Chapter 13
Quinn
Waking up next to Avery again felt… perfect, and that thought made Quinn roll her eyes at herself. Perfect wasn’t a word she used often, unless she was talking business. But that’s what this was.
Quinn leaned in and pressed a kiss to Avery’s temple, rousing her gently.
“Mmm, early,” Avery mumbled, not bothering to open her eyes.
“It’s seven,” Quinn murmured. She would’ve been up for hours by now if Avery hadn’t been wrapped around her.
“God, no. Why?” Avery groaned, burying herself deeper in the covers and curling tighter against Quinn. “We didn’t even go to sleep until, like, two. Why, for fuck’s sake, are you awake at seven, Quinn?”
“My internal clock,” Quinn said with a shrug, brushing a piece of Avery’s hair back.
“Sleep,” Avery mumbled, already drifting again.
“I’m going to head to the gym downstairs,” Quinn said, smoothing a hand over her back. “You sleep a little longer. Then we can take a shower and go to breakfast. How does that sound?”
Avery let out a sleepy hum. “Are you going to keep me?”
The way she said it, quiet and half-asleep, like it slipped out before her guard could go up, made Quinn’s chest ache—soft and sharp all at once.
She kissed the top of her head. “For as long as you’ll let me,” she said, honest and sure.
Then she slipped out of bed and into workout clothes, glancing back once to watch Avery sink right back to sleep.
* * *
Quinn wiped sweat from her brow later, the low hum of the hotel gym’s elliptical machines filling the otherwise silent space.
She’d already run three miles on the treadmill and now stood at the free weights, absently curling dumbbells as if working her body harder might quiet her thoughts.
It didn’t. She set the weights down with a soft clink and reached for her phone.
7:34 a.m.
Avery was probably still tangled in the sheets upstairs, her hair a wild mess against the pillow, breathing slow and even. Quinn had barely made herself leave.
She opened her messages and tapped on Braeden’s name.
Quinn: Call me when you’re up.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
Braeden: Quinn. It’s 4:30 in the damn morning.
Before Quinn could respond, her phone lit up with an incoming FaceTime call. She smirked and answered, already walking toward the mirrored wall near the stretching area.
Braeden’s face filled the screen, wrapped in a silk bonnet, blanket pulled up to her chin, clearly lying in bed.
“Woman,” Braeden said, her voice gravelly with sleep, “unless you are calling to tell me you’ve eloped or been kidnapped by aliens, I’m hanging up.”
Quinn arched a brow and adjusted her grip on the phone. “I knew you’d be awake,” she said, her tone calm but dry.
“I wasn’t awake, Quinn,” Braeden said, squinting at the screen. “I was cozy. Dreaming. And now I’m listening to your sexy but emotionally constipated ass whisper from a hotel gym like you’re in a spy movie. What’s going on?”
Quinn hesitated, her reflection staring back at her in the mirror.
Braeden’s expression shifted immediately. She pushed herself upright against her headboard. “Oh no,” she said more seriously. “You only pause like that when it’s about her.”
Quinn exhaled slowly and looked away from the screen. “I don’t know what this is,” she admitted.
“Let me guess,” Braeden said carefully. “You had sex again.”
Quinn didn’t answer, and the silence was answer enough.
Braeden let out a quiet breath. “Jesus, Quinn,” she said, but there was less bite in it now. “Have you even admitted to yourself that you like her?”
“That’s the problem,” Quinn said, her voice quieter than before. “I do.”
Braeden studied her for a long moment, the teasing gone. “You sound… shaken,” she said gently. “I’ve only ever heard you like this one other time. What’s going on in that very controlled, very disciplined brain of yours?”
Quinn gave a faint, humorless smile. “It’s like I can’t stay away from her,” she said. “And I know I should. I know it’s messy. It’s unprofessional. It complicates everything I’ve built.”
Braeden nodded slowly instead of interrupting.
“It was supposed to be sex,” Quinn continued, her voice steadying as she spoke. “Clean. Temporary. Something to burn off tension. But now when she walks into a room, I feel it before I see her. I’m distracted. I’m off-balance. I don’t want to be, but I am.”
Braeden’s eyes softened. “That’s not off-balance,” she said quietly. “That’s being affected.”
Quinn shook her head slightly. “I don’t do this,” she said. “I don’t lose perspective. I don’t let someone get under my skin like this.”
“Maybe that’s the point,” Braeden replied, her tone calm and deliberate. “Maybe she didn’t get under your skin. Maybe she got past the walls.”
Quinn swallowed and looked back at her reflection. “It’s not just physical,” she admitted. “It was at first. But now it feels like gravity. She’s in the room and I can’t look away. I don’t even want to look away.”
Braeden let that sit between them. “Do you feel small?” she asked gently.
Quinn frowned. “What?”
“Do you feel diminished? Outmaneuvered? Like you’re losing power?” Braeden clarified.
Quinn shook her head slowly. “No,” she said. “I feel… exposed. But not unsafe. Just seen.”
Braeden nodded once. “That’s different.”
Quinn’s jaw tightened. “It’s inconvenient,” she said. “She’s the CEO of a company I’m trying to acquire. This could implode on every level.”
“It could,” Braeden agreed. “But that’s logistics. I’m asking about you.”
Quinn went quiet.
Braeden leaned closer to the camera. “Do you care about her?” she asked softly.
Quinn held her own gaze in the mirror for a long second before answering. “Yes,” she said. “I do.”
The word seemed to settle into her chest as she said it.
Braeden gave a small nod. “Okay,” she said. “That’s honest.”
“I don’t know what to do with it,” Quinn admitted. “I’ve built my entire life around control. Around clean lines. Clear outcomes. This doesn’t feel clear.”
“Feelings aren’t supposed to feel clear,” Braeden said gently. “They’re supposed to feel real.”
Quinn huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. “That’s deeply unhelpful.”
Braeden smiled faintly. “You don’t need a strategy right now. You need to decide whether you’re going to keep pretending this is just sex, or whether you’re going to acknowledge that it’s more.”
Quinn’s shoulders dropped slightly. “It’s more,” she said, the words quiet but firm.
Braeden watched her carefully. “Does that scare you?” she asked.
“Yes,” Quinn answered immediately. “Because if it’s more, then I can lose it. And I don’t like losing things I care about.”
Braeden’s expression softened even further. “That’s not weakness,” she said. “That’s investment.”
Quinn pressed her lips together, absorbing that.
“You don’t have to sabotage it just because it’s complicated,” Braeden continued. “You’re allowed to want something that wasn’t part of the five-year plan.”
Quinn let out a slow breath. “You’re being annoyingly reasonable,” she said.
“I know,” Braeden replied with a small smile. “It’s growth.”
Quinn looked down at the gym floor for a moment before lifting her eyes again. “I care about her,” she said more clearly this time, as if testing how it felt out loud. “Not just the idea of her. Not just the tension. Her.”
Braeden’s smile turned warm. “Then stop treating it like a problem to solve,” she said. “Treat it like something to handle with care.”
Quinn nodded once, slowly.
“So what now?” Braeden asked, her tone steady but supportive. “Are you going to protect yourself so hard that you push her away, or are you going to see where this goes?”
Quinn hesitated, then gave a small, reluctant smile. “I don’t want to push her away,” she admitted.
“Then don’t,” Braeden said simply.
Quinn exhaled, something in her posture loosening. “She’s still not my girlfriend,” she muttered, but there was no real conviction in it.
Braeden rolled her eyes fondly. “Go upstairs,” she said gently. “Get back in bed. And maybe let yourself feel it instead of analyzing it.”
Quinn nodded. “Thank you,” she said, her voice sincere now.
“Always,” Braeden replied before ending the call.
The screen went dark, and Quinn stared at her reflection in the mirror for a long moment. She didn’t look panicked. She didn’t look out of control. She looked different, softer around the edges in a way she couldn’t quite name.
As she picked up her water bottle and headed for the elevator, she realized the fear wasn’t about losing power. It was about admitting she wanted something she couldn’t spreadsheet or negotiate. And for the first time, she wasn’t sure she wanted to walk away from that.
* * *
Quinn slipped back into the hotel room, easing the door shut behind her.
The blackout curtains kept the room hushed and dark, the world outside reduced to a faint glow at the edges.
Avery lay curled in the middle of the bed, sheets twisted around her hips, hair a soft mess against the pillow, breathing slow and steady.
Quinn toed off her sneakers and padded across the carpet, her shoulders and knuckles aching just enough to remind her of the workout. She slipped beneath the covers without hesitation, her body instinctively molding to Avery’s warmth.
Avery stirred at the movement, her eyes fluttering open slowly. “Good morning,” she murmured, her voice sleep-rough and soft.
Quinn pressed a kiss to her temple before answering. “Morning,” she said quietly.
Avery turned toward her and draped one arm over Quinn’s waist. “How was your workout?” she asked.
“It was okay,” Quinn said honestly. “Didn’t do as much as I usually do. I wanted to get back to you.”
Avery’s lips curled into a sleepy smile. “Well, that’s a better reason than most,” she said, snuggling in closer and tucking her face against Quinn’s chest.
“You wanna shower with me?” Quinn asked after a moment, brushing her fingers lightly over Avery’s spine. “Then I’ll take you to get some breakfast.”
Avery nodded, barely lifting her head. “Yeah,” she said softly. “That sounds perfect.”