Chapter 20
Avery
It had been a week and a half since Quinn left, and somehow being apart felt both easier and harder than Avery had expected.
Easier, because they stayed in near-constant touch.
FaceTime calls before bed, flirty texts threaded through their days, shared photos of meals and pets and half-watched TV.
They’d spent that Sunday holed up together on the phone, watching Killing Eve, trading lazy commentary, even sharing dinner long-distance.
They’d fallen asleep on FaceTime too, the screen dimming until all that was left was the quiet rhythm of Quinn’s breathing.
After that, something shifted. Not in a dramatic way. Not with a big conversation or a label or some sweeping declaration. It was just consistency.
Quinn called when she said she would. If a meeting ran late, she texted. If she had drinks with a client, she let Avery know ahead of time. It wasn’t performative or overexplained. It was steady. Deliberate. And Avery noticed.
Fall had started tipping toward winter in New York.
The trees outside her apartment thinned out week by week, leaves collecting in uneven piles along the curb.
The air carried that sharp edge in the mornings that made her reach for a coat she hadn’t needed in October.
In L.A., Quinn sent photos of golden sunsets and palm trees, but even there, the evenings looked cooler, the light softer.
They talked every day. Sometimes for hours, sometimes just quick check-ins between meetings.
Quinn sent pictures from airport lounges and boardrooms, once even a quiet selfie in her car before heading into Halo.
Avery sent back shots of half-eaten lunches, Henrietta sprawled dramatically across the couch, marketing decks she pretended Quinn understood.
They were building something slowly, and that was the harder part. The more normal it felt, the more real it felt. And the more real it felt, the more Avery found herself wondering what would happen if it stopped.
She tried not to live there. Tried not to borrow trouble from a future that hadn’t happened yet. For now, things were good. Steady. Soft in a way that didn’t scare her as much as she thought it would.
Still, distance had a way of pressing in at night, especially when the phone went quiet. And now, halfway through an already too-long workweek, Avery was unraveling.
Her day had imploded by 2 p.m. She wanted to message her, but Quinn was likely halfway through a green juice and elbow-deep in quarterly reports.
Still, Avery couldn’t help it. She needed something. She tapped out a text, thumbs moving fast.
Avery: Seriously, such a shit day. Bug in the system I can’t seem to fix. Had two malware issues (both fixed) and a meeting where one of our long-term partners announced they’re going under. And it’s only two.
The reply came quickly—fast enough that it felt like Quinn had been waiting.
Quinn: I’m sorry, baby. Maybe I can help?
Avery’s shoulders relaxed at the word baby. Something tugged inside her, stretching all the way across the country to Quinn.
Avery: Yeah? How?
Quinn: Tonight, we could play with that new toy. Let me help you forget for a while. Melt off some of that stress.
Avery exhaled sharply through her nose, pulse kicking up. The image hit her immediately—Quinn’s voice in her ear, slow and sure, while that sleek little vibrator pulsed between her legs. Her body arched. Her name on Quinn’s tongue.
She squeezed her thighs together.
Avery: On FaceTime?
Quinn: Yes.
Avery: Yes please. How late do you have to work tonight?
Quinn: I’ll be home by nine your time. Promise. Not much this afternoon. Might wrap earlier, but no later than that.
Avery: I cannot wait.
Quinn: It’ll be good. In the meantime, anything else I can do?
Avery grinned, fingers already moving.
Avery: Tell me I’m pretty. And send me coffee. And chocolates. And maybe flowers?
Obviously, she was kidding. Mostly. But Quinn’s response made her smile widen.
Quinn: You’re beautiful, baby. I’m really sorry your day’s been tough. What are you going to do about the bug? Want someone from my team to take a look?
Avery hovered, about to decline. Her instinct was to handle it herself.
To be competent. Independent. Unbothered.
But the thing was… she had been trying. And nothing was working.
Quinn’s team was made of people she personally headhunted from the top firms in Silicon Valley.
If Lilith was ever going to merge into Halo’s infrastructure, wasn’t this a perfect test run?
Before she could type her answer, her phone buzzed again.
Quinn: They’d be discreet, of course. No one touches anything without your permission. And your data stays locked.
Avery softened. That meant something. Quinn had thought to clarify that she knew Avery would worry. That she was already protecting her.
Avery: I trust you. And yes, actually, that would be great.
Quinn: Call me? Walk me through what’s going on?
The moment she hit call, Quinn picked up, her voice smooth and warm, like honeyed bourbon, low in her throat.
“Hey, baby,” Quinn said.
Avery closed her eyes for just a second, letting the sound of her center her.
“Hey,” Avery replied. “Thanks for offering to help.”
“Of course,” Quinn said. “What’s going on?”
Avery ran her fingers through her hair, the other hand holding the phone.
“There’s a bug in the auto-generation sequence,” she explained.
“It’s not triggering the welcome emails correctly for new user onboarding.
I’ve checked all the usual suspects—timing, flags, email templates, everything looks right. But it’s just… not firing.”
“Did you run it through sandbox?” Quinn asked.
“Yeah, twice,” Avery answered.
“What about cross-referencing with the last update push?” Quinn continued.
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Avery said, her eyes on her second screen. “I rolled it back in staging and it worked, but I can’t pinpoint the line of code that’s actually breaking production.”
Quinn hummed thoughtfully. “I’ll loop in Lia,” she said. “She’s incredible with third-party integrations. She can log in this afternoon if you want to grant access.”
“Yeah,” Avery said. “I’ll make her an account. Read-only at first. Just in case.”
“Good,” Quinn replied. “Smart. I’m sending you her contact card now.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Quinn added, her voice dipping into something lower, silkier, “Also, you are pretty. Beautiful, even. But you already knew that.”
Avery smiled, her head ducking as her cheeks flushed. “Shut up,” she muttered.
“No,” Quinn said easily. “You’re too cute when you blush. I’m going to keep going.”
Avery laughed softly, already pulling up Lia’s contact and sending her the temporary credentials. “Okay, work first. Dirty talk later,” she said.
“Deal,” Quinn replied. “Text me when it’s set up. I’ll walk Lia through what she needs.”
They ended the call with another quick thank-you, and Avery set her phone down, feeling just a little more grounded. A little steadier. Like she wasn’t doing it alone anymore.
She turned back to her screen and got to work, the anticipation of later, of Quinn’s voice and the buzz of that toy between her thighs. Thrumming low beneath her skin.
An hour later, Avery was elbow-deep in her inbox, half-listening to a Zoom recap she didn’t need to be in, when Gabby knocked twice and stepped into the office with wide eyes.
“Delivery for you,” she said, holding out a medium-sized box tied with an actual satin bow, and a bouquet so gorgeous it made Avery stop.
Deep wine-colored peonies. Soft pink roses. Gold-dusted greenery tucked between them like it belonged in a fairytale. The whole thing looked expensive and smelled divine.
“Oh my god,” Avery muttered.
“Girl, you must be the best lay,” Gabby teased.
“Stop!” Avery rolled her eyes.
Gabby nodded to the phone on her desk on speaker, “Riveting?”
“Hardly, I should have had Jane loop in and not be here.” Avery shook her head. “Should be done in fifteen, hopefully.”
“Come to my office, after?” Gabby asked.
“Possibly,” Avery laughed as Gabby walked out.
She took the box first, fingers tugging loose the bow and peeling back the top to find rich, glossy truffles in neat rows. One was already tilted, like it had shifted slightly in transit, and Avery’s stomach growled on sight.
Her phone buzzed just as she was reaching for one of the chocolates.
Quinn: Just got a notification from the florist that you got them, they said they’d get there today, but I didn’t think it would be that fast.
Avery smiled, the chocolate halfway to her mouth, and snapped a photo. Flowers in the background, truffle balanced between her fingers.
Avery: You’re everything. Thank you.
It only took a few seconds for the reply to come through.
Quinn: Just wanted to help. You’re very welcome.
Quinn: Also the bug should be fixed. Will you check on your backend?
Avery set the chocolate down, smoothed her palm over the bouquet’s wrapping, and reached for her keyboard again.
Still smiling.
She refreshed the dashboard, triggered a test account, and waited.
Three seconds later, the welcome email fired.
Avery let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and typed quickly.
Avery: It’s working. You’re a genius.
Quinn: I know.
Quinn: But I prefer “hero.”
Avery rolled her eyes, heat flickering in her chest in that familiar way.
Avery: Thank you, hero.
Quinn: You’re welcome.
Quinn: What are you wearing?
Avery blinked at the screen.
Avery: I’m at work.
Quinn: That wasn’t an answer.
Avery bit back a smile and glanced around her office before typing.
Avery: A very serious blazer.
Quinn: Liar.
Quinn: I think you’re smiling right now.
She was.
The texts didn’t stop after that. They threaded through her afternoon—between meetings, between emails, between real conversations she barely absorbed. Quinn sent a photo from her office, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened just enough to be dangerous.