Chapter Text
Hey, i just met you
and this is crazy but here's my call me maybe?
XOXO
DUMDUMBADUDUMDUM BADUDUMMMMM
Anya`s ringing tone echoes inside the still empty walls of her apartment. She moved almost a week ago but all that she was able to unpack was her tea set. In her defense she was barely at home, in between meeting with her brother for the proper turn over of the company to spending time with Anya and Aden. She missed their faces, in the flesh. Well, Aden the most because Anya was just being ridiculously annoying. But now that they`re an arm stretch away, even for a short stay only, she`ll use all her vacant time to spend it with her favorite cousin and her brother. (Don`t let tell Anya of the favorite part, it will only inflate her ego)
Lexa declined the call for the nth time but read Anya`s messages, informing her of her 9:45 with her father, she`s usually prompt and punctual but the prospect of meeting her father isn`t something she always look forward to.
She turned to her right where her alarm clock say 8:45 AM and groans, well, it`s just a day, she can hold her breath for a day to meet with her father and not die. Right? Right??
She spend most of her adult life trying to dodge his father and yet she still manage to land in his grasp. She was living in peace, away from the hassle of her family, but she had to come back after years of running away from the Van der Woods` because Aden, their youngest brother is going to be sent to a boarding school, now that his father and Aden`s mother are divorced. And he pleaded to her day and night via Skype calls and emails, she made a promise to Aden before she left to travel Europe, that if his mom and their dad are ever to divorce, (their father have a trail of divorce papers) she promised Aden that she would take him. The boy was eight, how would she know that he`ll never forget that pact they made after five years?
With the help of Serena, their eldest sister, she moved back to the states and spoke to her father formally to ask for Aden`s guardianship. He agreed, and she blinked maybe a few hundred times before he gave her his conditions. One that she stay in the states and take over one of their family owned businesses, which makes sense since in order for her to get the guardianship of Aden she needed a stable job. His second condition is that Aden will not leave the country to study abroad until he needs to go to college.
She thinks those are agreeable conditions.
As long as he have less control of their lives, it`s agreeable to her. That is how she get to where she is now, apartment an hour away from her father`s estate and five minutes to the building where she needs to work. Serena made arrangements for her things to be transferred over from their shared apartment in Paris to her new apartment and yet she haven`t unpacked her things, except the contents of her three huge luggage from last week when she arrived.
By 9:15, Lexa is all dressed up in a pencil skirt and crisp shirt under a work casual blazer (she carefully removed the tags, obviously Serena went over board and she had to make sure Lexa have formal work clothes, nope jeans and casual shirts won`t do, especially under their father`s scrutinizing eyes), which, thank god for her sister, but really no thanks when she pulled a five inch heels, WTF is on Serena`s mind when she packed this stuff?
She can feel her heart at her throat already, she needed to calm down before she throws up in front of Alexander. She can make her tea arrangement but she doesn`t have a to go cup. The best bet is that cafe two blocks from Metropolis Tech building. She`ll take her chances.
xoxo
Clarke Griffin`s first mistake of the day is getting coffee. For one thing, she is running late. Sixteen minutes late, which she isn’t counting because she no longer has her father watch – and would rather not have any if it wasn`t his watch - but Octavia Blake is counting for her, by sending text messages every sixty five seconds of increasing numerals. Being on time for things is not Clarke’s strong point, but it’s not like she’s been fired yet, right? Right? This cafe happens to be the closest one to the office, which is why pure desperation drove her to this line, but it’s also the coffee shop that happens to employ the crabbiest baristas. So in the case of a power-heeled pencil-skirted handbag-swinging lady pointing out to said crabbiest baristas that this is not her order – which is a really confusing combination of jasmine and green tea with a pump of hazel and mint syrup and stirred in a really ridiculous way, and she asked for it extra hot, like who drinks extra hot tea? You are meant to make tea, then forget you made tea until it freezes cold, then you drink it, who drinks extra hot tea, really???
The wait will take that much longer. Grumpy, who is mercilessly chewing on his gum during this episode, points at the sign on the counter. The sign reads NO REFUNDS. She of the pencil skirt and power heels seems to find this unacceptable, or at least the posturing of her backside reads that way. Clarke decides that focusing so intently on the shape of this backside is probably rude, but damn, for all her high maintenance java needs, this woman is bangin’. And legs for days
“This is unacceptable,” Heels and Skirt says, and then she sweeps her gaze around the shop in search of, if Clarke would guess, a manager. She briefly forgets what she came here to order when she sees her face, specifically those eyes and that pump lips.
“Not my problem,” says Grumpy Barista. She turns to Clarke, who is next in line, snapping her gum expectantly. “What can I get you?”
“Uh, I’ll just have--”
“Excuse me,” Heels, Skirt, Pouty Lips & Co. interrupts, hands spread indignantly.
“I’m not asking for a refund, I’m asking for my correct order.”
Grumpy Barista blinks. This job is obviously not worth whatever fraction of acting school it currently funds.“Refunds, returns, it’s all the same.”
“Unbelievable.” The woman has now set the take out cup back on the counter. “Is this what passes for customer service in this establishment?” The ever-lengthening line has their own opinions about this situation, as assessed from their frequent grumbling and shuffling.
“Hey lady,” someone shouts from the back. “There’s a fucking Starbucks across the street.”
Clarke is not entirely sure she didn’t just see lasers fly out of this woman’s eyeballs and strike that opinion-sharer in his testicles. Surly Barista turns back to Clarke. “Next,” she announces flatly, ignoring Heels, Skirt, Pouty Lips, and the actual face of irritation.
“Can I get a double shot and, uh...” Clarke glances over at the irate woman, decides to try because she’s an idiot but she’s a nice idiot. And maybe a flirtatious idiot. “A jasmine and green tea with a pump each of hazel and mint syrup, right?” Those bartending and coffee shop part time jobs are paying off now but, still this turns out to be her second mistake of the day. The woman doesn’t seem to know how to react to this gesture. She pushes hair behind her ear, as if attempting composure.
“You don’t need to--”
“No, it’s fine.” Clarke nods at Grumpy. “Get it right this time.” Grumpy rolls her eyes.
“Whatever,” he says, ringing her up. “You all lined up here despite the 1 star rating on Yelp.” She hands Clarke her change. “Your funeral.”
“That was not necessary,” hisses Heels, Skirt, Pouty Lips & angry face.She is now angrily going through her wallet, pulling out cash.
Clarke shakes her head. “Neither is paying me.”
Ms. Heels, Skirt, Pouty Lips & Sexy eyes looks up from her bag, narrowing her eyes. “Sorry?”
“I’ll chalk it up as an I Owe You.” Clarke pulls out her business card in a smooth gesture she has only practiced one or thirty times. She winks. “You just give me a call when you feel like returning the favor.” She beamed golden like it was a super genius idea. Pretty sure my middle name is Smooth.
The woman continues to stare suspiciously at Clarke as if she were in fact a bag of snakes in a darkened closet. When she reads the business card, her eyes widen for a moment, she lets out a laugh that is not entirely...friendly? Nice? And then this happens:
“You’re hitting on me,” she says, a fact, not a question, and raises one perfect eyebrow. She looks simultaneously unimpressed and flustered by the situation. Dunno which one is better for her trampled ego.
“I mean...uh...” This was really not what Clarke was expecting. She reacts like a shorted android. “Yes? I’m...sorry? I think.”
The woman holds up Clarke`s business card as if handling a biohazard. “Is this really yours?”
“Well, yeah. I dont make a habit of giving out other people's business card” Clarke isn’t sure whether to laugh or be extremely defensive. “Are you implying that I stole some bloke`s business credentials and am using it to pick up women? That’s...that’s not even logical.”
“Absolutely believable,” the woman mutters, and then leaves. She leaves! The lady hath fucking departed. This is not a drill, because Extremely Attractive But Definitely A Bitch leaves the café. She spins on her power heel and she power heels on out of there, pencil-skirt-hugging hips switching like perfectly rounded knives through the door. In any other less frigid social situation, Clarke would be reminded of the popular hip-hop statement, 'I hate to see her go, but I love to watch her leave.' Instead,
Clarke is standing there with her mouth agape, Grumpy #2 depositing two takeout coffee cups into her open hands. She can’t remember what to
a) do with the coffee or
b) why she was handed them in the first place.
Grumpy #2 looks at Grumpy #1 and they shake their heads in pity.
"Fuck Mondays," says Grumpy #2, possibly a sympathetic gesture, definitely the best attempt at customer service Clarke’s going to witness in this misery shack.
But really, fuck Mondays. When Clarke finally drops herself into her cubicle at 10:01 AM, Raven is already leaning over the wall.
****
“The fuck were you? The fuck is that?” The answer to the first question is attempting to buy a drink, a fucking tea, for a She-Demon. The answer to the second question is said She-Demon’s said drink. But Clarke is still not quite at the point of being able to articulate herself, so she shakes her head, grunts, and sets both drinks on her desk.
“Well, Titus wants to see you. I told him you were late because you were performing charitable acts at a children’s hospital.”
“Please tell me you’re kidding.” Raven rolls her eyes, sipping a coffee while still dangling over the cubicle divide.
“Wow, sorry for attempting to promote your golden reputation, Griffers. Next time I’ll just tell him you’re choking puppies in a dumpster.”
“There are days when choking puppies in a dumpster would be less miserable than this job.” Raven holds up her free hand for a high-five.
“Amen, sister.”
.
.
.
Titus corner office is only a few paces from Clarke’s desk, but he has a tendency to keep his blinds closed. The rest of the office believes this is because he is actually a reptilian creature who loathes the artificial light. In reality, it’s probably because he likes his privacy and is not-so-secretly dating last year’s intern, the Canadian girl who kept her own letter opener set on her desk. Clarke pretends she and her colleagues don’t know this as she sits across from him, smiling the way she imagines a very responsible and committed employee would smile.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Archibald?”
“Actually, Dr. Griffin, it’s what I can do for you.” Titus Archibald leans forward, adjusting his tie with an unplaceable grin.
“You’re a team leader, Griffin. You bring in the numbers and your colleagues love you. You’re really going places.” This is not entirely true. In fact, it seems like a pretty blatant fabrication of the truth, which is that Clarke deeply resents her job selling computers to corporate accounts, and only seems capable of leading her team when it’s their Friday night beer pong tournaments at Monty’s. When someone says she’s going places, the place they typically mean is Hell. But maybe that’s just the angry Evangelicals who skulk outside the gay club, who knows.
“Um, thanks, Mr. Archibald.” Clarke keeps on smiling.
“I’m just doing what I do and, uh, all that.”
“Just keep up that good work, Griffin.” He waggles his eyebrow, a gesture she is not entirely sure isn’t weird.
“Listen, I’m going to be straight with you: the board wants an exemplary employee from each department to send to our upcoming corporate retreat. I knew as soon as the memo who I was going to pick. Someone truly worthy of the opportunity.”
Clarke coughs. “Me?”
“Actually, Artigas from Team 4, but he’s going to Florida that weekend.”
“So I was second choice?”
“Well, Quint was second choice. Turns out he and my five other top picks are also going to Florida, talk about coincidence. Apparently they do this every year, some kind of ‘Boy’s Trip’. One of those things where they drink a lot and oil each other’s muscles or something, not sure. But hey, guess who the eighth best employee in my department is?” Mr. Archibald reaches across to shake her hand. “Please tell me you’re not going to Florida next month.”
“Not as far as I know.”
“Fantastic, that’s a relief. Seriously, can you imagine if I had to send Reyes? That girl got stuck in the fax machine twice this month. How does anyone do that twice?”
“It’s still better than when Quint put his dick in the--”
“I’ll forward you all the details this afternoon. You’re the best, Griffin.”
“Eighth best.” Titus smiled. “Don’t sell yourself short, Griffin.”
“I mean, technically you were the one who --”
“And don’t forget that meeting this afternoon. I think you’ll find the new executive director very impressive.” Titus winks.
“We take positive female role models in positions of power very seriously.”
****
So the fourth mistake she makes that day involves a meeting. The meeting, as it turns out, probably should have been paying attention to the emails. Or when Octavia met her at the second floor cooler to tell her about her extremely vanilla date with the extremely vanilla Lincoln - luckily, the extremely vanilla Octavia’s type is also extremely vanilla , they are really so fucking vanilla - and said she’d see her at the meeting. In her mind, she was processing the word meeting. She just wasn’t processing the word meeting. And when she says she’s going out to get coffee, and Raven says to make sure she gets back in time for the meeting, for whatever reason she does not register the meeting. Again. Or ever. Clarke shows up late with Starbucks in one hand and a donut between her teeth. She opens the door to Conference Room 3, the largest conference room, and assumes she will be able to sneak down into the back unnoticed. These are typically old-white-dude-in-a-suit announcements anyway, so it’s not a huge deal. The second she steps into the back of the conference room, there is an audible silence. The woman at the front of the room is wearing a very familiar pencil skirt. Her lips that were previously smiling immediately reform into a frown of disapproval. And while everyone is turned to look at her, obnoxious coffee in hand, chocolate glazed donut in mouth, Clarke recognizes that this new executive director is in fact the woman from the morning. She also takes this opportunity to audibly groan and forget to not state her feelings out loud:
Oh, fuck.
The woman glances down at a clipboard, and then pulls a familiar business card from her pocket.
“Dr. Griffin, is it? Thank you for joining us. While I appreciate having open dialogues with my employees, I’ve already advised everyone to hold their comments and questions until we finish. I’m not sure if what you just said was a comment or question, but please restrain yourself from further cursing until I’m done.”
At the other side of the room, Raven is making frantic slashing and stabbing gestures at her throat with her pen. Titus eyes are the size of saucers. Clarke decides now is as good a time as ever to leap from the conference room window and disappear forever into the abyss of humiliation and raw human shame. So, Ms. Long Legs and Brooding is actually Alexandria van der Woods, the new Executive Director of Metropolis Tech. Right. Great, really fucking great. This is what you get for doing the nice thing, Clarke thinks. You do that whole Pay It Forward bullshit - you buy a lady some coffee and you pretend like it isn’t totally motivated by how she looks in a pencil skirt - and she goes and insults your business card and turns out to be your company’s new Executive Director. Real fucking cute. From now on, she is drinking tea.
She had half a mind to call her mother and ask the Chief medical officer of Metropolis Medical for a transfer, even if it means working under her mother.