Question within a question? So, it’s going to be like that? “Why I do what I do is not your business.”

“Anything involving my mother is my business.” He patted his chest twice. “I’m the man of the house.”

“Oh yeah? And what kind of man puts his mother in the position you did, making her beg for you?” Shit. I’d gone too far. Stepped right the fuck in it.

I’d expected his jaw to become unhinged in anger. Maybe even take a swing at me. Instead, he quietly stared at me as regret washed over his face.

Dammit. I felt like I was fighting myself. My own reflection. “I just want a word with her, and I have no plans to tell her about the ring you bought last night.” Surrendering wasn’t my go-to, not ever, in fact. But for him, I was willing to do it. “I have no bad intentions when it comes to your mother.” I just need answers. I need confirmation. I need to know what in God’s name happened seventeen years ago.

He quietly stared at me, and all I could do was hope he was contemplating accepting the truce I was trying to offer him. We weren’t off to the best start, but had he not stolen from me in the first place, I’d never have known he existed.

I went to my suit jacket and reached into the interior pocket for another peace offering. “Here.” I shoved the Tiffany’s box his way. “The photo is still inside.”

He refused to take it the way his mom had in my office. “This feels like a Trojan horse.” Arms back over his chest, he shook his head. “Nope, not falling for it.”

This isn’t going to be easy.

Oddly, part of me appreciated that he wasn’t ready to accept a stranger. Even more than that, I was happy to see how protective he was of his mother.

“Fine.” I returned the box to the jacket pocket and faced him. “But I’m not leaving until I talk to your mom. And after you stole from me, placing her in a shit position to have to apologize, apparently twice in one day, you owe me⁠—”

“If you even think about doing what that asshole made her do, get on her hands and knees and beg for mercy, I’ll make your life a living hell.”

“What asshole?” My voice dropped an octave or three at that news.

He blew out his cheeks, seemingly confused about why I latched on to that part of his threat. “The father of the kid I fought at school. He had her get on her hands and knees in the principal’s office and grovel, or he’d press charges. Principal watched on and did nothing.”