Collaborating with the Tashi Duncan had been the last thing on your mind when your team met to pitch ideas for your next single.

Please— as if you'd ever work with her. Not after she swept the GRAMMYs a few years back and took home Best Pop Vocal Album, Record of the Year, and Song of the Year; all awards you'd been nominated for too.

It's just a feature," one of your agents tried to explain, "getting the two biggest names in pop right now to make a song and generate buzz. Can't you push aside the rivalry for one studio session?'

And you could, hypothetically, if it were anyone else. You'd gone and worked with Art and Patrick from Fire&Ice after they'd dunked on your single a while back— though you're certain it was Patrick who'd sent the mean tweet and not Art— and there's been plenty of producers that you've worked again and again with despite... creative differences.

But Tashi? She's another category. To willingly work with her feels like conceding the title of Most-Relevant Pop Star to her, and that's not because you're still sour about losing GRAMMYs to her of all people. Collaborating means admitting she's just that good— maybe even better— at this music thing than you.

But what the label wants, the label gets; hence why the two of you are sitting across one another with various lyrics strewn over the tabletop between you.

"No one wants another boring song about a relationship, or getting the boy back," she sighs, pulling up her dark curly tresses twined with hair tinsel from her shoulders. "We need something new, yet iconic— our own 'Crazy In Love.'"

When you don't object, she rolls her eyes before leaning close enough that her nose brushes yours. She always did get passionate about the things she cared about.

"Look, the sooner we get this done, the sooner you can go back to hating me," she mutters, "... just be a team player, yeah?"

Maybe you can push aside things and write a hit together— you can taste the Best Pop Duo/Group Performance GRAMMY win already.