Page 11 of You Owe Me

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.

---