Chapter 11
Quinn
“Please tell me you’re not already overthinking this,” Braeden said, her voice cutting through the speakerphone with the kind of directness that always made Quinn feel sixteen.
“I’m not overthinking,” Quinn said, tugging at the sleeve of her shirt as she stood in front of her hotel mirror. “I’m preparing.”
“Preparing for what? Dinner? It’s not a merger, Quinn, it’s a date. You’re allowed to enjoy yourself without running a risk assessment.”
Quinn sighed. “It’s not a date. It’s…” Quinn stopped.
Braeden laughed, that sharp, knowing sound. “You asked her to dinner, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re wearing something that’s definitely not a suit, right?”
“Correct.”
“Then it’s a date,” Braeden said smugly. “You can call it whatever you want, but you like this woman. Don’t act like it’s some corporate obligation.”
Quinn leaned one hand against the counter, studying her reflection. I like her,” she said quietly. “But she’s complicated. She’s sharp, proud, and she hates that she might need me.”
“So do you,” Braeden said. “That’s why you can’t stay away.”
Quinn didn’t answer right away.
“You’re going to screw this up if you stay in your head,” Braeden continued. “Just… don’t analyze every word she says. Don’t talk numbers, don’t talk Halo, don’t talk about how you’re ‘strategically aligned.’ Talk like a person who likes her.”
Quinn exhaled through her nose, a reluctant smile tugging at her mouth. “You make it sound easy.”
“It is. You just make everything complicated.”
“Thank you for your continued support.”
“Anytime. Now go. Wear something that makes you look like less of a CEO and more like yourself.”
“Goodbye, Braeden.”
Braeden’s laughter followed her until she hung up.
Quinn stared at her phone for a moment, then opened her messages and texted Alyssa anyway.
Quinn: Can you ask Trent to pull a background summary on The Loop Collective? I want details—anything we won’t get from a partner presentation. Financials, partnerships, community engagement metrics. By tomorrow morning, please.
She hit send, slid the phone onto the counter, and turned back to the mirror.
Her reflection looked sharp in the soft hotel light.
Black pants that fit like they were tailored for her, a black vest over a dark gray shirt, sleeves rolled.
A leather jacket draped over the back of a chair waited to finish the look.
She added a touch of gloss to her lips, combed her hair into place, and studied herself. No hard edge. Not tonight.
At seven sharp, her car pulled up outside Luna Mare, a quiet Italian spot tucked on a cobblestone corner in the West Village, with soft lighting and low music, the kind of place where the noise never rose above a low murmur.
Avery was already there, standing near the entrance, phone in one hand, jacket neatly folded over her forearm. The glow from the window caught on her bare shoulders, her red dress slipping off one in an easy, deliberate way. She looked radiant. Untouchable, and carrying herself like she knew it.
Quinn’s pulse kicked once, hard.
She stepped out of the car and crossed the sidewalk. “You look…” She caught herself. “Beautiful.”
Avery smiled, slow and knowing. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”
Quinn leaned in, pressed a kiss to her cheek, brief, barely there. Her hand brushed the small of Avery’s back as they turned toward the door.
“Shall we?” Quinn asked.
Avery nodded, a spark of amusement in her eyes. “Lead the way, Halo.”
And Quinn did, steady and sure, the warmth of her touch lingering as they disappeared into the soft glow of the restaurant.
* * *
The host led them to a small table near the back. Dim lighting, candlelight flickering in the wine glasses, soft jazz threading through the air. Luna Mare had the kind of intimacy Quinn usually avoided. Too quiet. Too exposed.
Avery slid into her seat, her dress slipping just off one shoulder like it had been designed to test Quinn’s patience. Quinn took the chair opposite, rested her hands on the table, and tried to breathe normally.
For someone who could walk into a room full of investors and dismantle a twelve-million-dollar problem before lunch, she suddenly had no idea how to start a conversation.
“So,” Quinn said finally, reaching for her water. “How’s… work?”
Avery’s brow lifted, amusement tugging at her mouth. “Work? Really?”
Quinn winced. “Right. Not that.”
“Are you nervous?” Avery asked, voice soft but laced with teasing warmth.
“No.” Quinn paused, then exhaled. “Maybe a little.”
“Why?”
Quinn looked down at her napkin, then back up. “Because I know how to do the business side of this. I know how to fuck you. But I can’t stop thinking about you day-to-day, which is why I asked you to dinner. And I don’t really know how to do dinner. I don’t know how to do the in-between parts.”
Avery’s smile gentled. “Then don’t think about it. Just relax and talk to me.”
Quinn gave a reluctant nod, unclenching her jaw.
“We did icebreakers at lunch,” Avery said, chin resting in her hand. “You had good conversation then.”
“I can answer a question, Avery,” Quinn said, dry, a flicker of her trademark wit cutting through the nerves.
“Touché.” Avery grinned. “Alright. Tell me about you. Not your company. You.”
Quinn hesitated, searching for words that weren’t bullet-pointed. “Honestly? I work a lot. But when I’m not working… I like to run. I like to cook. I like a good glass of wine. A strong glass of whiskey. I don’t do tequila.”
Avery tilted her head. “Bad history?”
“Bad things happen when I drink tequila.”
“Good bad things or bad bad things?” Avery teased.
Quinn smirked. “Depends on the company.”
“I’d say with me it’d be good bad things.”
“Tequila makes me…” Quinn stopped, lips twitching. “Dirty.”
Avery laughed. “Dirty?”
Lowering her voice just enough for Avery to feel it, Quinn said, “Tequila makes clothes come off.”
Avery leaned in, eyes glinting. “Maybe we should order margaritas, then.”
That made Quinn laugh. Really laugh. The tension cracked open.
“God, you’re dangerous,” she said.
“And you’re predictable,” Avery shot back.
“Accurate.” Quinn’s shoulders finally dropped. The server appeared, took their drink orders red wine for Avery, whiskey neat for Quinn. A few minutes later, their plates of handmade pasta and seared vegetables arrived, fragrant and steaming.
For a while, conversation came easy. They talked about running routes in different cities, their mutual hatred for early flights, the little quirks of travel that no one else understood.
Then Avery set her fork down, eyes tracing Quinn’s face. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you either,” she said quietly.
Quinn stilled.
“I keep telling myself I need to,” Avery went on. “That it’s never going to work. That you’re trying to buy my company.”
“I’m trying to acquire your company,” Quinn corrected automatically. “Different words. Different meanings.”
Avery shook her head, smiling faintly. “Whatever. I don’t want to talk about that tonight.
I keep trying to convince myself that’s why this won’t work, but then I think about you.
The night we met. The way you walked into that club, the way you looked at me.
The way you took me back to your hotel room.
How you took control and then let me take it from you. ”
Quinn’s pulse kicked again.
“And then,” Avery said, voice lowering, “the other night in your hotel room. When you let me have you.”
Quinn’s lips curved. “I mean, we’re good at sex,” she said lightly. “I just wonder if there’s more to it than that.”
“I think there is,” Avery said. “I like you. You’re so smart. So sexy. Your head for business—it’s a huge turn-on. And I just… I want to know what it feels like to do this. To go out on a date. To hold your hand. To just be with you.”
Quinn’s chest tightened. She wasn’t used to hearing things like that said aloud, especially about her. She didn’t do tender.
“I don’t do that very much,” she admitted.
Avery smiled. “I know. You’ve told me. But you’re doing a really good job.”
Quinn huffed a small laugh. “You’re grading me now?”
“Always.”
They ate a little more after that, the conversation shifting, deepening in small, surprising ways.
When Avery asked about her childhood, Quinn hesitated again but didn’t deflect this time.
“I grew up in Orange County,” she said. “My mom was a teacher. My dad left when I was seven. It was just the two of us for a long time. I learned early that stability wasn’t a given.
You build it yourself, or you don’t get it at all. ”
Avery’s expression softened. “That explains a lot.”
“I’m sure it does,” Quinn said, with a ghost of a smile. “I started Halo because I wanted to create something solid. Something no one could take away from me.”
“That sounds lonely,” Avery said gently.
“Sometimes,” Quinn admitted. “But it also sounds like freedom.”
Avery leaned her chin into her hand, studying her. “And now?”
Quinn met her eyes. “Now I’m starting to wonder what it looks like to share that freedom with someone.”
Avery’s breath caught just slightly, and her hand brushed the table between them. Not a full reach just close enough for Quinn to feel the static of what could happen next.
Neither of them moved for a long moment.
Then Quinn smiled, small and real. “So… no tequila tonight?”
Avery laughed softly. “Not tonight.”
“Good,” Quinn said, and this time, she didn’t look away.
They stepped out into the cool October night, the city humming softly around them. Streetlights glowed gold, catching in puddles left from an earlier rain. Quinn held the door for Avery, and for a second, they just stood there under the awning— two silhouettes caught between noise and quiet.
Avery glanced up at her, the faintest smile curling at her mouth. “That was… really nice.”
Quinn exhaled, a quiet, genuine sound. “Yeah. It was.”
They lingered there a second longer than necessary, neither of them stepping away.
The city moved around them: voices drifting past, a car idling at the corner, the soft hiss of tires on damp pavement.
But Quinn felt oddly untethered from it.
Dinner hadn’t drained her the way most social things did.
It hadn’t felt like effort. It was easy.
Like something she hadn’t realized she’d been missing until it was suddenly there.
They started walking, falling into an easy rhythm along the narrow stretch of sidewalk. Quinn kept her hands in her pockets, too aware of them, of the impulse to reach for Avery, when Avery did it for her.
No hesitation. Just a simple movement. Fingers slipped into her pocket and entwined with hers, warm and confident.
Quinn looked down, a flicker of surprise breaking into something softer. Avery didn’t look over. She just kept walking, her thumb brushing against Quinn’s knuckle once, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
They walked in comfortable silence, their joined hands now swinging slightly between them, the city a low hum at their backs.
After a few blocks, Avery spoke again, her voice quiet. “I don’t really want it to end yet.”
Quinn’s heart gave one slow, traitorous beat. “Who says it has to?”
Avery finally looked up at her, the streetlight catching in her hair.
Quinn’s voice dropped lower. “Do you want to come back to my hotel with me?”
Avery’s smile widened, small, deliberate, and impossible to read.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’d like that.”
Quinn nodded once, steady. “We can have a nightcap. Talk some more.”
That earned a soft laugh from Avery, a shake of her head, and a look that landed deep in Quinn’s chest. “I don’t really want to talk anymore.”
Quinn’s lips curved knowing. “Well,” she said, tone dipping low, “okay then.”
They didn’t speak after that. They just walked, hand in hand, city lights gliding over them in gold and shadow, the night thick with everything unspoken.
* * *