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Cole’s eyes surveyed her as he approached, but he said nothing.
Did she imagine that he lingered at the V created by her shirt, his gaze flickering with heat for a moment? It was like being touched by a feather—light, and yet packed with sensation.
When he stopped in front of her, he asked without preamble, “What did you think of our meeting with Dobson last week?”
She resisted saying she thought of it as her and Mr. Dobson’s meeting with him. “It went well.”
Cole nodded. “Dobson wants you to see some older plans today. Every job is unique, but I’m guessing he wants to cover his bases and have you do some due diligence.”
“In case he needs to account for the way the construction contract with Serenghetti came about?”
Cole gave her a dry look and inclined his head. “You’ll be the one doing the explaining since you’re here today. You’re going to get a sense of what past clients have gone with.”
“Okay.” She really was in the hot seat. “Do you have plans for other gyms that Serenghetti has built?”
“One or two.” Cole arched a brow. “You might as well get acquainted with the nitty-gritty of construction. Nobody plays around here. Least of all me.” He pulled his office door open wider and indicated she should precede him out of the room. “You can leave your stuff here. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Marisa dropped her handbag and blazer on a chair and then walked beside Cole down the corridor and around the corner.
Stopping in front of an older-looking door, Cole retrieved keys from his pocket and opened two different dead bolts.
“I guess not everything at Serenghetti Construction is state-of-the-art,” she remarked lightly.
Cole quirked his lips. “The new Pershing gym will be, don’t worry. This building dates back to the 1930s, and we kept the old-fashioned storage room with concrete walls and dead bolts. It’s where we keep confidential files and old documents.”
He opened the door and flipped the light switch.
Marisa saw a small room lined with metal cabinets. A walkable strip down the middle extended about seven or eight feet into the room.
Cole moved inside, and Marisa watched as he scanned the cabinets.
“There must be a few decades’ worth of files in there.”
“Building rehabilitation is a substantial share of our business,” Cole answered, glancing back at her. “We refer to these plans when we do renovations or additions to existing structures, either for returning clients or new owners.”
“I see.”
He looked amused. “Come on in.”
Reluctantly, she let go of the door and stepped inside. She let her gaze travel over the cabinets because the alternative was allowing it to settle on Cole. The labels on the metal drawers were a mystery to her. “How do you know where to look?”
Then, hearing a click behind her, she turned to see that the door had creaked shut. Pushing aside a prick of panic, she said, “I’ll, uh, step back out to give you more room to search for what you’re looking for.”
She grasped the door handle and tried to turn it. The door, however, didn’t budge. She jiggled the handle again and pushed.
“Now you’ve done it.”
She swung around, her eyes widening. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve locked us in.”
She gave him an accusatory look. “You told me to step inside!”
“But not to let the door close behind you. There’s a doorstop outside. Didn’t you see it?”
“No!”
“Are you afraid of small spaces?” he asked sardonically.
