Second Chance with the CEO

by Anna DePalo

  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.

  She knew Cole had gone on to Boston College, which was a powerhouse in college hockey. She was sure he hadn’t had to hold down two part-time jobs in order to graduate, but she gave him credit if he continued to work in the family construction business, as he’d done at Pershing.

  “I remember you didn’t have much money in high school,” he said.

  “I was a scholarship student. I worked summers and sometimes weekends scooping ice cream at the Ben & Jerry’s on Sycamore St.”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  She remembered, too. Oh, did she remember. Cole and the rest of his jock posse had hardly ever set foot in the store, but it had been a favorite of teenage girls. She’d waited on her classmates, and usually it had worked out okay, but a few stuck-up types had enjoyed queening it over her. Cole had stopped in during the brief time they’d been study buddies...

  “And you worked summers at Serenghetti Construction,” she said unnecessarily, suddenly nervous because they weren’t squabbling anymore.

  “All the way through college.”

  “But you didn’t have to do it for the money.”

  “No, not for the money,” he responded, “but there are different shades of have to. There’s the have to that comes with family obligation.”

  “Is that why you’re back and running Serenghetti Construction?”

  He nodded curtly. “At least temporarily. I’ve got other opportunities on the back burner.”

  She tried to hide her surprise. “You’re planning to play hockey again?”

  “No, but there are other options. Coaching, for instance.”

  Her heart fell, but Marisa told herself not to be ridiculous even as she fidgeted with her handbag strap. She didn’t care what Cole Serenghetti’s plans were, and she shouldn’t be surprised they didn’t involve staying in Welsdale and heading Serenghetti Construction.

  “How is your father doing?” she asked, trying to bring the conversation back to safer ground. News of Serg’s stroke was public knowledge around Welsdale.

  “He’s doing therapy to regain some motor function.”

  Marisa didn’t say anything, sensing that Cole might continue if she remained silent.

  “It’s doubtful he’ll be able to run Serenghetti Construction again.”

  “That must be tough.” If Serg didn’t recover more, and Cole had no plans to head the family business on a permanent basis, Marisa wondered what would happen. Would one of Cole’s brothers step in to head the company? But Jordan was having an impressive run with the Razors... She contained her curiosity, because Cole had been a closed door to her for fifteen years—and she liked it that way, she told herself.

  “Dad’s a fighter. We’ll see what happens,” Cole said, seeming like a man who rarely, if ever, invited sympathy. “He’s joked about the lengths he’ll go to retire and hand over the reins to one of his kids.”

  She smiled, and Cole’s expression relaxed.

  “How’s your mother?” he asked, appearing okay with chitchat about their families.

  “She recently married a carpenter.” Ted Millepied was a good man who adored her mother.

  Cole quirked his lips. “Where’s he based? I may be able to use him.”

  “You don’t believe in guilt by association?” The words left her mouth before she could stop them, but she was surprised that Cole would even consider hiring someone related to her by marriage.

  Cole sobered. “No, despite what my cockamamie brother may have led you to believe about the Serenghettis and the labeling of relationships to the nth degree of separation.”

  Jordan’s words came back to her. Entangled by proxy? Engaged by one degree of separation? In fact, there was no connection between her and Cole. She refused to believe in any. There’d only been dead air since high school.

  “My mother is still in Welsdale,” she elaborated. “She’s worked her way up to management at Stanhope Department Store. In fact, she recently got named buyer for housewares.”

  She was proud of her mother. After many years in retail, earning college credit at night and on weekends, Donna Casale had been rewarded with management-track promotions at Stanhope, which anchored the biggest shopping center in the Welsdale area. The store was where Marisa’s wealthier classmates at Pershing had bought many of their clothes—and where Marisa had gotten by with her mother’s employee discounts.

  Cole was looking at her closely, and she gave herself a mental shake. They had drifted deep into personal stuff. Stop, stop, stop. She should get going. “Okay,” she said briskly, “if Pershing meets your terms about the construction job, will you do the fund-raiser?”

  Cole looked alert. “Yes.”

  “Wonderful.” She stepped forward and held out her hand. “It’s a deal.”

  Cole enveloped Marisa’s hand, and sensation swamped her. Their eyes met, and the moment dragged out between them... He was so close, she could see the sprinkling of gold in his irises. She’d also forgotten how tall Cole was, because she’d limited herself to the occasional glimpse of him on television or in print for the past fifteen years.

  She swallowed, her lips parting.

  Cole dropped his gaze to her mouth. “Did you mean what you said to Jordan?”

  “Wh-what?” She cleared her throat and tried again. “What in particular?”

  “Was he your Plan B?”

  “I don’t have a Plan B.”

  “What about regretting telling on me to Mr. Hayes in high school?”

  The world shrank to include only the two of them. “Every day. I wished circumstances had been different.”

  “Ever wish things had turned out differently between us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  A cell phone buzzed, breaking the moment.

  Marisa stepped back, and Cole reached into his pocket.

  “Mr. Serenghetti?”

  Marisa glanced toward the door and saw the receptionist.

  “I’ve got it,” Cole said. “He phoned my cell.”

  The receptionist nodded as she retreated. “Your four o’clock is here, too.”

  Cole held Marisa’s gaze as he addressed whoever was on the other end of the line. From what Marisa could tell, the call was about a materials delivery for one of Serenghetti’s construction sites.

  But it was the message that she read in Cole’s expression that captured her attention. Late
r. We’re not done yet.

  Marisa gave a quick nod before turning and heading for the door.

  As she made her way past reception, down in the elevator and out the building, she pondered Cole’s words about wishing things had worked out differently between them. What had he meant? And did it matter?

  But there was more to puzzle over in his expression. We’re not done.

  It was more than had existed between them in fifteen years—or maybe they were just going to write a different ending.

  Four

  Marisa gazed up at him with big, wide eyes. “Please, Cole. I want you.”

  “Yes,” he heard himself answer, his voice thick.

  They were made to fit together. He’d waited fifteen years to show her how good it could be between them. He wanted to tell her that he would please her. This would be no crazy fumble on a sofa. When it came to sex, their communication had the potential to be flawless and explosive.

  He claimed her lips and traced the seam of her mouth. She opened for him, tasting sweet as a ripe berry, and then met his tongue. The kiss deepened and gained urgency. They pressed together, and she moaned.

  He felt the pressing need of his arousal as her breasts pushed against his chest. She was sexy and hot, and she wanted him. He’d never felt this deep need for anyone else. It was primitive and basic and...right.

  “Oh, Cole.” She looked at him, her eyes wide amber pools. “Please. Now.”

  “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “It’s going to be so good between us, sweet pea. I promise.”

  He positioned himself, and then held her gaze as he pushed inside her. She was warm and slick and tight. And he was sliding toward mindless rapture...

  Cole awoke with a start.

  Glancing around, half-dazed, he realized he was restless, aroused—and alone.

  He sprawled across his king-size bed, where damp sheets had ridden down his bare chest and tangled around his legs. Most of all, there was the feeling of being irritated and unfulfilled.

  Damn it.

  He’d been fantasizing about Marisa Danieli. He’d itched to ride her curves and have her come apart in his arms. He worked hard to slow his pounding pulse and then threw off the sheets. A glance at the bedside clock told him he needed to be at the office in an hour. He hit the alarm before it could go off and then rose and headed to the shower.