"Clause Twenty-Five."
Alice was sat in her attic amongst various dusty musical instruments and equipment she’d inherited from her mother’s highly successful music career. Anything deemed unfit for her mother's tour ended up in the attic where Alice's band practiced. She'd always dreamed of making music, being successful, and bringing the same joy to others that music brought to her. After almost eight years of band hopping and failed SoundCloud releases, Alice had resolved that she was doomed to exist in her mother's giant musical shadow. She was currently collapsed over some beanbags, looking up at the sloped ceiling she’d covered in Polaroids of herself and Rio over the years, posters of her favourite singers, and warm-toned fairy lights that glowed and flickered softly. Quiet rock music spilled from a bright red record player propped up on a stack of books in the corner; a Fleetwood Mac LP that had definitely seen better days judging by the constant jumps and glitches in each track. Alice was far too deep in her thoughts to notice, simply swaying her head gently to the beat.
She had been staring at Jen’s phone number, the scrap of cardboard creasing under her grip as she wrestled with her feelings and fears. Part of her wanted to get up, pick up her phone and just dial it. To hear Jen's voice, maybe just chat a bit. It wasn't like the number meant anything. Jen probably just wanted to be friends. Besides, Alice didn’t know if she even liked girls like that or not. She’d had fleeting female crushes in high school (including a particularly painful one she'd had on Rio when they were fifteen), but every girl had those. It was normal. It didn't mean she was actually into women. Besides, Jen seemed so confident, so gorgeous, so unapologetically herself. Everything Alice wasn’t.
She tossed the cardboard across the room with a sigh before grabbing her crochet hooks and some yarn, the repetitive motion of crocheting quieting her mind. Taking one last longing look at the phone sitting atop her busted old piano, she shook her head.
‘Maybe tomorrow.’ Alice said to herself decisively, turning the volume up on her record player.
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Agatha was up late, arguing over the phone with her ex-husband. She was in dire need of a trustworthy babysitter for Nicky while she was away for Fashion Week. Though she’d never admit it, funds were a little tight at the moment, and even if she were to shell out for a nanny, she’d spend her week away fretting about her precious son’s wellbeing. She hated the thought of a stranger taking care of her son. In any other case, she would have ditched the event and stayed home with him, but she seriously needed the break from work that Paris would provide, so she resorted to seeing if Ralph would take Nicky for a couple of days. God, she was really falling apart.
Creeping up the spiral staircase, she poked her head into Nicky's little bedroom. Despite their home being full of grand, spacious rooms, the boy had insisted on the smallest of the lot, filling it with dinosaur plushies and action figures and Minecraft memorabilia. Sure enough, the room was shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the soft glow of the nightlight. The boy was fast asleep, curled up under the covers. Agatha smiled softly, watching him for a moment. He looked so peaceful, so innocent, his dark hair messy against the pillow. She quietly approached the bed, sitting down on the edge and gently brushing a few stray strands of hair from Nicky's forehead. Her fingers lingered for a moment, caressing his cheek.
"Love you" she whispered.
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She had phoned Ralph up long after ensuring Nicky was asleep. She hated the idea of him hearing them argue, and any contact between the pair would inevitably result in a shouting match. Agatha had taken to pacing up and down the vast living room, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor.
“For god’s sake Agatha! I do have I life, you know? You can't just expect me to take care of Nicolas while you swan off to Paris for a week. It’s ridiculous! I mean, seriously? Aren't you getting a bit old for all these fashion shows now, honey?” Ralph sneered down the phone. He was using that tone that drove Agatha up the wall. That slimy, smug, patronizing voice. From the slight slurring of his words, Agatha could immediately tell he was drunk.
She’d give anything to reach through the phone and strangle him.
“Oh please, you make it out like watching our son for a few days is some kind of chore! He misses you, Ralph. It’s been nearly three weeks since he saw you, and you dropped him off at mine two days early last time you were supposed to have him. Please-” she urged, her usual confidence evaporating in the face of conflict with the man. She took a deep breath, trying to keep her cool as her grip on the phone tightened.
Evidently choosing to ignore Agatha’s pleading, Ralph continued his attack.
“You know, I’m surprised you even got an invite to Fashion Week this year. The reviews are not looking good, huh honey? Dottie was showing me the latest ah... criticisms of your most recent output” He snarled, knowing that by both insulting her work and bringing up his newest girlfriend he’d be pushing Agatha even closer to the edge. “Hey, maybe that's why you care so much about me taking care of the child. Can you not afford a nanny or something?” Ralph snickered before his slander dissolved into incoherent ravings and curses. "Think yar such a good mother...can't even keep the fuckin' kid..."
“Forget it.” Agatha hung up with a sigh. Typical.
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It was a miracle Rio was ever let back into the office following the spider incident. She now made a habit of checking her bag for the little creature every morning. It was a blessing he hadn't gotten lost somewhere in London or worse, impaled by Agatha’s designer stiletto heel.
She found herself, once again, behind her desk, sorting out whatever problem Harkness couldn't be bothered to deal with. Naïvely, Rio had thought that once Agatha had seen her designs, she’d be straight out of her office chair and into a director's room, presenting the best summer collection the brand had ever seen. Her delusion was almost laughable now.
‘Maybe one day.’ Rio muttered to herself.
Agatha was leant back in her chair, a smug smile on her perfectly made-up face, her phone clutched to her ear as she spoke in her sickeningly sweet, sychophantic voice. She was in the middle of a phone call, blatantly flirting with a client that she was trying to win over. She hoped a collaboration with a slightly more 'modern' brand would benefit her business and please her investors. Her long nails tapped against the wooden desk, a habit she always had when she was feeling particularly confident.
In actuality, Agatha was the opposite. The stress of how the fuck she was going to keep her business relevant was getting to her more than usual, and she needed this partnership to work, or else she'd have to resort to actually considering some of Vidal's ideas.
“Oh, darling I know I can be quite demanding," Agatha gloated down the phone "But you know I always deliver... and I expect you to do the same for me, hm? I’ve been looking at your latest collection and let me tell you, I'm absolutely impressed.” She nodded along with whatever the person on the other end of the line was saying, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “You know darling, I've had a bit of an idea as of recent...something that would benefit us both. I’m thinking a small, intimate collaboration... just you and me getting together, you know, working on something... personal.”
Rio was completely engrossed in her boss’s conversation. She was meant to be planning Agatha’s little vacation to Paris for fashion week, but the way the older woman spoke was magnetic, almost hypnotizing. She peered over the top of her monitor, the older woman's form half hidden by the laptop she was sitting behind. Rio let her imagination fill in the blanks, an unfamiliar flutter in the pit of her stomach. She’d resolved in recent days that there was no denying the woman’s hotness. She'd also concluded that there was no way in hell that Agatha ever look at her unless it was to scoff and point out yet another flaw in her appearance. Rio was no stranger to developing crushes on women she'd have absolutely zero chance with. Her fantasizing was rudely interrupted by a sudden switch in Agatha’s mood.
The brunette's tone changed instantly as the client appeared to decline her offer, the sultry sweetness replaced by a sharp, biting tone. She was losing her fucking patience today.
"What the hell do you mean it's not in your "best interest" to work with me!?" she barked, "No, you clearly don't understand! This collaboration is crucial for my business!” Agatha practically yelled down the phone, her words coming out in rapid staccato. “It’s a win-win situation for us both! You should be grateful I even want my name on the same label as yours! Do you know who I am? You'll regret this!” Agatha ranted, hitting her hand down on the desk, one of her purple acrylics breaking off with the force.
Cleary, the poor soul she was speaking to had hung up the phone, and Agatha let out a loud groan, slamming her handset back into the receiver. She let out a few choice curse words, taking deep breaths and running her hands through her hair.
It was only then that she remembered that Rio was sitting a couple of metres away, and she straightened up, her usual look of nonchalance returning as she turned to the younger woman. Her ice-blue eyes narrowed slightly, her expression darkening as she realised, she’d been observed during a moment of weakness. She’d lost her cool several times already this week. It was starting to get embarrassing.
“Vidaaahl! Do you want firing? You spend more time staring into space than you do working!” Agatha huffed, storming out of their shared office. Her voice sounded strained, and Rio could tell she was worrying. Weirdly, she couldn't help but feel a faint twinge of pity for the woman she once despised.
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Agatha strutted back into the office and hour or so later with her customary air of self-importance. It seemed she'd calmed herself down. With casual grace, she flung herself across a purple velvet chaise longue that sat against the far wall, tilting her head back over the armrest and crossing one leg over the other.
“Vidal?” She asked suddenly, looking up at Rio
“Yes, Ms. Harkness?” Rio replied from where she was sat, still hunched over her desk.
“Do you have a house?” Agatha asked, as though it was a perfectly normal thing to ask
“I'm not homeless, if that’s what you’re asking.” Rio snarked without thinking. She looked her outfit up and down, silently wondering what on earth had prompted such an odd question before rolling her eyes and attributing it to Agatha’s tendency to pry. “I have a one-bedroom flat down in-.”
Agatha groaned, cutting the younger woman off. “So, no house then” she declared, holding her hand up and continuing before Rio could protest.
“I need you to look after Nicky while I’m in Paris for the week. Ralph is supposedly busy with his girlfriend and his work and whatever the hell else.” Agatha scoffed in disgust before continuing. “Seeing as your living situation is clearly inadequate for my son, you’ll stay at mine with him for the week.”
'What the fuck?' Rio thought to herself. There was no way she was qualified for this, and though she'd bonded with the kid when he was here, babysitting was certainly not the job she'd signed up for.
“What? I’m a PA, I handle emails and coffees, not children” Rio said flatly, which prompted a scowl from her boss.
“I’m well aware of what a PA does darling,” Agatha purred “But right now, I need someone to look after my son, and you’ll be way cheaper than a nanny. You can do me a couple more concepts while you lounge about on my three-piece suite. Plus, Nicky won't stop going on about how much he enjoyed annoying you.”
Rio let out a small laugh, stalling so she could come up with some sort of excuse to get out of this mess. Once again, Agatha held up a dismissive hand, producing a coffee-stained booklet of what looked to be about 40 pieces of A4, barely held together by a staple. Her contract. She held it out to the younger woman with a devilish grin.
“It’s in your contract Vidal.” Agatha grinned smugly. “Page Eight, Clause Twenty-Five.”
Shit.
*