Made in Manhattan

Barely.

“He’s my grandson,” Edith repeated, as though she needed to keep reminding herself of that fact. “The company has always been run by a Rhodes. And it was Bernard’s dying wish that it stay that way.”

“But Bernard couldn’t have known Adam would die so tragically young, or that his only son…”

Violet cast Cain a dubious glance, and he narrowed his eyes in response.

Edith’s gaze was pleading as she stared at Violet, begging her to understand. “He’s family.”

“Family,” the man echoed tauntingly. “I don’t know how things work in this concrete monstrosity you call a city, or this museum you call home, but where I’m from, family doesn’t pretend someone doesn’t exist for thirty years.”

“Oh, would you quit squawking about that,” Edith said impatiently. Violet bit back a smile. “I’ll say this one last time until you get it through your head: there was no pretending. I didn’t know you existed until recently, and I began seeking you out the very second I found out.”

Cain snorted in derision. “Meaning you got out your checkbook and sent someone to Louisiana to come find me.”

Louisiana. That explained the accent.

Edith clasped her hands and gave him a pleading look that Violet had never seen before. “Cain, please. I was skeptical… I didn’t think Adam would have kept my only grandson from me—”

“Dear old Dad sounds like a real asshole,” Cain drawled.

“Like father like son,” Violet said under her breath.

Edith’s hearing wasn’t as good as it once was, and she missed Violet’s remark.

Cain had not.

His dark eyes cut over to her, darkening in annoyance before returning his attention to his grandmother. “I told you, I don’t want any part of this.”

“And yet, you’re here,” Edith said just a bit smugly.

He crossed his arms and scowled. “Can’t say the words billion-dollar company didn’t have me curious. But I don’t belong here.”

“No, you don’t,” Edith said bluntly. “Which is why I’ve asked Violet to join us.”

Violet jolted at the mention of her name. She’d been assuming Edith had called her here for moral support, but seeing the stubborn, speculative expression on Edith’s face had Violet bracing for a more taxing request.

“My retirement at the end of the year’s a foregone conclusion,” Edith said. “The board is already planning to vote for my replacement. And though I’d resigned myself to handing over the reins to a non-Rhodes, if I don’t have to…”

The raw hope in Edith’s voice scraped at Violet’s heart.

“I can teach him to run the company,” Edith said to Violet with almost girlish enthusiasm. “It’ll be a steep learning curve, but it can be done. The boy’s sharp.”

Violet’s lips twitched as the large, angry man let out a slight growl at being described as a boy.

“But those rough edges will need smoothing,” Edith continued, not bothering to lower her voice. “He’ll need an entrée not just into the business world, which I can offer, but into the social circle—your social circle.”

“Now hold on,” Cain interrupted angrily. “I have no intention of getting anywhere near the duchess and her fellow Barbies. She looks more like the woman on an ugly broach my mom inherited from my grandma—my real grandma—than she does a real woman.”

Violet bristled. It was one thing to insult her, but his words had been chosen to deliberately wound Edith, and that was not okay with her.

“Well then, feel free to hightail it on back to Louisiana,” Violet snapped with uncharacteristic temper. “Because I can assure you the broach and her Barbies don’t want anything to do with your torn-up jeans and ponytail.”

“Violet.” Edith’s voice was openly pleading now, and Violet looked at her warily.

“Please. Teach him. Help him belong.”

Violet and Cain let out twin laughs—his rougher than hers, but no less derisive.

“You’re joking,” Violet said just as Cain snarled a “Hell no.”

Edith scowled at them as though they were rebellious children. “It’s a logical plan. Nobody knows the unspoken rules of Manhattan life like Violet.”

Violet flinched. She knew Edith had meant it as a compliment, but for the briefest of moments, her heart sank at the thought that that was perhaps all she was. A collection of rules. Rules she never questioned, always followed. A vessel for pretty manners, problem solving, and whatever anyone needed from her.

Edith was too distracted to catch Violet’s wince, but she saw from the way Cain’s gaze sharpened in assessment that he’d seen her reaction and made note of it.

So he was observant. Which boded well for him assimilating into New York life—

No. No! She wasn’t seriously considering this.

Was she?

It was an impossible task. And yet…

Impossible was strangely appealing. How long since she had challenged herself? In anything?

Or since someone—even Edith—had thought her capable of anything beyond sitting still, looking pretty, and taking care of the seating arrangements.

Could she take this angry, uncouth man and turn him into someone who held his own in a boardroom? Who could navigate the sticky intricacies of the New York social set?