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Cain nodded without saying anything, and Violet didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed that he hadn’t ask what she did want.
“Are you nervous?” she asked him.
“About what?”
“The vote.”
Cain took his time answering, joining her on the balcony, and resting his forearms on the railing.
Then his head dropped forward as he exhaled, and he turned his head slightly to look at her. “I want it, Duchess.”
“Well, sure,” she said softly. “Why else would you have put yourself through all this?”
“No, I mean…” He looked away again. “I really want it.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am,” he admitted. “When it all started, I wanted it for the obvious reasons. The money. The prestige. Probably a little bit of ego. And honestly, I’m not entirely sure I didn’t want to try and fail, just to stick it to Edith.”
“Plus,” he added, looking over at her, “there was no way I was going to let the snotty princess with her pearls and dismissive gaze be the one to run me off.”
“I deserve that,” Violet said. “I was horrible to you that day in Edith’s parlor.”
“I didn’t exactly play the part of white knight myself.”
She laughed. “Have you ever?”
He looked away quickly, but not before she saw the flash of hurt that made her chest ache with regret.
“Hey.” She touched his arm. “I didn’t mean that.”
He gently slid his arm from beneath her hand. “Sure you did. It’s fine.”
“Cain—”
“So, yes,” he said, a little too loud. “I want the job.”
Reluctantly, Violet let him shift the conversation.
“Why?” she asked, to urge him on. She sensed he needed to talk it out, even if he wasn’t entirely comfortable doing so.
He took a distracted sip of the drink. “The damn place got under my skin more than I expected. I thought it would be just pushing papers around a huge desk and signing contracts nobody needed me to read, but there’s a hell of a lot more to it.”
“And you enjoy it.”
He looked like he wanted to protest, then nodded. “Shit. Yeah. I think I do, it’s just…”
“What?”
He tugged at his ear, looking impatient. “It doesn’t feel right.”
“What? The role? You can grow into it, and—”
“That’s just it. Shouldn’t I have to grow into it before it’s offered to me? Shouldn’t I have to earn it?”
He sounded so impassioned that Violet didn’t know what to say in response.
“And let’s face it, I’m never going to be the guy you’re trying to make me. The one who actually chooses to wear a suit when he doesn’t have to. Who gets his hair cut every three weeks at a place that serves cappuccinos. I hate museums, I think caviar tastes like shit, and I can’t for the life of me figure out what the hell people do on yachts.”
She smiled. “They eat caviar and talk about museums.”
He laughed. “Fuck. See?”
“So maybe you’ll be your own kind of CEO,” she said. “Break the mold. Create your own.”
“That’s not what Edith wants,” he said, tilting his glass up. “That’s not what…” He took a drink.
“That’s not what?” Violet urged.
“That’s not what people want from the job. It’s not what they’re signing up for.”
Violet frowned, feeling like she was missing something, that there was something he wasn’t explaining.
“How do you think the vote on Friday will go?” she asked.
“No clue.”
“What’s your gut say?”
Cain stared down at the busy streets for a long minute, thinking.
“Long shot,” he answered finally. “I haven’t been playing kiss ass trying to convince them I should get it, and your boy Keith’s basically had his lips glued to the board’s butt trying to convince them that I shouldn’t.”
He lifted his glass again, then scowled down at it without taking a sip. “This is piss.”
“It’s gross,” she agreed. “I thought I saw some beer in the fridge.”
Cain smiled. “Beer, Duchess?”
“I liked it well enough the other night. When you kissed me,” she said boldly.
Cain’s smile slipped, and he straightened. She held her breath, hoping he’d take the hint, and when his eyes lingered on her mouth, she thought he had.
But then he eased away from her and headed back into the apartment. “Beer it is. We can drink them while we rehearse for those damn interviews.”
Twenty-One
Why does everything in this city taste so good?” Violet asked, looking down at the food on the table, trying to decide if she could possibly fit in another bite, and if so, what it would be.
“Even the fried oysters?” Cain gave her a half smile over his cocktail—a Sazerac, which was apparently a New Orleans classic, but not one to Violet’s liking. She’d tried a sip, but stuck to her usual white wine. “I thought you said they were an abomination.”
“That was before I had them,” she admitted. “You win. They’re delicious that way.”
She’d happily let Cain lead her way out of her comfort zone over the course of the meal. There wasn’t a vegetable or salad in sight, at least half of what they’d consumed had been deliciously fried, and she’d even tried alligator.
