Chapter 150
Samantha's POV
The fluorescent lights of the Computer Science Building flickered overhead as I watched Ellie and her little entourage disappear around the corner. My fingers were already digging through my purse, searching for the card Martinez had given me weeks ago.
Caleb Martinez - Managing Director
Martinez Consulting Group - European Division
The embossed letters caught the late afternoon sun streaming through the hallway windows. I'd kept it in the inner pocket of my wallet, right next to my CVU ID. Safe. Important.
Unlike Lucas's basketball team photo, which I'd shoved into some random compartment after our last disappointing "date."
I pulled out my phone and dialed before I could second-guess myself. My heart hammered against my ribs—not from nervousness, but from that electric anticipation of finally having something valuable to offer.
He picked up on the third ring.
"Martinez speaking."
God, even his voice was different from Lucas's. Mature. Controlled. The slight European accent that made every word sound deliberate and expensive.
"Mr. Martinez, it's Samantha Grey." I kept my voice low, professional. A couple of students passed by, and I turned toward the window. "I have important information for you. About what we discussed before."
A pause. Brief enough that someone else might not notice, but I'd learned to read silences. This one was interested.
"I see." His tone shifted, became more attentive. "Can you meet me in twenty minutes? Student Services Building, second floor. My temporary office."
"I'll be there."
I hung up and stared at my reflection in the window glass. My hair was a mess from the wind, and my lip gloss had worn off during my three-hour lecture. The cardigan I'd thrown on this morning suddenly looked cheap—definitely not the kind of outfit you wore when meeting someone who drove a Mercedes and wore watches that cost more than most students' yearly tuition.
Get it together, Sam.
I had twenty minutes. That was enough.
The campus coffee shop's bathroom was blessedly empty. I set my bag on the counter and pulled out my makeup kit—the expensive one Lucas had bought me for my birthday, back when he actually remembered things like that.
Foundation to cover the dark circles from another sleepless night waiting for texts that never came. Mascara. A fresh coat of lip gloss, this time in a deeper rose that made my pale skin look less washed out. I finger-combed my blonde hair until it fell in those effortless waves that actually took fifteen minutes to perfect.
The silver necklace Lucas had given me caught the light. I adjusted it so it sat just right against my collarbone—not too high, not too low. The delicate chain was one of the few gifts from him that still felt special.
Will Martinez notice?
I practiced my expression in the mirror. Concerned but not desperate. Helpful but not obsequious. The kind of look that said I'm bringing you valuable intelligence without screaming please validate my existence.
Satisfied, I stopped at the counter and ordered two lattes to go. The barista raised an eyebrow when I specified "extra foam, dash of cinnamon" for the second cup—details I'd gleaned from overhearing Martinez's previous orders at Blue Bean Café.
Thoughtful. Attentive. The kind of person who notices things.
The walk to Student Services Building took eight minutes. I spent them mentally rehearsing how to present the information. Casual but clear. Matter-of-fact but with just enough concern to show I cared about Jackson's well-being.
Not that I gave a damn about Jackson Wilson. But Martinez didn't need to know that.
By the time I reached the second floor, my palms were sweating despite the February chill. I paused outside the door marked "Academic Advising - Temporary Office," balanced both cups in one hand, and knocked.
"Come in."
He was behind a modest desk that somehow looked expensive because he was sitting at it. Charcoal gray cashmere sweater, dark slacks, that same understated watch I'd noticed before. His dark hair was perfectly styled, and when he looked up, those sharp hazel eyes swept over me with an attention that made my breath catch.
Not like Lucas looked at me—distracted, guilty, always half-focused on something else.
Martinez saw me.
"Ms. Grey." He stood, gestured to the chair across from him. "Please, sit."
I handed him one of the lattes. "I noticed you take yours with cinnamon."
His eyebrows rose slightly, and something that might have been approval flickered across his face. "Observant. Thank you."
We sat. He took a sip, and I watched his expression—that subtle satisfaction of a detail done right.
Point for me.
"So," he said, setting down the cup and folding his hands on the desk. "You mentioned information about Mr. Wilson?"
I leaned forward slightly, keeping my voice low even though the door was closed. "About him and Ellie Green."
The change was instantaneous. His posture shifted—still controlled, still professional, but suddenly alert in a way that sent electricity down my spine.
"Go on."
"I overheard Ellie talking to her roommates today." I kept my tone neutral, reportorial. "She was... upset. About Jackson."
"Upset how?"
"She said he's been distant since they moved in together. Coming home late, claiming it's some kind of 'family business training.' But whenever she asks for details, he shuts her down completely."
Martinez's fingers drummed once against the desk. A tiny tell—excitement, barely contained.
"Did she provide specifics about this training?"
"No. But she mentioned something else." I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. "She said she's been smelling perfume on him. Women's perfume. Not hers."
Martinez raised his eyebrows.
"And honestly?" I couldn't help the edge that crept into my voice. "If you ask me, there's no 'family business training.' That's just a classic excuse. He's cheating on her."
The words came out more bitter than I'd intended, but they felt right. I'd seen this pattern before—the late nights, the vague explanations, the irritation when questioned. Lucas had pulled the same crap, just with different excuses.
"He spends hours away, comes back smelling like another woman, and gets defensive when she asks about it?" I shook my head. "Please. We both know what that means."
I watched Martinez's face carefully. His eyes had brightened—actually brightened—and his jaw tightened in what looked like suppressed pleasure.
Interesting.
"And how did Ms. Green seem when discussing this?" he asked.
"Hurt. Confused." I paused for effect. "Her friends were basically telling her not to make excuses for him. That she deserves someone who treats her better."
His mouth curved upward. Just barely, but unmistakable. He caught himself quickly, pressed his lips together, but I'd already seen it.
He's happy about this.
"This is very helpful, Ms. Grey," he said, and there was genuine warmth in his voice now. "You've done well to bring this to my attention."
My stomach did a little flip. You've done well. When was the last time Lucas had said something like that to me?