’m not letting you avoid the topic. Why did you go to Mr. Hayes with the story that I pulled the prank? Because I came from money and had a Plan B?”
“Please,” she scoffed.
He was too close, too much, too everything.
The school assembly during their senior year had been named Pershing Does Good. It was supposed to have been video highlights of the Pershing community doing volunteer work. Instead, it had turned into a joke because Cole had inserted images of Mr. Hayes’s head superimposed on a champion wrestler’s body, and one of the principal seemingly dressed only in boxers and socks and posing next to a convertible.
It had been a brilliant piece of hacking, but Mr. Hayes had been in no mood to laugh.
Cole moved closer. “Or was it a way to get back at me after we’d had s
ex and I didn’t shower you with pretty phrases?”
She made a sound of disbelief. “You didn’t talk to me, either.”
He paused, his eyes gleaming. “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.”
“Where?” she demanded. “You’ve written a script about a jilted lover seeking revenge.”
“Weren’t you one?”
“I was a virgin.”
“Okay, so I was the evil seducer who stole your virginity, and hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? That’s a good story, too, except my recollection is that you were a willing participant.”
She shook her head vehemently. “It had nothing to do with sex. At least my confession to Mr. Hayes didn’t. You were closer when you thought it had to do with money.”
Cole’s face hardened.
“Mr. Hayes called me into his office. He guessed there were seniors who knew more about the prank than he did.” She fought to keep her voice even. “So he pulled in the person he thought he had something to hold over. Namely, me.”
Cole scowled.
“You humiliated and embarrassed him in front of the whole student body. He was going to get to the bottom of it, come hell or high water. So he threatened to take away my recommendation for a college scholarship unless I confessed who did it.” She swallowed. “I’d overheard you telling one of your teammates near the lockers that you’d managed to sneak into the school offices.”
Marisa had known back then in the principal’s office that Mr. Hayes’s job was at stake. While working her after-school job sweeping hallways, she’d overheard conversations among the staff about the principal’s contract maybe not being renewed by Pershing’s board because there was debate about Mr. Hayes’s performance. Cole’s prank would further make it seem as if Mr. Hayes wasn’t a good leader who commanded the respect of the school community.
Marisa had looked at Mr. Hayes, and in that instant, she’d read his thoughts. He was worried because his career might be on the line, and he had three kids to support at home. She had been able to relate because her mother had stressed about her job, too, and she’d had only one kid to worry about.