Power Play. Anna DePalo
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The fake charm is a big turnoff.”
Her manager raised her eyebrows.
Sera’s face heated, and she quickly added, “I’m not taking it personally. There isn’t a woman alive Jordan doesn’t try to charm.”
“You know, if I were a little younger, and my husband would let me, I’d consider dating Jordan Serenghetti.”
“Bernice, please! You’ve got gold with Keith. Why trade it in for pyrite?” Sera knew her manager had just celebrated her sixtieth birthday and thirtieth wedding anniversary.
“What makes you think Jordan isn’t genuine?” Bernice countered.
Sera threw up her hands. She wasn’t about to dig into her past with her boss—and explain how she’d honed her instincts about men the hard way. She was wise enough these days not to be taken in by ripped biceps—hadn’t she seen them up close an hour ago?—and hard abs. Probably those lips were still magic, too. “The problem is he knows he has the goods.”
Bernice laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with a man who’s confident.”
“Try arrogant.” Sera knew she had to talk to Marisa. Perhaps her cousin could convince Jordan that this work arrangement wasn’t a good idea. If she couldn’t get out of this assignment herself, maybe Jordan would back out.
Knowing she wasn’t going to get anywhere with Bernice, Sera decided to back off and change the subject. But when her workday ended at four, she made the short drive from Astra Therapeutics’ offices outside Springfield to Marisa and Cole’s new home in Welsdale.
Sera pulled up to a classic center-hall colonial and thanked her lucky stars for May in western Massachusetts. The breezy, sunny day could almost erase her mood. She had texted Marisa in advance, so when she got out of her beat-up sedan, her cousin was already opening the front door.
Marisa wore a baby sling and raised a finger to her lips but exchanged a quick peck on the cheek with Sera. “Dahlia just fell asleep. I’m going to lay her down in her crib and be right with you.”
“You and Cole have gone all Hollywood with the baby naming,” Sera remarked wryly, because even months later, the baby’s name brought a smile to her lips.
“If Daisy is acceptable, why not Dahlia?” Marisa said over her shoulder as Sera closed the door and followed her into the house.
“And here I thought Rick and Chiara would go all name crazy, but no, nope, they had to settle on something traditional like Vincent.” Frankly, it wouldn’t have surprised her in the least if the middle Serenghetti brother and his new wife, actress Chiara Feran, who resided in Los Angeles most of the time—home to the weird Hollywood baby-naming craze—had come up with something like Moonlight or Starburst.
Sera bore only a passing resemblance to her cousin. They shared the amber eyes that were a family trait, but she’d grown a shade taller than Marisa by the time she was fourteen—and her dark blond hair set her apart from her cousin, who had long curly brown locks. When Sera had been younger, she and Marisa had been deep in each other’s pockets, and sometimes she’d wished the similarities had been strong enough that they could easily pass as sisters.
“I’ll be right back,” Marisa said as she started up the stairs from the entry hall. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
As Sera made her way to the back of the house, she noted once again that it bore the stamp of domesticity. The new home was still sparsely furnished, but the signs of baby were all around. She figured that Jordan must break out in hives here.
When her cousin came back downstairs moments later, Sera put down her glass of flavored water and braced her hands on the granite kitchen countertop. She wasted no words. “Marisa, Jordan is about to become a client of mine.”
Her cousin’s expression remained mild as she turned on a baby monitor. “They’re sending him to you to help recover from his torn ACL.”
Sera didn’t mask her surprise. “You know? And you didn’t warn me?”
“I found out just this morning. Cole happened to mention Jordan was heading to Astra Therapeutics. But I wasn’t sure he would definitely be assigned to you.” Her cousin wrinkled her brow. “Though, come to think of it, he did make an offhand comment to Cole about possibly asking for you...” She shrugged. “We thought he was teasing because, ah, you two have always seemed to rub each other the wrong way at family gatherings.”
“Well, it’s no joke, but someone has made a mistake.” Wanting to spare her cousin any awkwardness with her in-laws, and because, frankly, her first encounter with Jordan had been embarrassing, she’d never mentioned to Marisa that she and Jordan had briefly crossed paths in the past. It was bad enough that others could sense tension between her and the youngest Serenghetti brother.
“If anyone can whip Jordan into shape, it’s you,” Marisa teased.
Sera scowled as she pushed away from the kitchen counter. “This isn’t funny.”
“Of course not, but maybe you’ve met your match.”
Sera shuddered. “Don’t say it.”
The last thing she needed was for anyone to think Jordan was a work challenge that she couldn’t conquer. First off, she didn’t want to conquer anything—especially him. Second, no way was he her match in any other sense of the word—not that Marisa could mean that. The fact that Jordan had found her infinitely forgettable at twenty-one was evidence enough that they weren’t fated in any way.
Her cousin glanced down at some paint chips fanned out on the kitchen counter. “Who knew there were so many shades of beige for a guest bedroom?” she asked absently. “I just want a soothing tone, and Cole is kidding me about using Diaper Brown.”
“Is that the name of a paint color?”
Marisa pinked. “Paint colors are a running joke in this house ever since Cole and I redid the kitchen cabinets in my old apartment.”
Her cousin and her husband had only months ago moved into the new colonial in Welsdale that Cole had built for their growing family. They’d moved in right before Dahlia was born, and Sera knew that the process of decorating weighed on Marisa, especially as a new mom. “Most of us can use a professional. Get a decorator.”
Marisa looked at her thoughtfully. “Isn’t that why Jordan is coming to you? Because you’re a professional?” She tugged on the hem of her top and rubbed at a stain. “Why are you so reluctant to help him?”
Sera opened her mouth and then clamped it shut. Because...because... No way was she getting into any embarrassing past incidents. “He’s obnoxious.”
“I know you two have a testy relationship, but he’ll have to do what you tell him.”
“He’s a smooth operator.” Happy-go-lucky. With a bad memory to boot. And he didn’t know the meaning of struggle.
Marisa glanced at her keenly. “You’re protesting too much.”
“Paraphrasing Shakespeare? Spoken like a true English teacher.”
“Former English teacher. And I’m on maternity leave from the assistant principal position at the Pershing School.” Marisa yawned. “Something to eat?”
“No, thanks. And you’re doing great in your leave as a new mom.”
Her cousin gave a rueful laugh. “I know, but family history and all. At least Cole is on board.”
Sera gave her cousin a reassuring pat. Marisa had been raised by a single mom, Sera’s Aunt Donna. Marisa’s father had died before she’d been born—having already made clear that a baby didn’t factor into his plans for pursuing a minor-league baseball career and maybe getting to the majors.
Men. These days, Sera didn’t need more confirmation that they could be fickle and untrustworthy.