Made in Manhattan

Jacob seemed to sense the precise moment when Cain was ready to wave the white flag, because he handed over a stack of T-shirts, and she could tell by the way Cain’s shoulders were just slightly less hunched in defense when he came out of the dressing room that the T-shirts were his favorite of everything he’d tried.

She watched in amusement as Cain absently checked the price tag, then blinked a little too rapidly. Welcome to quality, my friend.

He gave Violet an angry, incredulous look, which Jacob was astute enough to catch. The store employee held up a finger. “You know, I’ve just thought of a coat we have in the front that I want you to take a look at. Give me one minute.”

Violet smiled distractedly in thanks as he walked away, knowing that he was actually giving them a minute, and grateful for it.

She stood and walked over to Cain, giving him a reassuring smile. “You look great.”

“It’s a two-hundred-dollar shirt. A cadaver would look great in it.” He reached around to his back, trying to find the tag of the pants.

Violet reached out and grabbed his hand, knowing that while the price tag was modest by New York shopping standards, all of the items cost a good deal more than the jeans he’d walked in with.

Cain went still, giving her a sharp look, before deliberately dropping his gaze to their joined hands.

She released him quickly and stepped back. She ran a hand over her skirt under the guise of smoothing it, but really it was to stop the strange tingling in her hand from where they’d made contact.

“I don’t mean to be crass,” she said quietly so as not to be overheard. “But Edith mentioned she’d requested some credit cards with your name on them—”

“Yeah. I can pay for this shit, I just don’t know why I would.”

“Because you look good in them,” she insisted.

“By your standards. You and your yuppy friends.”

Violet inhaled for patience. “My yuppy friends’ standards are exactly the ones you’ll need to meet—exceed—if you want to take over the family business. And let’s just rip off this Band-Aid right now: if these prices are freaking you out, we’re going to sedate you before we go suit shopping.”

“I have a suit.”

Suit. Singular. Something told her it was probably black, ill-fitting, and reserved for funerals.

“Great! Maybe someone back home can ship it to you?” she chirped, deliberately agreeable to deprive him of the opportunity to pick a fight.

His jaw twitched. “How much are the suits you have in mind?”

She made a demurring noise. “Let’s work up to that number, shall we?”

He made a growling noise but didn’t push the issue. “Are we done here?”

“You’ve only tried on a handful of options. Out of”—she pulled aside the curtain to the dressing room to see the remaining items—“one million.”

“I don’t need—”

Jacob approached with two wool coats from the window display over his arm, and Violet crossed over to him immediately, running a hand over the high-quality wool. “Yes. These. They’re even better up close.”

Violet turned back to Cain, who’d succeeded in fishing out the price tag on his pants. She held up the dark gray overcoat. “Perfect.”

He opened his mouth, and she shoved the coat at his chest firmly to shut him up. “Put this on.”

Before Cain could protest, she turned back to Jacob. “That T-shirt he’s got on. Does it come in other colors?”

“Absolutely. Black, white, gray, maroon, a deep purple, hunter green—”

“We’ll take one in every color in his size. How about the pants? Are there more color options?”

“Just a few; there’s the charcoal he has on now, a lighter gray, and a black.”

“Perfect, all three of those.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Cain, of the sweaters, did you like the V-neck or the crew neck?”

“I don’t give a sh—”

She stepped toward him, reaching up and adjusting the collar of the coat he’d put on, mostly to silence him. “Perfect. This is just perfect.”

“Does this come in orange too?” Cain asked Jacob sarcastically. “Or eight other shades of gray?”

“This one will do,” Violet said, patting Cain’s chest just a little more firmly than was affectionate. “Now about the sweaters, I think V-neck.”

Jacob was nodding. “So he can layer over the T-shirts for a pop of color.”

“A pop of—do I even need to be here?” Cain asked incredulously.

“Yes, because we need to see how the more casual chinos fit you.”

“The what?”

She went into the dressing room, digging through the pile until she found the pants in navy. “These. Try with the off-white sweater.”

“Then we’re done.”

It wasn’t a question, and from the stubborn set of his jaw, Violet knew this was the most cooperation she was going to get from day one of his “transformation.”

“All right,” she relented.

“Good. Then I need a drink.”

“It’s barely noon.”

He ignored this point and fixed her with a dark glare. “Do you know how much this is going to cost?”