Keith looked at her, then seemed to relax for the first time all night. “You’re right. You’re right, of course. The board is loyal to Edith, but not to the point of insanity. They’ll see him for what he is.”
“And what’s that?” she asked curiously.
Keith lifted a shoulder, digging into his meal with enthusiasm now. “He’s not one of us, Vi.”
“Not yet,” she said. “But once I’m through with him…”
He let out a little laugh of disbelief that chafed at her already raw nerves. “You really think you can do it? Get him to fit in?”
She picked up her wineglass and lifted it in a toast with a small smile. “Watch me.”
Four
The day after her lunch with Keith, Violet stood in front of the late Adam Rhodes’s brownstone, preparing to My Fair Lady the heck out of his reluctant son.
She tilted her head back to look at the skinny, three-story building as she absently reached into her bag and scratched Coco’s head. It wasn’t that she’d specifically wanted a dog that fit into her purse. It was more that she’d fallen in love with a dog that had turned out to be just three pounds fully grown and was one tiny, lazy diva.
“You remember this place, sweetie?” she asked the dog. “You took a twosie in the entryway when you were a puppy.”
The dog gave her a baleful look. Mom. Really?
“Our secret. Nobody but us knows,” Violet reassured her, rubbing a thumb over a silky ear. She didn’t tell the dog that the reason nobody but them knew was that Adam and his dinner party guests had been several martinis in at the time, not to mention whatever other substances had made an appearance that night.
Violet thought of the man who lived there now and pursed her lips. Unlike his wastrel father, he didn’t seem the type to relish going through life being completely out of it. In fact, she sensed Cain saw plenty. Too much.
Coco ducked back into the purse, spinning in three tight circles, before curling into a sleepy ball.
Taking a deep breath, Violet made her way up the stairs, stepping carefully in her high heels, since the concrete was cracked and desperately in need of repairs.
She’d been to the home plenty of times over the years. Adam, despite his many, many flaws, had been Edith’s son. And since Edith was practically family, that made Adam family. During his too-few sober periods, he’d even acted as a father figure to her. He hadn’t been clean often, but Violet had cherished the moments when he was. Adam had been one of her father’s best friends and his best man at her parents’ wedding.
When Violet’s grandmother had been alive, she was always eager to regale Violet with stories of her parents. But even as a teenager, Violet had sensed her grandmother’s stories were candy coated, either because of the natural bias of a mother’s affection for her son and daughter-in-law, or in an effort to portray David and Lisa Townsend in the best possible light for their daughter.
Adam’s version of David and Lisa, on the other hand, had felt more vibrant and real. Violet had cherished the rare moments he’d been sober enough to humor her eager questions about her family. Adam’s stories had portrayed Violet’s father as a man full of mischief, with a wicked sense of humor and an itch to see the world beyond the pristine one he’d been born into.
As Violet had gotten older, she’d surmised that that itch must have been what brought Adam and her father together as best friends in the first place. Both men, in their way, had been seeking refuge from their straitlaced upbringing.
Adam, in drugs and alcohol.
Violet’s father, in his need for adventure, the farther from NYC, the better.
In both cases, the men’s respective lifestyle choices had ultimately led to their demise. Violet also wondered if they’d ever regretted those choices, or taken a moment to see the effect their lifestyle had on those around them. Had Adam or her father ever sensed that “fun-loving” also had a dark side? That it left the people who loved them horribly, achingly alone?
Violet consciously pushed the melancholy thoughts aside and refocused her attention on a man who was even more of a mystery to her than her late father or his flawed best friend.
A man whom she had less than two months to turn from an angry, ponytailed Louisiana resident into a Park Avenue–approved, boardroom-ready executive.
She had no illusions that it was going to be easy. She wasn’t even sure it was possible.
But she’d come armed with at least one weapon: the element of surprise.
Edith had given Violet Cain’s cell number, and she purposely hadn’t used it. If she was going to figure out how to change Cain, she needed to know what made him tick. And if she was going to do that, she needed to get a glimpse of the real man, before he had time to put up his walls.
There was, of course, every chance he’d ignore her or that he wasn’t even home, which led her to the second advantage, and it was a big one: she had the keys to Adam’s brownstone.
Cain’s father had given them to her for emergencies, and as far as Violet was concerned, this whole mess she’d agreed to definitely qualified. Still, she supposed the man deserved some semblance of warning, so Violet knocked rather than immediately letting herself in.
Ignoring the old-fashioned door knocker, she gave a pert rap to the door with her knuckles. Coco popped her head back out of the bag to investigate, but she was the only one. Cain either hadn’t heard the knock or was pretending not to.
Violet knocked again, more firmly this time. Still nothing. She shifted subtly to her left so she could look through the paned window.
She waited. And waited some more.
Her eyes narrowed; she was almost positive that she saw a blurry shadow of movement inside and heard the sound of footsteps, but still, the door didn’t open.
“All right, Mr. Stone, we’ll do this your way,” she muttered. “Mannerless and crude it is.”
Violet reached into her purse, Coco sneaking in a series of doggie kisses as her fingers searched for the key.
Finding it, she stuck the key into the dead bolt and was just twisting the handle when the front door swung open, pulling her forward with such force that she slammed into a wall.
But the wall was a man. A bare-chested man.
Startled, Violet’s free hand found the center of his chest as she pushed backward, only she overdid it and teetered on her stilettos.
Cain reached out to steady her, his hands warm against her upper arms, even as he scowled down at her.
Once she was steady on her feet, he released her as though she burned him. “What sort of idiotic shoes are those? And what the hell are you doing at my house, Viola?”
She gave him a withering look, because she didn’t think for one second he didn’t remember her name, and he knew exactly what she was doing here.
He crossed his arms, and even as they engaged in a staring contest, the details of their situation began to creep into Violet’s consciousness. The man was not only shirtless, but his jeans were very much unbuttoned, as though they’d been slung on in a hurry.
She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Button your pants.”
“It’s my house. Get out if you don’t like how I’m dressed.”
“Undressed,” she clarified.