Chapter 7 #2
Avery didn’t repeat herself or soften it. She just looked at Quinn who was steady, and unreadable, like she expected an answer and nothing else.
Quinn should have said no. For a dozen reasons. For all of them.
“I would like that,” she heard herself say. “Yes.”
Avery’s smile was small but real. “Place around the corner does a mean kale Caesar.”
“Lead the way,” Quinn said, smoothing her blouse, pretending her pulse wasn’t picking up speed.
Two CEOs. One lunch. Too much tension.
—
The café sat a block from Lilith. It was quaint, with mismatched chairs, rainbow flags in the windows, and had a chalkboard full of aggressively queer named lattes. The bell chimed as they stepped into the scent of espresso and basil.
They slid into a booth by the window. Quinn exhaled carefully, her pulse steadying by degrees.
Across from her, Avery leaned back against the red cushion, legs crossed, mouth curved faintly around her straw.
The fitted black skirt and navy silk blouse, the red lipstick—that lipstick made Quinn’s throat go dry.
She shouldn’t have remembered the taste of it, but she did.
Stay focused, she told herself. This is lunch. This is business.
They ordered drinks, Sparkling water for Avery. Diet Coke for Quinn.
“You know,” Avery said, tapping her straw against the glass, “when you walked into the bar that night? I literally couldn’t breathe.”
Quinn blinked, lifting her drink to buy herself a beat. “Yeah?”
“You looked like someone who’d ruin my life,” Avery said, smiling faintly. “In the best way.”
A quiet laugh escaped Quinn before she could stop it. “And yet here we are. Still employed. Still civilized.”
“For now,” Avery teased, then sipped.
The silence that followed was charged, the kind that hummed under the surface of conversation. Avery was watching her, lazy, deliberate, and Quinn could feel her own composure being tested like a thumb on a bruise.
Quinn shifted slightly in her seat.
“So,” Avery said, light and curious as she leaned back against the booth, “when’s your birthday?”
Quinn arched a brow over the rim of her glass. “We’re doing icebreakers now?”
“Just answer,” Avery replied, tapping her straw lightly against the glass.
“January eleventh,” Quinn said.
“Capricorn,” Avery said immediately.
“Is that good or bad?” Quinn asked.
“Depends who you ask. My sister’s a Capricorn. Stubborn as hell,” Avery said with a small shrug.
“I’ve heard that,” Quinn replied, her mouth twitching. “You?”
“August. Leo.”
“That checks out.”
Avery narrowed her eyes slightly. “Oh, does it?”
“You like being the center of attention,” Quinn said calmly, meeting her gaze, “but pretend you don’t.”
Avery laughed, light and genuine, and Quinn felt something in her chest loosen at the sound.
“How old are you?” Avery asked, resting her chin briefly on her hand.
“Bold,” Quinn said, though there was amusement in her tone.
“I’m trying to get to know the woman who’s trying to acquire my company,” Avery said. Then, more casually, “Plus, you’ve already been inside me, Quinn. Not that forward.”
Quinn nearly choked on her drink and set it down quickly. “Jesus.”
Avery hid a smirk behind her straw, clearly pleased with herself.
“Thirty-nine,” Quinn said once she recovered.
“Seriously?” Avery leaned forward slightly.
“Is that a problem?”
“No.” Avery’s gaze traveled over her slowly. “You don’t look it.”
“Moisturizer. Discipline. Emotional repression,” Quinn replied dryly.
Avery laughed, low and warm. “I’m thirty-four. Not a massive gap.”
“Still a gap,” Quinn said.
“I’ve done worse,” Avery murmured with a wink.
Quinn glanced toward the ceiling, suppressing a smile. “Remind me why I agreed to lunch?”
“Because you like me,” Avery said easily. “Even if you pretend not to.”
“Debatable,” Quinn said, though her pulse betrayed her.
Avery tilted her head. “Born in L.A.?”
“Orange County. I moved to the city for college and stayed,” Quinn said. “You?”
“Boston. My parents and sister still live there. We’re close. I go up at least once a month.”
“That’s rare,” Quinn said, her tone softening despite herself. “Being close with family.”
“I know. I’m lucky,” Avery replied.
Quinn nodded but didn’t elaborate. Avery didn’t press.
After a moment, Avery traced the rim of her glass and said, “I did ballet from four to twelve. I was terrible. Loved the outfits. And my teacher, Ms. Janette. Royal-blue leotard. I would just stare.”
“Early gay panic?” Quinn asked.
“Something like that,” Avery said with a grin. “What about you? When did you know?”
“I think I always did. Didn’t admit it until high school,” Quinn said. “A girl on my debate team sparred with me on purpose. One day she kissed me behind the library and said, ‘I win.’”
Avery’s mouth dropped open. “Iconic.”
“She was,” Quinn said softly, looking down at her drink and spinning the straw between her fingers.
They stayed like that for a while just talking, teasing, finding easy rhythm in the push and pull. Quinn hadn’t expected to enjoy it. Maybe that was the problem.
Avery was dangerous like this. Easy and bright when she laughed, and it made Quinn forget, for a second, how sharp she could be.
It wasn’t softness. Not really. It was curiosity.
Quinn had the uneasy sense of being studied anyway—like Avery could see exactly where the cracks would form if she pressed.
When the server returned, Avery handed over her card. “I’ve got it. Business lunch.”
“I can pay for myself,” Quinn said.
“I know,” Avery said, signing. “I enjoyed this. Let me.”
Quinn stood, smoothing her blazer. “I enjoyed it too.”
Outside, the late-afternoon sun hit like a spotlight. They walked side by side, not touching, not talking. Avery’s perfume drifted faintly between them—familiar now, maddeningly so.
Something unsettled lingered under Quinn’s skin. It was business. For now.
* * *