Chapter 9
Quinn
Saturday morning, Quinn was up before the sun. Her body was still on East Coast time, so when she opened her eyes, it was a little after four. She lay there until five, staring at the ceiling, mind spinning through a to-do list that didn’t exist. Technically, she didn’t have to do anything at all.
It was Saturday. But she was going to the gym, she was going to train, and she was definitely going to obsess over a certain brunette in New York City while pretending she wasn’t obsessing at all. Then she’d get started on the proposal for Lilith.
After three days of shadowing the company, she was more convinced than ever. She wanted it under Halo. She wanted Avery Rossetti’s team, her product, her vision. And she wasn’t planning to stop at no.
By six a.m., Quinn was on the treadmill, pounding out miles while a podcast filled her ears. She didn’t usually run to music; she preferred conversation, the rhythm of someone else’s voice.
Her phone rang mid-stride, cutting through the podcast. She tapped her earbuds to answer without looking.
“Hello,” she said, steadying her pace.
“You’re running, aren’t you?” Braeden said.
Braeden. Her best friend, and the only person who really knew her.
“Yes, Braeden, I’m running.” Quinn smiled despite herself. “What’s going on?”
“I was calling to see if you wanted breakfast. Or brunch. I want the rundown on New York City. You cannot text me that you fucked the hottest woman you’ve ever seen, who also happens to own the company you’re trying to buy, and then go silent. Not okay.”
“I texted a few more times,” Quinn said, her breath still controlled.
“Yes, with no details! You literally said, ‘Things have gotten interesting,’ and ‘Shadowing her company.’ That’s it!”
“Well,” Quinn said lightly, “both of those things are true.”
“Quinn Alexandria Sinclare,” Braeden groaned. “Ginny’s Diner. 10:30.”
“Yes, okay. Sounds good.”
“And come willing to share details,” Braeden warned.
“Okay,” Quinn said, laughing under her breath.
“Love you, bye.”
“Love you too.”
She hung up, turned up the treadmill speed, and ran harder.
Because the last thing she wanted to think about that morning was the one thing she couldn’t stop thinking about.
Avery Rossetti.
* * *
Ginny’s Diner was already buzzing when Quinn walked in.
The place was small, chrome counters lining one wall, checkered floors underfoot, and the smell of bacon and syrup hanging thick in the air.
Saturday regulars filled most of the booths.
A low hum of conversation blended with oldies playing softly through tinny speakers.
Braeden waved from a corner booth, one hand wrapped around a coffee cup, the other scrolling through her phone. Her hair was piled high in a messy bun, sunglasses perched on her head like a crown she had forgotten to remove.
“Finally,” Braeden said as Quinn slid into the opposite seat. “You look disgustingly awake for a Saturday.”
“Occupational hazard,” Quinn replied, setting her phone face down on the table. “Some of us enjoy productivity.”
Braeden snorted and lifted her mug. “Some of us enjoy sleep.”
A waitress approached with a tired but practiced smile. “Coffee?” she asked, already reaching for the pot.
“Yes, please,” Quinn said, offering a polite nod.
Braeden tipped her chin toward Quinn. “She’ll need a double,” she told the waitress. “She’s been up since four, running from her feelings.”
Quinn shot her a flat look. “You’re insufferable before ten.”
“I’m insufferable always,” Braeden replied easily, leaning forward and resting her chin in her hand. “So start talking. Tell me about her.”
“There’s not much to tell,” Quinn said, though she reached for the sugar anyway.
Braeden’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re kidding. You have never had a ‘nothing to tell.’”
Quinn exhaled as the waitress set down her coffee. She stirred in sugar slowly before speaking. “We met at a bar. I didn’t know who she was. It was supposed to be a one-night thing.”
“And then?” Braeden prompted.
“And then,” Quinn continued dryly, “she turned out to be the CEO of Lilith. The company Halo’s been courting for months.”
Braeden’s mouth fell open. “You’re serious.”
“I really am,” Quinn said, lifting her cup.
“Holy shit,” Braeden said, leaning back in the booth with a half laugh. “You slept with the competition.”
“It’s not competition,” Quinn replied automatically. “It’s acquisition.”
“Right,” Braeden said, rolling her eyes. “Because that makes it better.”
“It’s business,” Quinn said, though her tone wasn’t as firm as she intended.
Braeden watched her over the rim of her mug. “Uh-huh. And this business arrangement involved her being in your hotel room twice?”
Quinn stilled. “Who said twice?”
Braeden’s smirk widened. “Oh, come on. I know you. Once would’ve been enough for most people. You don’t go back unless something gets under your skin.”
Quinn pressed her lips together and glanced toward the window. “It was complicated,” she said carefully.
“That’s not a denial,” Braeden replied.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” Quinn said after a beat. “The second time, she showed up at my hotel room door. I should’ve said no.”
“But you didn’t,” Braeden said, watching her closely.
“No,” Quinn admitted, her voice lowering slightly. “I didn’t.”
Braeden’s expression softened. “And now?”
“Now,” Quinn said, setting her cup down, “I’m trying to write a proposal that won’t make her slam the door in my face.”
Braeden blinked once. “You mean a business proposal or a you proposal?”
“Braeden,” Quinn warned.
“I’m serious,” Braeden insisted, gesturing with her fork. “You’re talking about her like—”
“Like what?” Quinn asked.
“Like you like her,” Braeden finished.
Quinn scoffed lightly. “I don’t like anyone.”
“Right,” Braeden replied. “You just think about her enough to run eight miles over it.”
“I’m not…” Quinn began, then stopped.
Braeden lifted an eyebrow. “Quinn. You texted me, and I quote, ‘things have gotten interesting.’ You don’t do interesting. You do structure, planned, and emotionally unavailable.”
Quinn smirked faintly. “That’s unfair. I’m very emotionally selective.”
“Cold-blooded,” Braeden countered.
“Disciplined,” Quinn corrected.
“Repressed,” Braeden shot back.
“Efficient,” Quinn said.
Braeden laughed and shook her head. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Quinn lifted her coffee again, hiding a small smile behind the rim. After a moment, she lowered it and said quietly, “She’s brilliant.”
Braeden’s grin spread slowly. “Ah. There it is.”
“She runs her company like she’s been doing it her whole life,” Quinn continued. “She’s confident, sharp, sarcastic.” She paused briefly. “And completely infuriating.”
Braeden leaned in slightly. “You love infuriating.”
“I tolerate infuriating when it’s profitable,” Quinn said evenly.
Braeden tilted her head. “Is she profitable?”
Quinn’s eyes dropped to the table. “Potentially,” she said.
Braeden laughed outright. “Oh my God, you like her. You’ve got that look you get when someone catches you off guard.”
“She surprised me,” Quinn replied. “But that’s not… this isn’t—”
Braeden lifted both hands in surrender. “Relax. I’m not saying you’re writing love letters. I’m just saying maybe this isn’t as black and white as you want it to be.”
Quinn stirred her coffee again, slower this time. “It can’t be anything else. She’s my target company, Braeden. There are rules.”
“Since when do you care about rules when it comes to women?” Braeden asked.
“Since this one could end in a lawsuit,” Quinn replied.
Braeden smirked. “You’re such a Capricorn.”
Quinn exhaled a soft laugh and shook her head. “Remind me why I tell you things.”
“Because I’m the only one who’ll call you on your bullshit,” Braeden said.
The waitress returned with their food, setting pancakes in front of Braeden and eggs with avocado toast in front of Quinn. “Anything else?” she asked.
“We’re good,” Braeden said, smiling up at her.
They waited until the waitress walked away before picking up their forks.
After a few minutes of quiet eating, Braeden glanced up. “So what happens now?” she asked.
Quinn sliced into her toast. “I draft an offer. A good one. Something she’ll actually consider.”
Braeden raised an eyebrow. “Do you think she will?”
“Probably not,” Quinn admitted.
“Well then you better write a damn good proposal so she at least reads it,” Braeden said, pointing her fork at her.
“I’m working on it,” Quinn replied with a sigh. “I know what Halo can offer. What she needs. Even if she doesn’t see it yet.”
Braeden studied her carefully. “You’re talking about Lilith or Avery right now?” she asked.
Quinn focused on her plate and didn’t respond.
Braeden smiled to herself. “That’s what I thought,” she said lightly.
They finished eating in comfortable silence.
When the plates were mostly cleared and the check arrived, Braeden leaned her elbows on the table. “You know,” she said more quietly, “it’s okay to want something that doesn’t fit your plan.”
Quinn looked up at her. “You sound like my therapist.”
“She’s clearly not doing her job,” Braeden replied.
“Braeden,” Quinn said with a warning edge.
“I’m just saying,” Braeden continued more gently, “maybe don’t be so afraid to want her. Even if it’s a disaster.”
Quinn let out a long breath and glanced toward the window again. “It already is,” she said.
Braeden smiled softly. “Then you might as well enjoy the wreckage.”
* * *
A week passed before Quinn realized how quiet the apartment had become.
Work had filled every hour—meetings, calls, revisions, and the never-wrecking draft of the Lilith proposal spread across her desk like a second life.
She’d run every morning, worked until after midnight, and told herself the silence was focus, not avoidance.
She hadn’t heard from Avery.
Not a call, not a text.
And she wasn’t about to be the one to break the streak.
By Monday morning, her inbox was already overflowing when a new message pinged across the screen. The subject line was short, simple: Upcoming Partner Meeting – Attendance Request.
She clicked it immediately.
From: partnerships@
To: quinn@
Subject: Upcoming Partner Meeting – Attendance Request
Hi Quinn,
We wanted to reach out regarding a meeting scheduled for this Thursday with one of Lilith’s longest-standing community partners.
The Loop Collective has been part of our growth since year one, helping refine our user trust and safety policies, running inclusion audits, and consulting with our moderation team.
Given the nature of the acquisition discussions, we believe it would be valuable for you (and Halo) to attend, either in person or via Zoom. It’s important for our partners to understand the direction we’re exploring and to meet key representatives from your side.
Please let us know if you’re available and how you’d prefer to join.
Lilith Partnerships Team
Quinn stared at the screen, tapping her pen against her desk. It didn’t specify who had sent it. No signature block, no initials. But she knew. Avery. This was her kind of move. Polite. Professional. Layered with subtext.
She leaned back in her chair, letting her eyes drift over the skyline through the wall-to-wall glass of her office.
L.A. was pale and bright, the morning sun spilling over the city in soft gold.
Across the room, her laptop chimed again, calendar invite pending: Thursday, 10 a.m. EST – Meeting with The Loop Collective.
She clicked “accept” before she could overthink it. Then she opened a blank page in her notebook and wrote three words in clean, deliberate script:
Re-engage. Stay sharp.
If Lilith wanted her back in their orbit, even briefly, she wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. And if distance was supposed to cool Quinn’s interest, it was having the opposite effect.
Quinn reread the email twice. Then once more, slower. Professional. Measured. But the subtext was impossible to ignore.
She could’ve joined by Zoom. That would’ve been the reasonable choice. The efficient one. But the idea of sitting behind a screen while Avery Rossetti sat in that glass conference room the way she leaned forward when she talked, the way she owned every inch of space was suddenly intolerable.
If The Loop Collective was as integral as the email claimed, it made sense for Halo to have a presence. A personal one. That was her justification, and it was clean enough to stand on.
Quinn closed her laptop and pressed the intercom. “Alyssa, step in.”
Her assistant entered moments later, tablet already in hand, dark hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. “Good morning,” Alyssa said.
“I need a flight to New York,” Quinn said without preamble, rising from her chair. “Depart Wednesday evening. Return Sunday morning.”
Alyssa nodded once and began typing. “LAX to JFK?”
“Yes. Car service both ways,” Quinn replied. “Book The Astor. Same suite arrangement as last time.”
“Understood,” Alyssa said.
“Lilith has a partner meeting Thursday with The Loop Collective,” Quinn continued, moving toward the window as she spoke. “It’s a trust and safety firm they’ve worked with since launch. I’ll attend in person.”
Alyssa’s fingers moved steadily across the screen. “Do you need briefing materials prepared?”
“Yes,” Quinn said. “Compile a binder for Thursday. Halo’s safety integrations, user retention metrics, moderation partnerships. Clean visuals. Updated projections. I want it finalized by Wednesday afternoon.”
“I’ll coordinate with analytics and compliance,” Alyssa replied. “Anything else?”
“I’ll handle the meeting personally,” Quinn added. “No additional executives looped in.”
Alyssa gave a small nod. “Understood.”
There was no curiosity in her tone, no commentary. Just confirmation.
“You’ll have the itinerary within the hour,” Alyssa said.
“Thank you,” Quinn replied.
Alyssa exited, the door closing quietly behind her.
Quinn remained by the window, hands loosely clasped behind her back as she looked out over the pale Los Angeles skyline. In three days she would be back in New York. Back in Avery Rossetti’s office. Back in the orbit she had told herself was strictly strategic.
It was for the deal. For optics. For positioning.
She repeated that once more in her head before turning back to her desk and opening her laptop again, the faintest hint of satisfaction at the corner of her mouth quickly smoothed away.
* * *