Page 29 of You Owe Me (21 Rumors #2)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Rumor has it, she walked into the lion's den.
Ainsley
Carter’s apartment building looks exactly like what you’d expect from the dean’s son—all glass and steel and expensive landscaping that screams, My trust fund is bigger than your student loans.
I stand on the sidewalk for a full minute, staring up at the fifteenth floor, where a warm glow spills from floor-to-ceiling windows, and try to convince myself I have any other choice.
I don’t.
The IRS investigation is real. The threats are real. And Maverick is completely oblivious, texting me sweet messages about missing me while I’m about to sell pieces of his empire to keep federal investigators from destroying his family.
My phone buzzes with a text from him:
Dinner when you get home?
The casual domesticity of it makes my throat close up. He’s planning dinner while I’m planning treason.
I type back:
Lab running really late. Don’t wait up. Love you.
Each word feels like swallowing glass, but what else can I say? “Actually, I’m about to walk into your enemy’s apartment and discuss the best ways to dismantle everything you’ve built.”
Yeah, that would go over well.
The lobby is all marble and intimidation, with a concierge who looks like he moonlights as a bouncer for exclusive nightclubs.
He barely glances up when I give him Carter’s name and apartment number; he just waves me toward the elevators like wealthy students entertaining guests is the most normal thing in the world.
Maybe it is, in his universe.
The elevator ride to the fifteenth floor feels like ascending to my own execution.
My reflection in the polished steel doors shows someone who looks calm and composed—jeans, sweater, hair pulled back in a simple ponytail.
I look like any other college student heading to a study group or casual dinner.
I don’t look like someone about to commit academic treason.
The hallway is hushed, carpeted in something that probably costs more per square foot than most people’s rent. Carter’s apartment is at the end, and I can hear voices through the door—low conversation punctuated by occasional laughter. The “small gathering” he mentioned.
Perfect. An audience for my humiliation.
I knock before I lose my nerve.
The door opens immediately, like Carter was waiting right on the other side. He’s in a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up just enough to look casual without actually being casual.
“Ainsley.” He greets me with that smile I’m starting to hate more than seafood poisoning. “Right on time. I appreciate punctuality.”
“I appreciate not having my boyfriend’s family destroyed by annoying pricks,” I reply sweetly. “Funny how different we are.”
His laugh is genuine, which somehow makes it worse. “I do enjoy your directness. Please, come in.”
The apartment is exactly what I expected: glass walls, furniture straight out of a Vogue shoot, and art so dead inside it could be Carter’s Tinder profile pic.
There are four other people scattered around the living room, and I recognize two of them from around campus. The others could be students or young professionals—it’s hard to tell when everyone’s wearing the same expensive casual uniform.
“Everyone,” Carter announces, “this is Ainsley James. Marine biology, very passionate about sea lions, and the woman who’s going to help us understand some fascinating aspects of campus… economics.”
The way he says it makes my skin crawl. Like I’m a specimen he’s presenting to his colleagues, something interesting he’s captured for their entertainment.
“Ainsley, can I get you something to drink? Wine? Something stronger?”
“Just water,” I say, because I need every brain cell I have left for whatever comes next.
He disappears into what I assume is the kitchen, leaving me standing awkwardly in front of his friends. They’re all watching me with the kind of polite curiosity that makes me feel like I’m being evaluated for something I don’t understand.
“So you’re dating Maverick Lexington,” one of them says—a blonde girl whose name I don’t catch but whose tone suggests she knows exactly who Maverick is and what that means.
“I am,” I reply, lifting my chin slightly. Even here, even in the middle of betraying him, I’m not going to let anyone think I’m ashamed of that.
“That must be… intense,” another one adds with a laugh. “I heard he once made a guy transfer schools just for looking at his girlfriend wrong.”
“That’s an exaggeration,” I say automatically, though honestly, I’m not entirely sure it is.
Carter returns with my water and a glass of wine for himself. “Actually, I don’t think it is. Maverick’s reputation for… decisive action is well-documented.”
He says it like he’s discussing a particularly interesting case study.
“So,” I say, accepting the water glass, “what exactly did you want to discuss about campus economics?”
“Straight to business. I like that.” Carter settles into one of the leather chairs and gestures for me to take the couch. “We were just talking about transition planning. You know, what happens when established systems… evolve.”
“Evolve or get destroyed?”
“Ideally? Evolution. Destruction is so messy.” He sips his wine like we’re discussing market trends instead of my boyfriend’s empire. “But sometimes evolution requires… external pressure.”
I look around the room at his friends, who are all watching this exchange with the fascination of people watching a nature documentary. Predator and prey, circling each other in expensive surroundings.
“Get to the point,” I demand quietly.
“Information. Where’s my data?”
I look around the room again, at these people who are treating this like entertainment, like intellectual exercise instead of real lives hanging in the balance.
They have no idea what Maverick’s “system” actually means—the students he’s helped, the problems he’s solved, the genuine loyalty he’s earned through years of proving himself trustworthy.
They just see opportunity.
“Let’s say, hypothetically, I was willing to give you the data,” I begin carefully. “What would I get in return?”
“Simple,” Carter replies. “I’ll provide assurance that certain federal investigations find no evidence of wrongdoing.”
“And Maverick never finds out?”
“Why would he? You’d be protecting him from consequences he doesn’t even know exist yet.”
The twisted logic of it makes me feel sick. Carter’s framing this as heroic—me saving Maverick from his own success by helping someone else take it over.
“I need specifics,” I say, buying myself more time. “What kind of information?”
“Who owes him what. Which favors carry the most leverage. How he collects when people don’t want to pay.”
Every word confirms what I suspected—this isn’t just about taking over Maverick’s campus influence. Carter wants to destroy him completely. Map out every vulnerability, every secret, every weakness that could be weaponized.
“That’s a lot to ask.”
“It’s a lot to offer in return,” Carter replies. “Your boyfriend’s family stays safe, his business stays clean, and everyone moves forward without unnecessary… complications.”
“And if I don’t hand over the information?” Because that will never happen.
Carter’s smile turns sharp. “Then we test how well that family business holds up under federal scrutiny. My guess? Not very well.”
The silence that follows is thick with threat and possibility. Everyone in the room is watching me, waiting to see what I’ll choose. Whether I’ll sacrifice Maverick’s empire to save his family.
The worst part is, I can see Carter’s logic. Maverick is graduating soon anyway. His system would need transition planning regardless. And if the alternative is watching his grandfather face federal charges…
Maybe cooperation is the lesser evil.
“I need more time,” I say finally.
“Of course,” Carter agrees easily. “But not too much time. Federal investigations move on their own timeline, and I’d hate for circumstances to… accelerate beyond anyone’s control.”
Another threat, wrapped in concern. He’s giving me the illusion of choice while making it clear that delay isn’t really an option.
“How long?”
“Let’s say… forty-eight hours? That should give you time to consider all the variables.”
Forty-eight hours to decide whether to betray the person I love most in the world or watch his family get destroyed by federal investigators.
Some choice.
I stand up, setting the untouched water glass on his expensive coffee table. “I should go.”
“Of course.” Carter stands, too. “Thank you for coming, Ainsley. I hope our next conversation will be even more… productive.”
Fuck him and his forty-eight hours.
IRS tips or not, I will never betray my man.
I just need to figure out how to pretend that I am.