MAVERICK
“What’s this for?” I hesitantly took the cards and a piece of paper wrapped around it.
“My credit card. If you want to buy groceries or coffee or go shopping.”
“I have money, Lake. And I don’t do shopping sprees.” I gave it back to him, but I only got a stare. “Fine. I’ll keep it before you put holes in my head. What about this one?” I flipped a debit card.
“It has fifty thousand in it, and I will send ten thousand monthly.” The way he said it was as if we were not talking about money worth thousands of dollars.
“I thought I gave the details of my bank account—”
“That is not your monthly payment, Maverick. As your husband, I’m obligated to give you financial support for groceries, bills, spa days—”
“Wait. Wait.” I raised a hand. “I already have the credit card. I don’t need this one.”