Page 27 of You Owe Me (21 Rumors #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Rumor has it, she's about to lose everything.

Ainsley

Check your email. We need to talk. -CM

I’m still lying in bed, Maverick’s arm draped across my waist, our new tattoos tender against the sheets. The morning light filtering through the curtains should feel peaceful. Romantic, even. Instead, it feels like the calm before a hurricane.

My stomach drops as I carefully extract myself from Maverick’s embrace and pad to the kitchen, phone clutched in my trembling hand. He doesn’t stir—exhausted from last night’s intensity, his breathing deep and even.

I open my email with shaking fingers, and there it is. A message from Carter Mills with the subject line: Regarding Recent Activities.

My blood turns to ice water.

Ainsley,

I trust you enjoyed your evening of… self-expression. Charming ink work, by the way. Very permanent.

I have to admit, I’m disappointed. When you left the gala in such dramatic fashion, I assumed you were simply overwhelmed by the evening’s chaos. But matching tattoos? Really? How wonderfully… possessive of him.

Since you seem determined to make our arrangement more complicated than necessary, I’ve decided to demonstrate exactly how serious I am about our continued cooperation.

I hope Maverick’s grandfather is keeping his financial records in order. Anonymous tips to the IRS about potential tax irregularities at small investment firms can be so… disruptive. Especially when they involve family businesses with student-aged operators.

I also have photos from last night. Your celebration was quite public and quite permanent. I’d hate for the timing to raise uncomfortable questions about what exactly you were commemorating.

I’ll be in touch shortly with revised terms. In the meantime, consider whether permanent declarations of loyalty are wise when the object of that loyalty is under federal scrutiny.

Best regards,

Carter

P.S. - Some fires, once lit, are very difficult to extinguish.

The phone slips from my numb fingers and clatters onto the kitchen counter. My legs give out, and I sink onto one of the barstools, struggling to breathe around the panic constricting my chest.

He knows about the tattoos. And he’s angry.

More than angry—he’s escalating. He’s targeting the one thing that could destroy not just Maverick, but his entire family.

The IRS. Carter sent an anonymous tip to the IRS about Pops’s investment firm.

Shit. An IRS audit could uncover everything.

Maverick’s been running his grandfather’s investment company while technically being a full-time student.

And Pops doesn’t even know. He thinks Maverick stepped back when he caught him the first time.

If auditors show up asking about transactions Maverick authorized, about decisions he made, about money he moved…

It would kill him. Literally. The stress of learning that his grandson has been lying to him while potentially exposing the family business to federal charges? Pops’s heart couldn’t handle it.

My hands shake as I scroll through the rest of my emails, and there they are—two attachments from Carter.

The first is a photo of Maverick and me leaving the tattoo parlor. His shirt is off, my wrist is bandaged, and we’re pressed against his car in what could generously be called a compromising position. The angle is perfect, clearly taken by someone who was waiting for the right moment.

The second attachment makes my blood freeze entirely.

It’s a screenshot of what looks like an IRS tip submission form.

Most of it is blacked out, but I can see enough—references to “undisclosed student management,” “potential income tax evasion,” and “unreported business operations.” The timestamp shows it was submitted this morning at 6:45 a.m. Fifteen minutes before Carter sent me his email.

Carter wasn’t just threatening me. He was watching me. Following me. And when I made the choice to get that tattoo with Maverick, to permanently bind myself to him, Carter interpreted it as a declaration of war.

My phone buzzes again. Another text from Carter’s number.

IRS investigations can take months. Or they can be resolved quickly if the tip turns out to be baseless. Funny how these things work. Coffee in 20 minutes. The Daily Grind on campus. Come alone.

Twenty minutes. That’s barely enough time to get dressed and make it across campus, let alone figure out how to handle this without making everything worse.

This isn’t about academic irregularities or campus politics.

This is about Carter realizing that I chose Maverick.

Permanently. Publicly. And now he’s showing me exactly what that choice costs—not just for us, but for Pops, for Cooper, for everyone who depends on Maverick running the investment firm.

I glance toward the bedroom, where Maverick is still sleeping peacefully, completely unaware that his girlfriend is about to be blackmailed by a sociopath who just weaponized the federal government against his family.

I could wake him up. Tell him everything. Let him handle Carter the way he handles all threats—with calculated precision and ruthless efficiency.

But what would that cost him? The stress alone could trigger another heart episode.

And if Carter follows through on his threats, if the IRS investigation expands, Maverick won’t just be dealing with federal charges.

He’ll be dealing with his grandfather’s devastation, Cooper’s lost future, and the collapse of everything he’s worked to protect.

No. I got us into this mess. I will get us out.

I creep back into the bedroom and grab clothes from the floor—yesterday’s jeans, a clean shirt, and my tennis shoes.

Maverick shifts slightly when I accidentally bump the dresser, but doesn’t wake.

His face looks younger in sleep, softer, and the sight of the fresh tattoo over his heart makes my throat close up.

I’m about to break every vow that ink represents.

I leave a note on the kitchen counter—something vague about an early lab session and coffee with Eliza. The lie comes too easily, which probably says something terrible about how much I’ve changed since this nightmare started.

The walk across campus feels like a death march. Every step brings me closer to whatever fresh hell Carter has devised, and every student I pass looks like a potential witness to my impending downfall.

The Daily Grind is already crowded with the early morning coffee rush, which means whatever Carter plans to say will have an audience.

Perfect. Because public humiliation is exactly what this situation needed.

I spot him immediately—khakis, polo shirt, that insufferable smile that makes me want to practice my right hook on his perfectly symmetrical face. He’s already claimed a corner table, two cups of coffee sitting in front of him like this is a friendly meeting instead of emotional terrorism.

“Ainsley,” he greets me warmly as I approach, standing like a gentleman. “You look lovely this morning. A bit tired, perhaps, but that’s understandable given your… eventful evening.”

I don’t sit. “What do you want?”

“I want you to understand that actions have consequences.” His voice is still pleasant, but there’s steel underneath now. “Getting matching tattoos sends a message, Ainsley. You chose to make your allegiance public and permanent.”

“So?”

“So, I decided to make mine public, too.” Carter gestures vaguely toward my phone. “That little tip to the IRS? That’s just the beginning. A warning shot, if you will.”

“You’re insane,” I breathe. “That could destroy his entire family.”

“Could it?” Carter tilts his head with mock concern. “I suppose that depends on whether there’s actually anything irregular to find. And whether the investigation gets the cooperation it needs to reach a swift conclusion.” He motions to the chair. “Have a seat.”

“I’m fine standing.”

“I insist.” His smile turns sharp. “Unless you’d prefer we discuss how anonymous tips have a way of multiplying when the initial one proves… productive.”

The threat is clear. Sit down and keep this quiet, or Carter will ensure the IRS audit expands beyond what any family business could survive. I sink into the chair, my back rigid, hands clenched in my lap.

“Much better.” Carter slides one of the coffee cups toward me. “Oat milk latte. I remembered from our previous encounters.”

The fact that he’s been paying attention to my coffee preferences is somehow more unsettling than the escalation. “Skip the pleasantries. What’s your angle here?”

“Angle?” He presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I’m simply trying to help you understand the new reality.”

“Which is?”

“You declared yourself publicly last night.” Carter leans forward, his voice dropping to that dangerous register I’m starting to hate.

“Those tattoos aren’t just ink; they’re ownership papers.

And I thought it was time to show you what happens when someone tries to take what I’ve been working toward. ”

“Pops’s company has nothing to do with this,” I say desperately. “He’s innocent.”

“Is he?” Carter’s smile is cold.

“Go to hell.”

Carter’s smile is genuinely amused now. “Now, now. Let’s not start planning our vacation yet. Things could change and work out in your favor.”

My mouth goes dry. “And what do you want in return?”

“Simple.” Carter sits back in his chair like he’s already won. “I want data, names, methods, leverage points. Everything Maverick has on the people at Havemeyer.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then that IRS investigation runs its full course.” Carter shrugs. “Federal audits are thorough. They examine everything: bank records, tax filings, family finances. They interview everyone connected to the business. Including elderly grandfathers with heart conditions.”

“Why are you blackmailing me?”

“Blackmail is such an ugly word.” Carter sips his coffee like we’re discussing the weather. “I prefer to think of it as… incentivized cooperation.”

I lean back in my chair, studying his face. There has to be an angle here I’m not seeing. “You’re insane if you think I’m going to help you destroy him.”

“I’m not asking you to destroy him,” Carter replies smoothly. “I’m asking you to save him. And his family.”

“From what?”

“From the consequences of that IRS investigation expanding.” Carter’s voice drops to barely above a whisper.

“Federal tax investigations have a way of growing. One business leads to another. One irregularity leads to five more. Before you know it, everyone connected to the firm finds themselves under federal scrutiny.”

The worst part is, he’s not wrong.

“If you expose him, you’ll destroy yourself, too,” I point out. “You’ve been part of this—the gala, the threats?—“

“Have I?” Carter’s eyebrows rise in mock surprise.

“Because as far as anyone knows, I simply invited an attractive fellow student to a university function. What happened after that—your decision to leave with my property, cause a public disturbance—well, that reflects more on you than me, doesn’t it? ”

My stomach sinks as I realize how thoroughly he’s covered his tracks. Everything I did to him could be painted as inappropriate behavior. Everything he did to me could be dismissed as normal social interaction that I mishandled.

“How long do I have?”

“To get my data?” Carter checks his watch—expensive, probably Swiss. “How about we say… until tomorrow night? I’m having a small gathering at my apartment. Nothing formal, just a few friends discussing future opportunities.”

“You want me to come to your apartment?”

“I want you to take the first step toward ensuring everyone’s continued happiness and prosperity.” Carter stands, straightening his polo shirt like he’s heading to a board meeting instead of walking away from destroying someone’s life. “Eight o’clock. I’ll text you the address.”

He starts to leave, then pauses and turns back.

“Oh, and Ainsley? I’d recommend not discussing this with Maverick just yet. Not until you’ve had time to consider all the variables. We wouldn’t want him to do something… rash.”

The threat is crystal clear. If I tell Maverick about this conversation, Carter will trigger whatever nuclear option he’s prepared. If I don’t, I have until tomorrow to figure out how to save everyone I care about without selling my soul to the devil in designer casual wear.

Carter disappears into the crowd of caffeine-dependent students, leaving me alone with cold coffee and the growing certainty that I’m about to make choices that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

My phone buzzes. A text from Maverick.

You left before I could properly thank you for last night.

The casual affection in his message makes my eyes burn with unshed tears. He’s probably sitting in our kitchen right now, reading my bullshit note about lab work and coffee with Eliza, completely trusting that I’m exactly where I said I’d be.

Instead, I’m here. Making deals with devils. Protecting him from threats he doesn’t even know exist.

I type back:

No thanks necessary. Love you.

And I do love him—so much that I’m about to do something that might make him hate me forever.

But what choice do I have?

Carter has me exactly where he wants me: trapped between the truth that will destroy Maverick’s family and lies that might save them.

And the worst part? I’m starting to think this was always his plan. Not just to take down Maverick, but to use me to do it. To turn his greatest asset—the girl who loves him enough to do anything to protect him—into his greatest weakness.

I head back across campus, already rehearsing the lies I’ll need to tell. Already building the walls I’ll need to maintain. Already becoming someone I swore I’d never be.

All because loving Maverick Lexington means accepting that sometimes, protection and betrayal look exactly the same.

And tomorrow, I’ll find out which one I’m really choosing.