Made in Manhattan

Though, following her strange conversation with Edith yesterday, she wasn’t entirely sure the older woman’s insistence Violet come over to Cain’s tonight didn’t have more to do with matchmaking aspirations than preparing him for the dinner.

And if that was the case, Edith had better start preparing herself to be disappointed. Cain was being particularly antagonistic tonight, which was impressive considering his baseline was on the sharp side of prickly.

“Why’d you order me so many damn suits?” he was grumbling.

“It’s actually not that many,” she said, glancing at the line of garment bags hanging in his closet. “Don’t forget, if you get the job, you’ll be wearing them daily, or at the very least, every weekday.”

“Well now, see, that’s the beauty of being head of the company, right? I can wear whatever the hell I want, and it doesn’t have to be suits if I don’t fucking feel like it.”

“Good point,” Violet said, unruffled. “I’ll just go ahead and see if they make custom dungarees in your size.”

“Make sure you get them extra large. Down there, if you know what I mean.”

“How could I possibly know what you mean?” She frowned in fake confusion. “You’re so subtle and not at all cliché.”

Cain had started to button his shirt. “Are you sure about this color?” he asked, glancing down skeptically at the dark blue shirt. “Isn’t white more… traditional?”

She lifted her eyebrows. “And you want traditional?”

He scowled. “This one is shiny.”

“It’s not shiny, it’s—just button it. Unless you’re only good at unbuttoning things.”

He gave her a look beneath his lashes. “Is that an invitation?”

She ignored his question and went to the bed, where Cain had upended the bags provided by the tailor. “Actually, wait. There’s supposed to be undershirts in here. Ah. Here we go.”

She picked up a package of white V-necks. “Put one of these on first.”

Violet tossed him the package, which he caught one-handed and ripped open with his teeth. She breathed a silent sigh of relief when he pulled the shirt on. It was a little easier to think clearly around the man when he was clothed. Not a lot easier. But a little.

“Does Keith know how often you ogle my bare chest?” Cain asked.

“No. I don’t want to embarrass Edith, so I’ve been keeping it quiet how often you struggle to dress yourself.”

“Your comebacks are sharpening. I like it.”

“What a relief.” She handed him the dress pants. “I’ll wait downstairs,” she said, starting toward the door.

“Scared, Duchess?”

He asked the question lightly, mockingly. Enough to have her stopping. “Why would I be scared?”

Cain ambled toward her, seeming much less perturbed by his chest than she was. “What would Keith think? You. Here. With me. Like this.”

She swallowed but forced herself to give him a bored look. “I’m sure Keith would be concerned that it’s taking the better part of half an hour for a grown man to dress himself. In fact, if you want me to call him over, show you how it’s done…”

His mouth tilted up in the corner with begrudging respect, and she knew she’d won that one.

One–zero, Violet!

Then her stomach dropped as she saw Cain’s hand go purposefully to the fly of his jeans. His eyes locked on hers as he flicked open the button with his thumb.

Fine. One–one. A tie.

She turned pointedly around, giving him her back. He snickered, and she heard the sound of denim dropping to the floor, being kicked aside.

As he changed, she pulled the suit jacket off the hanger. She’d selected a dark gray for the evening; less corporate than blue pinstripe, but conservative enough to let the board members know he was taking this seriously.

She hooked a finger under the collar, holding it out for him to grab.

“Well?” he asked a minute later.

Violet turned back around, and her lips parted at the man before her. Recognizable, but… not. The suit was fitted to perfection, though it somehow seemed to fit him differently than any other man she knew. Keith went to the gym daily and was well sculpted, but Cain carried his fitness differently. Bigger. Broader. Rougher.

Hotter.

“Good,” she said with an awkward nod. “Now, for the tie.”

She went to the bed, picked one up.

“No. Hell no. It’s pink.”

Violet glanced at the tie in her hand. “It’s coral.”

“Call it whatever you want, I’m not wearing it.”

Violet rolled her eyes but set the tie aside and picked up a light blue one off Cain’s unmade bed. “Better?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Fine.”

Violet handed it to him, noticing the slightest hesitation before he accepted it.

“Do you—know how to tie it?” she asked.

“I’m not that backwater,” he snapped. Then hesitated, obviously embarrassed and hating to be so. “It’s been a while.”

“No problem,” she said. “Just loop it over your neck.”

She waited until he did so, then stepped closer, lifting her hands to him, then hesitating. “Do you mind? There are probably a million YouTube videos you can watch to teach yourself, but since we’re short on time…”