Page 37 of You Owe Me

No, I need to handle this myself. Set firm boundaries. Maybe throw in some creative threats involving marine wildlife. Greg could totally be trained to balance a ball on Carter’s unconscious body, right?

When Dr. Paulson finally dismisses us, I take my time packing up, hoping Carter will get bored and leave. No such luck. He’s waiting outside the door when I emerge, leaning against the wall with practiced nonchalance, like a stock photo come to life titled “Privileged College Student Contemplating His Inheritance.” He shouldn’t even be in this building. The business school is clear across campus, which means he came here specifically to ambush me.

“Ainsley,” he greets me, straightening up. “Thanks for coming.”

“Did I have a choice?” I adjust my backpack strap, positioning it like a barrier between us. “You know, most people text these days. Paper airplanes are a bit dramatic, even for you.”

“I like to make an impression.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Besides, I wasn’t sure you’d respond to a text.”

“Fair assumption.” I step to the side, trying to move past him. “Look, I’m late for my next class?—”

“No, you’re not.” He falls into step beside me. “You have a ninety-minute break on Thursdays. Usually, you spend it at the library or the East Quad oak tree. And your next class is Marine Vertebrate Physiology in Brenner Hall at 12:30.”

The casual way he recites my schedule sends an icy chill down my spine. “That’s not creepy at all,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm to mask my discomfort. “What’s next, telling me what I had for breakfast?”

“Bagel with cream cheese.” He gestures at my face. “You still have some on your chin.”

Mortified, I wipe at my chin. “Do you have an actual reason for this conversation, or did you just want to demonstrate your stalking proficiency?”

“I have a proposition for you.” He guides us toward a quieter hallway, away from the flow of students. I follow reluctantly, figuring a public hallway is still safer than whatever secluded spot he might suggest next.

“Let me guess,” I say, crossing my arms, “another dinner invitation? Another chance to betray Maverick? Or are you branching out into new territory, like asking me to join your evil villain support group?”

Carter chuckles, the sound completely devoid of humor. “Always so spirited. That’s what I admire about you, Ainsley. You don’t back down easily.”

“If by ‘spirited’ you mean ‘completely uninterested in your company,’ then yes, I’m extremely spirited.”

His expression hardens slightly. “I was hoping we could have a civilized conversation without the hostility.”

“Civilized?” I laugh incredulously. “You’ve been stalking me, threatening Maverick, and trying to blackmail your way into my life. I don’t think ‘civilized’ is on the table anymore.”

“Fair enough.” He gestures to a nearby bench. “Would you at least sit? This won’t take long.”

I remain standing. “I’m good, thanks. Some of us burn calories through anxiety rather than plotting world domination.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you use humor as a defense mechanism?” His tone is almost clinical, as if he’s analyzing me.

“Has anyone ever told you that you use creepy stalker behavior as a personality substitute?” I shoot back.

That actually seems to hit a nerve. His perfect composure cracks just slightly, a flash of something ugly crossing his face before the mask slips back into place.

“I’ll get to the point.” His voice is tighter than before. “I’d like you to accompany me to the Dean’s Gala this Saturday.”

I blink at him, genuinely caught off guard. The Dean’s Gala is a major university event, a formal fundraising dinner that costs approximately one kidney per ticket, attended by faculty, wealthy alumni, and students with important family connections. It’s definitely not a casual date suggestion.

“You’re joking,” I say finally.

“I’m perfectly serious.” His posture is rigid, confident. “The gala is an excellent networking opportunity. Many marine conservation organizations will be represented, including potential employers and grant providers.”

“Wow, you really did your homework,” I mutter. “But the answer is still no. Not interested. Not even if the entire population of sea lions personally requested it.”

“I thought you might say that.” He sighs, as if my refusal is merely an inconvenient delay rather than a firm rejection. “That’s why I’ve prepared a contingency plan.”

Of course, he has. Guys like Carter always have a backup plan, usually involving some form of coercion or manipulation.

“Let me save us both some time,” I say, holding up a hand. “Whatever threat you’re about to make, whatever leverage you think you have, it won’t work. I’m not going to the gala with you. I’m not betraying Maverick. I’m not becoming part of whatever weird power game you’re playing.”

“This isn’t a game, Ainsley.” His voice drops, becoming softer but somehow more menacing. “This is about your boyfriend’s academic future.”

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