Made in Manhattan

She sucked in a breath at the unapologetically sexual undertone.

“Don’t worry,” Cain murmured mockingly. “I guarantee you’ll like it.”

Three

You’ve got to be joking.”

Since it was the third time Keith had uttered that very statement, Violet didn’t hurry to respond. She cut off a bite-size piece of scallop and dragged it through the decadent butter sauce. She set the scallop on her tongue, savoring the richness for just a moment before chewing, swallowing, and taking a sip of chardonnay.

Finally, she looked back at Keith. “I’m not joking. Would it help to sink in if I wrote it down for you?”

Keith blinked in surprise at the sharpness in her tone, and Violet couldn’t blame him. She rarely resorted to waspishness, but ever since her meeting with Edith and her newly discovered grandson yesterday, she’d felt out of sorts.

She’d picked up her phone a half-dozen times to tell Edith she couldn’t do it. Or rather, that she didn’t want to do it—didn’t want to spend the foreseeable future with a man who clearly couldn’t stand her.

But every time, Violet had set the phone back down again. Partially because she hated the thought of disappointing Edith, but mostly because it felt like letting Cain win.

The man had made it clear he didn’t think she’d survive a week in his company. The last thing she wanted to do was let him think that she was so meek and sheltered as to back down before they’d even begun, especially given the taunting way he’d ended the conversation. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he’d rattled her. Or that in that moment, she’d forgotten that Keith even existed.

She was on edge, yes, but also determined, which was odd in itself. Violet wasn’t the sort to make a point for the sake of making a point. She was good at smoothing ruffled feathers, problem solving, and supporting people. That she was motivated to take on Cain Stone out of pride and dislike was out of character.

Violet looked across the table, caught Keith’s nonplussed expression, and realized she’d better put her feather-smoothing skills to work.

Violet smiled and reached for Keith’s hand. He glanced at it, hesitating a moment before covering her hand with his. The touch was warm and familiar, if not exactly electric.

She’d made peace with their lack of chemistry long ago. As far as Violet was concerned, there were more important things than butterflies and passion. She wanted someone who would be there for her, someone she could count on.

Keith was steady.

Safe.

Not the sexiest of adjectives, but it was important to her nonetheless. Violet had lost her parents at a young age and had been taken in by her grandmother. Years later, in college, her support network had been obliterated once again when she’d been dumped by her longtime boyfriend in the same year she’d lost her grandma.

Knowing that loss was inevitable had led Violet to seek out safety wherever she could, for as long as she could have it. It was part of why she appreciated Edith’s stalwart dependability, even if the woman could be less than warm. It had also impacted Violet’s romantic priorities. Her college boyfriend had been fun, and passionate, and spontaneous; she’d adored him, which had made it all the more crushing when his spontaneity had resulted in him falling in love with someone else and leaving Violet without ceremony.

These days, she treaded a bit more carefully and prized a different set of qualities. She wanted a man who was dependable and safe.

A man like Keith.

It didn’t hurt that she and Keith had always felt a little inevitable, almost as though they’d been tailor-made for each other. They’d grown up in the same neighborhood, they’d gone to the same school, and their parents had attended the same functions.

Not that they’d been friends, at least, not exactly. Four years her senior, Keith had mostly been the handsome older boy she and her girlfriends had giggled over at family friendly holiday parties.

For his part, he’d barely known she existed.

All of that changed in college when Violet had suddenly lost her grandma, and no longer had the boyfriend she’d come to lean on to get her through it.

Lonely and hurting, Violet had gratefully let herself be taken under Edith’s wing, and it had been at one of Edith’s many parties that Violet and Keith’s paths crossed again. They’d been friendly, but at that first meeting, he’d had a date. The second time they’d met, she’d been with someone. This had gone on for a year or two until they’d finally gotten their timing right and shown up to a New Year’s Eve party solo. A midnight kiss had turned into a Valentine’s Day dinner, then a Labor Day gathering in Southampton, and now here they were.

Her twenty-seven, him thirty-one, and… together?

In truth, Violet never knew what to call Keith. Boyfriend felt juvenile and fluttery. They weren’t engaged, and lovers didn’t apply—not for months now. She supposed they were partners, though she’d be hard-pressed to define what they were partners in.