regarded her older brother, Dante, with a wary eye. There’d been many guess whats in their lives. Guess what? I brought your hamster in for show-and-tell... Guess what? I’m dating your volleyball teammate... Guess what? You’re getting your own car—my old wreck. She loved her brother, but sometimes it was hard to like him.
This time, they were at Dory’s Café in downtown Welsdale, and she had some major armor against an unwelcome surprise. Namely, she was sitting down, already fortified by morning coffee ahead of brunch. And Dante was lucky—there was a table between them, so she couldn’t kick him in the shins as she might have done when she was six—not that she was above trying if things got out of hand.
“Okay,” she mustered, “I give up. What is it? Winning lottery numbers? One-way ticket to Mars? What?” She stuck out her chin and waited.
“Nothing so dramatic, sport.” Dante chuckled. “New job.”
Sera breathed a sigh of relief. “Congrats. That makes two of us in less than three years. Mom will be doing the happy dance.” Frankly, her mother could use good news. Rosana Perini was still putting the pieces of her life back together—rearranging the puzzle that had broken and scattered when she’d become a young widow. The whole family had needed to regroup when Joseph Perini had died six years ago when Sera was twenty-three. It was one of the things that had made Sera decide to start a new chapter in her life by going back to school for her physical-therapy degree.
“You’re looking at the new VP of Marketing for the New England Razors.”
Sera’s stomach plummeted as she was jerked back to the present. No, no and no. Dante’s working for the New England Razors meant only one thing: another connection to Jordan Serenghetti. Still, she managed to cough up the critical word. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks, Sera. It’s my dream job.”
Her brother had always been a sports nut. His teenage bedroom had been decorated with soccer, football and hockey memorabilia. No wonder someone had thought he was perfect for the Razors marketing position.
A dream come true for Dante. A nightmare for her. She didn’t need her life further entangled with Jordan Serenghetti’s. Her brother would be offering up free game tickets and suggesting a family evening out. Or talking nonstop about Jordan Serenghetti’s prowess—on and off the ice.
Dante, though, appeared oblivious to her discomfort. “I wonder if Marisa can grease the wheels for me with Jordan Serenghetti. You know, maybe invite us both to a family barbecue at her house again soon.” Her brother shrugged. “Making sure that Jordan and the Razors are happy with each other is part of my new job description.”
“She doesn’t need to,” Sera managed to get out, volunteering the information because Dante would find out eventually anyway. “I’m seeing Jordan myself.”
Dante’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, yeah?”
“Jordan is my new client at Astra Therapeutics. The Razors are farming out some of their physical rehab, and Jordan is their guinea pig.”
A grin split her brother’s face. “You mean your guinea pig.”
Sera tossed her hair. “Hey, I’m a professional.”
“Then why do you eye him at family gatherings as if he’s the first case of the plague in five hundred years?”
“Professional distance.”
Dante snorted. “I’ll buy that as fast as a counterfeit trading card on an online auction site.”
“Whatever. I’m giving him the boot to another therapist in the office.”
“Why?”
“You just said it yourself. We don’t get along.”
“What about family loyalty?”
“To Jordan Serenghetti? He’s only a cousin-in-law.” As if she could forget.
“Jordan could end up owing you a debt of gratitude for getting him back on his feet.”
Just then, the waitress arrived with their food—a lumberjack breakfast of eggs, sausage and toast for Dante, and an egg-white omelet for her. Sera liked to practice what she preached to her clients—healthy eating and clean living. She also made sure to thank the waitress because she knew what it meant to be on your feet for hours.
Her brother took his first bite and then tilted his head and studied her. “You don’t like him because women fawn over him.”
“I hadn’t noticed, and anyway it’s none of my business.” She gave all her concentration to seasoning her food with the pepper mill.
“You shouldn’t let one bad experience with what’s-his-name Neil sour you.”
True...if she could trust her instincts. But she still wasn’t sure her radar was working right. And Dante had no clue that she and Jordan had shared more than casual conversation in the past. Not that she wanted her brother to ever find out. It was bad enough he knew the basics of her drama with Neil.
Dante waved his fork as he swallowed his food. “You should at least tell Jordan that your attitude isn’t personal.”
“Never...and you’re not going to, either.” Because it was personal—and wasn’t just about her unsavory experience with Neil.
“Okay, play it your way, but I think you’re making a mistake.”
She shrugged. “Mine to make.”
“Ser,” Dante said, suddenly looking earnest, “I could use your help.”
“Wow, this is a change.”
“I’m serious. I need Jordan back on the ice, and the sooner the better. It would make a great start to my new job if I could claim some credit. Or at least if I could say my sister—the physical therapist with the golden touch—helped get him back in shape.”
Sera made a face. “Ugh, Dante. That’s asking a lot.”
Dante cleared his throat. “I got the position with the Razors...but there’s already a higher-up who is gunning for me.” He shrugged. “We have some bad history together at a prior employer, and I’m sure he’d be happy if I screwed up.”
Sera sighed. “What kind of bad history?”
Her brother looked sheepish. “We were in competition at a sports agency...and there might have been a woman involved, too.”
Great. She took a bite of her omelet. She could just imagine her brother involved in a love triangle. Almost. She didn’t want any more details.
“Fans come to see Jordan in action,” Dante cajoled.
“Whatever.” From what she could tell, Jordan was still in fantastic shape despite his injury, and she didn’t care how much money he had on the table. The guy had major bank already—what was a few million, more or less, to him?
“Sera, I’m asking.”
