Page 44 of You Owe Me

I look up and instantly regret it.

Carter Mills.

Khakis, smugness, and the walking embodiment of a LinkedIn endorsement. Of course, it’s him. Who else has the audacity to roll up on us mid-dinner like this is a networking event instead of me trying to stress-eat my way through Maverick’s mysterious mood?

“James.” He flashes the kind of smile that’s probably been the cause of at least six restraining orders. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

My stomach does that thing it does when you realize too late that the milk has expired. “Carter,” I say flatly, setting down my onion ring like it personally betrayed me. “Can’t say the feeling’s mutual.”

Across the table, Maverick goes completely still. Not visibly, not dramatically—just still. The way jungle cats go quiet right before they pounce. The temperature around our booth drops ten degrees.

“I was just grabbing dinner with some friends,” Carter continues, gesturing toward a table of business school drones who all look like they collectively own the entireVineyard Vinescatalog. “Saw you and thought I’d say hello.”

His eyes cut to Maverick for the briefest second, measuring, calculating, like he’s trying to determine how much risk is baked into the six feet of brooding silence currently watching him like prey.

“Mills.” Maverick’s voice is low, neutral, and somehow still violent. “You lost?”

Carter chuckles like that was cute. “Not at all. Actually, I was hoping to borrow Ainsley for a second.”

“Nope,” I say immediately, before Maverick can speak and potentially break the restaurant. “We’re kind of in the middle of something.”

“It won’t take long.” And with all the self-awareness of a traffic cone, Carter slides into the booth next to me without waiting for permission.

I’m forced to scoot sideways toward the wall, boxed in by khaki entitlement and the rising tension radiating from across the table like heat from a furnace.

“I just wanted to follow up about the Dean’s Gala,” Like that sentence isn’t a loaded bomb dropped directly into my lap. “Still hoping you’ll consider coming. Saturday night, black tie, phenomenal networking opportunity?—“

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, my throat suddenly tight.

Carter’s smile widens, predatory and sure. “Of course, you do.”

His hand lands on the table, suspiciously close to mine. My skin goes cold. Across from me, Maverick doesn’t move, but his grip on his water glass tightens just enough to make the ice shift audibly.

“The gala’s a great opportunity.” Carter leans slightly closer, invading my space with casual confidence. “For your future, I mean. You’ve got a unique voice. A passion for marine ecosystems. People at events like that can open doors.”

“You mean the kind of people who confuse manipulation with mentorship?” My voice hardens.

He doesn’t even blink. “I mean people who recognize potential. And value the right kind of connections.”

His fingers drift closer to mine, not quite touching, but the implication is crystal clear. I can feel Maverick’s stare like pressure against my skin, the air between us crackling with barely contained violence.

“Ainsley’s not interested.” Maverick’s voice is casual and deadly.

Carter ignores him completely. “What do you say, James? One night. Fancy dress. A glass of wine with someone who doesn’t treat you like a liability.”

That’s when Carter’s hand finally brushes my wrist.

And that’s when Maverick stands.

No loud movement. No warning. Just the quiet scrape of the booth and six feet of coiled silence rising like a gathering storm. The change in him is instantaneous and terrifying. Every muscle goes taut, his breathing shallow, and those blue eyes turn arctic.

“Get your hand off her.” Calm. Clear. Razor-edged.

Carter turns, completely unimpressed. “Relax, Lexington. We’re having a conversation.”

“Right. The kind where you trap her against a wall and pretend it’s charming.”

Carter actually laughs, and it’s the kind of smug sound that makes me wish Maverick didn’t have a heart condition, because I can already feel what’s building in the air like an oncoming train. “Touchy tonight, aren’t we? Didn’t realize polite interest counted as a felony now.”

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