Chapter Text
Clarke Griffin doesn’t believe in fate.
Humans are on their own. They stumble blindly through life, making mistakes and sometimes learning from them.
The point is, she believes in what you can prove. She believes in science. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. She likes to think none of this would have happened if she hadn’t come back to the office late that night.
That’s the consequence of an earlier action, the catalyst that leads to the whole story. And it starts with Bellamy Blake.
Her nemesis. The bane of her existence—or at least the work week, Monday through Friday, at their office. The co-worker she would most like to punch in his face, as attractive as it admittedly is.
The thing is, Bellamy is hot. She has a pair of functioning eyes. It’s not like she’s unaware of the fact.
The other fact is, Bellamy is also a total jackass. So the sight of his brawny arms and broad shoulders in work shirts might do stupid things to her ovaries, but her head knows better.
Bellamy has been undermining her since her first month at ALIE Tech. He turned her presentation in front of the CEO, Becca Franko, into anarchy. A presentation she had been working on for weeks.
The other staff on their floor look up to Bellamy for some reason. This has added to his already inflated ego.
He considers himself a maverick, an unofficial patron for the underdogs at the company. Before she started, he staged an uprising for the warehouse workers and got them higher wages.
The employees on their floor probably couldn’t care less about the warehouse staff. But they listened to Bellamy, rallying behind every cause he threw himself into. He has a charisma that can draw a crowd almost effortlessly.
Clarke has heard some of his rants, working across from him for the past three years. Bellamy isn’t a saint. He doesn’t give a damn about the good of the company so much as sticking it to “the man” and causing chaos.
Clarke was lucky she didn’t get fired that day. It was her meeting. She couldn’t keep the audience under control and it was Bellamy’s fault.
She can’t remember what the uproar was about. Maybe it was important or maybe it was just to spite her. The point is, Bellamy humiliated her in front of Becca, all the while wearing that self-satisfied, I’m-such-a-rebel smirk.
So yeah. Clarke can’t stand the guy.
If you ask Bellamy, he’ll tell you a different story about why they hate each other. A story that paints him in a better light, naturally. The two of them can’t agree on anything. Not even why they hate each other. But her version is what actually happened.
Her nemesis is the cause of most of her problems. See Exhibit A:
Clarke slams her desk drawer shut. “Where. Is. It?”
At her loud, scathing tone, Bellamy flicks his gaze toward her. His mouth curls up in the corner, lining up a retort. “The stick? Did you check up your ass?”
From across the room, Murphy snorts under his breath. His shoulders shake with silent mirth.
Clarke’s teeth grit. She tells herself she won’t succumb to their childish banter today.
“No, you insufferable bastard,” she hisses. “My planner. Where is it?”
“It’s cute,” Bellamy says, his attention returned to his computer screen, “how you think I care enough about your planner to steal it.”
Her blood simmers under her skin. Clarke tries not to panic, thinking of all of the important information inside her planner. She prefers to write her schedule down on paper, marking dates and notes for herself.
That planner has her contacts and passwords listed on it. All of her appointments for the next six months. And the notes she needs for the upcoming staff meeting.
Bellamy knows how important it is. You don’t sit across from someone for three years without finding out all kinds of things about them.
She knows about his peanut allergy. He has a habit of drumming his fingers on the desk and bouncing his leg, unable to sit still for long periods of time. His younger sister, Octavia, got her degree from UCLA. Bellamy has a framed photo of them from Octavia’s graduation sitting on his desk.
“Bellamy,” Clarke snaps. “I’m not fucking around. Where’s my planner? I know you took it.”
Her accusation isn’t unfounded. Taking her sacred planner is the kind of juvenile prank that Bellamy pulls for a laugh at her expense. He claims she’s too uptight. The pranks are supposed to make her “lighten up” when in reality they make her want to tear her hair out.
Bellamy ignores her, typing on his computer.
Clarke huffs. She pushes herself away from her desk and strides toward the break room. In her experience, sometimes she has to wait out the pranks. Bellamy will have his laugh or grow bored. He’ll move on to flirting with the new guy in marketing soon enough.
She gets herself a bar of chocolate from the vending machine. That lifts her mood. Clarke moans to herself when the chocolate melts on her tongue. Yum.
A husky laugh comes from behind her. “Well, I’m jealous.”
Clarke whips around, eyes wide.
Her pulse lurches. It’s Lexa. The beautiful brunette is a partner at Trikru Enterprise, one of their company’s biggest investors. Clarke didn’t know she was going to be in the office today.
The sight of her makes Clarke’s mouth dry. Her fierce green eyes lined in kohl. The black pants suit that she wears the hell out of. Every time Lexa walks into this office, she loses her cool completely.
They went on a date last year. It went well, really well, but Clarke had to say no to a second because of her no-dating rule. She has no clue why Lexa still gives her sultry bedroom eyes when Clarke blew her off.
“Um.” Clarke laughs awkwardly. She holds out the bar of chocolate like a peace offering. “Want a piece?”
Lexa’s eyes run down her body like a hot caress. “Not of the chocolate,” she says under her breath.
Clarke’s stomach drops through twenty-two floors. Surely, she heard her wrong. There’s no way someone like Lexa is blatantly hitting on her —the dork drooling on chocolate like she hasn’t been laid in a year. (She hasn’t).
The door to the break room swings open. One of the girls from reception, Bree, pokes her head in. “Clarke, there’s a delivery for you.”
“Okay. I’ll be right there.”
Clarke gives Lexa a smile over her shoulder. “See you around?”
“I hope so,” Lexa replies flirtily.
Clarke scurries out of the room and trips in the doorway. She cringes to herself, hearing a soft laugh behind her. Great. Lexa totally saw that.
Once upon a time, she did have game. She’s not inexperienced. It’s just been a long time since she was out there and Lexa comes on so strong she doesn’t know what to do with herself.
There’s a man standing by the front desk, dressed in a UPS uniform. He’s holding a small wrapped package, which he hands over when Clarke announces herself. She signs for the delivery, sending him on his way.
The package is unexpected. Clarke is wondering about its contents when she returns to her desk. She doesn’t remember placing an order recently. Maybe Wells is sending her a care package from overseas. Her childhood best friend does that from time to time.
She rips open the package. At first, all Clarke sees is what looks like a hunk of chocolate. A large brown wrapper with a Snickers label.
Clarke is confused. She picks up the wrapped bar. Her finger accidentally presses a button and the rectangle starts to vibrate in her hands. Her confusion swelling, she decides to unwrap what is clearly not actually a candy bar.
It’s a vibrator. A long, blue vibrator emerges from the wrapping into her hand.
Clarke’s jaw drops. What the fuck?
There are snickers and laughter all around her. Clarke realizes her co-workers have paused to watch the unveiling of this surprise package.
Her cheeks flush. They’re all watching her get delivered a vibrator at work.
She looks up, realization dropping on her, to Bellamy’s smirking face at his desk. His chin propped in his hand, he’s watching the scene unfold with mirth gleaming in his brown eyes.
Bellamy points his finger at her. “Now that is a prank worthy of my creative genius.” He winks. “Have fun, Princess.”
Clarke stands up from the desk. Her face is on fire, ears burning. Anger is a live thing kicking furiously in her chest. She doesn’t realize what she’s doing until she’s thrown the vibrator at Bellamy’s chest.
“You’re such an ass,” she snarls as he laughs. “Keep it. You can use it on the next girl you screw, so you can actually make her come.”
Some of their co-workers whistle at her taunt. This is just another showdown on their floor.
Bellamy’s laughter dries up. He narrows his eyes at her. “I don’t need the help. I figured you could use something to let off your sexual frustration. You seem tense, Griffin.”
Clarke bares her teeth in a mocking smile. “I’m fine, Blake. Unlike you, I have a job to do. A job I’m actually qualified for. I didn’t get hired to be a boy toy.”
Fire blazes behind Bellamy’s eyes. She’s struck a nerve.
Clarke knows how to push his buttons too. Bellamy is bothered by the talk that followed his hiring. He doesn’t have the degree that others do. The official story is that their boss was impressed by his interview and took a chance on him.
The unofficial gossip is that Kara in Human Resources wanted to bone him and that’s how he got the job. Based on his looks.
Bellamy opens his mouth, ready to launch another verbal grenade her way.
Anticipation crackles down her spine. She’s just as twisted as he is, getting a sick pleasure out of their banter. It’s a special kind of high, always trying to one-up the other.
“Griffin. Blake.”
The supervisor of their branch, Marcus Kane, appears beside them. He looks down his nose disapprovingly at the blue vibrator Bellamy has cradled against his chest. Then he glares between the two of them.
“Do we need to set up a meeting with HR?” he suggests. “Have another talk about sexual harassment?”
Kane gives Clarke a pointed look here.
She feels a swirl of guilt and pride in her chest. Their last sexual harassment seminar was because of her. Or more accurately, the rumor Clarke started in the office about Bellamy having a foot fetish.
She started that rumor as revenge, okay? She might have gotten carried away, claiming that Bellamy had a stash of photos featuring the feet of every person in the office.
But it was hilarious watching every person that Bellamy tried to hit on suddenly reject his advances. He was frustrated for days before he figured it out.
“No,” Clarke responds.
At the same time, Bellamy answers, “No, sir.”
He stuffs the vibrator away, out of sight.
Kane nods. He turns his attention to the rest of the office. “We’re having a staff meeting in ten minutes, for those of you who neglect to check your email.”
When their supervisor walks off, everyone focuses on their work. The antics are over. With her planner still missing, Clarke feels unprepared for this meeting. She sends an email to Monty, her friend that works in engineering, to ask about it.
From his desk, Bellamy observes her squirming like a cat watching his caught prey. “Someone’s got their panties in a twist.”
“You,” she hisses, “do not concern yourself with my panties, Blake.”
―
Clarke survives the meeting and the rest of the work day. Her mood is prickly thanks to Bellamy’s prank, thinking of his knowing smirk.
“I figured you could use something to let off your sexual frustration.”
How dare he just assume she’s sexually frustrated. They’re not friends. They don’t share intimate details about their private business. He doesn’t know if she’s seeing someone, if she’s secretly getting laid outside of the office hours.
She’s not, but he has no right to assume otherwise. Smug bastard.
Clarke cools down during her walk to the bakery, a few blocks away from their office building. The sweet aroma of baked treats pushes her annoying co-worker out of her mind. She doesn’t want to be in a foul mood while visiting her dad anyway.
At the counter, Clarke places her usual order for a box of raspberry tarts. She carries the pink box from Sweet Delights onto the train. It takes about thirty minutes to reach her stop where Sanctum, the care facility, is located.
From the outside, the facility resembles a luxury resort. The sprawl of stone buildings hosts individual apartments for their residents. The grand entrance features a rose garden, green manicured lawns, and a marble fountain.
Clarke passes through the automatic doors into the lobby. Maya, one of the kind employees, lights up when she walks in. “Hi, Clarke.”
“Hey, Maya. How’s it going?”
They catch up for a few minutes. As another fan of art, she and Maya always find something to chat about during her visits. Maya tells her about visiting the Contemporary Art Museum last weekend with her boyfriend, Jasper.
Clarke lives vicariously through this story. She hasn’t been to the art museum in ages. Her weekends are too busy in between work assignments, schoolwork and taking care of her father to have time for much else.
“How are your classes going?” Maya asks curiously.
Her mouth quirks into a rueful smile. “They’re going.” Clarke won’t bore her with complaints about her stress, trying to learn the ins and outs of the latest graphic design program. “How’s he doing today?”
Maya understands what she’s asking. Her soft expression assures Clarke it’s a good day for her dad. “He’s been asking for you.”
Clarke nods. Her chest tightens with guilt. She tells herself that she’s here now. “I better get going then.”
She pops open the box from Sweet Delights and offers Maya one of the raspberry tarts. Her friend accepts the treat with a grateful smile.
Clarke takes herself down the familiar, decorated hallways of the facility. The place does their best to resemble a home with warm, lavish decor. Sanctum is the nicest facility that she could find in their area, wanting the best for her father. The price is steep, but worth it for the attentive, kind staff like Maya and luxury accommodations.
She knocks on the wooden door before letting herself into her father’s room. She finds her dad in his typical spot on the sofa, watching an old football game on the flatscreen television.
“Hi, dad,” she murmurs.
He turns his head at her voice. Today his blue eyes are clear and lucid, locking onto her with recognition. “There she is. Hi, kiddo.”
Clarke clenches her jaw, pushing back on the tide of emotion that rises in her throat. She manages a wobbly smile. It’s getting rarer and rarer these days for her dad to remember who she is.
His early-onset Alzheimer's disease can be unpredictable. There are times when she’ll visit and she’ll be a complete stranger to him. Those are the most painful. Sometimes, he’ll look at her and see her mother. He’ll call her Abby and ask why she left him. She hates those times.
Clarke has no answer to give him. She doesn’t know why his wife left them any more than he does. Clarke prefers not to think about her mother at all, existing somewhere in the world without them. Abby has no interest in knowing her, which is fine. She still has her dad.
For now, a dark voice reminds her.
“Look, I brought your favorite,” Clarke says brightly.
She brings over the box of pastries, joining him on the couch. They each eat a raspberry tart while the college football game plays in the background. After their snack, Clarke curls up next to him and lays her head on his shoulder.
They watch the rest of the game. The clock on the wall reads 6:45. Dinner for the residents will be served soon. Clarke doesn’t want to screw up her dad’s routine, but she’s reluctant to leave him on such a good day.
He’s not confused or agitated. He knows who she is. Ever since his diagnosis over a year ago, those lucid days have become far and few in between. Clarke doesn’t know for sure how many of those he has left. It makes her want to cling onto this sweet, precious moment and never let go.
When the game ends, her dad turns to her and tucks a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. “How’s school coming along, kiddo?”
Clarke smiles. She can’t believe her dad remembers she’s taking courses for art school. “It’s great, Dad. I’m learning so much.”
He nods along, looking pleased. “You’ve always been a brilliant mind. Have you looked into Stanford?”
Just like that, Clarke feels her bright moment of happiness deflates like a popped balloon. She falters. Her dad thinks she’s still in high school and applying to colleges. They had this conversation already when she was seventeen. Ten years ago.
A gleam enters her dad’s blue eyes. “I know I’m biased since it’s my alma mater. I really think you’d love it there, honey.”
I did , Clarke thinks.
She attended and graduated from Stanford years ago, summa cum laude. Her dad was at her graduation. He had never been as proud of her as he was that night.
It’s futile to point this out. This is what this disease does, decaying his brain cells, taking important memories away from him piece by piece. There’s no cure. Soon he’s going to forget everything. Forget their life together. Forget her.
Clarke forces a smile, blinking hot tears out of her eyes. “I do too. Stanford is my first pick.”
“Have you taken your SAT’s yet?”
Sometimes during these visits, she just has to indulge him. She has to go along with where he’s stuck in time or who he thinks she is. As heartbreaking as it can be, Clarke knows how to appreciate a good day when it comes around.
She stays talking with her dad about colleges and SAT scores until dinner. Clarke says goodbye and promises to come by the day after tomorrow. She has a class on Thursday nights.
As Clarke is heading out, Maya calls out to her. “Hey, Clarke. I think this belongs to you.”
It’s her planner. Leather bound, stuffed with notes, and monogrammed with the initials CG.
“Oh.” Clarke takes it from her hand and slips it into her bag. “Thanks.”
So she left it behind yesterday when she was visiting her dad. He was having an episode the night before. It was one of those instances when he was agitated and unable to calm down. He demanded to leave the facility, unable to understand why they were keeping him here.
Bellamy didn’t steal her planner then. Unfortunately, she probably owes him an apology.
Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Not after the stunt he pulled today. She’ll settle for not taking revenge on him for the vibrator incident and call them even.
―
The stress is getting to her. Some days it feels like she has too many balls in the air, struggling to juggle them all. It’s inevitable that she’s going to screw up somewhere, but Clarke still gets annoyed at herself when she does.
She has arrived home after another day at the office and visiting her dad. Clarke is getting ready to start her assignment for her graphic design class. That’s when she realizes her laptop is sitting in her locked desk drawer at work.
“Fuck,” Clarke says to her empty apartment.
She’s already showered since coming home, dressed in her comfy lounge pants and an old tee shirt. She’s tired. She really doesn’t want to drag her ass back to the office.
Clarke stalls for about five minutes, sulking on her sofa. Then she stands up, grabs her purse, and stomps out the front door.
She opts for calling a cab to take her to the building, instead of catching the train. The driver drops her off on the street corner. Clarke hurries over to the skyscraper building.
There are still a few lights on, scattered across the twenty-plus floors, some people staying to work late. Clarke is able to flash her badge at security and climb onto the elevator without an issue.
Hopefully, there’ll be a janitor or other cleaning staff working on their floor. Clarke is going to be screwed if the doors are locked.
She steps off on the twenty-second floor. Clarke sends up a silent prayer of thanks. There are lights on behind the frosted glass doors. Someone is in there.
She enters the lobby. It’s kind of eerie, seeing the vacant front desk. She’s not used to the large floor space being so silent and empty. The phones are constantly ringing during the day and the girls chatting at the front desk.
Clarke hurries to get to her desk, get what she needs, and get out.
Noises reach her ears once she passes through the lobby and rounds the corner. Clarke strains to hear, to make sense of the unexpected ruckus.
It sounds like a desk is being scraped across the floor. And there’s…
Moaning. High, feminine moans and panting breaths. The slap of flesh against flesh.
Clarke recognizes those sounds straight out of a porn video. She has to wonder if someone is watching porn inside the office before she hears the cries.
“Bellamy!”
Her eyes widen. No.
Her feet carry her forward before she gives the command, stepping out from behind the wall. She locks her sight on his desk.
The first thing Clarke sees is the dark-haired girl bent over the surface. It’s Roma. She’s braced on her forearms and topless, her small perky tits bouncing. The black skirt she was wearing that day has been hiked up her waist, leaving her ass and long legs exposed.
Bellamy stands behind her, his large hands grasping onto her hips as he thrusts. His dress shirt is unbuttoned and flayed open, the muscles in his abdomen flexing with his movements. That’s the only skin on display. He’s wearing his pants, unbuckled and unzipped.
The sounds are obscene and filthy-hot. They flood into Clarke’s ears. The clink of Bellamy’s belt buckle. His heavy breaths and low grunts. The slick wetness of him driving into Roma, mixed with her pleasured cries.
Clarke is rooted to the floor, a warm flush crawling into her cheeks. Her nipples tighten into hard peaks. She can’t tear her eyes off of Bellamy’s face. Curls stick to his damp forehead, his lips parted open, a concentrated furrow between his dark brows.
So this is what he looks like having sex. Intense. Hot.
Clarke is momentarily entranced by the fluid, sensual rocking of his hips and ass. His movements are controlled and pointed, hitting a spot that makes Roma push back against him eagerly.
Wetness seeps in between her legs watching him. Bellamy knows how to fuck.
He lands a loud slap against Roma’s ass, startling Clarke out of her trance. “Yeah, that’s it,” he rasps. “Work yourself on my cock.”
Oh my god. What the fuck is she doing? She can’t be watching them have sex. This is different than watching porn on her own. This is Bellamy. Two of her co-workers and she’s standing there perving on them.
Roma reaches an orgasm. Her slender arms tremble on the desk, body shuddering through the throes of climax.
The scene is hot. It could explain why Clarke is so turned on, except all of her attention is hooked on Bellamy.
If she’s being honest...it’s not the attractive, naked girl that has her body pulsing with arousal. It’s him.
Clarke forces herself to step back, flattening against the wall. Her heart is pounding. She listens to the sounds of Bellamy fucking Roma through her orgasm, her loud moans gradually softening. Clarke squeezes her eyes shut, fighting a losing battle with her self-control.
She dips her hand into her lounge pants, slipping past her panties to touch her tingling cunt. Her fingers graze slick folds, the pool of wetness between her legs.
She's too worked up to tease herself. Her fingers sink in, biting her lip to hold back a moan when she finds relief.
It’s wrong. It’s so wrong, but she can’t stop.
Clarke thrusts into the well of her cunt, her thumb rolling over her clit. The small nub throbs under her touch. She is so turned on, the need to get off consumes her. And behind her lids are all flashes of Bellamy.
His intense expression. His hands, so much bigger than hers. His deep, rumbling voice.
Clarke’s hips grind forward, chasing her orgasm. She gets wetter thinking about him. On the other side of this wall, grunting and breathing heavy, makes it easy to pretend it’s her that he’s fucking on that desk.
“Come for me, Princess,” Bellamy demands.
Pleasure spikes through her in a building, delicious swell. She’s having trouble keeping quiet. Clarke clamps her right hand over her mouth, muffling herself when she comes.
Her legs shake from the force of it. Clarke drops her head back on the wall as she recovers.
The bliss of her orgasm is swallowed up by horror. Clarke’s eyes snap open. She just touched herself while thinking about Bellamy Blake. Someone she doesn’t even like.
On his desk, Bellamy and Roma are still having sex. Shame burns in her face down to her toes. Clarke can’t believe she did this, listening to them to get off. They have no idea she’s there.
Feeling disgusted with herself, Clarke quickly leaves. She forgets about the laptop. She wants to forget this ever happened.