Chapter 7
Quinn
The first thing Quinn noticed was the silence. The second was that Avery was gone.
The sheets were still warm on one side, the faint scent of her perfume clinging to the pillow, something floral and expensive that didn’t belong in this room.
The dim morning light cut through the half-drawn curtains, landing on the space where Avery had been hours ago.
The imprint of her body was still there, ghostlike against the white.
Quinn exhaled, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead. Of course she left.
It shouldn’t have surprised her, Quinn hadn’t pictured Avery as the lingering type, especially after a night that started with fury and ended with her on her knees, shaking. Still, the quiet hit harder than it should’ve.
Last night had been a mistake. Perfect. Reckless. Unforgettable.
She shouldn’t have let it happen. She was supposed to be in control, always in control. But one look at Avery standing there in nothing but a robe and defiance, and every rational part of her brain had gone static.
Quinn sat up slowly, muscles aching, skin still remembering the weight of Avery’s touch. Her throat tightened when she glanced at the clock. 5:38 a.m. She had to be at Lilith in a few hours.
Perfect. A full day of professionalism with the woman who had just ruined her composure in every possible way.
She swung her legs off the bed, running a hand through her hair before standing. The floor was cool under her bare feet.
She got ready for the hotel gym. The hope that pounding out several grueling miles on the treadmill would help vent some of her frustrations about herself before she arrived at Lilith. Where she’d see Avery.
An hour later she was back in her room. Her body now ached in an entirely different way than it had when she woke up. Her skin still tingled from the ice-cold shower she had forced herself to endure.
She found her blouse draped over the back of a chair, her slacks folded neatly on the dresser. She looked put together again, and it felt like a taunt.
In the mirror, Quinn looked almost herself. Almost. Her lipstick was gone, her hair a little undone, her eyes softer than they should’ve been.
She hated that part the most. The softness, because underneath it was the same thing she’d been trying to outrun since midnight want, frustration, that pull that made her stomach tighten and her mind go loud.
Quinn buttoned her blouse with steady hands. Each click of a button was an anchor, a reminder of who she was. CEO. Strategist. Not the woman who let a night like that happen.
Still, her fingers hesitated at the last button.
She wanted the acquisition. She wanted it clean, efficient, profitable. Halo needed it. But Avery Rossetti, God, Avery made it impossible to stay clean. She made everything messy and human and hot.
And she hated how easy it was to imagine going back for more.
She slipped on her heels, grabbed her bag, and forced her face into something neutral. The kind of expression that had closed billion-dollar deals and silenced boardrooms.
But when she caught her reflection one last time before leaving, she saw it again that flicker of something she didn’t want to name. Regret, maybe? Or just the memory of Avery’s voice whispering, You’re mine tonight.
Quinn straightened her shoulders. “Not anymore,” she muttered to the empty room, then walked out.
The taxi smelled faintly of leather and lavender, an odd combination that felt too soft for how sharp she needed to be.
Quinn sat straight, palms resting flat on her thighs as the city blurred past. She’d been to Lilith twice before, knew the space, the layout, the energy, but today felt different. Heavier.
She’d thought about canceling. Citing a sudden meeting, a crisis at Halo, anything to avoid seeing Avery after last night. But she didn’t cancel. Quinn Sinclare did not flinch.
Still, her fingers wouldn’t stop twitching.
It was a mistake, she told herself as she stepped out of the cab in SoHo. A lapse in judgment. That’s all.
Inside, Lilith felt familiar now. The sleek furniture. The queer art. The pride flag tucked casually into a bookshelf. Modern but warm. Designed with intention instead of ego.
Gabby was waiting near reception, iced coffee in hand and a grin already forming. “Morning, Halo. Ready for your first official day of the Avery Rossetti Experience?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Quinn said smoothly.
Gabby walked her through the halls, introducing her to the teams. “You haven’t met most of them yet, so humor me. Diana’s terrifyingly efficient. Liv’s probably running ten viral posts right now. Mikey, our chaos gremlin, is planning something glitter-related, I guarantee it.”
Quinn offered polite nods, noting names and faces. She’d seen the office before, but it struck her differently this time. The rhythm of the place. The way people looked at Avery’s office door like it meant something. The loyalty was palpable.
“You’ve built a culture,” Quinn said, almost to herself.
Gabby smiled. “That’s the idea.”
They stopped at the glass conference room.
Through the glass wall, Quinn saw her before she even stepped inside.
Avery. Legs crossed, typing with ruthless focus.
Fitted black skirt. Navy silk blouse. That mouth, painted red again, like she’d done it on purpose, like she knew exactly what it did to Quinn.
Gabby opened the door. “Morning, boss.”
Avery didn’t look up. “Morning. Coffee?”
“I’m good, thank you,” Quinn said. Neutral. Controlled. Nothing like how she felt.
“Suit yourself,” Avery murmured, fingers still on the keyboard.
Gabby grinned. “Conference room?”
“Go ahead,” Avery said without glancing up. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Quinn followed Gabby down the hall, every step deliberate. You’re a professional, she reminded herself. This is business. Not whatever the hell last night was.
The room filled quickly with the arrival of each department—product, analytics, marketing, community. Quinn took a seat near the end of the table, notebook open, pen balanced perfectly between her fingers. When Avery entered, the shift in the room was instant. Energy focused. Conversations quieted.
“Morning, everyone,” Avery said, cool and bright. “You’ve all met Quinn Sinclare, CEO of Halo. She’ll be shadowing us for a few days. No, she’s not here to steal anyone’s job. Yes, she’s terrifyingly efficient. And no, we can’t bribe her with merch.”
Laughter rippled through the room. Quinn’s lips curved politely. Avery didn’t look at her once.
The meeting continued. Product updates. Metrics. Campaign performance. Avery ran it with precision, confidence, and brilliance. Every word she said made Quinn’s pulse tighten, every small gesture dragged up flashes of last night. The way Avery had looked at her. The way she’d said say it.
By the time Gabby wrapped the finance notes, Quinn could feel her control thinning at the edges.
“Alright,” Gabby said brightly. “Quinn will be shadowing for the rest of the week. Observing, asking questions, seeing how we operate. She’s promised not to terrify anyone.”
Avery looked up then, finally meeting Quinn’s eyes. A single glance. Controlled. Dangerous. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”
“Looking forward to it,” Quinn said, her tone smooth but her chest tight.
People began filing out. Gabby lingered by the door. “You two good?”
“Perfect,” Avery said, still not breaking eye contact.
“Then I’ll let you… do your CEO thing,” Gabby said, slipping out with a grin.
The room stilled.
Quinn folded her hands on the table, every nerve aware of the woman across from her. “So,” she said evenly. “Where do you want me to start?”
Avery leaned back in her chair, lips curving up sharp. “Wherever you like.”
Quinn’s jaw flexed. “Careful,” Quinn said. “I might take that literally.”
Avery smirked, cool as glass. “Try me.”
And that was when Quinn knew, this week was going to be a problem.
* * *
Quinn stood just outside Avery’s office, knuckles hovering just short of the doorframe. Through the glass, Avery typed, the glow of her monitor tracing the curve of her cheek, her mouth.
It shouldn’t have been so distracting, but it was.
“Can I come in for a few minutes?” Quinn asked, voice steady.
Avery looked up, just briefly, and gave a single nod. “Sure.”
Quinn stepped inside. Something flickered between them anyway, Quinn felt it in her ribs, saw it in the brief pause before Avery’s eyes dropped back to the screen.
She hovered a beat at the threshold before taking the chair across from her, posture relaxed but professional. Her composure firmly in place.
“Everything okay?” Avery asked, without looking away from the screen.
“I had a few questions,” Quinn said, tone measured, calm. “Nothing urgent. Just clarifying a couple of points from the meeting.”
Avery’s hands paused on the keyboard. “Alright.”
Quinn opened her notebook, something to focus on besides the memory of Avery’s hands gripping the sheets. “You mentioned a backend rebuild last quarter. What prompted that? I’m familiar with large-scale rebuilds, but I’m curious how you decided it was time, and how you rolled it out so cleanly.”
Genuine curiosity. No leverage. Just respect.
Avery’s brows lifted a fraction before her shoulders eased a notch. “Load times were slowing during high-traffic hours. Not catastrophic, but not acceptable. We isolated bottlenecks, rebuilt the stack under messaging, and ran a closed beta with community testers before pushing live.”
“Smart,” Quinn said, jotting a note. Her handwriting was tighter than usual.
Avery’s mouth twitched. “You don’t run a queer dating app for two years without getting really good at cleaning up digital messes.”
“Or emotional ones,” Quinn said lightly.
That earned her a look. A pause. Avery’s eyes held Quinn’s just long enough to make Quinn’s mouth go dry.
Silence stretched, not tense, just weighted.
Then Avery shifted, closing her laptop. “Want to grab lunch?”
Quinn blinked. “What?”