“How hard you work is not the issue, Cam. The issue is the shaky economy on the other side of these walls, and that Bolling Way is the only decent property you got but you don’t own it, and that nowhere but in Buckhead are people falling over themselves to pay a hundred bucks for a Lasky dinner when they can toss a decent steak on the grill at home. Tell me, how many times a night do you turn the tables in your other shops?”

I don’t answer, because Maxim is not wrong. The only shop pulling in any sort of decent revenue is—was Bolling Way. It’s what was keeping the others afloat.

“Please, Maxim. I am a desperate, desperate man. I’ll pay whatever you want. I will run your kitchens and cook your steaks until the end of time. Just please. I am begging you.”

He stubs the cigarette out, then pulls a fresh one from the pack. “I’m a businessman, Cam. You’re a businessman. Let me ask you, if you were sitting where I’m sitting right now, would you do it? Would you give yourself the loan?”

No. Hell no. I’m not stupid. Only desperate.

I flash a glance at my watch, and my heart wants to crawl out of my chest, Alien-style. It’s 6:10, and home is still more than a thirty-minute battle through Buckhead traffic.

I swipe a sleeve over my clammy forehead. “What do you want, Maxim? Tell me what you want as collateral, and I’ll give it to you. I’ll do any...”

My words trail as I get a look at the back of a head, the greasy-haired man leaning around me to swipe the dirty ashtray from the desk. It’s the first time I’ve seen him from behind, seen that what I first thought was a slicked-back style is really something much more elaborate—a thin patch of scraggly hair combed over a mostly bald crown, then gathered into a wispy bun at the nape of his neck.

A man bun.

He turns to dump the ashtray into a can, and I get a closer look at his face. Deep marks, purple and red scars run across his cheeks and chin and forehead.

“It’s you. You’re the asshole who’s been following Jade around town. She told me about you.”

He grunts, and his expression doesn’t change. He just dumps the ashes into the trash can, bonks it against the side a couple of times and sets it back onto Maxim’s desk. No reaction. Not even a twitch.

Rage travels through my body like electricity, from my lips and tongue down my spine to the soles of my feet, then surges up and lurches me out of my chair.