Made in Manhattan

Violet felt outright nauseous now. Ashley had been horribly right. Cain did think his worth was dependent on him changing everything that made him him.

“Hey, for what it’s worth, I think you look good, man,” Keith told Cain with surprising friendliness, which was a warning sign in itself. “Like Clark Kent without the glasses.”

Realizing her eyes were blurred with tears, Violet quickly turned and left Keith’s office before the men could see her cry. Keith called her name, but she ignored him.

She kept walking until she got to her original destination, saw from the plaque on the door that the southeast corner office was indeed Cain’s. Since she knew he wasn’t inside, she entered, shutting the door with a little sob.

Her hopes of privacy were dashed when the door was shoved open again almost immediately by a very angry-sounding Cain. “What the hell was that about?”

For the first time in her adult life, Violet made no attempt to modulate the turbulent emotions whirling inside of her. She spun toward him, and half shouted: “I don’t want Clark Kent without glasses.” She wiped at the tears streaking her cheek, then jabbed a finger in the direction of his clean-shaven face. “I hate that.”

“Jesus, Duchess,” he muttered, rubbing his hand over his jaw. “You sure know how to gut a guy. Is it that bad?”

She choked out a laugh. “No. It’s just… You’re just…”

Violet held her breath, then let it out slowly. “I wish I’d told you before you changed… you’re good enough, Cain. As you are. And that it doesn’t matter to me if you get the job or not.” I’ll still love you.

Violet lost her nerve and didn’t add the last part, but perhaps he heard what she didn’t say aloud, because a look of fierce emotion washed over his face before he walked to her with purpose and cupped her face.

His thumbs brushed over her cheeks, wiping at the tears, then he bent his head, capturing her mouth with a searing kiss that stole her breath and her senses.

Cain’s lips moved urgently over hers, both tender and desperate, and her mouth responded immediately, as though she’d spent a lifetime kissing this man.

Violet wrapped her arms around his neck, pouring everything she couldn’t say into the kiss. He groaned at her response, gliding his hands down her back and pulling her closer as his mouth slid down to her neck. “Duchess,” he murmured against her throat. “Duchess…”

Violet’s fingers tangled in his hair, missing the length only for a second before deciding she liked the spiky feel against her palms just as much, found the touch of his bare cheek against her throat as erotic as the beard had been.

It was him she wanted. Scruffy, bald, tall, short, standing, sitting, it didn’t matter, as long as it was Cain.

His hands came up to the front of her dress before he stepped back with a reluctant groan. “I have never hated the fact that this place has windows for walls as much as I do in this moment.”

“Oh!” Violet said, glancing over his shoulder. “I didn’t realize.”

He smiled a little. “I’ve rubbed off on you, Duchess. A month ago, you would have lectured me about keeping the door open for propriety’s sake.”

“I’ve rubbed off on you too,” she pointed out. “A month ago, you’d have boinked me against the wall with the door open, without any care for gossip.”

His mouth tilted upward on one side. “Boinked?”

“Ashley’s word.”

He nodded in acknowledgment, though his smile had already started to fade. “What are you doing here? You’ve never come by the office before.”

“I wanted to see how the interviews went,” she said, a bit too brightly, making the lie almost painfully transparent even to her own ears.

He merely gazed at her.

“No,” she said, with a sigh. “That’s not true. I mean, I did want to know how they went, but it isn’t why I came downtown.”

Cain stayed still. Waited.

Violet took a deep breath. “Cain, before the vote, before the Heart Ball on Saturday, before you’re named CEO—”

“We don’t know that I will be.”

“You will,” she said with quiet confidence. “You’re incredible, Cain. Not because of the suit, or the hair, or because you know what an amuse-bouche is now, or the difference between Monet and Manet. You’re smart, and kind, even though you try to hide it, and…” She inhaled. “Those are the reasons why I lo—”

“Don’t.” His voice was rough. “Please don’t.”

“But—”

His dark eyes were pleading. “Duchess, if you care for me even a little bit, please don’t say those words.”

Violet felt her heart breaking. “But why?”

“Because you’ll make what I need to do impossible,” he said before turning and walking out of the room.

Twenty-Seven

Violet stared at her reflection in the Met’s bathroom. She had never felt so glamorous on the outside and so dead on the inside.