“Join the club,” I mutter.

His head snaps back around. Dark eyes pin me to my seat. “I could make your life hell.”

“You don’t even sound ashamed of the prospect.”

“I’m not. You’re the one who is here pleading I take you on instead of holding Sam accountable.”

My back teeth meet with a click. I haven’t spoken to this man in ten years, and already I’m arguing with him more than I have with anyone else since. Even my fights with Sam don’t have this back-and-forth. She doesn’t call me out as much as attack. Macon makes me own every word.

Arguing with him is like trying on the skinny jeans you’ve pulled out of the closet after a number of years and finding they still fit, albeit tightly. It might not be exactly comfortable, but there is definitely an empowering kick to the experience.

“Three years ago,” I say. “Sam disappeared for a week. The police found her car abandoned on the highway. Mama had to be admitted to the hospital when they came to tell her. It turned out to be high blood pressure, exacerbated by a panic attack. And that was when Daddy was alive to soothe her. So when I say her heart cannot take it, it isn’t hyperbole.”

Macon’s expression turns grim. “And Sam? Where was she that time?”

I force myself to hold his knowing gaze. “Off with some guy. She claims her car broke down, and she was going to deal with it later.”

Macon’s lips twist on a half-repressed smirk. “When I first moved to LA, Sam came to see me.” Shock ripples through my body; Sam had never let on she knew where Macon was all these years or that she even cared to know.

He keeps talking. “Somehow she found out I had acquired an agent. Sam wanted to get into acting as well. She begged me to set up a meeting, for old time’s sake.” His smile is tight and unamused. “Little brat showed up drunk and insulted my agent within the first two minutes. Because that is what Sam does. She takes advantage over and over, and the rest of us are left to fix the damage.”

“Then why did you bother to hire her again?” I ask, truly stunned.

The smirk turns bitter. “Clearly I have a weak spot when it comes to the Baker sisters.”

“You don’t expect me to believe that crap, do you?”

Macon shrugs one massive shoulder. “All right, don’t. Maybe it was simple arrogance to assume I could control the outcome if Sam was working for me. I don’t know.” He sits forward, pinning me with a look. “What I do know is that I’m done letting it slide.”

“I understand, Macon. I truly do.” When he simply lifts a brow in disbelief, I forge on. “But you’ll be getting something out of this arrangement too.”

“So you keep saying,” he murmurs. But a calculating glint enters his dark eyes. Control. Macon loves control.

“Come on,” I taunt—whether I’m taunting him or myself is another matter. “Think of it; I’ll be your servant for a year. It’s the ultimate one-up between us. Isn’t that what you always wanted? Me under your thumb?”

There’s a weird sort of beat between us, a heavy pause in which he freezes, his muscles bunching. A current runs between us, humming over my skin. Then Macon barks out a short, hard laugh. “Holy shit, you’re good.”

A frown pulls at my brows. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Oh, yes, you damn well do.” He shakes his head. His smile is not amused. “This offer of yours, it’s a mind trip. You want me to feel guilty, feel so dirty about the situation that I drop the whole thing.”

I shift in my seat, the urge to look away so strong that my neck aches. Shit.

Macon’s lips press together in a hard line. “Typical Delilah Baker move—manipulate everyone into place with your earnest self-sacrifice while turning me into the villain.”

“You’re being melodramatic.” But I can’t stop the hot itchy feeling that crawls over my skin. That is exactly what I’ve been doing. Part of me had hoped he’d be so appalled he’d drop it.

“I’ve a mind to agree, just to see you eat your words.” He leans back and links his hands together over his abs. “I bet you’d run out of this room so damn fast you’d make the curtains sway.”

That itchy heat turns into a rush of annoyance. “I’m not running. Whatever my motives may be, my offer is real. Sam might be a lost cause, but I owe my mother more than you can understand. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her peace of mind intact.”

I don’t know what he sees in my expression—I’m not even sure what I’m feeling right now: fear, anger, determination, even a weird sense of anticipation.

When he finally answers, his tone is all-business. “If I accept the bet, you’ll live here. Your room and board will be included.”