Made in Manhattan

Violet went to the fridge. As expected, it was empty, save a six-pack of beer and a takeout container. She closed it again. “Black okay?”

The woman made a face. “Gross. Guess it’ll have to be.”

Violet’s eyes caught Cain’s just for a moment. Really? This one?

He merely gazed back at her, betraying nothing.

Violet pulled three mugs out of the cupboard, then realized that the small pot of coffee wasn’t quite enough to fill up three mugs.

Because her ingrained hostess instincts wouldn’t think of serving a measly half cup of coffee to guests in an effort to stretch it to three servings, she poured two full cups for Cain and his female companion, leaving none for herself.

She slid them both across the counter. Neither said thank you.

Violet bit back a sarcastic you’re welcome and began rinsing out the grounds to make a second pot.

Cain startled Violet, coming up beside her, picking up her empty mug, and pouring half of his own coffee into it.

He unceremoniously set it on the counter in front of her.

Violet hid her surprise, not only that he’d shared his coffee, but that he’d even noticed she hadn’t poured any for herself.

“Thank you,” she told him.

He acted as though she hadn’t spoken and leaned against the counter, mug in hand, one ankle crossed over the other, jeans still defiantly unbuttoned, with just a strip of…

Violet tore her eyes away and quickly resumed rinsing the glass carafe. She dried her hands, then picked up her mug, turning toward Cain’s overnight guest. Since he seemed to have no inclination to introduce her to the other woman, she smiled and extended a hand. “Hello. I’m Violet.”

“KC,” she said, shaking Violet’s hand with a blatantly curious once-over. “You Cain’s rich cousin or something?”

“A dear family friend,” Violet lied smoothly and without hesitation.

Cain snorted.

“Cool,” KC said disinterestedly, rubbing under her eye and then looking at the black smudge on her finger. “Well, I gotta run. Gotta be at work in twenty.”

“Where do you work?” Violet asked politely, hoping to lead Cain by example in the art of friendly small talk.

“Coffee shop in Midtown during the day. Bar in Yonkers at night. That’s where I met Cain last night.”

Violet smiled. “Well, that answers my next question of how long you’ve been seeing each other.”

KC’s eyes narrowed, as though trying to assess Violet’s level of snark. Then she shrugged, drained the rest of her coffee, and handed the mug to Violet. “Here. Already on thin ice with my shit manager ’cause I showed up stoned last week.”

Violet accepted the mug and said nothing.

KC headed up the stairs, presumably to retrieve her clothes.

Violet set KC’s mug in the sink. “More coffee?” she asked Cain, since he’d seemed to be drinking his in gulps.

She began making a second pot before he replied. She needed more coffee to deal with him. Actually, at this rate, she was gearing up for an afternoon glass of wine.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Cain watching her carefully, as though taking note of the process, though his mask of indifference reappeared the second he caught her looking.

“So. Duchess. You care to explain the whole breaking-and-entering thing?”

“I didn’t break anything,” she clarified. “As for the entering, when you didn’t answer, I figured you might be in the shower,” she lied.

His eyebrows went up. “You thought I was in the shower, and you took that as your cue to come on in? Maybe this arrangement of ours will be more interesting than I thought.”

He leaned toward her slightly, and the sheer maleness of him put her on edge.

“Would you please go put on some clothes?” she snapped.

Cain gave another of those insolent shrugs that seemed to be his favored form of communication. “You don’t like it, you’re welcome to leave the same way you came in. Go wander around a museum or something.”

“I’m glad you mentioned museums,” Violet said. “They’re a bit of a New York institution, which means there will be plenty of those in your near future.”

Cain didn’t bother to disguise the grimace. “So, you were for real? You’re really going to do this? Try to turn me into some sort of city douchebag just because the old lady told you to?”

“That old lady is your grandmother.”

“The hell she is.”

“But she said the blood tests came back—”

“Fuck the blood tests,” he snapped. “You think that’s what family is? Some shared blood? These people didn’t give a single shit about me until they needed something.”

“That may be true about Adam,” Violet said, keeping her voice level. “But I know Edith almost as well as I know myself. There is no way she would have known about you and not gotten in touch. Now that she does, though, she’s clearly doing her best to form a relationship with you—”

Cain interrupted rudely with a snort. “Form a relationship with me? She wants to turn me into a pretty boy puppet whose strings she controls.”