Made in Manhattan

“No.” It came out as a whisper, and she tried again. “No, there are plenty of cabs right outside your place. I’ll be fine.”

He started to stir as though to come with her, but she shook her head quickly. “No. I’m fine. Really.”

Cain hesitated, then nodded. “Text me when you get in the cab. And again when you get home.”

She smiled a little at the protective note in his voice. Sleepy Cain, with his guard down, was… compelling. “I will.”

She slowly pulled her hand away from his face, and his fingers tightened reflexively before releasing her.

Scooping up her dog, Violet went to the door and slipped her shoes on before picking up her jacket and purse. It was too small to carry Coco, so she kept the sleeping pup carefully against her stomach, lifting her other hand to wave goodbye to Cain.

She couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Thank you? Good night? Good morning?

Do you feel what I feel?

She asked none of this, because the sleepiness was gone from his gaze, replaced by his usual guarded wariness.

Violet slipped out the front door, closing it with a quiet click.

The early morning was quiet, the bars having closed an hour ago and even the most die-hard partiers at home in their beds. Or someone else’s.

As expected, she had no problem hailing a cab right outside Cain’s building. She opened the door, pausing for a moment, before looking up at his apartment.

She couldn’t be sure in the darkness, but she thought she saw the shadow of a man watching her from the fourth-floor windows.

Violet got into the cab, and after giving the driver her address, pulled out her phone to text Cain as Coco settled into a tight puppy ball on her lap. In cab.

His response was immediate. I know.

Violet smiled. So he had been watching her. Creeper.

Says the woman who was watching me sleep.

She smiled wider, surprised to find that she was completely unembarrassed. I confess, I’d been wondering about the texture of your beard.

And?

And now I know.

She let out a little laugh at her own coy response, then covered her mouth in surprise at the sound. Who was this woman flirting over texts?

Huh.

She frowned at his cryptic response. Damn. He was better at the game than she was. She was dying to know what he was thinking.

Violet didn’t reply until she got home, texting Cain once again when she’d let herself into the apartment that she was home safe.

Good. Good night Duchess.

Good night. Or good morning.

It’s a good something.

Violet smiled as she went into her bedroom. It was, indeed, a good something.

She just wasn’t entirely sure what.

Sixteen

Violet nodded in thanks as the hostess pointed out her party, then made her way through the swanky downtown steakhouse toward the group.

At noon on a Monday, every table was filled with the power-lunch set, and on the surface, Violet was completely in her element. She knew how to dress, how to walk, how to school her features into an expression that was friendly but not too friendly. All of which created the persona of “you can come talk to me, but don’t actually come talk to me.”

Today, however, something was off. She was adorned in her usual uniform. A bouncy, shiny blowout, an understated but flattering maroon sheath dress with matching pumps, a handbag that was atrociously expensive.

But instead of feeling like armor, today it felt like a costume.

Not because of the clothes themselves, but because the woman beneath them no longer felt placid and resigned. She felt invigorated and excited about life, on the verge of something, even though she hadn’t quite figured out what.

Violet did know, however, that she was not excited to be here, in this restaurant, on this day, with these people. It certainly wasn’t the first time Edith had invited Violet to lunch on a weekday, but this time the invitation had felt tense and loaded, though the older woman hadn’t provided Violet any clues on context.

Concern had her footsteps slowing ever so slightly as she registered the faces sitting around the table. She’d figured on Edith, of course. And she’d known that Rhodes’ board members Jocelyn Stevens and Dan Bogan would be joining as well.

But one man was unexpectedly absent: Cain.

Another man was even more unexpectedly present:

Keith.

Dan and Keith both stood as Violet approached, their polite, chivalrous manners as ingrained in them as Violet’s fake smile was in her.

Violet was apprehensive as she caught Keith’s eye, searching for any sign that he resented her for their recent breakup. He merely smiled warmly and pulled out her chair the way he had hundreds of times in the past.

She supposed she should be relieved that he was being so decent about the breakup, making it clear that there was no bad blood between them. But she couldn’t help but wonder if there shouldn’t be at least a touch of awkwardness?