“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.