Chapter 25
Avery
Quinn had been gone for three days. Friday blurred into Saturday, then Sunday, the weekend stretching longer than it should have without her.
They’d both been busy enough that the distance felt practical instead of painful.
Quinn had Braeden’s birthday Saturday night.
Avery had brunch with the girls, a long call with her mom and Ally, and a Sunday afternoon spent on FaceTime with Quinn, both of them propped up on pillows in separate cities pretending it was enough.
It wasn’t as good as having her there. But it worked.
Monday came quickly. Today was the Women in Tech panel.
The ballroom smelled of coffee and perfume, the expensive kind that lingered long after the person wearing it had moved on.
Soft piano music drifted from unseen speakers, nearly lost beneath the murmur of conversation and the clink of coffee cups meeting saucers.
A banner for the Women in Tech Founders Panel stretched across the stage backdrop in bold lettering.
Rows of white chairs faced the stage, already filling with women in tailored suits and bold lipstick, tablets and phones balanced in their laps.
Avery had been on plenty of panels before, but the familiar buzz under her skin never really went away.
Anticipation threaded through her, with just enough nerves to keep her sharp.
She smoothed the skirt of her navy wrap dress, tugging it flat over her thighs, then adjusted the microphone clipped to her collar.
The fabric was soft against her skin, a comfort she needed as she scanned the crowd.
Her phone buzzed in her lap.
Quinn: Good luck today, baby. Wish I could be there.
Avery stared at the message longer than she meant to, a smile tugging at her mouth before she caught herself.
The words were casual enough, but she could almost hear Quinn’s voice saying them—low, confident, like she never doubted Avery would crush it.
Her chest tightened. She typed a quick thanks with a heart emoji, then hesitated. Deleted it. Added it again.
Pocketing her phone, she stood when her name was called.
The moderator adjusted her glasses and glanced down at her notecards. “Let’s talk about growth. Specifically acquisitions and mergers. When do you know it’s time to partner instead of build independently?”
Avery leaned back slightly in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. This was safe territory. Strategic territory.
The founder beside her answered first, talking about valuation ceilings and investor leverage. Another spoke about brand integrity.
Then the microphone was passed down the row.
A woman in the third row stood when it reached her. Early thirties. Sharp blazer. Confident smile.
“Hi, I’m Danielle from Arcadia Ventures,” she said into the mic. “This is for Avery.”
Avery smiled politely. “Hi.”
Danielle tilted her head slightly. “You’ve been vocal about scaling responsibly and protecting user trust. So I’m curious—when you’re approached by a company like Halo, how do you evaluate that opportunity?”
Avery’s brain stalled for half a second.
“When I’m approached by a company like—?” she began carefully.
Danielle continued, smiling wider. “I heard through a mutual contact that congratulations are in order on your end. The Halo acquisition. Quinn Sinclair is one of the biggest names in the space. That’s huge.”
The room shifted. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. Just subtle movement. Heads turning. Interest sharpening.
Acquisition.
The word landed wrong. Avery kept her posture still. Kept her face neutral. But something cold slid down her spine.
“I’m sorry,” she said lightly, forcing a small laugh into it. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”
Danielle blinked, confused. “Oh. I thought it was public. Halo acquiring Lilith? It was mentioned at a dinner last week. Maybe I’m mistaken.”
The moderator stepped in quickly. “Well, whether hypothetical or not, it’s a good question. Avery?”
Hypothetical. The word echoed.
Avery adjusted the microphone at her collar so no one could see her hand tremble.
“In general,” she began, keeping her voice even, “if Lilith were ever to enter into a partnership, it would be structured as a merger, not an acquisition. Maintaining brand autonomy and community integrity would be non-negotiable.”
Her mouth was saying the right things. Her brain was elsewhere.
Acquisition. Mentioned at a dinner. Public enough to circulate.
She finished the answer smoothly. The audience nodded. Someone even clapped lightly.
But she didn’t hear the next question. She heard Halo acquiring Lilith.
She heard Quinn Sinclair. She heard congratulations.
And for the first time since Quinn flew back to L.A., something felt off.
The air outside was sharp with the edge of early winter, the kind that stung the inside of her nose and carried the faint scent of damp concrete and dying leaves.
The trees along the sidewalk were nearly bare now, skeletal branches reaching up against a pale gray sky.
She drew in a breath so deep her ribs ached.
Her phone was already in her hand before she realized it. Quinn’s name hovered on the screen, one press away.
Her stomach twisted the idea of hearing Quinn’s voice right now, warm and steady, made something twist in her chest. What if this was nothing? What if it was something? What if Quinn had said something at some dinner, some investor table, and didn’t think it mattered?
Avery stared at the screen for three full seconds. Then she pressed call. It rang twice.
“Hey,” Quinn answered, her voice low and familiar. “Everything okay?”
Avery hadn’t meant for her voice to come out guarded, but it did. “We need to talk.”
There was a slight pause on the other end. “Okay,” Quinn said evenly. “What’s going on?”
Avery stopped walking and turned toward the street, watching traffic blur past. “I was at a panel this morning. Women in Tech. Someone asked me about the Halo acquisition.”
There was silence for a beat.
“Acquisition?” Quinn repeated.
“They didn’t say merger,” Avery said, her jaw tightening. “They didn’t say partnership. They congratulated me. Like you’d already bought us out.”
Another pause.
“I have not announced an acquisition,” Quinn said carefully.
“I know what we agreed to,” Avery replied, her voice rising despite herself. “But that’s not what people are saying. It was mentioned at a dinner last week. Like it’s already a done deal.”
“And you think that came from me?” Quinn asked, something sharper slipping into her tone.
“I don’t know,” Avery admitted, hating that it was true. “I don’t want to think that. But I’ve worked too hard on Lilith to have people assume it’s just something Halo scooped up for bragging rights.”
Her pulse was racing now, the cold air barely cutting through it.
“And after everything we talked about,” she continued, forcing herself to stay steady, “I thought we were aligned. Now I’m standing on a stage being congratulated for something I never agreed to.”
Quinn exhaled slowly through the line. “You really think I would go behind your back and turn our deal into a buyout?”
“I don’t want to think that,” Avery said, sharper than she meant to. “But part of me is wondering if this was ever about us, or if it’s about you winning.”
The words hung there.
Traffic passed. Someone laughed across the street. The world kept moving.
“That’s not fair,” Quinn said, her voice colder now. “You think I flew across the country, stayed with you, structured a deal that keeps you and Gabby in control, just to flex power?”
“I don’t know what to think right now,” Avery said, her voice rising before she pulled it back down. “I just know I don’t like feeling blindsided. I don’t like wondering what’s being said when I’m not in the room.”
There was a long stretch of silence.
“I can’t control every conversation in this industry,” Quinn said finally. “And I can’t make you trust me if you don’t.”
“That’s not what this is,” Avery replied quietly.
“It feels like it is,” Quinn said.
Avery closed her eyes briefly. “I needed to hear you say that it’s not happening. That you didn’t frame it that way.”
“I didn’t,” Quinn said firmly. “And I wouldn’t.”
Another pause.
“I have to go into a meeting,” Quinn added, her tone clipped now.
Avery swallowed. “Fine.”
“Fine,” Quinn echoed.
The line went dead. Avery stood there a moment longer, phone still in her hand, the cold finally settling into her bones.
The panel had rattled her. The call hadn’t steadied her. If anything, it had left something unsettled between them. And she hated that.
* * *
She had slept terribly. Quinn had called twice the night before. Texted once after that. Avery had watched her phone light up on the nightstand and turned it face down each time. She wasn’t ready. She didn’t trust herself not to fold the second she heard Quinn’s voice.
Now she was sitting at her desk, the office already humming outside her glass walls, trying to focus on an email she’d read three times without absorbing a single word.
She didn’t know what she was supposed to do next.
Call back and risk saying the wrong thing.
Keep waiting and let the silence calcify.
Her phone lit up again. For a split second, her stomach dropped. She almost didn’t look, already bracing for Quinn’s name.
It wasn’t. It was Ally.
Avery’s chest loosened just enough to make room for a breath. She swiped to answer. “Hey,” she said.
“Whoa,” Ally said immediately. “That is a tone.”
Avery let out a dry little laugh and tipped her head back against her chair. “What tone?” she asked.
“The ‘I’m trying not to cry in my office’ tone,” Ally said. “What happened?”
Avery turned slightly toward the window, the skyline hazy in the late-morning light. The panel from a couple days ago still replayed in her head whether she wanted it to or not. The word acquisition still lodged under her skin.