Made in Manhattan

“New plan,” Violet said. “Let’s not concern ourselves with each other’s romantic endeavors.”

Since he was still smirking and blocking her way, Violet reached out to shove him.

Her palms collided with firm abs, her fingers brushing bare skin as Cain hissed out a breath. Touching him had been a mistake. Lifting her gaze to his even more so. His smirk was gone, and his usual scowl had an extra layer of smolder.

He was right. Women did like brooding.

Violet jerked her hands back.

“Where’s Toto?” Cain asked, shutting the door behind her.

“Coco had a date with Alvin. And she hates the cold.” Violet shrugged out of her coat and started to hang it on the creepy giraffe coatrack, only to realize it wasn’t there.

She pointed at the empty space. “Where’d the coatrack go?”

“Sold it,” he said, running a hand through his mussed hair. It was loose around his shoulders this morning, instead of in its usual knot at the nape of his neck.

“Sold it?” she repeated. “Why?”

Cain shrugged. “It was weird. I didn’t like it, and it was mine to sell.”

Walking farther into the home, Violet realized the coatrack wasn’t the only thing he’d gotten rid of. Walls once covered in strange, modern paintings were bare. A sideboard shaped like a cluster of grapes was gone from the entryway.

She stepped into the kitchen and living area and drew up short. The living room was completely empty, the kitchen packed up into moving boxes. She turned to Cain for explanation.

“Coffee?” he asked, ignoring her questioning look and nodding to the French press on the counter. One of the few things that hadn’t been packed.

“Where’s your furniture?” Violet demanded.

“New Orleans.”

She gave him an impatient look.

“If you’re referring to Adam’s furniture, I sold it.”

“All of it? The upstairs furniture too? Where will you sleep?”

“Not under this roof a minute longer than I have to.”

Regret stabbed low in Violet’s stomach, but she kept her voice level. “Throwing in the towel, hmm? Hightailing it back to New Orleans?”

“What?” His head snapped up. “How’d you get there?”

“It’s a logical conclusion. You said your furniture was back in New Orleans, and you’ve made no secret of how much you hate it here.”

“What do you want, daily confirmation and updates on my transformation into a stuffy prick?”

“What transformation?” she asked. “From where I’m standing, you’re as stubborn and difficult as you were on day one.”

“Now who’s throwing in the towel?” he asked, handing her a coffee cup. “Finally giving up on me? Decided I’m a lost cause?”

Something about the way he said it gave her pause. Finally giving up on me? As though he expected her to give up on him. As though he was used to people quitting on him.

Suddenly, rather desperately, she wanted to show him otherwise, though she stayed deliberately cool, since she knew that any suspicion on his part at being pitied would backfire.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” she said, blowing on the steaming coffee. “So are you going to tell me why you demanded my presence here, or…?”

“Right.” He dragged a hand over his face, and she noticed he looked exhausted. “I need a place.”

“A place,” she repeated.

“A house. Condo. Apartment. Whatever you guys call it in this godforsaken city. A rental,” he added. “Something I can leave behind if I have to.”

If I have to.

The caveat was interesting, and Violet narrowed her eyes. “Something’s changed.”

“Oh, God,” he muttered, sipping his coffee. “I should have known you’d make it all weird.”

“Weird or not, I’m right,” she said confidently. “You’re not indifferent anymore, no matter how hard you try to be. You’re falling for it.”

“Okay, get out,” he said, though it was without heat, and he didn’t move. “And what do you mean it?”

“The whole package. The city. The grandmother. The job.”

He grunted.

“I went to church with Edith on Sunday,” Violet continued. “She said you’re showing up at the office earlier, and more often. Asking more questions. You want the job.”

“Don’t make it into a whole thing.”

She said nothing, sensing that there was more, and sure enough, he rolled his shoulders with impatience, but continued. “Let’s just say that for a company that has the word International in the name, their global operations are a mess. They’re running the business on state-of-the-art tech, built on processes that are thirty years old.”

“And that interests you,” she said as she searched his face. It was a statement, not a fact. She could see he was intrigued. He didn’t want to care, but he did.

“It’s what I’m good at,” he said in a clipped tone that indicated it was all he was going to say about the matter. “So. Are you going to help me find a new place or not?”

“Sure, okay,” Violet said after a moment. “But why? This one is free.”

“I don’t want free. I want my place. Even if it wasn’t his, I’d hate it. It’s cramped and dark. The neighbors are snobs.”