13. Quinn #2
The walk to Avery’s was only long enough to make a bad decision feel earned. I unlocked my phone, opened Rafe’s contact, and stared at the empty text box while a delivery truck groaned past and a woman in running clothes carried an iced coffee the size of a small aquarium.
I typed: A door latch fairy appears to have visited my building last night. Weird. Very seasonally inappropriate.
I looked at it.
Too much.
I deleted seasonally inappropriate because even my flirting had apparently started dressing for a theme party.
New version: A door latch fairy appears to have visited my building last night. Weird.
I stared at that, too.
Then, because self-control was a finite resource and I’d used most of mine not buying coffee, I hit send.
“There,” I told Max. “Casual and legally defensible.”
Max sneezed.
“You’re very unsupportive this morning.”
I knew he was just tired and possibly judging me, which was completely fair, so I wouldn’t hold it against him.
I spent the next two blocks pretending I’d not texted Rafe Virelli before eight in the morning about a lock he was absolutely going to deny fixing.
My phone didn’t ping. Good. Professional men with fortunes and dragon forms probably didn’t answer texts quickly.
They had staff for that. Maybe a correspondence secretary.
Maybe a raven. I didn’t know his system.
Avery’s front windows were already streaked with nose prints. A tasteful brass plaque beside the door read TEDDINGTON WORKING DOG REHAB, but Avery had taped a handwritten sign beneath it because tastefulness made her itchy: NO, YOU CANNOT “BORROW” A MALINOIS FOR SECURITY. GET THERAPY.
As soon as I keyed in, a chorus of barking rose from the back. Max’s ears lifted, and I swear he sighed like a man clocking in.
Avery appeared from the training room wearing cargo pants and a black tank top.
Her buzz cut was so fresh, it made her cheekbones look higher than the man smoking weed in my building.
A clicker hung from one wrist, a leash from the other.
There was a smear of something on her forearm that I chose, for both our sakes, to believe was peanut butter.
“There’s my guy,” she said, crouching as Max came in.
Max went to her, tail wagging wildly, because he had no loyalty when Avery had liver treats.
“Good morning to you, too,” I said.
Avery scratched under his chin. “I see you brought the backup human.”
“I’m the primary human.”
“Sure. And I’m the Queen of Belgium.” She looked him over, then glanced at me. “He’s tired.”
“Big night.”
“Did he work?”
“He got complimented by half a ballroom and shook hands with a museum director’s wife.”
Avery’s eyes narrowed with interest. “Okay. I need that sentence unpacked immediately.”
“I have to get to work.”
“Cruel. Illegal. Anti-feminist.”
“I’ll give you the good version later.”
“You always say that, and then I get the trial transcript version.”
“I’m in law.”
“You’re in denial,” she said, standing. “How’s the dragon?”
My face must have done something inappropriate, because Avery’s eyes narrowed.
“No,” I said.
“I didn’t ask anything.”
“You asked how he was in a tone.”
She shrugged. “I use many tones. I’m a woman with range.”
“He is fine.”
“Fine,” she repeated.
“Professional.”
“Mm.”
“Helpful.”
“Oh, no.”
I unclipped Max’s leash and handed over his day bag. “His joint supplement is in the blue container, lunch in the silver one, and the emergency treats are in the side pocket.”
“Why did helpful sound like you were describing a man who carried you across a moor?”
“It didn’t.”
“It did. You said it like you’d seen his forearms in candlelight.”
“There were no forearms. There were cuff links.”
“Oh, that is exponentially worse.”
My phone pinged, and my entire body betrayed me.
I didn’t drop anything or gasp or press a hand to my sternum like a woman in a miniseries receiving news from the front. But my attention snapped down so fast Avery could’ve tracked it with a laser pointer.
I pulled out my phone.
Rafe: I have no knowledge of fairy activity in your building.
I could feel the smile happening and did absolutely nothing to stop it, which was frankly the most damning part. It started small, then widened before I could shove it into a respectable drawer labeled client correspondence.
Avery went still. “The fuck,” she said.
I looked up. “What?”
She pointed at me. “That.”
“What?”
“That face.”
“I’m aware I have a face.”
“You have a cursed little smile.”
“It’s not cursed.”
“You’re smiling at your phone like a teenager hiding a vape in a church bathroom.”
I choked. “That is incredibly specific.”
“I contain multitudes. Who texted you?”
“No one.”
Avery’s brows climbed.
“Someone,” I amended.
“Someone dragon-shaped?”
“Avery.”
“Oh my god.” She took one step closer. “Did the dragon text you?”
“He replied to a text.”
“You texted the dragon first?”
“It was about building maintenance.”
Her stare went blank.
“That is not a euphemism,” I said quickly.
“It had better not be, because I am not emotionally prepared for euphemisms about billionaire dragon shifters before I’ve had my coffee.”
“Neither am I.”
“But you’re smiling.”
“I’m smiling because…” I looked down at the phone again, then forced myself to lock it. “Because he did something nice.”
Avery’s expression changed, just a little.
Under all the teasing and buzzcut intensity and dog-hair-covered competence, she was the person who had watched me choose Max’s food over new shoes and told me I was an idiot while handing over a bag of free supplies she pretended had been donated.
She knew every flavor of my “I’m fine.” She knew when funny was a curtain and when it was an open window.
“What kind of nice?” she asked.
I tucked the phone into my pocket. “Small nice.”
“Small nice makes you smile like that?”
“It was a very functional small nice,” I said with a shrug.
“Uh-huh.”
“I have to go.”
“Coward.”
“I’m not a coward. I’m a good employee.”
“Both can be true.”
Max leaned against Avery’s leg, already settled into the betrayal portion of his morning. Crouching, I kissed his head. “Be good. Don’t let Jocko teach you to commit crimes.”
Avery snorted. “Jocko doesn’t teach criminal activity. He facilitates independent exploration of boundaries.”
“That’s what someone says before a deposition.”
“Then don’t depose my dog.”
I stood, adjusted my tote, and tried to look like a woman on her way to work instead of one whose emotional stability had been compromised by a repaired door latch and a text about fairies.
Avery gave me one last look. “We will be discussing this in-depth later.”
I gave her a mild look. “No idea what you mean.”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“I’ll be at the law firm, doing law firm things.”
Avery crossed her arms over her chest. “Try not to smile at your phone in front of opposing counsel.”
“He’s not opposing counsel.”
Her grin turned lethal. “Interesting clarification.”
I pointed at her. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Leave before I get a whiteboard.”
I left.
Outside, the city was in full motion. People hurried past with coffees and the haunted expressions of those who had also chosen employment over sleep. I made it half a block before I pulled out my phone again.
I didn’t text back, but I did read his message again.
I have no knowledge of fairy activity in your building.
Ridiculous man.
Ridiculous, thoughtful, off-limits man.
Putting my phone away, I squared my shoulders and continued on, reminding myself that free office coffee awaited and that butterflies, like emails from partners, could be acknowledged without being obeyed.
By the time I made it to Payton & Wallace, I’d achieved the kind of exhaustion that made fluorescent lighting feel intrusive.
I slipped through the revolving door, already digging in my tote for my badge, and tried to arrange my face into something that said rested professional instead of woman who had slept four hours and developed inappropriate tenderness toward a repaired door latch.
Everyone moved with brisk, caffeinated purpose.
Which made sense, since they billed in six-minute intervals.
My phone sat in my pocket like a tiny criminal.
I hadn’t texted Rafe back.
This wasn’t maturity. This was strategy. Also fear. Also the knowledge that if I replied with anything even slightly flirty, I would have to walk into the office afterward and make copies while my skeleton tried to leave my body.
So. Silence. Controlled. No, not that word. Restrained.
Also, I’d forgotten to eat breakfast.
The elevator opened on my floor, and I stepped out into familiar noise: phones ringing, printers revving up like small angry engines, someone laughing too loudly near the conference rooms, the coffee machine making a sound that suggested internal suffering.
I’d taken exactly three steps toward the intern bullpen when Moira appeared from the left at a speed usually reserved for emergency medical personnel and women spotting a celebrity in sweatpants.
“Oh my god,” she said.
I stopped. “Good morning?”
She grabbed my elbow and pulled me toward the alcove by the copy room. “Is it true?”
“That depends entirely on which version has reached you.”
“The version where you went to the gala with the dragon client, a retired military dog, and the boldness of a woman who has never feared death.”
“I fear death. I just fear student loan interest more.”
Moira’s eyes widened. “So it is true.”
“If by true you mean ‘did we secure a follow-up meeting with Dr. Georgiana Sorel for Friday morning’, then yes.”
She made a strangled sound that forced several heads to peer over their cubicles.
I lowered my voice. “Moira.”
“Friday morning,” she whispered, vibrating in place. “With Georgiana Sorel.”
“Potentially with Elaine and the collections counsel as well.”
“Quinn.”
I frowned. “What?”
“That museum has ghosted us for weeks.”
“I know.”
“Helena sent two letters. Helena!”
“I know.”
“Cressler called their office five times and never got past Elaine. I’m pretty sure he’s still taking it personally.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“And you got her in a room.”