Sierra's face goes pale. “Fifty percent?”
“It's a slow season.” The words taste like ash in my mouth. “It happens.”
“Not like this.” Nolan's quiet voice cuts deeper thanRoman's blunt delivery. “The lodge is hemorrhaging money, Ev. You know that. That's why you called us.”
Three days ago. After I ran the projections for the tenth time and kept getting the same devastating answer.
But I didn't call Sierra.
Because we’re not friends. Because telling her the lodge is in real danger of failing is like admitting I'm failing. And I decided a long time ago, after she broke it off and drove the point home with a new boyfriend, that she didn't get to see me fall apart anymore.
“Why didn't you tell me?” Her voice is small. Hurt. And aimed directly at the brothers who've always told her everything.
“We just found out ourselves,” Roman says gently. “Ev's been handling it solo. Stubborn bastard. But it’s business and we have a hand in that.”
“Wait, what do you mean you have a hand in it?”
“They invested in the lodge. Ten percent each,” I say, gripping my glass hard enough to turn my knuckles white.
“You what?” Sierra's head snaps toward Roman as though the admission came from him.
Because even though I took a sledgehammer to a few walls when I kissed her, finding out her brothers are investors—well, that’s some next level building material for her to build a brand new one.
The only thing that will survive the apocalypse? Cockroaches and Sierra’s fucking wall.
She can build all the new walls she wants, but I better not so much as change out the mailbox withoutpresenting the the specs of said new mailbox to a committee.
Maybe if I just promised to erect a wall between her and my cock, she’d fast track me through the process and give it the preservation society stamp of approval.
“When Everett took over and reviewed the books, it was clear the mountain needs to expand to profit year-around. With the way the money trended through the generations before him, some things needed to change to do that,” Roman says carefully. “We wanted to help.”
“And nobody thought to mention this to me?” Her voice climbs. “You're part owners and I'm just... what? The kid sister who doesn't need to know?”
“Shutterbug—” Roman says quietly.
“No, you can take my nickname and shove it straight up your ass,” she snaps, her narrowed eyes pinning him in place, daring him to say another word.
“Don’t try to placate me. It’s insulting. I’m not a little kid. And what you invest in is your business.” She takes the time to look at each of them separately. “Letting me be the last to know is shitty.”
The silence stretches a beat too long. Roman clears his throat.
“Sierra—”
“No. Caleb, you said something about ideas? Cool,” Sierra interrupts. “You’re up.”
“A brilliant idea,” Caleb corrects, recovering fast, entirely too awake for someone who just drove hours through the night. “An idea that's going to save this lodge and put Morgan Lodge back on the map.”
My chest tightens. “The lodge doesn't need saving.”
Four sets of Barrett eyes swing to me. Sierra’s bore clean through my skin.
“Everett.” Roman's tone shifts into something careful.
Something that sounds too much like the voice my father uses when he's about to tell me I'm being naive.
“If the bookings keep tanking and with the restaurant's barely breaking even, plus the weather?—”
“I know about the weather.” The words come out sharper than I intend. “I know about all of it.”
