Anna DePalo - Second Chance With The Ceo

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?