Lydia pauses, her fingers poised over the keyboard. That doesn’t sound enough like Erica, or at least the Erica that her fans know and love. And it is supposed to be her Twitter - no one is supposed to know that at least half of the tweets come from Lydia. She backspaces quickly.
‘@MatchmakerMovie premiere tonight - i hear the leading man is a hottie ;)’
Post tweet.
The thing about her industry is, everyone seems to know everyone. When she started, she was so desperate to be professional, keep her distance, sit on the other side of a heavy wooden desk and never let them see her eat. Her mentor had warned her that PR people tended to go one of two ways: eternally distant from their clients, or way too close.
Deucalion had discovered the latter first hand, it had turned out. She had taken great pleasure in helping a large number of his clients make the switch to her agency after it had all come out, including Erica.
She tries to keep a balance, now. Professional, but not unapproachable. She doesn’t want to seem like she’s friends with all her clients, but some things are inevitable when you spend large chunks of time with each other. She knows their secrets, and they trust her with their lives. Well, careers. But it comes down to the same thing.
It’s why she resists when Scott asks her to come to the premiere. That, and that premiere nights are when she gives herself the night off, and curls up with House of Hale and peanut butter cups.
“I’ll watch the livestream,” she compromises into the phone. She can feel Scott’s smile down the line.
“Thanks Lyds. We’ll be on the carpet-”
“At seven. I know. I arranged the limo.”
“A limo? Now I’ve really made it,” someone laughs, and Lydia’s a little stunned when she realises it’s Erica. She takes a second to check her calendar - she hadn’t scheduled a date for them tonight. Huh.
Maybe they just ran into each other. It’s good for them to be seen together, anyway.
“See you tomorrow,” she says, a clear dismissal.
“He’ll be the one on the giant screen!”
Her phone goes dark, and she permits herself a tiny smile.
sure you don’t want to come to the bar tonight lydia?
Somehow I’ll survive.
there’s board games, and i know the bartender. free drinks!!
Do I seem like someone who plays board games at bars? On a Sunday night?
i’ll bet you $10 that you get so competitive over monopoly that you stop playing when you don’t think you’ll win
…
I’m not giving you ten dollars.
you can always buy me a drink instead ;)
Stop texting me. This is my work line.
can i have your other number then?
She laughs out loud, biting down on her lower lip to stifle it a little. Erica’s been her client for nearly three years now, and Lydia thinks that she gets more predictably flirty every year.
She ignores her phone the next time it buzzes.
She wakes up to a text from Kira telling her to check her Instagram feed. It’s four in the morning. Whatever it is can wait until she’s had a coffee. Maybe two.
By the time she gets a moment to check, Erica’s waiting outside her office, talking loudly in Spanish. She hopes Erica isn’t talking to Aiden; sometimes she wonders if he understands English, let alone another language.
She sees what Kira meant almost the moment she opens the app. Her feed is almost entirely a single picture of Erica and Stiles in front of The Vault, which is pretty normal, really. What manages to genuinely shock her is the caption underneath.
bi babes out on the town #latenight #workhardplayhard @stilinskis
Her immediate reaction surprises her, phone in her hands with a nearly completed text to Stiles before she realises.
Why didn’t you tell me if you knew?
Her heart thuds.
I needed to know so I could prepare.
Yeah, that’s why.
She determinedly doesn’t think about what that means.
By the time Erica makes it through her office door, she has a scheduled interview with AfterEllen, a new relationship status on Twitter and Instagram, and tickets to ComicCon. The last doesn’t have much to do with Lydia’s current crisis, except that Kira is on a panel, and it would be good to have Erica seen with someone who came out and never let it affect her career.
(They never talk about the nights they stayed up together from half a world away, when Kira knew she wouldn’t want to keep the way she loved a secret.)
Erica walks in when Lydia’s halfway through her third coffee, tapping idly at her keyboard while she waits. She sighs, looking up as Erica seats herself on the chair closest to Lydia’s desk. Something clatters against the wood, and she chances a look down, to find that Erica has thrown off her heels without so much as a by-your-leave.
The oddest thing is that she doesn’t mind as much as she thinks she should.
“Take your shoes off my floor,” she says, not giving Erica the satisfaction of looking at her properly yet. She finishes her paragraph first.
“Make me.” She still does it, though, and Lydia smirks as Erica slides her tangerine pumps back onto her feet.
“You’re not on stage yet, Erica, there’s no need to act like that,” she says dryly.
“Act like what?” She looks up. Erica’s eyes are so, so wide, and her voice so sweet.
She raises an eyebrow. She will not let Erica’s overblown, faux-sexy theatrics get to her.
“You never mentioned that you were bisexual,” she says pointedly.
“Thought that was more of a need to know basis,” Erica replies casually, her hands going white where they’re pressing heavily into the desk.
“You didn’t think I needed to know? I’m your publicist.”
“By need to know, I meant that they needed to know so I could get them to come home with me,” Erica winks lewdly. Lydia wonders if she ever turns it off, or if she’s been doing this for so long that that’s what she’s genuinely like. Becoming the mask.
That’s what had happened to her.
“Well, Erica, I needed to know so that I could cover for you if the paparazzi got wind of all these people you were bringing home.”
“Is that the real reason, babe?” Erica smirks, standing up. “See you next week.” She leaves before Lydia can stop her, watching as the door slams shut with an infuriating bang.
Scott’s three minutes late for their meeting when Aiden tells her that he’s here.
“Come in!” she calls, closing Twitter and hurriedly checking her makeup in her computer’s reflective surface. She feels ridiculous as soon as she catches herself. She knows her lipstick is still as perfectly applied as it was this morning, and if it wasn’t, Scott wouldn’t judge her, or care.
But she would.
“Cora says hello, and that xe enjoyed the other night,” Scott greets, taking a seat and sliding a take away cup across the table. A strong scent of coffee beans and hazelnut drifts towards her.
“I don’t really want to know what that means,” he adds, face scrunching a little.
“You know Cora? This city is so small sometimes,” she says, barely finishing her words before inhaling her coffee. She can feel Scott’s eyes on her. Her next sip is slower: more measured, less like she’s a robot who runs on caffeine. There, that’s professional.
“Glad I got it right,” Scott teases gently, indicating the now half empty cup.
“Should I be concerned that you know my coffee order?” she asks; but honestly, she wouldn’t be shocked if Scott knew how every person he has ever met takes their coffee. He’s just that kind of person.
Scott smiles.
“I like knowing things about people,” he confesses, like it’s a secret, like she can’t read everything on his too open face. She wonders how he does it, wearing his heart on his sleeve all the time.
“I think you’ll like this too,” Lydia says, forcing herself to steer the conversation towards this meeting’s actual purpose. She hands him a thin file. It’s only a small article, ripped from the pages of Cosmo. Is Scott McCall going Colin Farrell?
Scott’s brow furrows as he concentrates intently on it. It’s cute. Not that Lydia cares if it’s cute or not. Just aesthetically. It helps her to market him.
Hopefully she’s better at lying to other people.
“What does this mean?” Scott asks, looking up. She takes a measured sip of the last of the coffee, hiding her smile.
“It means, someone out there thinks you’re more than just a leading man. You might want to call Chris.” He gives her a quizzical look.
“He may have let it slip that there are a few non romantic comedies in the ‘maybe’ pile,” she says slyly.
“Thanks, Lydia. I really- thanks,” he not-quite stutters, his eyes shiny.
“You did all the work, Scott,” she tells him honestly. “People know talent when they see it.”
“Still.” He covers her hand briefly with his, before pulling back with a quizzical look.
It’s not quite professional, but she’ll allow it.
Lydia's bed is so warm. So comfy, and warm, and-
Vibrating. Ugh.
She answers the phone swiftly, but not without reluctance.
"Lydia Martin speaking."
"Lydiaaaaaaaaa." Erica is so drunk. "Lydiah, come to the club with us. Stiles won't stop dancing."
She bites down on a smile, even though no one can see her anyway. Stiles is really the worst dancer, all flailing limbs and awkward head nods. She thinks Erica would be good, though. She's got that fluidity to her, like she could lean close and work her hips until she's almost-
This has to stop. Erica is her client. Erica is her client, and Lydia is a professional. She won't let herself be cast into that cliche agent role of sleeping with all her clients, and Erica is way too dangerous. Too hot, too forward, too vulnerable. Too much.
"SCOTTY!" She winces, Erica's yell blasting her ear. Scott laughs, and she can see it, that bright smile, the way his whole face lights up and his eyes crinkle so-
She is never having wine before bed ever again.
"Erica, give Scott the phone," she orders, steeling herself against Erica's giggles.
"Hey, Lydia." Scott's voice is a reassuring calm in her ear, and she has to watch herself to make sure that she doesn't let her guard down around him. It would be too easy.
"Can you make sure she gets home safe, please? And Stiles?" she adds, an afterthought.
"Of course, dude." Somehow it annoys her less when Scott says it. And then it comes right back around to annoyance, except now she's annoyed at herself for finding it charming.
"Sorry Lydia, I know you hate that." Definitely charming.
"Just make sure they get home?"
"Sure. Have a good night, Lyds."
"Wait!" She has no idea what she's going to say.
"Yeah?"
"Make sure the paparazzi get pictures of you. Put her arm around your neck and kiss her cheek, make it look couple-y."
"No issue with that," he chuckles, followed by the wet smack of a kiss, right in Lydia's ear. "Erica's handsy when she's drunk." He says it like he knows her.
Lydia's a little jealous, she’ll admit that, but she's elected to ignore it. It's irrelevant and ridiculous and they're her clients.
"You're a good guy, Scott," she says, and doesn't wait for him to respond.
Somehow, her bed feels more empty once she's hung up.
In the morning, there’s pictures of the two of them together, just as she'd hoped. Celebuzz has already posted an article, and #mcreyes is trending on twitter. She idly scrolls through the first few pages of tweets, stopping when she sees a picture of them, Scott's arm around Erica's waist, clearly supporting her. Erica's corset looks like it's about to come off, and she looks happy. They both do.
‘@scott_mccall and @reyesandco so cute!!!! congrats on the engagement, your babies will be beautiful!!’
What. What.
She stares at the image again, searching for Erica's hands. One is looped around Scott's neck, and the other... the other is propped on her hip, a ring on her finger.
She logs into Erica's account.
'if it weren't for the hangover, this would be a perfect morning', she tweets vaguely. That'll tide them over until she - they - figure out what they're doing. It's only been six months, it might look suspicious.
And it’ll make it that much harder to break them up when she needs to.
Scott calls her first.
"Can we come to the office, Lyds? Erica's-"
"Erica is fine!" she hears in the background. "This isn’t my first hangover, babe.”
"She's with you?" Lydia asks, her voice sharper than intended.
"She and Stiles fell asleep in the cab."
"I'm sure."
There’s a pause, like he’s trying to assess her over the phone. She waits it out; he wouldn’t have any luck even if they were face to face. Not because he’s stupid. She’s just good.
"Are you okay, Lydia?"
"Yes. Let me just get to the office-"
"Why don’t you just come here?"
She doesn't know why she agrees.
(Yes, she does.)
It's not as though it's the first time she's been to Scott's house. Actually, she had helped him pick it out, back when Stiles had declared that hearing Scott and Kira fucking through the wall was severely diminishing his own sex life. No one has mentioned yet that Stiles spends more time at Scott's house than even Scott does, even before Scott and Kira broke up.
"Lydia!" Erica greets, sounding significantly more peppy than Lydia had expected, and much more excited to see her than usual. Weird.
"Ask her if she brought vodka!" Stiles yells from the living room. She can just see his feet dangling over the edge of the couch.
"Well, did you?" Erica asks.
"Do I look like a person who brings vodka?" She raises an eyebrow.
"Maybe if I... begged enough." Erica smirks. She will not fall for the obvious ploy. She's better than that.
Scott appears in the doorway, Erica immediately wrapping an arm around his waist. Even weirder.
"You haven't let her in yet?"
"Oops." Neither of them are fooled.
"Want some coffee?" Scott asks, and she nods gratefully. She had left in too much of a rush to get the second of her twice-daily cup. She knows coffee isn't good for you, that it can play with your nerves. It still won't stop her from drinking it. Apparently it helps fight cancer, and even if there’s not enough evidence yet, that’s good enough for her.
"I do!" Erica and Stiles say, nearly in unison, and Scott laughs.
"Wasn’t asking you!" he calls in the direction of the living room, slightly too loud on purpose, and Lydia smirks when Stiles makes a protesting noise. She always enjoys when Scott brings out that side of him. Particularly when Stiles is his target.
"What about me?" Erica whines, and- how did they get even closer?
“Cappuccino with a caramel shot, right?” Scott asks, pushing the door a little wider before untangling himself from Erica and heading to the kitchen.
“And whipped cream!” Erica shouts after him, and she feels the strangest urge to smile. She raises an eyebrow.
“That’s not very punk rock of you.”
“What can I say? I like things that are sweet.” Erica winks.
“I can tell,” Lydia says dryly, heading inside at long last. She’s given up on waiting for Erica to actually invite her inside, like someone with manners.
“So what did you want to talk about?” Scott asks, busying himself with the machine. She sees partially stocked shelves of cocoa, sprinkles, and syrups in a dozen different flavours, and smiles. At least he uses her housewarming gift, even if it had been partially selfish.
“You invited me,” she points out.
“Right.” He and Erica exchange a nervous glance. She stares at them, trying to working out what’s happening here.
“I saw those photos of you three outside the club,” she says. They have to discuss it sometime.
“I said it wouldn’t be an issue,” Scott says smugly.
“They think you’re engaged.”
“Who’s engaged?” Stiles calls.
“Me and Scott!” Erica yells back, smirking.
“I better be best man!”
“Well, I was going to ask if you two wanted to incorporate this into the-” she pauses, considering.
“Scam?” Erica jumps in.
“Relationship,” she says firmly. “But if you both see this as an option...”
“Then I guess we’re engaged!” Scott looks genuinely excited.
“Romantic, babe,” Erica scoffs.
“I’ll propose to you properly, then.” He looks at her, his gaze soft.
Lydia looks between them, her eyes narrowing.
“You two are dating,” she declares, before she’s even thought it through. She stops, shocked, both at what she just said and at the fact that she hadn’t planned to say it.
“Funny, I seem to remember having an identical conversation with you, a year ago,” Erica says.
Erica isn’t denying it. Neither is Scott.
They’re dating. Because Lydia told them to, and now it’s real, and she’s accidentally been a matchmaker for two of her clients. Two clients that she may or may not actually like, and/or think about at night when she’s alone and there’s nothing between her fingers and her-
“It was six months ago, wasn’t it?” Scott asks, breaking into her highly inappropriate thoughts. She has to keep it together.
“You weren’t even there,” Erica says.
“It was six months!” Stiles yells from the other room.
“Stiles!”
“Alright, alright, I’m leaving. Maybe Boyd will appreciate me more.”
“He won’t,” Erica mutters, and Scott grins at her like he can’t help it.
“Don’t be mean. He’s my best friend.”
“Doesn’t mean he can’t talk the fur off a werewolf.”
“This what I’m talking about,” Lydia breaks in, envious but refusing to admit it. She raises an eyebrow. “You’re acting like you’re dating.”
“Don’t be jealous, babe.” Erica stands up, not bothering to adjust the skirt now revealing an extra inch of thigh.
It’s not an answer, but it’s enough.
Lydia takes a weekend off, surrounding herself with fashion magazines and space documentaries, getting lost in equations and season palettes. It’s nice to take a break. Her phone goes off approximately every ten minutes: updates, emails, texts that get more frantic by the minute. She ignores them all, lets the battery wear down. She doesn’t bother to recharge it.
She’s painting her nails a pastel blue when someone knocks on her door. She doesn’t bother getting up; the only people she wants to see on the other side of that door are the only people she should never let in.
Moments later, something crashes in the hall. She startles, the brush nearly slipping off her nail.
Stiles stumbles through her bedroom door.
“What are you doing in my house? How did you even get in?” she asks, looking down her nose.
“I copied your key when you got drunk after Jackson…” His voice dies.
“That’s illegal.”
“Came in handy,” he shrugs. “You weren’t answering your phone.”
“I didn’t hear it ring,” she lies.
He gives her a Look.
“Lydia, you’re always on your phone.”
“Well, I’m not now,” she says icily. “You know where the door is.”
He sighs, but starts to head back out anyway, seeming to change his mind halfway.
“Are you going to talk to them? They want to see you.” She says nothing. “Scott had to take away her car keys to stop her from coming here.”
There is no part of her that feels slightly better, hearing that. None whatsoever.
By the time Stiles finally leaves, she knows what she has to do. She dreads it all evening, her heart hurting with every letter she types; but she has to do it. She’s fallen for two of her clients, two celebrities she asked to fake date for publicity, who found they liked being together more than they expected.
At least her idea worked. Just... more than she had expected it to.
She sends the email.
They’ve barely said five words, and Lydia is exhausted. Scott and Erica are holding hands.
Her head hurts.
“Danny - Mahealani, from Vivid? He says he can take you. He mostly works with queer celebrities, but he knows you two…” She takes a breath. “You two are a package deal.”
She can do this. The fact that she’ll never see her favourite clients again is fine, just fine. She’s fine. That’s the whole point, that they won’t see her anymore.
On the verge of setting them free, it’s a relief to admit to herself that they are, in fact, her favourites. Even if they won’t be her clients much longer.
“I’m actually pansexual,” Scott says, not quite a whisper, not like he’s ashamed of it. She sees Erica squeeze his hand.
“I shouldn’t have assumed,” she apologises.
“It’s okay.” He shrugs. Her heart hurts. “Lydia, I-”
She talks quickly, wanting to get it over with, so she can go home, to her too-empty bed and Netflix queue, to Kira’s voice on the other end of the phone telling her that it’s going to be okay.
“Danny agrees with me that you will both have complete control over how your relationship is shown to the public.” Now that it’s real.
“What are you talking about, Martin?” She hasn’t heard Erica call her by her last name in a long, long time. Not since that first party, when Lydia gave her a crisp business card and a kiss on the cheek, told Erica to call her if she wanted a real chance at making it.
“I can’t represent you anymore. Either of you.”
The world goes utterly still, reduced to the quickening sound of her own heartbeat, before everything rushes back in a blur of sound. Somehow, this feels worse than a break up.
“Lydia-”
“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out,” Scott says confidently.
“Is it because we’re dating?” Erica asks, too astute. “It was your idea in the first place!”
“Won’t you think about it more?” She refuses to look Scott in the eye.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving us. After Deuc- Lydia, you promised!”
“Don’t be a child, Erica,” she says. She feels so cold. She can’t look at them.
“I didn’t think you were stupid, Lydia. Can’t you see that-”
“Erica.” She’s never heard Scott’s voice sound like that before.
“I’ll send your files over by Monday. Aiden will see you out.” She gestures at the door, her head tilted up and her jaw tense. The window by the far wall has become suddenly fascinating.
She doesn’t move until Aiden clears his throat, and she looks toward him.
“They’ve left, Lydia.”
“It’s Ms. Martin, thank you.” She turns back to her desk. “Be ready to escort Malia Tate inside at three o’clock. The paparazzi are trying to get proof that she’s leaving her father’s company, so you’ll need to be discreet.” Silence. The door closes without another word.
She doesn’t consider herself to be a melodramatic sort of person, but the soft snick of door meeting frame feels like the beginning of the end.
She had forgotten that her clients being famous means that she’ll never really get away. Erica’s tour starts, Stiles leaks photos from Scott’s latest set, and E! releases an article entitled How to win at long distance, by Erica Reyes & Scott McCall. Scott and Erica start talking about wedding plans in interviews, and the world goes on.
Malia and Peter have a fight on House of Hale that ends with her refusing to model for him any more. Allison Argent asks if she wants to go to dinner. Lydia bans Peter from her building. Cora starts sleeping with Kira. Boyd comes out.
She nearly convinces herself that she’s forgotten that they are technically engaged when she gets a letter in the mail, inviting her to save the date. Surprised that they invited her, she writes back her congratulations, and tries her best not to think about it.
It’s strange, that they’re going through with it. It’s not like she had had a chance to confirm their engagement; they could have just pretended that everyone was making something out of nothing, which they had been, and moved on with their lives. But maybe that’s what love does. It makes you want to get married for reasons that don’t involve money or fame. They’ve got enough of both.
If she’s honest, she doesn’t understand it. She can’t imagine marrying any of her ex-boyfriends, spending the rest of her life putting up with their inability to use their mouths properly or carry on a conversation that wasn’t about proving how much of a man they are. At least they looked good in a suit, as long as they stayed quiet.
She doesn’t think that’s a good enough reason to get married to someone.
Because her life is apparently one of Scott’s romantic comedies, that’s when they show up on her doorstep.
“Lydia? Are you home? I need to talk to you!”
She pauses in the kitchen, listening out toward the front door. There’s another voice, quieter than Erica’s, enough that she can’t quite make out what they’re saying.
“I’m tired of waiting, Scott! She clearly doesn’t want to talk to us,” Erica knocks furiously on the door. “Even though we want to talk to her!”
How do people keep getting into her building? She makes a mental note to reprimand the doorman.
Erica knocks again.
She wants to see them.
Her feet carry her to the front door, not unwillingly, her right hand smoothing the front of her skirt. In a fluid movement, she opens the door and steps outside, shutting it behind her.
Their faces look up at her in shock, like they hadn’t expected her to actually answer. She stares hungrily at them, trying to take it all in while she can, this one last time. She takes in all the tiny details that time had blurred: the mole on Erica’s left shoulder, the warmth of Scott’s eyes. She didn’t forget, even slightly, how good they look together.
“What are you doing here?” She sounds more exhausted than she intended to.
“We wanted to see you,” Scott says. He takes Erica’s hand, and her heart clenches. She wonders if she looks as sad as she feels. She hopes not.
“Why?”
“Can we come in?” he asks, but she doesn’t answer. She’s not ready to see them amongst her things, sitting at her table, washing their hands in her sink. A part of her wants to, knowing that she’ll never get another chance, so she can think about how right it felt when she’s alone again, but. She’s not quite that pathetic. Her teenage drama days are long over, and she’s going to act like it.
“Lyds, we-”
“Go on a date with us?”
“What?” Scott sounds almost as shocked as Lydia does.
“I thought we were going to explain first,” he says, and she sags against the doorway, just a little. What is going on?
She’s not stupid; she knows what this all sounds like, that Erica and Scott want to date her. She just doesn’t know how much of that is wishful thinking.
“Lydia, you like us. Scott’s adorable and a great kisser, and I’m definitely your type.” Lydia raises an eyebrow.
“And we like you too,” Erica rushes on. “We wanted to tell you we were actually dating and ask you to date us too. Stiles said that you’d say yes, but then I came out, and we were engaged and then you dumped us before we even got a chance to date!”
“Is this your grand romantic gesture, then?”
“We know how many times you’ve seen The Notebook,” Scott says, smiling.
“I wanted to come back the minute you kicked us out of your office, but Scott said to give you time.”
“Erica’s just impatient,” Scott says, squeezing her hand, and she wants so badly, wants to fit with them like they do with each other. And they want her to.
All her senses tell her that this isn’t a dream, but maybe they’re wrong just this once.
“Just one date?” Erica asks. Her eyes are so beautiful, and she’s fiddling with the ring on her left hand. Lydia wonders if it’s a real ring, if Scott had proposed properly as he had promised.
She slides her hand behind her, secures the door handle with her fingers, turning it smoothly. Scott looks scared, like he thinks she might run inside and refuse to even talk to them ever again. She won’t say she didn’t consider it.
But they make it so easy for her to say yes.
It doesn’t hurt that she really, really wants to.
“Are you coming in?” she asks, pushing the door open. “I thought we could start with coffee.”
Their smiles are so, so bright.
