“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 wouldn’t look into your life when I was trusting you to bring back my mother’s watch?”

“Technically, I was supposed to bring back Sam, not the watch.”

“Bang-up job on that.”

“Ass.”

He allows a ghost of a smile before it fades. “Why did you close your business last week?”

“It’s really none of your business.”

Unfazed, he continues to assess my whole life. “By all accounts, it was extremely successful. Hell, over the past year, I had at least three people suggest you for events.”