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“Heh, I got myself.”
Raven shows Clarke the small folded-up piece of paper in her hand that she had just drawn from the plastic bowl Clarke held in front of her - eyes closed and everything as if it wasn’t the last piece of paper in it. Trigeda’s company Christmas party is this evening, and Clarke has been hounding Raven to pick her recipient for the past two weeks, starting when she had originally gone around with the bowl to all participants. Her propensity for rule-following and desire to keep the game truly blinded have been the only things preventing her from simply telling Raven who she’d ended up with.
“This is great. I’m going to run out and buy myself something exorbitant and watch everyone’s eyes pop out when I open it at the party,” Raven continues, cackling, flashing a beaming white smile at Clarke.
“Wait - what?” Clarke asks, snatching the scrap of paper out of Raven’s hand to look at it herself, half not believing her best friend’s antics. “You shouldn’t have…. If your name is the only one left, then that means someone else pulled their own name and didn’t say anything!” Clarke exclaims, setting the plastic bowl down on Raven’s desk.
“Whoah whoah whoah,” Raven says, plopping down into her swiveling chair. She makes a full rotation in it before proceeding. “It’s no big deal, right? So two of us pulled our own names. Whoever else did obviously doesn’t care either if they haven’t said anything yet, and I don’t care. So no problem, right?”
“It is a problem, though, because it’s not fair. Why even sign up for Secret Santa if you’re just going to get yourself something? The whole point is to buy a coworker a gift. It promotes positivity and comradery in the workplace.”
“Yeah, because that’s high on the priority list here,” Raven says, snorting. Picking up a stress ball from her desk, she begins tossing it in the air as she spins in her chair.
“Well it’s high on my priority list!” Clarke, the Employee Relations Manager, insists.
“Yeah, and you’ve complained to me every day for 2 years about how they never let you actually accomplish anything, and having you on staff is more for the company to look good for the board of directors than anything else,” Raven reminds her, coming to a stop in her chair.
“Humor me and switch with me,” Clarke tells her. “I got Finn.”
“Ew, no way - “ Raven starts, but then has a change of heart. “Fine,” she grumbles. “But you better get me something nice. Get me something I would have gotten me.”
“Sure, Rae,” Clarke responds, refraining from rolling her eyes.
“Griff, don’t sweat this. It’s no biggie, and it’s the eve of Christmas Eve. Try to relax like the rest of us.”
Clarke sighs and nods, but her jaw is set and Raven knows that look.
She’s not letting this go.
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After finishing up a few things she hadn’t gotten to that morning, Clarke spends the first part of her afternoon marching around cubicles asking people who they got for Secret Santa. It ruins the game for her, but as the organizer, she grants herself authority in the name of finding out which employee had pulled their own name and hadn’t said anything. After approaching the most likely suspects she can think of off the top of her head - Jasper, Monty, Bellamy, Maya - and finding them all to be innocent, she pulls out the sign-up sheet and starts going name by name around the maze of cubicle clusters.
“Really glad to see that you decided to let this go,” Raven drawls when Clarke reaches the office she shares with Wicke and Sinclair, shaking her head although her eyes remain glued to her screen.
“Let what go?” Wick asks curiously, assessing Clarke’s slightly frazzled state with clipboard and pencil in hand as she stands in the doorway.
“She’s playing Secret Santa police,” Raven informs him. “Some bozo pulled their own name and didn’t say anything. Unfortunately for everyone, I pulled my own too, with Griff there to witness.”
“Maybe if you hadn’t waited until the day of the party to pull a name this could have been cleared up much more quickly,” Clarke replies tersely.
“Yeah, Reyes,” Wick jumps back in, arms folded across his chest as he looks at Raven. “Your procrastination has brought the Secret Santa Service down upon us all.”
“What’s this about the Secret Service?”
Collectively, Clarke and the others in the office shut up and straighten up as they turn to see Anya standing in the hall, only a few feet behind Clarke. Her cat-like silence has caught them all off guard, and now they’re at her mercy given that she’s one of the company higher-ups and she just caught them having personal conversations while on the clock.
Clarke watches a thin smile spread across Anya’s mouth, clearly aware that she’s dumped ice water on the group’s easy-going (if accusatory) chit-chat and pleased with herself for it. She steps forward and Clarke moves out of the doorway to let her into the space. Anya hands a few files to Sinclair, who studiously keeps his head down and taps away on his keyboard as she moves back towards Clarke, Raven, and Wicke. Wick seems unbothered and Raven watches Anya with interest, but Clarke feels uncomfortable. A little embarrassed to have been caught in the midst of a wild goose chase, and well aware that Raven is likely to -
“Griffin’s trying to hunt down whoever pulled their own name for Secret Santa.”
- sell her out.
Anya folds her arms across her chest, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe as her eyes flick over from Raven to land on Clarke. She seems to be sizing her up, assessing, and then says, “Is that your list?” Clarke nods, silently cursing Raven for the competitive, flirtatious thing she has going on with Anya. If Clarke had been in any other office Anya wouldn’t have given her a second glance. Instead, the woman holds out her hand, flexing her fingers to get Clarke to hand the clipboard over. She scans the page quickly and astutely notices that there are only two names left on the list not crossed off, aside from Wicke and Sinclair who Clarke hadn’t had the chance to question properly before Anya’s intrusion. “Got everyone except the execs, huh?” Anya muses, raising a brow as she looks up from the paper at Clarke.
In all honesty, Clarke hadn’t been planning to question Anya or Indra, CFO and COO respectively - and certainly not the CEO. If she got to the end of her list and discovered it was one of them, she’d consider herself bested. Anya seeming willing to play along now is almost definitely due to Raven’s presence and not due to her patience with the shenanigans of lower-level employees. She’s not exactly known for being nice. Or friendly. Or even cordial. Really, she's an HR nightmare - essentially Raven, but crankier and more entitled. Anya is the only executive that Clarke has met, mainly because she has to drop a suspicious number of papers off to Raven’s office, and she’s heard she’s arguably the nicer of the 3. She has no desire to meet the others.
“Um, yeah,” Clarke answers, snapping herself out of her mild state of panic-induced silence. “But it’s - it’s not a big deal. I’ll let it go now.”
“No no,” Anya tuts. “I know who I got and I know who Indra got. I think Lexa is the one you’re after, assuming all these other people are telling the truth,” she tells Clarke, snatching a pencil off Raven’s desk to cross off her and Indra’s names. For emphasis, she circles Lexa’s before handing the clipboard back to Clarke, who will cry about the fact that no one is following the Secret Santa rules when she’s home alone later tonight. Before Clarke can reiterate that it’s over, she’s let it go, Anya is pulling her phone out of her pocket. She puts it to her ear. “Lex, I’ve got a -” she looks to Clarke’s nametag to fill in the blank, squinting as she reads. “Clarke Griffin coming up to speak with you. Very important, very official business.” A pause. “Yeah yeah, I know,” and then she hangs up. “You’re on, Griffin. Go let her have it. She said your five minutes have already started.”
Gritting her teeth, Clarke takes a deep breath in through her nose and lets it out through her mouth. She doesn’t have to look at Raven to know she’s holding back laughter. She gives Anya a curt nod and leaves the room, heading for the elevator.
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Clarke has about 30 seconds to come up with a game plan. She watches the numbers above the door, 4, 5, 6, and then 7, and braces herself as if for impact when the doors open. She’s heard a lot about Lexa Woods - or the Commander, as most of her employees refer to her - and she fully expects to get chewed out for wasting her time with a trivial matter like Secret Santa. Clarke can either accept her fate and take it, or she can stand up for herself. The former is not in her nature, even if she is intimidated by the Commander, so she resolves for the latter. Walking briskly down the hall, her heels clip audibly against the tile floor, likely alerting Lexa to her approach. Reaching the end of the hall where Lexa’s enormous office is - Clarke had chalked it up to rumors but the doors really are mahogany - Clarke raps her knuckles against ornate wood 3 times.
“Enter,” Lexa calls from inside, and Clarke purses her lips at the precociousness but obeys.
She plans to immediately ask Lexa if she pulled her own name for Secret Santa and, depending on the response, either switch to give Raven to her or just tell her it’s fine and hightail it out of there. So as she walks into the room that is washed in soft lighting by tall windows overlooking the city, she opens her mouth. “Miss Woods, did you pull your own -”
Clarke stops, both walking and speaking, as she finally looks up from the floor to lay eyes on Lexa. Lexa, who is not dressed in a pantsuit and blazer as she had been anticipating, sitting behind a desk that costs more money than Clarke makes in 3 months. Lexa, who instead has a sneaker-clad foot up on the edge of the desk, leaning over to untie the laces. Clarke’s eyes hone in on stark-white Nikes and then travel up a long, tan, toned leg before her gaze hits a pair of black spandex shorts, a neon pink tank top, and then over the smooth curve of a shoulder to land on Lexa’s face.
Completely taken aback, Clarke can hardly help her gawking. It absolutely doesn’t help that Lexa just may be the most beautiful woman she’s ever laid eyes on, even with her hair up in a messy ponytail and with sweat glistening on her arms and chest. Clarke swallows, mouth suddenly dry, and tries unsuccessfully to keep her eyes from jumping back towards flexed hamstrings that are on full display as Lexa swings her other leg up on the desk to untie the other shoe.
“What was that?” Lexa asks, and Clarke snaps her gaze somewhere not anywhere near Lexa’s ass, settling on the verdant eyes that look back at her. “I’m sorry, I run during my lunch break. Anya told me this was important,” Lexa explains.
“No, it’s okay. I, uh - I’m in charge of Secret Santa. Did you happen to pull your own name?”
Lexa pauses at that, tilting her head as if that was not at all what she had been expecting to come out of Clarke’s mouth. Which makes sense - under normal circumstances, you’d have to go through about 10 other people with a problem before it would ever reach Lexa. And even then, it would reach her desk . Impromptu face-to-face meetings with the 29-year-old CEO of a Fortune 500 company historically do not happen unless there’s a major problem at hand.
“Oh, shoot,” Lexa says, bopping her forehead with the heel of her palm. “That’s tonight, isn’t it? Anya pulled my slip for me, I haven’t gotten the chance to look yet…”
Clarke watches as Lexa pads across the hardwood floor with sock-clad feet, heading for her desk. She pulls open a side drawer and Clarke hears rustling papers and then Lexa produces a familiar-looking, small, folded rectangle of paper, holding it up for Clarke to see before she unfolds it.
She looks up at Clarke, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, a guilty look on her face. Her eyes are wide and bright and Clarke’s sure if she were to look up the meaning of pillow lips, Lexa’s mouth would be there as an example. Clarke had spent all afternoon annoyed by whoever it was who was foiling her perfectly executed Christmas party and Secret Santa gift exchange - now faced with the culprit, she finds herself anything but annoyed.
“Yes, that is my own name,” Lexa says, sighing at herself. “Speaking of which - I’m sorry, you just managed to catch me at such an odd time, I swear I’m never this...disorganized,” she continues, gesturing to her athletic wear and shoeless feet with one hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, Clarke. You can call me Lexa.”
Lexa extends a hand for a shake and Clarke steps forward to grab it. She can’t help but notice the calluses on Lexa’s hands that certainly don’t come from running a large tech company as Lexa firmly shakes her hand, 3 times before letting go, and finds herself wondering what sport or hobby Lexa has that would rough up her hands that much.
“You’re - don’t tell me,” she says, wagging a finger at Clarke as she rounds her desk and sits/leans against the front of it, knees extended and palms against the wood. “HR. I vaguely remember your name coming up in the paperwork when we had that incident with Ontari last June,” Lexa says, and they both grimace. Ontari had been an HR nightmare and then a PR nightmare, and she’d created a lot of paperwork for Clarke - and evidently Lexa, too.
“Yes, I was a part of that,” Clarke confirms. There’s a beat of silence and under Lexa’s watchful gaze Clarke remembers that she’s here to handle the Secret Santa Situation, not chat with her unexpectedly pretty and charming boss, even if that’s what Lexa seems inclined to do. “I’m sorry, I know Anya said you only have 5 minutes. I really didn’t mean to bother you with this Secret Santa stuff, I just - “
“It’s okay, Clarke,” Lexa says. The way she clicks her tongue around the second half of Clarke’s name makes it sound different than Clarke has ever heard her name sound. She likes it. “I tell everyone I only have 5 minutes. It ensures I always have an out, should I want it.” The implication that Lexa doesn’t feel the need to shoo Clarke out of her office claiming to be very busy is clear, both in her words and in her soft smile and the mischievous glint in her eyes that Clarke is now thinking might be hazel or blue instead of green. To her horror, Clarke can feel the tips of her ears burning and she begs herself not to blush like a schoolgirl.
“I see,” Clarke answers, pleased that her voice doesn’t give away the outright bisexual panic she’s feeling. “Well still, I won’t take up more of your time. Do you want to switch names with me? Or are you even going to the party? Because if not, then I guess it doesn’t matter anyway.”
“Are you going to the party?”
“Yes,” Clarke answers, swallowing. Devouring is not an adjective she’s ever thought to use to describe someone’s gaze before, but Lexa’s is just that. Her poise is relaxed as she half-sits on the edge of her desk, stray hairs from her ponytail framing her face, but her eyes are so intense.
“Then I’ll be there.”
Pushing off of the desk, Lexa steps forward and approaches Clarke, holding out her piece of paper with her name on it. Clarke digs in her pocket and grabs the paper with Raven’s name and holds it out for the swap. Their fingers brushing as they complete the exchange is total happenstance, and the sly grin Lexa shoots at her is a figment of her imagination. It has to be. Clarke would be kidding herself if she honestly believed the CEO of Trigeda is flirting with her.
“Raven,” Lexa says out loud, reading off the paper. She glances up at Clarke and raises a brow.
“She’s in IT,” Clarke supplies.
Lexa nods. “I normally have my secretary handle these things, but clearly I dropped the ball this year. I’ve already given her until the 2nd off. Do you know Raven? Would you be available to run to the strip and pick something out for her?”
“Oh um - yeah, I guess,” Clarke answers, her intrigue with Lexa waning as she realizes she’s being made to run errands for her when that is not at all in her job description.
“Great. I’ll meet you in the lobby in 30 minutes,” Lexa tells her, jumping into action as she presumably needs to shower and change after her cardio-centric lunch break.
Momentarily stunned, Lexa is well across the room by the time Clarke responds. “Okay, yeah. Great,” she says, casually, nonchalantly, and lets herself out of the office as Lexa disappears into the bathroom.
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Clipboard held tightly against her body, Clarke strides out of the elevator at her stop and heads straight for Raven’s office. In the doorway she takes the pencil out from under the clip and whips it at the back of the dark-haired woman’s chair, making her jump in a way that somewhat satisfies Clarke. Raven spins around, taking her noise-canceling headphones off and hooking them around the back of her neck. “What the hell, Griffin?” she squawks.
“Thanks to you and your loud mouth I’m going shopping with Lexa Woods in 30 minutes,” Clarke informs her. She rips out the paper from her Secret Santa Investigation and crumples it into a ball, which she also throws at Raven, close-range enough to hit her in the center of her chest.
“Whoah, what? ” Raven asks, the accusatory expression on her face from the object-throwing being replaced by one of surprise.
“Yep,” Clarke confirms, making her own palms sweat. She has a brief flashback to the sight of Lexa in her workout clothes, legs stretched out on the edge of her desk, skin still slick with sweat. She swallows, refocusing her attention on Raven.
“Anya was sure Lexa wouldn’t give you the time of day with the Secret Santa thing,” Raven tells her, perplexed. She tilts her head as she looks at Clarke, who tries to swallow down the flash of irritation she feels at being sent up to the CEO to make a fool out of herself for Anya’s entertainment. “You flirted with her, didn’t you,” Raven asks, although it’s more of a statement than a question the way she says it. “Anything to make sure your Christmas party runs smoothly.” Looking pleased with herself for having put the pieces of the puzzle together, Raven slouches back in her chair.
“I did not!” Clarke protests. “If anything, she flirted with me .”
“Well, you don’t really need to flirt, I guess,” Raven speculates. “In that shirt, the girls do the flirting for you.”
Clarke’s hands instantly go to the buttons of her blouse, which are modestly done up with only the first two past her collar left open. She scowls at Raven, who’s wearing a shit-eating grin. “Okay, well, if you can put the teasing aside for like 45 whole seconds - what the hell do I do now?”
“Seems pretty simple to me,” Raven responds, shrugging. “You go shopping with the Commander.” She shifts in her chair, reorienting herself with her computer screen. Just before she settles her headphones back over her ears, she grins slyly at Clarke. “Nice knowing ya, buddy.”
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Back at her desk, Clarke tidies things up and makes sure that her schedule is cleared for the rest of the afternoon. Not that she had much on her plate, anyway - she’d had time to go on a manhunt for the Secret Santa Evader, after all. Mostly, she’s just killing time and trying to squash the nervous energy building inside of her. Running errands with Lexa Woods had not been on the agenda today and 30 minutes doesn’t feel like enough time to mentally prepare herself for the task.
In a liminal state of anxiety time both crawls and flies by, and Clarke heads for the lobby with a few minutes to spare. To her surprise, she finds Lexa seated in one of the chairs, legs crossed and tablet in hand, brows furrowed slightly as she scrolls through something on the screen. She looks more like Clarke had anticipated she would earlier, now, wearing a button-down and freshly-pressed slacks. Additionally, she’s donned an expensive-looking cashmere trench coat, sleek black gloves, and a scarf wrapped high enough around her neck that it covers her chin as she peers down at her tablet screen.
Likely hearing the clicking of Clarke’s heels upon her entrance into the lobby, Lexa’s eyes flick up immediately. She flips the cover to her tablet back over the screen and deposits it into the black leather bag slung over her shoulder as she stands. “Ready, Freddy?”
“It’s Clarke,” Clarke deadpans, leveling her gaze at Lexa, whose eyes widen minutely.
“It’s a - “ she starts, and then Clarke watches realization dawn on her. Lexa’s eyes narrow and she purses her lips slightly, nodding as if to herself. “Clarke’s got jokes,” she declaims. “Dad jokes, but jokes nonetheless,” she adds in, and Clarke accepts the jab gracefully, shrugging a shoulder as she continues towards Lexa, who falls into step beside her as they head out the door. “Good. Keep em’ coming.”
Out on the street, it’s a chilly day, the air just cold enough to sting the exposed skin of Clarke’s face as she walks beside business prodigy and last-minute shopper Lexa Woods. “So, Raven Reyes,” Lexa says as they walk, cutting down an alleyway to get to a street with several options for gift shopping. “You know her?”
“Psh, yeah,” Clarke answers. Considering how nervous she was thinking about this 30 minutes ago, she finds that she’s maybe too comfortable in Lexa’s presence now. She is her boss, after all. “I know her really well. She’s the one who got me the job at Trigeda, actually.”
“I see,” Lexa replies. “She’s not your girlfriend, right? Because, not to overstep, but I do hear about her quite often from Anya…not always work-related.” Lexa inquires, raising a sculpted brow at Clarke.
“Oh god, no,” Clarke laughs. “Just a very close friend. Well, there was that one time in college, but…” Yes, definitely too comfortable. The tips of her ears burn as Lexa peers down at her, her expression somewhere between surprised and amused at the disclosure. “Definitely just friends.”
“Good,” Lexa replies. Clarke raises a brow at this, and Lexa realizes the implication in her words at the same time. “I mean, you’ll know what I should get her for Secret Santa.”
“Yes,” Clarke answers. Of course, that’s what she meant. Duh. “And you’ll know what I should get mine.”
“Yes,” Lexa mimics, grinning as she glances sideways at Clarke. “It’s almost as if this is why I suggested we go shopping together.”
“Rude,” Clarke grumbles, but she can’t keep the smile off her face.
Coming upon a popular chain department store, Lexa veers off and holds the glass door open for Clarke, gesturing her through. While Clarke is normally the type for more personalized, thoughtful gifts, in this last-minute scenario a department store is practical. They should, theoretically, be able to walk out with 2 gifts without spending hours searching and that is the goal, after all.
“Raven loves these chunky socks,” Clarke informs Lexa several seconds after they’ve entered the store. She heads towards the woman’s clothing section and the area with all of the soft, fleecy pajamas and seasonal winter socks. Lexa follows along and stops by a bin chock full of socks. Clarke watches as her eyes dart around and she selects a pair, plucking it from the pile. Then she picks another and holds them up for Clarke to assess.
“Like these?” she asks. “Does she like more earthy tones or brighter colors?”
The sight of Lexa standing in front of her, in a department store, holding up two pairs of fuzzy fleece socks on either side of her face, is enough to give Clarke pause. Lexa sees the strange look on Clarke’s face and glances over her shoulder as if trying to identify what is causing it. “What?” she asks.
“I guess I just pictured you…different,” Clarke explains. She holds Lexa’s eye for a few seconds and then shakes her head as if to snap herself out of it. “She likes earthy tones. You should go with these,” Clarke answers.
Lexa nods, setting the neon green pair she had picked up down and keeping the beige ones in her hand as she searches for a similarly colored second pair. “How did you picture me, then?”
Clarke is slow to answer, not wanting to blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. Because up until today, all she’s known about Lexa is what she’s heard from other people; that she’s a stone-cold, ruthless businesswoman intent on climbing the ladder in their industry and then, world domination. So far, Clarke hasn’t gotten even a glimpse of any of that. She seems…normal. Nice, even. But there has to be some truth to what everyone says, even if she’s not showing that side to Clarke. Right?
“I don’t know,” Clarke answers lamely. “You’re just very intimidating. Or, I should say, the idea of you is very intimidating, seeing as we never actually met before today. And now you’re standing in front of me picking out socks for my best friend in a JCPenney. It’s quite the dichotomy.”
Clarke would describe Lexa’s answering grin as rueful. “I know what everyone says about me, Clarke,” Lexa laughs. “ The Commander . It’s the worst kept secret in company history.” She continues to rifle through the bin, but Clarke can see the thoughtful look in her eyes before she speaks again. “It’s better for the company if everyone thinks of me as some big, bad, hardass CEO. And don’t get me wrong, I am that when I need to be, but for the most part I’m just a regular person. I’m a woman in my late 20s, I have 3 cats, and I take archery lessons 2 nights a week as my ‘nights out’.” She pauses, rubbing the fabric of a sage green pair of slipper socks between her fingers. Then she looks at Clarke, a soft smile on her lips, just the corners of her mouth ticked upwards slightly. “You won’t let the secret out, right? That I have a soul?”
“My lips are sealed.” Clarke zips her lips and throws away the key for show. She finds she likes being able to draw out Lexa’s smile; it makes her feel good. Powerful, almost.
“Thank you,” Lexa says, tucking a third pair of socks under her arm. She looks up and around as if she’s seeking something else out, but Clarke interjects.
“You know there’s a 25 dollar limit, right? I’m guessing you’ve already hit it,” she says, gesturing to the slippers and socks Lexa’s holding.
“Hm, yeah, you’re probably right. Okay, I guess we’re done then,” Lexa says, pivoting on her heel to turn the opposite way.
She takes one step towards the front of the store before Clarke says, “Hey, hang on a second,” and reaches out, putting a hand in the crook of her arm to stop her. It’s reflexive, and Clarke hardly realizes that she maybe shouldn’t have done that until Lexa freezes in place and stares down at Clarke’s hand where it rests by her elbow. Her green eyes flick up to Clarke’s, expression unreadable, and Clarke swallows as she lets her hand flop back down by her side.
“I haven’t gotten you anything yet,” Clarke explains, realizing Lexa’s waiting to hear why she stopped her.
“Oh, right.” She pauses, giving the store a quick look around before she returns her attention to Clarke. “I have an idea. Instead of a gift, why don’t you buy me a drink? I’d appreciate that more than a scarf or a gift card…or three pairs of fuzzy socks,” she says, smirking and holding her loot out in front of her for emphasis.
The CEO wants to go out for drinks. No big deal. No biggie at all. “I’m still on the clock,” Clarke answers dubiously. “It’s the middle of the workday.”
“I guess it’s a good thing I’m the boss, then,” Lexa responds, devious. She raises a brow and Clarke can see the challenge clear in her eyes like she knows Clarke is usually one to follow the rules to a T.
The last thing Clarke wants to do is come off as lame to her stunningly beautiful boss who seems to genuinely want to make friends with her. If Lexa is giving her permission to play hooky from work and go to the bar across the street, she’s not going to try too hard to get out of it. “I guess you’re right,” she answers, laughing softly. “Let’s go.”
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They sit at the bar, and drink turns to appetizers which turn to lunch. Clarke and Lexa annihilate a shared order of Bavarian pretzels, cheeseburger sliders, and a warm brownie sundae all the while sipping on their hard ciders. They chat amicably, mostly small talk about work and the weather but occasionally wandering into more personal topics like their family dynamics, where they grew up, what they like to do in their spare time. It’s easy and effortless and placated by a heavy dose of carbs and the pleasant buzz of alcohol tingling in her veins, Clarke doesn’t feel stressed at all. She hardly notices the people that crane their necks and take a second look when they realize it is indeed Lexa Woods sitting at the counter of the little hole in the wall bar.
Lexa is charismatic, smart, funny, and easy to talk to, and not at all what Clarke had been expecting. She isn’t sure why Lexa chose to let the Commander mask slip around her and reveal her true personality, but Clarke is thankful she did. And, frankly, addicted. It’s going to be weird going back to work knowing that Lexa is just several floors above but completely out of reach after spending this afternoon getting to know her.
“We should probably get back. Wouldn’t want to miss your own party,” Lexa says, stirring Clarke from her thoughts.
“Yes, we probably should,” Clarke answers with a sigh, reluctant for the afternoon to be over. “I’ll close the tab and we’ll go.” But when she raises her hand to flag the bartender back over to them, Lexa stops her, nimble fingers encircling her wrist to bring her arm back down to the counter.
“I already took care of it,” Lexa says, looking guilty as she bites her lower lip. Waiting to be chastised. Clarke opens her mouth, but Lexa talks before she can get anything out. “We went well over 25 dollars, Clarke,” she defends.
“But the whole point was for me to buy you drinks,” Clarke groans. “Now I still haven’t gotten you anything and the party starts in,” she clicks the unlock button on her phone to reveal the clock, “45 minutes.”
“You can take me out for lunch some other time,” Lexa offers. “And I promise I’ll let you pay. Pinky promise.” She holds out her pinky, a peace offering, looking hopeful as she regards Clarke.
Clarke is uncertain and a little miffed, but who is she to say no when Lexa looks like that? Soft and repentant, asking for forgiveness with her pinky extended between them. She’s charming and endearing with those pouty lips and big bright eyes and Clarke is a sucker for it all. “Fine,” she relents, linking her pinky with Lexa’s. “Sometime next week?”
Lexa smiles, visibly relaxing. “Just tell me when and I’ll make sure I’m available.” She holds Clarke’s gaze, and it’s only after getting lost in deep emerald pools for an indeterminate amount of time that Clarke realizes their pinkies are still linked together. She lets go slowly and stands from the bar, smoothing out her blouse and skirt. Swaying slightly, having gone maybe one drink past ‘just a little tipsy’, Lexa puts a hand on her arm to steady her. For good measure, she slips her hand around Clarke’s bicep once they’ve both donned their coats and are ready to leave.
“Do you think they’ll know we were drinking?” Clarke asks as they walk briskly across the busy street and towards the doors to enter the Trigeda building.
“Nah, you’re fine. You were out with the Commander all afternoon. No one will think twice about it.”
Clarke nods and finds herself missing the contact when Lexa lets go of her arm as they enter the building.
“I’m going to head to my office for a moment. I’ll see you in there,” Lexa tells her. She reaches out her hand and brushes the back of Clarke’s knuckles with her own. It’s a simple gesture that Clarke tries not to read too much into, ignoring the way her skin zings where Lexa touched her.
“Yeah, see you,” she says, standing dumbly by the front doors as Lexa strides towards the elevator.
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“You’re lucky I love you,” Raven informs her when Clarke finds her in the conference room, which has been transformed into a winter wonderland. “What kind of person is almost late to the same party she’s been freaking out about for the past month?”
Raven had helped in setting out all of the food Clarke had ordered in for the event, but Clarke had done the bulk of the work decorating in the days prior. Still, she’s grateful, and she leans in to give Raven a quick hug. “You’re the best, Rae.”
When Clarke pulls back, Raven is looking at her strangely. “Clarke, is that…” She quirks a brow, tilting her head as she steps in closer to Clarke again, inhaling deeply. “Booze? You smell like booze.”
Clarke bites her lip to hide her smirk. “Yeah, um, I went out to lunch with Lexa after we went shopping. We had a few drinks.”
Raven’s eyebrows raise comically high, creeping toward her hairline. “With Lexa Woods. Our boss. The CEO,” Raven confirms, doubtful.
“That’s the one.”
“I knew you must have flirted with her!” Raven exclaims. “Tell me everything.”
“I didn’t! I swear. At least, not at first.”
“Spill, Griffin,” Raven insists, crossing her arms over her chest impatiently. Clarke hesitates and then, saved by the bell, people begin filing into the room. Raven rolls her eyes and sighs. “Fine, go play hostess. But we are so talking later.”
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Clarke doesn’t spot Lexa in the room until nearly 45 minutes after the party has started. She’d told Clarke that she likes to arrive late to give everyone a chance to settle in and get comfortable before the Big Boss arrives. As everyone gathers for the gift exchange they meet eyes from across the group of people and Lexa winks at her. Clarke swallows thickly, hoping her face is still more composed than she feels as Lexa’s intense gaze remains on her until Anya sidles up beside her and steals away her attention.
Lexa disappears again after that, another thing she had warned Clarke about. “No one likes to let loose with the Commander in the room,” she’d explained. She makes her appearance and then leaves her employees alone to have fun. So while Clarke finds her absence mildly disappointing, she knows to expect it.
What she doesn’t expect, though, is for Lexa to show up later that night after everyone else has gone home, while Clarke is finishing de-Christmasing the conference room. She’s crumpling up a red paper table cloth and cramming it into an overflowing trash bag when she feels eyes on her and looks up to find Lexa, standing in the doorway and staring at her. She smiles when Clarke notices her and takes a few steps into the room, thumbs hooked into the pockets of her gray slacks. She’s a prepossessing sight in the dim lighting, hair pulled into an updo that highlights the slender column of her neck.
“Hey,” Clarke says quietly, tying the blue plastic strings of the trash bag closed.
“Hey,” Lexa returns. “The party seemed like a hit. Nice job.”
Clarke smiles, moving towards Lexa and setting the bag down by the door. “Thanks, boss,” she says, earning her half an eye roll from Lexa.
“I came to see if you need help cleaning up.”
“I’m pretty much done, actually,” Clarke tells her. “But there is, um, one last thing.”
“What’s that?” Lexa asks, glancing around the bare room.
Clarke’s eyes flick to the doorway Lexa had just entered through - to the mistletoe that hangs there, secured by a red thumbtack. The one that Lexa’s standing directly under, Lexa follows her gaze, tilting her head back and up, and then she smirks at Clarke, a brow raised. “Mistletoe, hm?”
The tips of Clarke’s ears burn. “Yes,” she responds dumbly.
“Well,” Lexa says, eyes flickering around Clarke’s face. Clarke watches as they dip to her mouth for an extra beat before they move back up again. “This gives me a perfect excuse to do what I wanted to do earlier today. Would you kiss me under the mistletoe, Clarke?”
Instead of answering, Clarke steps forward, entering Lexa’s space until their bodies are nearly touching. “Isn’t there a rule against this?” she asks, and she would strangle herself if she could. Why on earth would she be trying to stop this, when Lexa’s lips feel like they’re magnetized and she’s desperate to know what they feel like against hers? “You’re my boss.”
“You’re in HR. You’d know better than me,” Lexa answers, laughing softly. Her breath hits Clarke’s mouth given their proximity and a quiet sound something eerily similar to a whine escapes from Clarke. “If there is one, I’ll change it.”
“There isn’t,” Clarke says, finding a brief moment of clarity even though she feels like she could be vibrating at a frequency to shatter glass from how badly she wants to kiss Lexa right now. Pillowy lips are only inches away from hers, just waiting for her to close the distance. “I don’t report directly to you.”
“Well, I’m glad that’s settled. For tradition’s sake.” Lexa quips. The words are hardly out of her mouth before Clarke leans in and presses their mouths together. Their lips meet and they both inhale sharply, Clarke’s hands sliding around the back of Lexa’s neck as Lexa’s hands find her waist and tug her in closer. It’s slow, and gentle, and saccharine sweet. Clarke’s pulse thrums in her ears and Lexa’s fingers flex against her ribs.
After a moment and with a mutual sigh, they pull apart. Lexa’s lips are still parted and her pupils are enlargened and Clarke is seriously contemplating going back in for more, but she wants to preserve the tenderness of this moment without clouding it with lust. So instead she places a kiss on Lexa’s cheek, reveling in the way Lexa leans into her touch, eyelashes fluttering.
Lexa turns the hold she still has on Clarke’s waist into a hug, gently drawing her in closer. “I think I’ll sign up for Secret Santa again next year,” she muses.
“Please do,” Clarke encourages, head resting against Lexa’s chest as she listens to the steady beating of her heart. “But if you don’t follow the rules next year, I won’t be rewarding you like this.”
“Noted,” Lexa says. They’re quiet for a moment, enjoying the stillness between them and the extended contact. “Merry Christmas, Clarke,”
“Merry Christmas, Lexa.”
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Later that evening, after she’s home and showered and tucked into bed, aside from recounting the day’s events with Lexa over and over again, Clarke has another thought just before she falls asleep.
Raven’s never going to believe this.
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