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He ends the call.
“Who was that?”
“Nobody.”
“Wrong answer.”
He puts his phone down. “Lila.”
“How many?”
His expression tells me everything.
“How many cancellations are you paying for?”
“All of them.”
My temper explodes. “No way.”
“Already handled.”
“I don’t care. Unhandle it.”
“Not a word.”
“You can’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Throwing money at every problem I have.”
His jaw tightens.
“I’m not throwing money at anything.”
“You paid for the lumber. You negotiated my suppliers. You fixed the boiler. Now you’re secretly replacing every dollar the lodge loses because of this mess.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“Don’t care.”
I stare at him. “You don’t care?”
“Not about this.”
“It’s my business.”
“And you’re my wife.”
“Oh my God, stop using that as an excuse.”
“It’s not an excuse.”
“We have a contract.”
“Fuck the contract.”
