and gives me a level look. “Quit trying to pick a fight, and call your mother, Tot.”
Patronizing . . . I bite my bottom lip and shake my head. “All right, then, prepare to be invaded.”
Macon raises his cup in salute. “Bring it on.”
Exactly one day later, Mama and her best friend, JoJo, descend upon Macon’s house with wide eyes and gaping mouths.
“Well,” my mother says. “I can see why you’d give up trekking around Asia if you get to work here. It’s simply beautiful.”
So far, I’ve told Mama the bare minimum—that I took a job as a personal executive chef—and left out the part of assistant because I knew she wouldn’t buy it. I insisted that the pay and opportunity were too good to pass up, all the while fighting down the bitter taste in my mouth that came from lying.
When she pushed for more, I promised to fill her in when she came for lunch.
We have the house to ourselves. Macon and North are down in LA, doing God knows what. I think they made up an excuse in order to flee.
Mama’s blue-gray eyes, so like Sam’s, are alight with interest. “Who on earth are you working for, Dee?”
“Let me guess.” JoJo grabs my wrist in excitement. “Someone famous. It has to be. Famous people value their privacy,” she says to Mama.
Maybe it’s because they’ve been friends for so long, but despite the fact that Mama is pale and blonde, and JoJo is dark and brunette, they look remarkably alike. Both wear their curly hair cut in bobs that pouf out like triangles around their delicate faces, both are of a height, and both love to wear loose-fitting capris and flowing tunics in various animal prints. Standing together now, they look as if a cheetah collided with a zebra.
Unexpected tears prickle behind my lids, and I have the urge to rush over and beg for hugs. Because the two of them together make me feel like a kid again, safe and protected. I always looked upon them with awe, wanting to be as uniquely confident as they were when I grew up. I still want that confidence.
JoJo is on the move, investigating the great room for clues. “So,” she says, peering around. “Who is it? A movie star? Big producer? Musician? Tell me he’s handsome.”
“Maybe her boss is a woman, Jo.” Mama smiles at me. “Put your sexist auntie JoJo out of her misery, and tell us, sweetheart.”
Auntie JoJo flips Mama the bird under the guise of scratching her eyebrow. As much as I’d love to see them go at it—because their squabbling can be epic—I take a breath and confess. “It’s Macon.”
Mama tilts her head as if she’s misheard. “Macon?”
Ugh. I hadn’t really thought of Macon in those terms lately. It somehow makes it all worse—Sam’s theft, the fact that I’m taking up her debt, all of it.
I clasp my hands tightly. “Yes.”
They exchange a long look.
Mama’s voice is subdued. “I see.”
I fear she does and scramble to reassure. “It’s a great opportunity. Macon is famous. Chefs get a lot of exposure working for famous people.” I fear that sounds as horrible to their ears as it does mine.
But JoJo gives me a kind look. “This is true. And if I do say so myself, Dark Castle is my favorite show. Have you seen it, Andie?” she asks my mother.
“No. Or rather, I viewed the first few episodes.” Her pale cheeks pinken. “But then there was that scene.”
“Ah, that scene,” JoJo says, failing spectacularly to hide her grin. “I must say, it was a shock to see . . . that.”
Yes, “that” being Macon’s ass. It seems the whole world has seen his ass except for me. I’m beginning to feel sorely left out.
Mama’s color deepens. “I couldn’t look. It was like seeing my own son . . . you know. For Pete’s sake, how was I supposed to watch after that? It isn’t as though I could do a search. ‘Will Macon Saint have sex on Dark Castle tonight?’”
I snicker and quickly swallow it down. “I haven’t watched either.”
Big mistake.
Mama’s expression turns sharp. Another glance at JoJo has my honorary auntie suddenly finding a deep interest in the view.
Mama moves close to me and sets a cool hand upon my wrist. “You know I’m not one to question your choices, Delilah, but you’re truly working for Macon Saint? Living with