here are no joke, and I wrinkle my nose. “Okay, the down payment on a condo. Good Lord . . .” I make a weak gesture. “Your mother wore it every day. Like it was a Seiko.”
He gazes out toward the sea, giving me the clean lines of his profile. “I think she liked to taunt my father with it.”
“Didn’t he buy her the watch?”
His mouth twists. “Despite the airs my father put on, my mother’s family was the one with money. The house, the cars, the watch—they were all hers. And she made him feel it.”
Oddly, it sounds like Macon approves. Then again, he never did get along with his father. Not many people did. George Saint was a beast, and I learned early on to avoid him.
“Well . . .” I drift off, unable to think of a thing to say.
“Well,” Macon repeats as if agreeing.
“Macon . . .”
“Delilah.” My name is a singsong taunt.
I bite my lip to keep from shouting.
“You really didn’t know a thing about Sam working for me, did you?” he asks quietly.
Yep, still hurts that Sam kept me in the dark. “The only time we’ve spoken of you since high school was when Sam said you were on Dark Castle. I had no clue you two had been in contact.”
Macon’s expression remains blank, but something stirs in his eyes. It looks a lot like rage. “I was surprised as hell when Sam applied to be my assistant. Didn’t really want to hire her, if I’m honest, but she said she was in desperate straits.”
“Feeling sorry for Sam is always a recipe for disaster,” I mutter.
“Yet here you are.”
A fire lights in my belly, and I lean forward with clenched fists. “I’m not here for Sam. I’m here for my mother. Daddy died last year, and we’re all she has. Personally, I could kill Sam for this. It would give me great satisfaction to punch her in the tit right now . . .”
Macon huffs a laugh. A perverse part of me wants to laugh, too, but the situation is too horrible.
“But she isn’t here, and I’m doing what I can. I just . . . I already lost my dad; I can’t lose Mama, Macon. I can’t.”
“She knows what Sam is like,” he says almost gently. But it isn’t for me; I know it’s out of respect for my mother. Just as I know that respect still won’t soften his stance.
“There’s a difference between knowing and experiencing. Twice already, Mama has been taken to the hospital for panic attacks. She’s on meds for hypertension, with orders from her doctor to take it easy. She puts up a brave front, but her nerves are shot.”
Macon’s jaw bunches, the tendons along his thick neck standing out in sharp relief. He swallows hard, then visibly releases his tension. “I don’t want to hurt your mom. But Sam is a thief. She stole documents from me, personal information.” His dark eyes flash with rage. “People got hurt.”
“Who?” I choke out.
“Does it matter?” he snaps, then blows out a breath. “Point is, she causes destruction everywhere she goes. And I’ll be damned if she weasels out of it this time.”
Sam’s deeds aren’t mine, but I’m so ashamed of her right now I feel covered in dirt. “Perhaps a payment plan?”
“Hmm . . .” His index finger rasps along his jaw. The stubble on his face only serves to draw attention to his lips and the soft curve of them. I can’t tell if the near beard is intentional or if he hasn’t been able to shave since his accident. “You owned a popular catering business.”
It’s not a question but a statement. One that skitters along my spine. “How do you know that?”
There’s a hint of censure in his expression as if I ought to know the answer already. “I looked you up. Stanford University, majoring in art history, until you dropped out junior year and transferred to the Culinary Institute of America. Internships in Paris for a year, then in Catalonia the next. Worked at Verve and Roses in New York City before moving back to Los Angeles three years ago to open up your own business.”
“Jesus.” My skin feels too tight for my face. “It’s just creepy you dug up that much. You realize this?”
Macon shakes his head in reproach. “It’s on your website, Tot.”
And now I’m cringing. “Right. Forgot about that. Still invasive, though.”
He simply hums in that irritating, supercilious way of his. “You think I