The silence stretches out between us until the only sound in the room is the distant crash of the waves and the pounding of my heart. I’ve exposed my underbelly, and the knowledge twists me up. But the truth is I’m all out of ideas.

When he does speak, the sound is so abrupt I almost flinch. “Look, Delilah, I understand your situation. But that doesn’t change what Sam did. I’m going to have to sort it out with the police now.”

The room tilts beneath me, and panic sets in. I can’t breathe. It can’t end like this. Macon Saint cannot tear apart my family any further. I cannot let him win.

“Take me.”

Take me.

I said that. Hadn’t I? I can’t think. My face feels numb. My mind is blank.

There’s an awkward pause. Macon’s brows pinch together. “I’m sorry—what?”

Okay, that came out wrong. But I will steel into my spine. The Macon I knew never backed down from a chance to prove me wrong. I have to take a chance and believe he’s still the same. “I am betting that Sam will return in less than three months and make up for her theft. As a show of faith, I offer myself as collateral. You need an assistant. I’ll work off Sam’s debt.”

He’s outright gaping now. “Let me get this straight. You want to be my assistant?”

“I don’t want to be,” I say, calmly pretending sweat isn’t running down my back. “But I will, if you—”

“That isn’t enough.” His body might as well be carved out of granite for all he moves now. But his eyes, they are alive with irritation. “We are talking about a three-hundred-thousand-dollar loss. Of something highly sentimental.”

I get it. He wants blood. I would, too, if I’m honest.

I lick my dry lips. “I’ll be your personal chef as well.” When he tries to speak, I hurry on. “Top assistants make around one hundred to a hundred and fifty thousand a year. Personal executive chefs can earn up to a hundred and fifty thousand as well.”

“One year of work would equate to three hundred thousand dollars. You’re saying she’ll return in under three months.”

Damn, he is correct.

“If she doesn’t return, I’ll stay on for one year.”

It sure as hell will spill my proverbial blood to work for Macon. But if it keeps my fragile family safe, I can do it. I can survive a year with Macon. Besides, I know Sam will come back before then. Whether she’ll have the watch is another matter. I push that fear aside and hold his gaze.

For a moment he says nothing. But then a snarl rumbles in his chest. And he flops back in his seat as if trying to put as much physical distance between us as possible.

Macon rubs a hand roughly over his stubble, and for once, I see some true emotion color his cheeks. “What the hell, Delilah? We have a history of tearing into each other given the slightest provocation, and yet you jump right into indentured servitude. Have you lost your mind? Or do you simply enjoy playing the martyr when it comes to Sam?”