Chapter Text
“So what you’re saying is,” Lexa Woods, lead singer, songwriter, and famous frontwoman for the pop rock group The Grounders, began slowly. She and her bandmates sat gathered around a conference table on a summery Friday afternoon with their manager reviewing recent numbers for their third studio album that had been out for a few months.
“That we’re fucked,” Anya Bridges, drummer and resident realist sitting on Lexa’s right, finished for her.
“Pretty fucked,” Indra, the band’s manager muttered through a hand covering her mouth from across the table. Delivering both the bad news to the band that they weren’t doing so hot and also needing to hype them up at the same time was never her strongest skill.
“Well? The second album was a smash,” Lexa leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table as she leafed through the charts and reports in front of her pretending to look at them and understand them, but it was all a clever cover up for how anxious she was. “What happened?”
“You put out 12 songs that sound just like the last 14, only overproduced and somehow blander, and you’re not getting any younger,” Indra replied flatly alongside a weighty glare over the top of her glasses.
“Whoa!” Lincoln, overprotective bassist and perpetual seer of the bright side sitting to Lexa’s left, spat out with wide eyes. “That’s a little harsh.”
“Not wrong, though,” Echo, strong, silent lead guitarist, glanced at Anya beside her who shrugged apathetically in return.
“So what does this mean?” Lexa spoke firmly. She sat up straighter in an attempt to convince herself she wasn’t nervous.
“I’m not sure,” Indra sighed. “The suits say they need to see ‘something’ from you,” Indra added on and raised her eyebrows at Lexa.
“From me?” Lexa asked carefully.
“From you,” Indra nodded.
“What kind of something?” Lexa swallowed hard.
“Something new. Something different. Something exciting,” Indra waved her hand in the air as she searched for the words. “Something that will make people look at you differently.”
“That sounds awful,” Anya scoffed.
“There’s a label party tonight on the roof for that DJ group, the Mountain Men?” Indra slid an invitation across the table to Lexa who bit her lip in disdain as she took it in. “I know you hate them. Hell, I hate them, but because they make so much friggin’ money in advertisement royalties since all their tracks are just begging to be perky cell phone commercials, we have to put up with their shit.”
“What about the rest of us?” Lincoln asked quietly. “Why only an invite for her?”
“Do the rest of you want to go?” Indra quirked a brow at them.
“Fuck no!” Echo laughed.
“Absolutely not,” Anya said quickly at the same time.
“I mean, not even kind of,” Lincoln clarified in unison with them. “But is it weird they don’t want all of us?”
“This is a punishment,” Lexa sighed and waved the invite at them. “I’m taking it for the team and they knew I would. I always do.”
“Well? Maybe you can find your ‘something’ at the party,” Indra tried. “Marketing is working over the weekend to figure out what to do. We’ll have something for you at the top of the week to shake things up. Enjoy your weekends,” Indra waved a hand in clear dismissal.
“I won’t,” Lexa grumbled as she gathered her things.
All four of the grounders were graduates of the Trikru College of Music, one of America’s most prestigious spots to study the craft. They met as freshmen, became fast friends, and had been making music together since. After being scouted and signed, the label guided their career into the mainstream by simplifying their styles and playing more to their looks than their skills.
Lincoln was an accomplished violinist and cellist with a degree in symphony performance. He could play pretty much anything with strings on it, and when they were playing warehouse shows in college and small clubs thereafter, he became their bassist. His grooves were as tight as his unrealistically statuesque physique.
Naturally charming and genuinely sweet, he instantly became the brother none of them had and protected his group of girls ferociously. He came to New York for school from the west coast with everything he owned after his parents told him that if he threw away all of his opportunities to study music rather than something practical, he couldn’t come home. Lexa, Anya and Echo became his new home in New York.
Echo never said much and let her music speak for her. She was an incredible guitarist, a native New Yorker, and she studied theory at Trikru. Their albums had a handful of solos on them that showed glimpses of what she was made of, but the label held her back. When she was on stage, however, she let it rip and the band had a loyal following that knew about it.
She had theory classes with Lincoln when they were freshmen, and when he and Lexa and Anya started putting a group together to gig around the city, she was an obvious choice.
“I’ll go with you to that thing,” Anya relented with a good natured, sarcastic huff.
“Oh, thank god,” Lexa exhaled with relief. “I didn’t want to ask.”
Anya played in elite drum corps from the second she was old enough to the day she aged out. She had incredibly quick and precise hands, a degree in percussion composition and performance, creative ideas and could do a lot with a limited kit. She satisfied her drum solo lust at live shows, but most of her work in the studio was beneath her. Smart, savvy, and oozing with rockstar energy at all times, most of the women she came in contact with ended up beneath her, too.
She grew up in a tough situation outside of Boston that she never talked about, worked every second of the day that she wasn’t in school or rehearsals, and clawed her way through college with financial aid, scholarships, and odd jobs. She was more open about it now that they were established and more mature, but the band was the only place she ever felt at home.
Lexa and Anya were roommates their freshman year and became instantly inseparable. Although she was the lead singer, lyricist, and rhythm guitarist for the band, Lexa’s roots grew from behind a piano. She was a classical pianist and a composing major and spent her life training on the keys. Guitars and leather jackets and heavy eyeliner paid the bills and kept them all together, but she never had dreams of it when she was young.
“Yeah, yeah. You do enough for us. I can take a hit, too,” Anya smiled and patted Lexa on the shoulder.
Lexa was their leader and always had been. She booked their shows when they were twenty and broke. She pushed them further with each rehearsal and she found their sound and really could bring the best out of each of them on and off the stage. The only one who came from a place she could go back to, she made sure to foster their new home together as best she could and keep a safe and loving space alive for the people that stood by her no matter what.
“I appreciate that,” Lexa’s stress melted into a real smile as the group headed out the door.
Across the hall in an identical conference room on the fifth floor of the Polis Records building in Manhattan, Clarke Griffin, pop folk artist and the label’s token Girl Next Door that was aging rapidly, sat in a similarly disappointing meeting riddled with plummeting metrics.
“The last album was pretty sleepy, Clarke,” Raven Reyes, chief audio engineer and Clarke’s good friend who worked closely with her on all three albums, winced as she admitted the truth.
“They heard it and they green lit it,” Clarke shrugged. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“There’s some discussion upstairs that it might be an image problem,” Marcus Kane, Clarke’s longtime manager, winced. He was a friend of her parents, had an eye on her since she was playing guitar and singing for change and on talent show stages when she was twelve, coached her to take herself seriously in her teens, and had been managing her successful career since.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Clarke scoffed. “My image is a bunch of fake bullshit that they insisted on.”
“Look, I know,” Marcus said softly with gentle and defensive hands raised. “You’re getting a little bit older and this nice girl thing they’ve shoehorned you into is becoming a little outdated. It worked when you were twenty-four. Thirty-three? Not as much.”
“So I’m boring now?” Clarke asked, arms folded across her label-picked-out peasant top that she refused twice and it kept popping up into wardrobe rotation and she finally succumbed.
“A little bit,” Raven wrinkled her nose and tried to get a sympathetic smile out, but it got stuck halfway.
“This is fucking absurd. I told you I didn’t want to be some goody goody girl next door and that this wouldn’t age and it would bite me in the ass, but no! The execs know best!” Clarke threw her hands up and let them fall with a slap on the table. “I didn’t even want to make this last album! I wanted to actually grow and change and use my real talents to make something exciting with a little rock and some soul and they said no.”
“The soul thing you were trying to do didn’t really fit-”
“It didn’t fit my stupid, false image they created,” Clarke snapped and cut Marcus off. “I know.”
Clarke had more talent than she knew what to do with, but the label only let her make folk and pop folk tracks because of her looks, which she wasn’t allowed to change without their consent. She was fit, she was blonde, she had big blue eyes and a hometown in New England paired with a four octave range, a lifetime of training, impeccable stage presence, no fear, and clever lyrics.
She also had chronically sick parents that required constant medical attention that she was the sole provider for, so she let the label tell her who she needed to be in order to keep cashing the checks that paid for their care. As long as she kept her mouth shut and wrote the songs they wanted, her nice girl image was believable.
“Marketing is going to come up with a new plan for you by next week,” Marcus sighed after a heavy lull swept around the room. “But they feel like they need to see something from you.”
“What the hell does that even mean?” Clarke huffed. She thumbed at her bottled water and didn’t bother to keep her scowls and pissed off facial expressions in check.
“I don’t know for sure. They told me they’ll have more details soon after the team works on it. Your sales are down, your streams are down, your social metrics are down, so they need something new, something different, and exciting.”
“That’s suspiciously vague,” Clarke eyed him cautiously.
“Something that will make people look at you differently,” Marcus tried.
“Should I dye my hair black?” Clarke joked with the flavor of sass that reminded him too much of her teenage years.
“I wouldn’t,” Marcus shook his head softly. “They sent this. They said you have to show up and be seen tonight. Go through wardrobe on your way out. They have your attire,” he tacked on and slid the Mountain Men party invite across the table.
“These assholes?” Clarke gasped when she read the guest of honor. “Marcus.”
“I know,” he tried not to laugh at her frank attitude. “They’re insufferable, but they throw a great party and everyone’s going. You could afford to end up in a few photos giving the illusion that you’re having fun.”
“But not too much, right?” Clarke shot him a knowing wink alluding back to so many marketing conversations about her keeping her antics under control when she was in public. “We wouldn’t want anyone to think I had a personality or anything too racy like that.”
“Clarke,” Marcus sighed and rubbed the tension headache she’d been giving him for over twenty years from between his eyes. His hair was all gray now, his face held so many more wrinkles and smile lines, and his posture stooped much more than it used to, but everything between them always felt the same.
“Are you going?” Clarke turned to Raven.
“I have to. The production I did on their last album paid off my condo,” Raven replied with a knowing shrug.
“Try to have a nice weekend, alright?” Marcus pushed a smile through. “We’ll see what they have for you next week.”
“Oh, I can’t wait,” Clarke lied through a sarcastic grin as she shoved her paperwork and invite into her bag and yanked the conference room door open with force.
She came face to face with a disgruntled Lexa Woods in the hallway.
“If it isn’t Polis Records’ favorite Nice Girl!” Lexa joked in that playground taunting voice she was so good at.
“How was your meeting? Are you already done with another album using the same five chords?” Clarke snapped back.
“Oh, I leaned two more,” Lexa sarcastically wagged her eyebrows at Clarke. “You about to churn out another dozen tracks about your hometown? Where are you from again? Anywhere, USA? Population upper middle class white women?”
Clarke rolled her eyes, spun on her heel and tossed a middle finger over her shoulder as she stomped towards the elevator.
“See you on the roof later!” Lexa called after Clarke and waved her party invite over her head.
“Hopefully not!” Clarke called back just before the elevator doors closed between them.
“So nice,” Lexa joked to Anya beside her who snorted out a laugh.
The Grounders and Clarke Griffin had been running into one another in hallways and at events for years. Coincidentally, their practice spaces on the label’s studio floor were side by side. Outside of subtle, and in many cases not so subtle, barbs and childish insults, they never really said much to one another.
Neither of them could remember why they didn’t like each other, but every time they interacted, they fought about everything. Typically they only saw each other at label parties and industry events, so their bickering usually found its way in front of an audience. There wasn’t enough substance to it to call it a feud and no real fuel to call it a fight, but it was a well known fact that Clarke and Lexa couldn’t stand each other.
“After you finish up practice for the day, wardrobe has your clothes for tonight,” Indra gave Lexa a warning look. “Wear what they picked. No freestyling please.”
“Fine,” Lexa sighed in disdain as she trudged behind her bandmates to the elevator.
***
“Hey! You made it!” Raven shouted over the thundering beats when Clarke popped up beside her at the party that evening.
The roof of Polis Records was huge, flat, well lit, and a place to be seen. They threw parties all year long up there and transformed it every time with high budget decorations, bars, killer sound systems and lighting to be photographed in. The three-hundred-and-sixty degree view of New York City was both famous and incredible. Tonight, the lights of Manhattan all around them added to the party lights and wild decor the dance music begged for.
“Against my will, but mostly unscathed,” Clarke sighed through a face that said it all. Raven was alone at a high top table on the fringe of the crowd waiting for Clarke with two drinks.
“Cute dress!” Raven nodded down at Clarke’s white, flowy sundress.
“Not mine. Not my choice,” Clarke sighed as Raven handed her a vodka soda. “I had three choices and this was the best one.”
“At least the image they picked for you is cute and not complicated. It could be much worse,” Raven grimaced and nodded towards a group of famous house DJs on the label nearby with masks and costumes on.
“I suppose this sundress on a warm night in New York does beat all that spandex,” Clarke chuckled and almost let herself relax when her phone lit up.
“How are your folks?” Raven asked quietly with sympathetic urgency.
“Mom’s home from the hospital. She’s okay,” Clarke replied through a tight, forced, stressed, fake smile as she read the text messages coming in from her parents’ caregivers. “Dad’s probably headed back in any day now.”
“Shit, dude. I’m sorry,” Raven muttered.
“It’s okay,” Clarke lied. “They’re actually doing better than they have been. I’m hoping to get out to see them in a week or two. I’m disappointed with all this shit with my last record for all of the obvious reasons, but my first two albums paid for their care, and I was hoping this one would set them up for a while, but apparently it sucks!” Clarke huffed as she dug through her purse for a vape pen.
“Come on, Clarke. It doesn’t suck. It just wasn’t as good as the other two,” Raven tried.
“It kinda sucks,” Clarke replied through a wince.
“What is it they want from you again? Something new and exciting?” Raven called back to their meeting.
“Whatever the fuck ‘looking at me differerntly’ means,” Clarke scoffed. She didn’t find a cigarette or a vape, but a joint instead. “Who’s here? Are we being ourselves and openly smoking at this thing tonight or what?”
“Somehow I don’t think that’s the ‘something’ they’re looking for from you,” Raven cautioned.
At the bar not far behind them, Lexa and Anya grabbed their first round.
“I don’t know what the fuck it means, but apparently they’re trying to shake my image up by taking my black clothes away and putting me in white, which is dangerous,” Lexa shrugged with a glass of red wine in each hand and gestured to her white tube top the label sent her out in under a black leather jacket. “Thanks for coming with me by the way. I owe you one.”
“Don’t mention it. I love free booze and a room full of hot people,” Anya grinned and ran her eyes over the crowd. “I’ll tune out the music. Did anyone give you any more hints about what’s coming?”
“You know they’re always coming up with stupid stuff for me cause I’m the front woman and people think I’m sexy. I’m willing to do it for all of you three so we can keep the band going,” Lexa raised one of her glasses and clinked it against Anya’s.
“I wish they’d just let us make cool and real music and not this canned pop rock,” Anya agreed. “Nothing is sexier than the power of real, raw, rock music.”
“Maybe to you,” Lexa chuckled. “You’re a drummer. I play the piano and they make me play rhythm guitar because apparently it’s hotter.”
“As your best friend and not in a weird I-want-to-blur-the-lines way, but very much in a I-see-where-the-label-is-coming-from way, you are a very hot guitarist and front woman,” Anya offered up.
“Thank you. I know you are incapable of telling lies, so it always means a lot coming from you,” Lexa let a little laugh out.
“They let you do a few piano things on the second album,” Anya kept on as they wove through the crowd to find somewhere to relax out of the way.
“Yeah, and it sold!” Lexa laughed as she took a gulp from one of her glasses.
“Wine, huh?” Anya nodded down at Lexa’s hands.
“I have a lot of work to do this weekend and I don’t want to get too fucked up,” Lexa shrugged. “So if anyone offers me any drugs or hard liquor, make sure I say no.”
“Can do,” Anya nodded firmly. “Hey! There’s Raven!” Anya held a drink up and nodded Raven’s way.
“No! Don’t!” Lexa hissed. She knew instantly who was on the other side of the telltale blonde curls at the table.
Clarke turned around to see who Raven was smiling at and met eyes with Lexa. Her whole face dropped before twisting into a furious scowl.
“She’s with Clarke,” Lexa sighed as her shoulders drooped in disdain.
“Faaantastic,” Clarke bit her lip and shook her head as The Grounders girls approached.
“Get over it already, Clarke,” Raven brushed it off. “This is a stupid work party and they’re our work friends.”
“Maybe they’re your work friends,” Clarke side-eyed her. “They’re not my friends.”
“I’m one of the highest paid audio engineers in house,” Raven said through a cheeky grin. “Everybody putting out work is my friend. I get paid whether your albums sell or not.”
“Must be nice,” Clarke gave her a look.
“Reyes! What’s good?” Anya leaned in to kiss Raven’s cheek with the fluid charisma of a born rockstar.
“How’s it going?” Raven nodded politely at them both.
“Clarke! Insert cordial greeting that’s appropriately nice even though you hate us. I’m going to lean in and politely greet you in case someone is taking my picture right now! Do you consent?” Anya raised a brow at Clarke.
“I consent,” Clarke huffed out a laugh. “You get in trouble for sexual harassment again?”
“Just covering my ass,” Anya winked and gave Clarke a polite hug.
“I’m not gonna hug you,” Lexa smirked.
“Good,” Clarke bit back and turned to give Lexa an annoyed glare.
“What’s your problem?” Lexa scoffed through a laugh and straightened up her back as she set both glasses of wine on Raven and Clarke’s table.
“What’s yours?” Clarke mirrored Lexa’s body language. “You’re up my ass about something everytime I talk to you.”
“You’re a totally aggressive bitch every time I talk to you!” Lexa cocked her head at Clarke.
“Heads up!” A shout came quickly from the dancefloor behind them followed by a pair of stumbling young guys crashing into the high top tables from behind. Lexa’s pair of red wines found their way all over the front of Clarke’s white sundress.
Clarke took a slow breath in and let it out very carefully. Her stiff shoulders, gritted teeth and clenched fists absorbed most of her rage.
“Of fucking course,” Clarke rolled her jaw and tried to force out a fake smile. The flashes of multiple phones capturing her with a drink with a joint clenched between two of her fingers, wine all over her, and Lexa Woods beside her holding back laughter were blinding.
Years of training allowed Clarke to react as little as possible.
“Clarke! Oh my god!” Raven gasped with wide eyes and her hands over her mouth.
“So I’m gonna leave,” Clarke said frankly before sucking down the last of her drink and slamming it on the table. “But first? I’m gonna hug you,” she tacked on with a devious grin and pulled Lexa in for a tight hug. She pressed their chests together as hard as she could and imprinted her wine stains all over Lexa’s crisp white top.
“Hey!” Lexa yelped. “What the hell!”
“I’m gonna lean in and politely tell you to go fuck yourself,” Clarke said lowly through a sickly sweet fake grin as the flashbulbs continued to capture the moment unfolding between them.
“Go fuck myself?” Lexa’s grin was real this time and every photo caught it. “Why? Are you too scared to do it?”
Clarke glanced back at Lexa with a slightly impressed raised brow at the taunt. She gripped the lapel of Lexa’s leather jacket and brought her in close to make sure she could hear her over the loud music.
“Oh honey,” Clarke paused, let go of Lexa’s jacket, and gave her a patronizing pat on the shoulder. “You couldn’t handle it.”
“What?” Lexa spat out through a confused chuckle.
“What do you think, Raven? Are they looking at me differently now?” Clarke called over her shoulder to Raven. She and Anya were both trying to decide if they should get involved or take cover.
Lexa perked up at the turn of phrase, but couldn’t get any words out.
“Probably not what they meant!” Raven bit back a laugh at Clarke’s back as she tromped out of the party.
The subway ride to Clarke’s place from Polis Records was short.
She was thankful for New Yorkers’ patented ability to ignore one another as she worked to ignore the wine stains all over her dress until she got through her apartment door and peeled it off. She tossed it onto her kitchen table that barely sat two covered with her parents’ medical bills, pulled a beer from the fridge and sat down beside her ruined wardrobe and mounting debt to finally exhale.
Her apartment was small.
She’d been in the tiny studio for all of her life in New York. She had a little table she ate at and a cramped kitchen she hardly used that was in the same single room as her bed. She didn’t have a couch. She could barely turn around in her bathroom. Her collection of music and all of her guitars lived in her practice space in the Polis tower where they were safe.
Clarke didn’t own much and she didn’t need much to be happy, which was the lie she told herself because she couldn’t remember the last time she actually was happy.
Finally alone in the stillness of her place with Hell’s Kitchen’s comforting sounds filtering in through the open window, she let the mounting tears of frustration and aggravation and stress and disappointment she’d been fighting all day come crashing through.
***
Lexa woke with a start and a mild hangover early the next morning to her phone ringing.
“What?” Lexa murmured.
“Dude, have you seen instagram yet?” It was Anya. It sounded like she was out somewhere and Lexa wondered if she’d gone to sleep yet.
“I just woke up,” Lexa croaked. She sat up slowly and winced as she rubbed her eyes.
Lexa lived in Brooklyn in a spacious one bedroom with natural light, hardwood floors and high ceilings. It wasn’t luxurious by any means. Most of her neighbors were couples with jobs in finance. Some had young kids. She minded her business and liked living away from the bustle of Manhattan even if it meant she had an hour-long commute to the studio.
She’d been there for years and had made the place her own. She had a neighbor who watered her plants when she was on tour, shelves of books and kept a high end electric keyboard at home and her Steinway at the label.
“Yo, go look right now,” Anya chuckled and Lexa could feel the accompanying smirk through the line.
“I don’t like your tone,” Lexa sighed and put the phone on speaker so she could see the screen.
“Looks like you may have accidentally walked backwards into ‘something that will make them look at you differently,’ buddy,” Anya laughed over the background noise of city traffic.
“Son of a bitch,” Lexa muttered as she scrolled through TMZ’s carousel of photos of her and Clarke covered in wine. The way the photos were caught and stitched together made it look like they were laughing and having a great time together.
“Woof, huh?” Anya asked.
“What do I do?” Lexa froze. She hated this part of it. She just wanted to make music with her friends and take care of them and go on tour and not worry about who she got her picture taken with.
“Fuckin’ media magic, man. Even I’m convinced you two are having fun in these,” Anya laughed and let it turn into a loud sigh. “And I know more than anyone about how much you can’t stand each other.”
“What the hell is this caption? They’re saying that we were there together? And that I spilled all over her?” Lexa squawked as she squinted at the screen. “That’s not even what happened!”
“Dude, you know they love to stir shit up,” Anya shrugged on the other end of the line.
“What the fuck!” Lexa shouted. As they spoke, a comment from Clarke popped up below the caption.
“What?” Anya asked.
“She just commented ‘@Lexawoods looks like you’re just as clumsy as your lyrics!’” Lexa gasped.
“Oh-ho-ho no she didn’t!” Anya burst out laughing. “Damn, that little cottagecore biddy’s got some balls.”
“I’m writing back,” Lexa huffed.
“Do not get in trouble, Lexa. They’re already pissed at us,” Anya warned.
“I’ll give them something to be pissed about,” Lexa grumbled as she typed back ‘Must’ve just tripped over one of your low blows.’
“Be cool, Lex. Don’t take it too far,” Anya tried again. “I know you two love to fight, but keep it off the internet.”
“It’s harmless,” Lexa sighed. “What are they gonna do?”
Over the East River and across the city, Clarke sat in her bed with a cup of coffee, a stack of bills for her parents’ care that were no longer ignorable, and her phone in her hand staring at the photos of her and Lexa popping up all over the place.
Sometimes she was able to comment a dig first, sometimes Lexa beat her to it.
She jumped when her phone rang in her hands and yanked her out of the trance of her social media blackhole.
“What are you doing?” Raven asked flatly before Clarke could even say hello.
“Hi, good morning, I’m fine, thanks. How are you?” Clarke said dryly.
“I”m at work right now and marketing and the C suite are all buzzing about you and Lexa on the internet,” Raven followed up quickly in a hushed voice.
“So?” Clarke huffed.
“I can’t tell if it’s good buzzing or bad buzzing,” Raven went on. “It’s weird in here.”
“Alright?” Clarke shrugged, then silently scowled at the total on the monthly invoice for her parents’ full time in-home nurses.
“Maybe dial it back just a tiny bit,” Raven cautioned in a hushed high pitched voice. “Not sure if you’re reading all the other comments?”
“I don’t do that,” Clarke spat out before taking a sip of her coffee.
“So it kind of looks like you two are flirting?” Raven’s wince was audible. “And the fans are eating it up. I’m not saying the execs are totally into it? But it doesn’t exactly sound like they’re not into it?”
Clarke’s phone chimed and she pulled back to look at the screen.
“I just got a meeting invite with Ali from brand management upstairs first thing Monday morning,” Clarke said slowly.
“Oh boy,” Raven muttered through gritted teeth. “She’s the TOP of brand management. She’s where all your image shit you hate comes down from. She creates all of the personas. She creates the fake worlds and the scenarios. She hands out the fake lives you all have. She creates the artists here. It all comes down from her.”
“Son of a bitch,” Clarke whined and dropped her head back on her pillows.
***
Monday morning came too quickly.
Clarke paced in the lobby of the executive floor waiting for her meeting. She seldom went up there. There were so many middle managers and errand runners and messengers from upstairs that dealt with smaller acts like hers on the label that she never had the need. She couldn’t remember the last time she was on the executive floor and she forgot how much more white and spotless and glamorous and chic it was than the rest of the building.
Being called upstairs was either a really bad thing or a really good thing, and there wasn’t much in recent history to lead Clarke to believe she was in for any really good news.
Right around her fourth different anxiety spiral as she ran through the potential reasons she was on the executive floor and the corresponding fallout it would cause in her life, the elevator opened with its well known soft double ding.
Lexa was in the elevator by herself.
“Are you lost?” Clarke stood up straight and folded her arms over her chest.
“I have a meeting with Ali at ten,” Lexa shook her head and held back a nervous laugh.
“What? No you don’t,” Clarke furrowed her brow and leaned away from Lexa in confusion.
“Are you checking my schedule now?” Lexa huffed through a chuckle.
“I have a meeting with Ali at ten,” Clarke puzzled.
After a hefty beat of silence filled with studying one another for the lie or the prank of the cue this wasn’t real, they both pulled out their phones to double check in tandem.
“This has to be a mistake,” Lexa scratched her forehead as they compared their screens and confirmed that they were both scheduled for the same meeting with one of the most indemand executives on the label.
“I don’t think these people make mistakes,” Clarke whispered and glared at Lexa.
“There they are!” Ali exclaimed as she threw open the huge double doors to the executive suite with gusto. Her hair and makeup were pristine. She had a posture so rigid those who knew her joked she was a robot. Her shoulder pads were famously wide in the industry. Everything she said boomed like it was being delivered on a broadway stage. She walked and moved like she didn’t share the same gravity as the rest of the planet. “Instagram’s favorite little flirts!”
“What?!” Lexa and Clarke spat out together with matching horrified and confused faces.
“Come on, ladies! Let’s get started! We’re wasting time and time is money and wasting money is bad business!” Ali gave a flourish with one hand above her head as she spun and stalked back through the doors as dramatically as she’d entered.
Clarke and Lexa exchanged a panicked glance.
“Oh, after you,” Lexa broke the tension with a nervous grin and a gesture for Clarke to go first. Clarke met her with an annoyed look, but took the first steps anyway.
The executive conference rooms were so much nicer than those they were used to. Everything was plush and white with natural wood and looked brand new. The sounds and smells were different. Somehow softer and cleaner and more soothing. Even the doors opened and closed quieter. It was hard to believe they were in the same building they were so used to and spent so much time in.
“Everyone is waiting for you,” Ali said through a sly grin as she held open the door for the two of them.
A giant table was filled with over a dozen suits they didn’t recognize. Indra and Marcus were in the mix looking down at their hands and feeling small.
“What is this?” Clarke blurted out.
“This is an effort to resurrect your dying careers,” Ali said bluntly as she closed the door behind them and pointed at two empty chairs side by side. “You both know your numbers are down and your fanbases are dwindling and specific.”
“I-” Clarke tried.
“We-” Lexa began.
“Don’t interrupt,” Ali gave a stage wince and a condescending smile. Clarke and Lexa both shrank into their seats.
One of the reps from legal wordlessly slid two NDAs across the table at Clarke and Lexa and dropped pens with a loud clatter on top.
“We can’t begin until you both sign those Nondisclosures. Everything that happens in this meeting stays inside of this room. You both know well enough that crossing us would be a nightmare. If you want to keep your contracts, the solution comes after you agree to keep it a secret,” Ali nodded down at the paperwork in front of them.
Lexa reached for the pen right away, but Clarke hesitated. Slowly and apprehensively, Lexa turned to catch Clarke’s glance.
The moments of stubborn eye contact made the room stand still.
Clarke didn’t budge.
Lexa glanced away and scowled as she picked up the pen and signed hers.
“We’re not getting any younger, Clarke!” Ali prompted impatiently. The toe of her designer heels tapped like a metronome gone rogue.
The weight of all of their stares became too much when Clarke caught Lexa’s eye again and Lexa offered up the saddest smile with a defeated one shoulder shrug and a gentle nod at the pen in front of Clarke.
“Fine,” Clarke huffed and scribbled her name, then slammed the pen down with attitude.
“Let’s begin! Branding and I have been trying to figure out what to do with you both individually for weeks now. Whether you meant to or not, you two gave us the push we needed to see that we shouldn’t deal with your metrics that are sucking out loud separately, and that there is actually a two ladies, one stone situation sitting right in front of us.”
Ali paused in her pacing at the head of the table in front of a blank screen on the wall.
Clarke and Lexa flicked sidelong glances at one another and it was almost a comfort to share the terrifying confusion.
Ali raised a hand above her head and snapped her fingers. A collage of the TMZ instagram photos from the rooftop party popped up on the screen behind her. Clarke bit her lip and dipped her head.
“I doubt you realized it at the time because you’re impulsive and messy, but this little wine spill and bitchy retaliation hug was pure genius, Clarke,” Ali said firmly. Clarke whipped her head up.
“What?” Clarke couldn’t stop herself from blurting out. Lexa stiffened up beside her.
“Following it up with these incredibly witty insults?” Ali paused as all of the comment exchanges between Clarke and Lexa from the weekend popped up one by one with the trademark notification sound on the screen. “I didn’t know you two had it in you.”
“Had what in us?” Lexa spoke up.
“Such incredible chemistry,” Ali replied through a smirk that unfolded over multiple agonizing seconds and spread quickly around the room to the other execs.
“Do you want us to collaborate?” Lexa furrowed her brow. “Our styles don’t really make sense together.”
“Oh, they really don’t, which is perfect, because every young, hopeful romantic with a disposable income wants to believe that hot opposites really do attract out there in this horrible world,” Ali snapped her fingers again and the most incriminating photo of all with both of them smiling in close, Clarke’s hand gripping Lexa’s collar and Lexa’s hand instinctively reaching for Clarke’s hip popped up.
“Romantic?” Clarke spat out. She looked across the table at Marcus and Indra who had hung heads and stooped shoulders.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Ali clapped her hands and the screen changed to read ‘Summer of Clexa.’ Clarke gasped. Lexa let out a gulp that sounded louder than a cymbal crash in the tense room. “We’ve put together everything for you two for the next ninety days. You’re going to pretend you’re a couple, have secretly been in love and have been keeping it a secret from the public for a while, and all of the nonsense, childish fighting between you on the internet has been an over the top effort to keep your romance private.”
“Oh my god,” Clarke whispered with a hand over her mouth.
“Roughly sixty days from now, you will release a collaborative track that is very sexy, complete with two weeks of scheduled performances, also very sexy, to get you both back in the public’s eye,” Ali began firmly.
Lexa felt like everyone in the room could hear her sweating.
“Shake up your images, song of the summer, we’ve already spoken with our people at TikTok. We’ll get everyone excited about you both, get you doing opening acts on stages in LA and New York and Chicago together, all the right TV spots, yada yada. All the kids go crazy, they love it, they eat it up!”
Ali grinned wider as Clarke and Lexa’s eyes opened wider at each new slide.
‘“Both of your obsessive fan bases buy all of your new boo’s old stuff too because they’re obsessed with your relationship now, which they will be, because I will be the head of your social media team and it’s going to be a perfectly calculated, curated work of art, then bing bang boom! You two are wildly popular again!” Ali slapped her hands down on the conference table for emphasis while sending an aggressive glare that was supposed to be motivational but missed the mark and landed smack in the heart of intimidation at Clarke and Lexa.
Everyone around the table flinched at the same time.
“A month later, we stage a nasty break up, you two get to go back to your normal lives, and riding the new wave of your popularity being the it couple for the summer with all of your new loyal fans, you can bounce back with your respective break up albums,” Ali rattled off quickly as the plans kept up with her on the screen.
“That’s insane,” Clarke spat out.
“That’s showbiz, baby,” Ali bit right back.
“And if we say no?” Lexa perked up. “If we don’t want to do this?”
“Then you’re both off the label and we’re done with your dismal shit,” Ali shrugged. “Your contracts for your latest albums are up next month. This is the way to get another one.”
“The only way?” Lexa asked. Her voice was small.
“The only way,” Ali repeated with a telling nod. The rest of the suits around her nodded along. “You have until 5pm today to decide. Legal is downstairs briefing Raven who will be the engineer on your tracks, and the band who will clearly have to be in the loop, right now.”
“Do we get any say in the fake relationship?” Clarke asked.
“About as much say as you get in your images now,” Ali replied.
“So, none?” Clarke sighed.
“Unless you have any productive questions, the clock is ticking on your decision making,” Ali grinned at Clarke. “Meeting adjourned, lovebirds. We’ll see you both by five,” Ali winked at the two of them and slapped her hands on the table again. Everyone got up right away.
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Clarke muttered under her breath.
“I’ll hold your hair if you hold mine,” Lexa grumbled with her. Clarke just glared at her and stormed off.
“Clarke, wait!” Lexa chased after her. Marcus and Indra got whisked away for follow ups and the two of them were the only people getting on the elevator. Every footstep and uncertain waiver in their voices echoed miserably in the executive lobby.
“What!” Clarke snapped.
“I don’t know!” Lexa huffed. “Do you think we should talk?”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Clarke snapped back.
“There’s A LOT to talk about!” Lexa planted her hands on her hips.
“I don’t want to talk about it!” Clarke clenched her teeth and fought the frustrated tears pricking at the back of her eyes. “I need a fucking second!”
“Alright,” Lexa backed off and held her hands up. She didn’t say anything else.
The elevator eventually arrived. They both solemnly stepped in. Clarke hit the button for the floor of their practice rooms and leaned into the wall. Lexa folded her arms over her chest and leaned into the opposite wall as they descended down the Polis tower in uncomfortable silence staring at the floor.
Anya, Echo and Lincoln were in the hallway when the doors opened revealing Clarke and Lexa vehemently scowling and trying to get as far away from each other in the tiny cage of the elevator as possible.
Clarke didn’t say anything as she walked between all of them to her practice space and slammed the door behind her. The rest of them turned their heads in unison to Lexa who let out a big sigh.
A couple of sobs found their way past Clarke’s door in the uncomfortable silence.
“She said she needed a minute,” Lexa said flatly with a listless shrug.
“Dude,” Anya began. She rolled her jaw and set her shoulders firmly.
“I know,” Lexa exhaled slowly.
“What the fuck?” Anya kept on.
“I know,” Lexa repeated and walked past them into their practice space. They all followed and shut the door.
“Are you okay?” Lincoln asked through a wince.
“Not even kind of,” Lexa let a shaky sigh escape as she dropped onto the ratty old couch they had against one wall. The room was packed with instruments and gear and sentimental moments from their pasts on the walls. Posters from their favorite shows and promo material for past albums acted like wallpaper. Lexa’s piano and Anya’s drums took up a lot of space on the floor. The walls were lined with racks of all of their guitars and instruments. “They said they filled you guys in?”
“They did. This is some next level shit,” Anya huffed as she flopped onto the stool behind her kit. She anxiously tapped her fingers on one of her cymbals and the familiar little rattle was almost soothing.
“I mean, I get it,” Lexa tried. She leaned her head back and covered her eyes with her hands. “Kind of anyway. I forget sometimes that we’re not real people to them. Or anyone, really.”
“I hate to be the one to ask this, but,” Echo began hesitantly. The threeway apprehensive looks between Echo, Lincoln and Anya fell in the center of the group with hefty weight.
“Look,” Lexa sat back up and rested her elbows on her knees and finally let her spine relax for the first time that day. “I’ll do anything for you guys and for this band and you know that.”
“But, Lex,” Anya warned.
“It’s only three months,” Lexa said quickly, not sure if she was convincing them or herself. “They have to believe in us having a good career after this stunt if that many high level people put this much time into this, so I think we should do it.”
“You don’t think this is a cash grab at your expense?” Anya raised a brow.
“Oh, it definitely is that, but I think it’s both,” Lexa almost chuckled.
“It’s going to be awful,” Anya grimaced.
“SO awful,” Lexa agreed with wide eyes.
“Do you really think you can do it?” Lincoln asked with a sympathetic smile trying to break its way through the stressed out wince trapped on his face.
“It sounds like they’re going to tell me exactly what to do every step of the way. That meeting was terrifying,” Lexa let another big breath out. “Clarke was sassing Ali.”
“Really?” Anya perked up. “Damn.”
“What?” Lexa cocked her head at her.
“I don’t know,” Anya shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe she’s a little more rock and roll than we thought.”
“Whatever you need, Lex. We’re here for you in this thing,” Lincoln said. His reassuring smile finally broke through.
“Thanks. I’m gonna give her a minute, but I have to go talk to her,” Lexa groaned through a stretch. “It only works if she says yes, too.”
On the other side of the wall, Clarke was curled up in a chair with her head dropped against the back as she tried to get the tears to stop flowing. She sat and sobbed for a good twenty minutes.
She was so angry, so stressed out, so aggravated, so upset.
Several texts from her parents’ caregivers lit up letting her know about new treatments. New medications. New plans.
New bills.
A gentle knock on the door startled her out of her spiral.
“It’s open,” Clarke cleared her throat and hurried to wipe her eyes. It was useless. Her running mascara sold her out.
“Hey,” Lexa opened the door cautiously and stuck her head in.
“What do you want?” Clarke muttered.
“I know you don’t want to, but we need to talk,” Lexa said, softer this time.
Clarke bit back a handful of snarky comments.
“Come in,” Clarke relented and pointed at a second chair beside her. Lexa gently and carefully entered Clarke’s space. She’d practiced beside her for years and years, they shared a wall, but she’d never seen the inside.
There were guitars all over the walls. Clarke had piles and piles of papers and books and records and CDs all over the small space. Two comfy chairs sat huddled together against the wall, one with Clarke curled up in it with her knees to her chest.
“Are you okay?” Lexa asked as she gingerly took up the other chair. Clarke was still crying and decided to stop hiding it.
“Are you?” Clarke gave her an incredulous look.
“Not at all,” Lexa replied quickly. “Especially since this decision on my end affects three more people who have nothing to do with it.”
“How’d they take it?” Clarke asked honestly.
“They’re being supportive either way,” Lexa sighed.
“Sounds nice,” Clarke sighed back.
“Look,” Lexa paused. She folded her hands together and focused her eyes down on her fingers sliding between each other anxiously and away from Clarke’s tear stained cheeks and puffy, glassy blue eyes. “Clarke,” she tried to start again, but couldn’t get the words out.
Clarke sat beside her with her chin on her knees staring at the floor and begging the tears welling up to just stop already.
“This really, really sucks,” Lexa finally got out. Her voice got stuck on the nervous lump in her throat. “It’s not what either of us want at all, but it will get both of us to what we really do want, which is another contract for another album.”
“I wasn’t flirting with you at all,” Clarke said firmly. “I was being a bitch for real.”
“Trust me,” Lexa cracked an earnest smile. “I know.”
Clarke huffed out a single little laugh that made her welling eyes spill over.
“I’m trying to see it as a compliment to us both that they would even bother with all of this,” Lexa offered up carefully.
“I thought of that,” Clarke mumbled and wiped her eyes on the hem of her white t shirt and left trails of makeup on it. “If they didn’t want us or see the potential in all of this they would’ve just fired us rather than tie up valuable, high level marketing resources for this friggin’ charade.”
“Exactly,” Lexa caught herself smiling again.
“We’re gonna have to do it, aren’t we?” Clarke dragged her gaze up to meet Lexa’s. She was surprised to be almost comforted by Lexa’s promising smile.
“I think we should,” Lexa shrugged. There was a whiff of optimism in her voice.
“I suppose we’re in one of those ‘nothing left to lose’ situations,” Clarke scowled. “Other than our damn minds.”
“Do you still have one left?” Lexa raised a brow.
“I assure you, it’s dwindling,” Clarke muttered.
“It’s only three months, right?” Lexa said hopefully.
“Ninety days of agony?” Clarke attempted to match Lexa’s outlook.
“That’s gonna be the title of our next album after I fake break up with you,” Lexa gently lobbed the joke into the space between them hoping they were ready for it.
“I’m annoyed that that’s so funny,” Clarke said flatly. She was too distraught to let herself laugh. “I didn’t know you were funny.”
“Oh, I’m very funny,” Lexa held her hands up in mock defense. “And I’m smart, and I’m talented, and I’m cute, and it’s all over the tabloids that I’m great in bed, so if they have you break it off, not sure what it’s gonna do to your career. You’ll look like a fool for leaving me,” Lexa kept the joke up.
“Setting me up with you is the most daring thing they’ve let me do with my boring fake life they gave me,” Clarke grumbled as she rubbed her forehead in hopes to ease some of the headache taking up permanent residency. “I’m actually starting to think this might really work out for me. I can rebound as my actual self when I dump your ass.”
“So you’re not as sweet and nice as they make you out to be?” Lexa asked with a conspiratorial grin that left the arena of taunting and teetered into something almost friendly.
“Not even kind of. I’m just a natural blonde, I’m hot, and I’m from Connecticut, so this is what they picked for me when I was twenty-four,” Clarke scoffed. “If the public thinks we’re fucking, maybe I can finally be myself.”
“I’ve been dying to get back behind a piano, so after you leave me for someone else, I can finally write all the melancholy ballads I have trapped inside,” Lexa held a hand to her chest and pretended to weep.
“I may be a total bitch, but I don’t have poor form. I don’t cheat,” Clarke held up a stern pointer finger. “Even if it’s fake.”
“Maybe now you do,” Lexa shrugged. “It’s not really up to you.”
“This is so fucked up,” Clarke whined and covered her face with her hands as more stress tears built up.
“It really, really is, but I’m in if you are,” Lexa said more sincerely. Clarke blinked a few more frustrated tears back. “Take your time, but I’ll be upstairs at five to accept,” Lexa tacked on before slowly getting out of her chair. “Hopefully I’ll see you there.”
Clarke didn’t say anything else as Lexa crossed the room and opened the door. Lexa paused briefly before closing it to give Clarke a chance to say something, but nothing came.
Lexa took a few steadying breaths on her own before opening her practice room door.
“So?” The band all sat up straight when Lexa appeared in the doorway alone.
“We’ll find out at five,” Lexa said diplomatically. “We’ve got that show coming up next week, so let’s get to work.”
The day felt like a week.
The Grounders’ practice was an unfocused mess. Lexa missed most of her cues. She couldn’t remember lyrics that she wrote herself and had performed hundreds of times. After a few hours of trying, Anya called it and sent Echo and Lincoln home.
“Come on,” Anya said with an encouraging clap on Lexa’s shoulder. “Let’s get some air.”
“I’m sorry,” Lexa scowled and rubbed her hands over her face to shake off the stress.
It didn’t work.
“It’s alright,” Anya held the door open and nodded for Lexa to go first.
They silently made their way through the halls to the balcony on the practice floor. A sign posted by the door declared that photography was banned on the balcony and could result in legal action if violated. Artists went out there to smoke and unwind, and some of them weren’t supposed to be caught smoking because it didn’t align with their images.
Clarke had one of the images in question, and she was at one end of the patio with a cigarette in one hand and a vape pen in the other, whispering frantically to Raven and looking like hell from all of the crying. Lexa panicked and took a step towards Clarke, but Anya gently gripped her by the forearm and pulled her in the other direction.
“Not yet,” Anya said around a cigarette and brought Lexa to the other end of the patio. “Look, Lex. I know this is a new atomic bomb of info, and I know you really want us all to get another album contract, but are you going to be able to do this and focus and make music and all that? We have a show next week! We have gigs and appearances all summer! This is going to be a huge time commitment and it’s going to eat your focus alive if you let it.”
“I know,” Lexa huffed and tried to relax her shoulders. “It might take a second, but as long as I can stay in the headspace that it’s just work, I think I’ll be fine. It’s work, it’s fake, it’s just tasks to get done. I’m just shaken up still. I’ll be okay soon.”
“Don’t shut me out of this thing, alright?” Anya warned as she lit her smoke.
“I still don’t know if she’s going to agree to do it,” Lexa huffed and took hold of the railing to stretch her stiff back and shoulders. The late spring sunshine felt warm on her skin. “The waiting and the uncertainty is what’s really killing me.”
“Looks like the wait might be over, Buddy,” Anya nodded her head up over Lexa’s shoulder.
Clarke approached with purpose and Raven hurried behind her.
“Lexa?” Clarke tapped her on the shoulder.
“Yes?” Lexa turned slowly to face her.
“I have a few conditions,” Clarke took one more drag of her cigarette, then squished it out in a nearby ashtray. Lexa raised her brows for Clarke to continue. “You have the whole band to support you and I’m a solo artist and I don’t think that’s very fair, so I get Raven around a lot to advocate for me since she’s producing our tracks and is in the loop.”
“Nice,” Anya sent Raven a flirty wink.
“Shit, are you two sleeping together again?” Clarke flicked irked eyes back and forth between Anya and Raven, then took another anxious hit from her pen.
“What do you mean ‘again?’” Anya asked smugly.
“Only sometimes,” Raven shrugged and reached for Anya’s cigarette. “It’s not a thing and it won’t be a problem.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Clarke huffed.
“Raven’s in your corner, got it,” Lexa waved a hand to get the two of them to stop. “What else?”
“After we fake split, we leave each other alone. Unless they absolutely make us, no dragging each other, none of our shitty, petty fighting we do now. When we’re done, let’s be totally done,” Clarke replied with intention.
“I can do that,” Lexa agreed with an impressed nod. “Can you?”
“I think it would be good business,” Clarke exhaled slowly. “If that’s out of our hands, then that’s that on that, but I think we should fight for that if they have other plans.”
“I agree. Anything else?” Lexa encouraged Clarke to go on.
“If you accidentally fall in love with me for real, don’t tell me,” Clarke straightened up with her hands on her hips.
“Who’s to say you’re not going to accidentally fall in love with me?” Lexa stood up taller and took an intimidating step towards Clarke to mirror her stance. “I’m secretly sweet and thoughtful and charming as hell.”
“I’m secretly slutty and interesting and absolutely fucking nuts,” Clarke raised a pressing brow.
“Ooo, suburban sugar, good girl spice, and everything nice?” Lexa taunted with a confident grin.
“The stuff that unrequited love songs by PG13 rockstars are made of,” Clarke taunted back. “I know your type too well. Don’t fall in love with me. If you do? You can’t tell me about it.”
“I find your terms acceptable,” Lexa tried not to laugh.
Clarke held her hand out to shake. Lexa’s eyes dropped down and just stared at it for a moment. After a few beats,she gripped Clarke’s hand in a sturdy shake. Clarke pulled out her phone and dialed.
“Marcus? It’s me,” Clarke snapped. “Call Ali. We’re on our way up,” she tacked on and hung up as she stalked off to the door. “You coming?” she tossed a tired look over her shoulder at Lexa.
“They told us they’d see us at five!” Lexa protested.
“She said we had until five to decide,” Clarke barked back. “We decided. Have you forgotten that I’m impulsive and messy? Let’s go.”
Lexa looked to Raven and Anya for help. They both had nothing.
“Might as well get it over with,” Anya chuckled with a reluctant shrug.
They stood silently in the elevator pressed into their respective sides the same way they came down the elevator hours earlier. Lexa stared at the ceiling. Clarke thumbed the makeup stains on her shirt. Eventually, the doors opened to reveal Ali grinning maniacally in the lobby.
“I heard you were on your way up!” Ali boomed. “I decided to come meet you myself! Follow me to your exciting new futures!” Ali floated down the hall back to the conference room where it all began. Clarke and Lexa trudged along behind her.
The legal jargon was deafening. The signing away of their real lives went on for over an hour. Clarke looked like she might start crying again at any moment and Lexa looked like she might throw up the whole time.
When the last signature on the last form was dated and final, Ali clapped her hands together.
“You’re both dismissed! I suggest you go enjoy your last night as single women for a while!” Ali presented one of her sinister grins before waving them out the door.
The elevator ride back down felt somehow less awkward. There was a strange comfort in the quiet of their mutual misery. Neither of them said anything as they unlocked their practice room doors side by side to get their things. They walked in tandem silence to the front door.
The routine walk to the subway felt heavy.
Lexa turned left to head to her platform and Clarke turned right. They both paused after the first few steps away in opposite directions. They both stopped and turned back around.
“Well?” Lexa tried a tiny dose of optimism. “See you tomorrow?”
“And for the next eighty-nine days after that,” Clarke replied hesitantly. She offered up an uncomfortable closed lipped smile before turning back around to head to her train. Lexa watched her go until Clarke was out of sight with all new levels of stress swirling in her stomach.