When chance encounters in the studio transform into cozy coffee dates, leading to spontaneous rendezvous, simmering jealousy, and perhaps even love.
RENEÉ RAPP X FEMALE OC
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FRANKIE
I clicked and dragged a sample into the track, the sound of a raindrop plinking into a puddle from last night's downpour outside The Roxy. It slotted into my melody like it was born for it, and I grinned. My studio—a cozy cave of tech and memories—buzzed with the life of the song taking shape under my fingertips. Ambient light spilled across the vintage Fender I'd yet to master, casting shadows over posters of Fleetwood Mac and The Strokes. This place was my sanctuary, a shrine to all things Frankie Campbell: part recording studio, part museum of my mind.
"Ah," I muttered, tweaking the EQ on the bassline, "you're gonna be a banger." A glance at the clock told me it was way past midnight—no biggie, time always got slippery when I was in the zone.
My phone buzzed, jolting me out of my creative bubble. It was Alexander, Interscope's golden boy producer and my partner-in-crime when it came to sick beats and even sicker after-parties. His text read: *'Need your ears. Got something fresh but it's missing that Frankie magic.'*
"Can't resist a flatterer," I whispered to myself, already shutting down my rig. I scribbled a quick reply—*'On my way'*—and shoved my laptop into its bag. One last look at my second home, and I killed the lights, the soft click echoing like a period at the end of tonight's sentence.
The halls of Interscope hummed with the usual nocturnal energy as I made my way to Alexander's studio. Pushing open his door, I found him looking like a mad scientist among a mess of cables and synths.
"Frankie! Just the rockstar I wanted to see," he said, his grin wide beneath his hipster mustache.
"Alex, you charmer," I replied, sliding into the chair next to him. "What's the crisis?"
"Reneé Rapp," he answered, tapping away at his MacBook. "Label wants a hit single, I want to not get fired. You know how it is."
"Reneé Rapp, huh?" I mused, thinking of her powerhouse voice. "No pressure then."
"None at all," he deadpanned, pulling up a session file. "Just conjure up some Grammy-worthy magic, will ya?"
"Let's make some noise," I announced, cracking my knuckles theatrically. We leaned into the music, our heads bobbing in unison as we passed ideas back and forth like a game of Ping-Pong. With every beat and lyric suggestion, I felt the adrenaline rush—this was why I lived for music, for moments like these where everything just flowed.
"Genius," Alexander said after we nailed down a particularly tricky bridge section. "Pure genius."
"Tell me something I don't know," I shot back, a smug smile playing on my lips as we plunged back into the world of loops and layers, crafting what could very well be Reneé's next hit.
I pushed away from the console, giving Alexander a satisfied nod. "Not bad for a day's work, huh?" I said, my voice tinged with pride.
"Understatement of the year," he replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he offered a fist bump.
"Later, maestro," I called out, slinging my backpack over one shoulder. The studio door clicked shut behind me, and I made my way down the labyrinthine hallways of Interscope Records, the echo of my boots against the polished floor keeping time with the lingering beat in my head.
Turning the corner while replaying that killer chorus in my mind, I almost barrelled straight into a blur of blonde hair and designer threads. A quick sidestep saved us both from a collision course with the floor.
"Whoa, sorry about that," I blurted, meeting the amused hazel eyes of Reneé Rapp. Her smile was a flashbulb moment—dazzling, unexpected, and slightly disorienting.
"No worries," she laughed, her voice a melody on its own. "It's a maze back here."
"Right? Could do with some breadcrumbs or something," I joked, trying not to get lost in the warmth of her laugh.
We exchanged nods—a silent kind of understanding between two souls navigating the same chaotic industry. Then, with a casual wave, she continued her chat with the staff dude, all business and radiant confidence.
Shaking my head, I wandered off, but not before casting a backward glance. Reneé had that spark, you know? The kind that made you sit up and pay attention. Not just because of her magnetic pull, but because she seemed to dance to the rhythm of her own tune, unapologetically herself. And damn if that didn't pique my curiosity.
"Focus, Frankie," I muttered under my breath, a smirk playing on my lips. Who knew? Maybe our paths would cross again in the studio—one can only hope.
I didn't see it, but later, back in the tangle of cables and soundboards, Alexander was singing my praises to Reneé, talking up my ear for melody like I was the next big thing. Little did I know, seeds were being sown, and the universe was conspiring to throw us together in a mix that could either be dynamite or a total disaster.
"Back to the grind," I sighed, pushing open the door to my sanctuary of sound. Little did I know, that brief encounter might just be the prelude to something way more interesting than a chart-topping hit.
Author's note
First time writing from a first person's POV so will probably eventually come back to tweak it a bit.
