Second Chance with the CEO

by Anna DePalo

  Serafina blinked. “Oh...hello.”

  Marisa prayed her face didn’t betray her. “Um, hi, Sera. I didn’t know you were going to stop by.”

  “I overlooked a couple of small things when I moved out.” Sera shrugged. “Since I still had the emergency key to the apartment, I thought it would be no problem if I showed up on my way to work. I did knock.”

  It was as if they were both pretending there wasn’t a six-foot-plus sexy guy standing in the corner of her living room.

  Marisa glanced at Cole, who was shielded by the high back of an armchair. She had no such cover. She hoped her apron was enough to disguise the fact that she was wearing only underwear. “Sera, you know Cole Serenghetti, don’t you?”

  Her cousin’s gaze moved to Cole. “I thought I recognized you.”

  “Nice to meet one of Marisa’s relatives.”

  Sera nodded. “I’m going to...go search the kitchen for my small blender.”

  “Sure, go right ahead,” Marisa chirped. “I thought I saw it in there.”

  When her cousin turned and left, Marisa breathed a sigh of relief. Cole tossed the biker shorts at her, and she slipped into them while avoiding his eyes.

  “I’ll let myself out,” he announced wryly.

  “We shouldn’t have done this,” she blurted. Nothing had changed. She was as easy a conquest for him as she’d always been. Willing to stop, drop and roll anytime, anywhere.

  Cole ran a hand through his hair. “Get rid of the books on the shelf. You don’t need them.”

  Marisa stared at him. It was a typical understated and sardonic Cole Serenghetti compliment. She wasn’t sure whether to hug it close, or run for cover.

  “I’ll let you know the timing for the television show.” Giving her one last significant look, Cole strode from the room.

  Moments later Marisa heard her front door open and close for the second time. Taking a deep breath, she walked toward the back of the apartment. She found Serafina in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets.

  “I know that little handheld blender and juicer is in here somewhere...”

  “Have you tried the cabinet above the stove?”

  Serafina turned and gave her a once-over. “Well, you look fit for company again. At least the nonmale version.”

  “Cole came over because we had things to...discuss about the fund-raiser. And because he’s looking for a couple of guests for his mother’s cooking show, and I’m trying to get him to run a hockey clinic for the kids.” And I kissed him at the Puck & Shoot, and I hope the news doesn’t spread...or hasn’t already to you. Fortunately, since she’d never been to the Puck & Shoot before last week, there was no reason for anyone to recognize her as Sera’s cousin and make a connection.

  Her cousin tilted her head. “And those, uh, discussions happened with your pants off?”

  Marisa flushed. Busted.

  Serafina lifted her eyebrows. “He’s hot, for sure. And at least he doesn’t have his brother’s reputation for going through women as if he needs to spread the love.”

  “I—”

  “You need a bodyguard. You obviously can’t be trusted, or he can’t—or the both of you. I’m not sure which it is. It looks like he’s forgiven you for high school and then some.”

  “It’s not what you think.” It was pretend—or some of it was. Sera seemingly hadn’t gotten the bulletin yet that Marisa had kissed Cole at the Puck & Shoot, or her cousin would have mentioned it already.

  “Wow, and we’ve descended into cliché, too. Give me a sec—I need to wrap my mind around this one. Maybe a bodyguard and a therapist? I can hunt up recommendations for you.”

  Marisa sighed. “C’mon, Sera.”

  “Well, you two have definitely got a thing for one another.”

  “We don’t, really.” The denial sounded weak, even to her own ears. Ugh.

  “He wants you to appear on his mother’s cooking show? That’s serious.”

  “It’s not as if I’m showing up as a member of the family.”

  “Just be careful. You two have a complicated past.”

  “I know.”

  “Great. Then that’s settled.” Sera gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Phew!”

  “There’s one tiny wrinkle.”

  Her cousin stilled. “Oh?”

  “We’re pretending to be a couple.”

  Sera’s eyes widened. “That’s not a wrinkle. That’s a—”

  “Really. We’re faking it.”

  Sera jerked her thumb in the direction of the living room. “So you two were pretending to go at it in there?”

  “No, yes... I mean, our relationship is fake!”

  She filled in her cousin on what had happened at the Puck & Shoot, ending with her pact with Cole not to correct the perception that they were an item, at least until the Pershing Shines Bright benefit. Even as she told her story to Sera, Marisa admitted to herself that she had to try harder not to blur the line between reality and make-believe.

  When she finished, Sera regarded her for an instant, head tilted to the side. “I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt again.”

  “I’m not in high school anymore.”

  “No, but you still work there, and Cole has had another fifteen years to hone his lady-killer skills. Plus, he’s admitted he wished things had turned out differently between you at Pershing.”

  “I told him I couldn’t get involved. He knows the Danieli family history with professional athletes.”

  “If that’s the reason you’re hiding behind, go better. Cole is retired from pro hockey.”

  “Yes, but running the family construction business is a temporary sideline for him.” She didn’t want anything to do with someone who still had his hand in pro sports. She’s made a good life for herself, right here in Welsdale.

  “Well, you could become a temporary sideline to the temporary sideline. There’s your reason to be wary.”

  Marisa threw up her hands. “You and Jordan should try Scrabble. Word play is your thing.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  Eight

  Marisa had done hard things in her life. Growing up, she’d sometimes been two short steps from foraging in a trash bin for food. But meeting Cole’s family on the set of his mother’s show, amid swirling rumors of their new status as a couple, trumped stealing away with a supermarket’s barely expired eggs, in her opinion.

  She hoped Cole had a good story to tell everybody about how they’d started dating.

  “Relax,” Cole said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek as she stepped onto the set. “It’s fine.”

  “Then why is Jordan giving me a knowing look?” she responded sotto voce, nodding to where Jordan occupied an empty seat where the audience normally sat.

  Cole caught his brother’s bemused expression. “This situation is rife for humor, and he knows it.” He frowned at Jordan, who gave a jaunty little wave in response. “Don’t worry, I’ll pound the jokes out of him in the ring next week.”

  Marisa turned away. “I’m going home. I can’t do this.”

  Cole took hold of her arm. “Oh yes, you can.”

  “Cole, introduce me, please!”

  Marisa swung back in time to see Camilla Serenghetti approaching them.

  Too late.

  Anyone could have guessed this was Cole’s mother. Mother and son shared similar coloring and had the same eyes. Marisa had never had an opportunity to meet Cole’s parents while she’d been at Pershing, but she’d glimpsed them in the stands at hockey games.

  “Either she’s the forgive-and-forget kind,” she murmured to Cole, “or she’s so thankful to see you in a relationship, she’s willing to overlook anything.”

  Cole grinned. “Draw your own conclusions, sweet pea.”

  “Let’s see, Italian mother, no grandkids...” Marisa was too familiar with the dynamics from her own family. “I choose the latter.”

  “She doesn’t know about your part in my suspensi
on,” Cole replied in a low voice. “I did a good job of keeping her in the dark about my inner life as a teenager.”

  Marisa cast him a sidelong look. “So she doesn’t know we—”

  “—tested out the therapeutic properties of the theater department’s couch?”

  Cole arched a brow, and she flushed.

  Cole shook his head. “No.”

  “Still,” Marisa whispered back, “I know, and it’s enough.”

  Cole’s poor mother. First, Marisa had gotten her son suspended. And now she’d drafted him to star in a faux relationship. She could barely keep herself from cringing.

  “Watch this,” Cole said.

  Marisa looked at him questioningly as he bestowed a broad smile on his mother.

  “Mom, meet Marisa. She makes an eggplant parmigiana that rivals yours.”

  Marisa took a deep breath. Well. “I learned everything from my mother.”

  Camilla clapped. “Wonderful. I’m so glad she’s comin’ on my program, too.”

  “She should be here any minute. And my mother has seen your show, Mrs. Serenghetti. In fact, both she and I have watched numerous episodes.”

  She was a glutton for punishment. She avoided Cole’s eyes, but heat stained her cheeks. She was a pushover for cooking shows. The fact that the host of this one was Cole Serenghetti’s mother was beside the point. At least that was her story, and she was sticking to it. She purposely hadn’t sought out news of Cole over the years, but when she’d stumbled upon an episode of Flavors of Italy more than a year ago, she’d been hooked.

  “Please, call me Camilla. I’ve been trying to get Cole and Jordan to come back on the show for a long time.”

  Marisa looked inquiringly at Cole. “You don’t want to be on your mother’s show again?”

  He’d been on the program at least once—how had she missed that episode? It must have been one of the early ones. She should be glad she missed it, so why did she feel disappointed?

  Cole raised an eyebrow. “I can only work on saving one parent at a time.”

  Oh right—the construction company. Marisa could relate—how often had she worried about her mother? Family ties could bind, but they also had the potential to choke.

  “You live in Welsdale, Marisa?” Camilla asked.

  “Yes, I have my own condo on Chestnut Street.”

  Camilla looked perplexed. “You live alone?”

  “My cousin Serafina was my roommate until recently.”

  Cole’s mother appeared slightly mollified. “Well, is something.”

  “My mother thinks living alone is wrong,” Cole said drolly. “We had lots of relatives on extended stays with us when I was growing up. You could say my mother never got out of the hotel business, even after marriage.”

  “Cole, don’t be fresh.”

  “What? I’m wrong?”

  “Your cousin Allegra is coming to visit with her family this fall.”

  “And I rest my case,” Cole said.

  Camilla adopted a slightly wounded look. “My children moved out. There’s room.”

  Marisa was saved from saying anything, however, by the arrival of her own mother.

  The family party was just getting started... Jordan Serenghetti, for one, had graduated from looking entertained to outright amused.

  Donna Casale glanced around the set and then walked to where Marisa was standing with Cole and Camilla Serenghetti. Scanning the empty audience chairs, she said, “I must be early. There’s hardly anyone here. Oh well, at least we can nab the best seats!”

  Marisa stepped forward. “Actually, Mom, there isn’t going to be an audience.” Unless you counted Jordan’s avid spectating. “This isn’t a taping.”

  Donna looked confused.

  “We’re not going to be part of the audience, we’re going to be guests on the show.” She added weakly, “Surprise!”

  Jordan guffawed.

  Marisa fixed a smile on her face, willing her mother to go along. She hadn’t said anything about their guest appearance because she’d wanted to avoid too many questions. Plus, she figured the element of surprise would work to her advantage because her mother wouldn’t have a chance to get intimidated and say no.

  Donna’s eyes widened. “We’re going to be on TV?”

  Marisa grabbed her hand. “Yes! Isn’t it great?” She needed all the enthusiasm she could muster in order to keep nerves at bay. “Let me introduce you to Camilla Serenghetti...and her sons.”

  Introductions were made, and Marisa was relieved that everyone seemed to relax a little. Her mother actually started to appear happy at the prospect of making an appearance on a program that she watched.

  Marisa cleared her throat. “And Cole has this great idea that we can do a giveaway on air as an advertisement for Stanhope Department Stores. What do you think, Mom?”

  Her mother looked at her speculatively and then smiled. “I’ll bring it up with management at work, but I’m sure they’ll be thrilled.”

  Marisa lowered her shoulders, but Cole seemed bemused.

  “You didn’t tell your mother that she was about to become a star?” he murmured.

  “Stop it,” she responded in a low voice.

  “Mmm, interesting. The first time you’ve asked me to stop.” The sexual suggestion in his voice was unmistakable. “The words never crossed your lips in the storage room, or at the bar...or in your apartment, come to think of it.”

  “St—” She caught herself and compressed her mouth. “You’re enjoying this.”

  “There are a lot of things I enjoy...doing with you.”

  Marisa felt a wave of awareness swamp her. Fortunately, their mothers appeared to be deep in their own conversation, because she could barely look at Cole. She grew hot at the memory of what they had done on her couch, which she’d now taken to referring to as Couch #2—never to be confused with the chintzy Couch #1 that still resided at the Pershing School. Whenever the student theater group had used #1 in a play over the years, Marisa could hardly keep her mind on the performance.

  And right now Cole looked primed and ready for another round. Except she wasn’t about to defile his mother’s TV set sofa, no matter how hungry and frustrated Cole was.

  She suppressed a giggle that welled up from nowhere and forced her mind back to the topic at hand. Camilla and her mother were engaged in a brisk discussion about whether to make a tiella or a calzone di cipolla on the air. The potato-and-mussel casserole and the onion pie were both dishes of Puglia, the Italian region of Marisa’s ancestors.

  “The calzone is a traditional Christmas recipe,” Donna said. “Like plum pudding in England. And since this show is going to air in the spring, I think the tiella would be better.”

  Marisa had told her mother to bring a couple of recipes along today, and had discussed them with her in advance. Her little white lie had been that the show planned to enter audience members in a raffle giveaway if they brought along a recipe.

  “Donna, cara, siamo d’accordo!”

  Cole’s mother’s enthusiasm and agreement were apparent no matter what the language spoken. Still... Donna, cara? When had her mother and Cole’s progressed to being bosom buddies?

  “You will be perfetto on the show, Donna. You and the bellissima Marisa.”

  Marisa felt Cole lean close.

  “I’m surprised she isn’t suggesting you become a bottle blonde,” he murmured sardonically, “like the rest of the hostesses on Italian television.”

  “This is not an Italian show, Cole!” His mother fixed him with a look that said she’d overheard. “My hair is brown, and I speak English.”

  “Some people would debate the second part.”

  “Uh-oh,” Jordan singsonged from his seat in the front row. “Cole’s gonna be barred from the lasagna dinners.”

  “Exactly what is your role here?” Cole shot back.

  Jordan grinned. “Comic relief. And Mom invited me.” He looked around. “Hey, where’s the popcorn? The drama’s been good up
to now, but the concessions leave something to be desired.”

  Cole ignored his brother and turned toward Marisa and her mother. “What my mother means is that she thinks Mrs. Casale has the personality for television. It’s important to engage the audience on the small screen.”

  “Yes,” Camilla agreed. “And dress in bold colori but not too much zigzag or fiori.”

  “Chill on the patterns,” Jordan piped up.

  “Makeup—more is better.”

  “I’m so glad we’re doing this,” Donna remarked with enthusiasm. “Marisa has loved to cook and bake since she was a little girl.”

  “Cole loved to eat,” Camilla confided.

  “Marisa was born a preemie, so I spent the first few months making sure she put on weight!”

  Marisa bit her lip. “Oh, Mom, not that story again.” Her mother had a terrifying habit of bringing it up in public situations.

  “Scrappy, that’s what I’ve always called her.”

  “Cole was nine pounds. Was a long labor,” Camilla put in.

  “Why doesn’t anyone think of sharing those types of details on a date?” Cole quipped to Marisa.

  “Maybe because you’re too busy admiring your date’s inner domestic goddess?” she shot back in a low voice before she could stop herself.

  Cole gave her a half-lidded look. “Yeah...there’s that distraction.”

  “Your mother is hilarious,” she sidestepped.

  “Larger than life. It makes her perfect for television.”

  As if on cue, his mother interjected, “Marisa, bella, you will come to the party in two weeks, sì?”

  What? What party?

  “Ah...yes.” She gave the only answer she could with three pairs of Serenghetti eyes on her.

  “I ask your mother already, but she’s going to a wedding tha’ day.”

  “Ted’s cousin’s daughter is getting married,” Donna explained in response to Marisa’s inquiring look.

  “Right.” How could she forget? And now it seemed as if she was going to be flying solo with the Serenghettis.

  “Grazie per l’invito, Camilla,” Donna said. “Another time.”

  “Your mother speaks Italian?” Cole asked.

  “She grew up in an Italian-speaking household,” Marisa responded distractedly because she was still dwelling on the invite to the Serenghettis’ domain.