Page 3 of You Owe Me (21 Rumors #2)

CHAPTER THREE

Rumor has it, she was making out with the dean’s son under a tree.

Ainsley

“I swear, if I have to read one more paper about zooplankton migration patterns, I’m going to throw myself into the ocean and become one with the krill,” Eliza groans, flopping back onto the grass beneath the massive oak tree that’s become our unofficial study spot.

“Please do,” I say, not looking up from my textbook. “I’ll tell your parents you died bravely in the name of plankton-based protest.”

She groans louder with one arm over her eyes. “Seriously, I can’t do it anymore. If I learn one more thing about marine snow, I’m going to snap.”

I finally close my book and glance up at the giant oak tree above us, the leaves casting patchy light across the quad.

Our unofficial study spot is blissfully quiet today.

East quad’s mostly empty, which is exactly how I like it: minimal people, maximum grass, tolerable sunlight, and one best friend having an academic meltdown.

Eliza peeks at me from beneath her arm. “Speaking of cold, unfeeling creatures, how’s everyone’s favorite emotionally repressed storm cloud?”

“Maverick is thriving,” I say, tone flat. “By which I mean he’s still working eighteen hours a day, growling at his inbox, and surviving almost exclusively on coffee and disdain.”

“Gah, I love him,” she says dreamily. “Still can’t believe you landed the dark prince of Havemeyer. What’s it like dating a guy who terrifies half the student body just by existing?”

“It’s just normal.” Honestly, I don’t know how to describe it.

But I know what she means. There’s a reason everyone whispers when he walks into a room. Maverick’s the kind of guy who makes people sit up straighter. Say less. Assume he already knows what they’re hiding. He’s sharp in every way: mind, mouth, stare. All precision. All threat.

But they don’t see the other stuff.

They don’t see him scrolling through late-night fire code reports because Pops owns the building, and he wants it to pass inspection the first time.

They don’t see him watching me when I’m not looking. How his whole face softens for half a second before he hides it again.

They don’t see him go quiet when my hands shake from too much caffeine and not enough sleep, and just hand me water without making a big deal of it.

They see the storm. I get the stillness inside it.

“He made Jeremy Watkins cry at poker night just by looking at him.” Eliza flips onto her stomach. “Did I tell you that?”

“You did,” I say. “For the record, Jeremy cries at mint commercials. Maverick just happened to blink in his direction.”

“So unfair. Meanwhile, I can’t get my Tinder date to make eye contact.”

I smirk. “You want Maverick to stare at you and make you cry?”

“No, I want Maverick to throw me over his shoulder and speak in Wall Street threats.”

“It is pretty hot,” I agree, sipping from my water bottle.

She grins. “So. Serious question.”

Oh no.

“Is he good in?—”

I don’t let her finish. “If you say one more word, I’m going to roll up this worksheet and pop you with it.”

“What?” she says innocently. “I was going to ask if he’s good in… social settings.”

I deadpan. “Maverick at a party is like watching a tiger loose at a petting zoo. Technically there, deeply unsettling, and absolutely not mingling.”

“Hot.”

“You need help.”

She flips onto her back again with a dramatic sigh. “I still can’t believe he’s real. I mean, he was practically an urban legend before you started dating him. Like, you know he has a campus subreddit, right?”

Unfortunately, yes. I do. And it’s awful.

“Some girl posted that she once saw him meditating in the rain. In a full suit. With a cigar. No umbrella.”

“Eliza.”

“No, listen! There’s a guy who swears he still owes Maverick a kidney. A kidney.”

I snort. “It wasn’t a kidney.”

“Says his girlfriend. ” She points at me as if I just proved her point. “That’s so mafia-coded. He doesn’t just help people. He collects debts like a sexy academic mob boss.”

She’s not wrong there.

Maverick’s infamous IOUs are the stuff of late-night whispers and library bathroom graffiti.

People say he once got an entire physics exam moved because the TA owed him a favor.

That he knows the Wi-Fi password to the president’s private guest network.

That if you cross him, your GPA mysteriously drops, and your favorite smoothie place stops stocking your preferred protein powder.

And those are just the reasonable ones.

There’s a whole sub-section of theories about how he funds his lifestyle because he doesn’t work a visible job.

The theories range from secret trust fund baby to international arms dealer to black market kidney broker with a side hustle in crypto .

But the truth? The truth is somehow even more ridiculous: Maverick’s an investment broker for his grandfather’s company.

He runs it from his apartment—barefoot, half-caffeinated, wearing sweatpants, a heart monitor, and usually juggling three spreadsheets.

But before I can mentally spiral any further into the absurd reality of my boyfriend’s double life, a smooth, unfamiliar voice interrupts.

“Ladies. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

The voice cuts into our conversation—smooth, deliberate, and instantly annoying. The kind that makes your skin crawl before your brain can catch up. Polished. Confident. Too practiced to be harmless.

I look up, already bracing myself.

And yep. Just as I suspected: trouble in loafers.

He’s got the kind of carefully put-together look that screams connections. Crisp white polo, tucked into khakis like he’s never sat on grass before. Not a single hair out of place. Even his smile feels… managed.

“You are, actually,” I say, before I can stop myself. Eliza shoots me a look, all eyebrows and silent judgment. I shrug. My filter took the afternoon off.

If he’s thrown off, he doesn’t show it. Just keeps smiling, calm and collected. “My apologies. I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation about marine biology. Fascinating field.”

And now I want to leave.

Eliza jumps in, tone polite but edged with suspicion. “And you are?”

“Carter Mills.” He says his name like it should mean something. “I’m in the business program. But I’ve always been interested in marine conservation. Particularly the economic impacts of sustainable practices.”

Uh-huh.

Because nothing says “marine life enthusiast” like a guy who probably thinks coral reefs are tax write-offs.

I don’t say that, though. I just stare at him, trying to figure out what game he’s playing. Because he’s not here to talk about sea lions.

“And you’re Ainsley James.” He turns his attention to me. “Your reputation precedes you.”

Immediately, I hate him.

“That’s… unsettling,” I reply, flatly. “Since I wasn’t aware I had one.”

He keeps smiling. “It’s hard not to notice exceptional students. Your internship at the Pacific Marine Center, for example. Very impressive.”

My stomach tightens.

That’s not public information. It’s not even on my résumé. The fact that he knows that sets every nerve on high alert. I shift slightly, spine straighter, brain already running through worst-case scenarios.

“Cool that you know that,” I say. “Do you cyberstalk all interns or just the emotionally unstable ones?”

He laughs. “I like to stay informed. Networking is important.”

“Right.” Eliza is clearly over it. “And that brings you… here? To network under a tree?”

“Actually…” Casually, he adjusts the cuff of his sleeve. “I was hoping to speak with Ainsley about a mutual acquaintance.”

There’s a pause.

And then?—

“Maverick Lexington.”

And just like that, the energy shifts.

Of course. This isn’t about networking. Or conservation. Or sea lions.

It’s about Maverick.

“If you’re looking for Maverick, I’m not his secretary,” I say, crossing my arms. “Try a smoke signal or a blood sacrifice. Those usually get his attention.”

Carter’s expression shifts—just barely. The smile dips at the edges, and for a second, I think I’ve thrown him off. But then it’s back. Perfect. Polished. Controlled.

“I wouldn’t dream of going through an intermediary. Even one as… connected as yourself.”

The implication is clear. And gross.

I don’t bite. Just level him with a look that says I’ve had it with the games. “Then get to the point. Because unless you’re here to talk marine snow or seal poop, I’m not interested.”

He tilts his head. “I’ve been following Maverick’s… operations. His use of favors. Obligations. It’s a remarkably effective structure. Almost like a self-sustaining economy within the student body.”

There’s a cold shift in my chest, but I don’t let it show.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Carter’s gaze sharpens. “Really? I would’ve expected more awareness. Given your... proximity.”

I blink. Slow. Measured. Because I know exactly what he’s implying. But I’m not confirming anything. Not for him.

“My relationship with Maverick has nothing to do with whatever theory you’re trying to build,” I say. “If you’ve got questions, ask him.”

“I intend to, but I like to understand the full picture. And you, Ainsley, are a surprisingly important part of his.”

Beside me, Eliza shifts. Her posture’s changed—alert, tense. I don’t blame her. Carter’s words might sound polite, but everything underneath feels off. Like a warning disguised as small talk.

“I think you’re mistaken,” I say. “I’m not a player in any of this.”

“But you are, you just don’t realize it yet.”

Something about the way he says it sticks under my skin. Calm, sure, like he’s already factored me into some equation and decided exactly how useful I’ll be.

“What exactly are you getting at?”

“Nothing specific.” He shrugs. “Just an observation. Power left unchecked tends to attract attention. And eventually, opposition.”

Oh, good. Thinly veiled threats. My favorite.

“Let me guess,” I say. “You’re the opposition?”

“I’m an opportunist. I see imbalance, I act. Simple as that.” He pulls a business card from his pocket and places it on my notebook. “Should you ever want to continue the conversation.”

I don’t touch it.

He adjusts his watch, glancing at the time. “I have a meeting with the dean in twenty minutes.”

And there it is. He waits a beat, then adds, “My father.”

I don’t respond. Neither does Eliza.

Because we get it now.

Carter Mills isn’t just some ambitious student with a perfectly tucked shirt. He’s the dean’s son. He’s connected, calculating, and clearly playing a longer game.

“It was a pleasure. I look forward to speaking again, Ainsley. Hopefully under... different circumstances.”

And then he walks off.

We sit in silence for a few seconds after he’s gone.

“What the actual hell?” Eliza mutters.

I finally pick up the card and glance at it.

Carter Mills

Student Government Vice President

Excellence is not a skill. It’s an attitude.

Of course, it is.

I slide it into my bag. Not because I want to keep it. But because I don’t like leaving loaded weapons lying around in public.

“Does Maverick know the dean’s son is poking around his business?”

I shake my head. “Not yet.”

But he will.

And for the first time, I’m not worried about what Maverick might do to someone.

I’m worried about what someone might try to do to him.

Because Carter Mills isn’t just networking.

He’s hunting.

And he thinks I’m a weak spot.