Chapter One.
To say that Fitzgerald Grant III was a despairing man living in a rather dreary existence is an understatement. He downed his whiskey with eyes soaked in melancholy and leaned back into his plush but firm office chair. His office was drenched in the waning light of day, slightly overcast with red from the admirable sunset that Fitz bothered not to glance at. There was a deep mahogany desk with trinkets sprinkled at its edge, arranged by his wife, Mellie, and a rug, gifted to him by his dear friend, that had been imported from an antique shop in London. A tall lamp stood proudly in the corner, more for decor really, since Fitz rarely used it. Books were organized alphabetically on a dark bookshelf that rested to the left of his desk, covered with glass doors in order to seal them away from dust and premature destruction. The room itself was painted a rich brown that made it seem to close in on anyone who stepped foot inside, especially the man who spent the most time there; Fitz. The liquor burned down his throat with each sip he took, but he enjoyed the sensation since it distracted him greatly from the woes of his day that he could not seem to escape.
Fitz found it difficult not to sigh when he heard a meek and timid Mellie Grant outside his door. She was debating with herself on whether or not to call Cyrus to fix the mess that she had unwillingly orchestrated or to simply talk to her husband and calm his raging nerves. Her throat pulsed lightly, forcing her to clutch her stomach in attempts to keep the rising bile down, but she couldn't seem to, and so she fled from the door to Fitz's office and sought refuge in her bathroom, where she puked from anxiety and sorrow. Fitz knew she was gone when he heard the pitter-ing and patter-ing of her feet on the dark, wooden floors of their home, and exhaled gratefully at the realization.
He reached for the phone cordless phone that occupied the right corner of his desk and dialed the familiar pattern of digits.
"Cyrus Beene," Fitz's mentor and previous campaign manager answered. Cyrus was resting with an undone tie around his neck and feet kicked upon a creme colored ottoman; A habit that his wife, Janet, reprimanded him for doing. His dirty shoes tended to leave atrocious stains on the furniture that she had to scrub out. Cyrus accepted the glass of iced tea from the wife that he sort of loved and attempted to zero in on whatever Fitz needed. Though Cyrus had developed a bit of love for Fitz in a sort of father-son, brother-brother type way, he knew that Fitz was his way into the place that ran the entire country; The White House. Cyrus had already managed to get Fitz to the governor of California, but his term was nearing its end, and he was such a favorite among the people that Cyrus thought the next move was to push him into the upcoming presidential election. So Cyrus would oblige whatever Fitz needed; When Fitz won office, Cyrus figured he would earn the title 'Chief of Staff' for his hard work and allegiance to Fitz.
"My father raped Mellie," was how Fitz replied. Cyrus sat upright in his recliner and decided against a sip of his iced tea, since it had become evident that he wouldn't be able to predict anything else that Fitz would say. Fitz had now chosen to stare out of his window at the setting sun and its backdrop. He had to admit; It was beautiful. The sight made him wonder how many times he had neglected to marvel at such an exquisite view. It also made him wonder who else was gazing at the same sky.
"Your father what?" Though Cyrus was caught off guard, his tone remained placid and low with the same raspy timbre that it always held. Fitz took another sip of his whiskey, letting it sizzle down his esophagus. His eyes never left the sky that mirrored many a painting, its colors blended so swiftly and seamlessly.
"My father raped Mellie, and now some moral lacking reporter is going to leak photos to the press unless we pay him."
"I just needed to make sure that I heard you right," Cyrus confirmed. Despite the fact that he had just arrived home and settled in less than twenty minutes ago, Cyrus was again tying up his scarlet colored tie and grabbing his briefcase. The last thing Cy needed was a scandal in the media that did anything for Fitz but exalt him further than they already had. Photos of Big Jerry and Mellie engaging in sexual activity was going to put Fitz's name in the media, alright, but his name was not going to be associated with words like 'hero' and 'charming'. It would be with words like 'disgrace' and 'repulsive'. "I need you to make sure that you, Mellie, and Jerry stay inside your houses. I'm on my way."
Cyrus informed his wife that he wouldn't return until much later that night due to a crisis that had come up with Fitz. He dashed to his Corolla and listened absentmindedly to the news station that poured through the speakers of his car. Cyrus never changed the station from CNN news since he wanted not to miss the word of new policies or new world issues that arose. Because Fitz was California's governor, it was only fitting that he lived in the state's capital, Sacramento. Cy, however, took an affinity to Sutter, a city just outside of Sacramento, for it was much more reticent. It typically took him thirty-five minutes to commute from his home to Fitz's in suburban Sacramento at the allowed speed, but the circumstances had caused Cyrus to speed down the highway without regard for the speed limit, so he knew he would arrive much sooner than he expected. Cyrus deemed it necessary because not only was Fitz's future on the line, but so was his.
He reached Fitz's large, grey stoned home in twenty-five minutes. The stones and bricks that made up the Grant home were so light in tone that they could've easily been mistaken for white and the roof was a darker grey much like the shutters. The entrance of the home rounded out to create the effect of a castle-like tower. Two doors met each other there, made of stained and polished wood, to form a grand entrance that impressed many a visitor. Cyrus knocked emphatically, needing desperately to talk to the couple in person. He wasn't too worried about how loudly he had knocked, considering the Grants hadn't any children and he knew that both Mellie and Fitz had to be up.
Fitz answered the door somberly. He had quite the time attempting to drown himself in his beloved whiskey, but he was compelled to remain sober when he remembered Cyrus was coming. If there was anything Cy hated more than children, it was a drunk Fitzgerald. Cy wasn't surprised to learn that the home was eerily quiet, and understandably so. Mellie was nowhere in plain view, causing him to assume she'd retreated to her and Fitz's bedroom or any of the other private nooks in the house. Lord knows it had a superfluous number of rooms and an even greater number of doors. Trying to find that woman in a house where the only places he considered familiar were the living room, office, and kitchen would have been like trying to find an earring in a ball pit; It just wasn't happening. Instead of ransacking through the home in a frantic matter, Cyrus decided it best to ask Fitz to fetch her.
"Where's your wife?" He inquired, a skeptical brow raised in censure. Fitz raised his eyes from the floor and to Cyrus's aging face, already dreading the daunting task of searching for Mellie. He knew she hadn't left the home; He'd instructed her as much after he'd talked with Cy, but wherever else in the building she had chosen to abscond off to remained a mystery to Fitz, and frankly, he didn't care to solve it.
"Somewhere around here." His voice sounded deflated and low in Cyrus's ears, but Cy knew that if he allowed his greatest achievement to drink himself into a depression, the photos would be leaked, and then, they would never take the White House.
"Find her and bring her to the office," Cyrus ordered. Mellie had been listening to the pithy exchange between her dismal husband and Cyrus at the top of the stairs, behind the wall that lead down the right hallway. She had succeeded in ridding herself of that God-awful vomit aftertaste with a half-eaten NutriGrain bar and some of her hooch, a clear liquor that often whisked her away from what she told herself was a happy life with Fitz. Heavy footsteps echoed up the stairs belonging to her husband; She could tell by the sound of the way his feet came down, shuffled, and continued. Mellie didn't have much shame in her liquor. She had been forced to out her biggest and most horrid secret to Fitz, something she dreaded for the past year. Fitz now hated both Mellie and his father for the actions of only his father. Still, he blamed Mellie just as much.
He rounded the corner and found his wife broken and swallowing yet another glass of hooch. His eyes turned down at their corners in an instinctive frown. Governor Grant wanted to feel an ounce of pity for Mellie, but he didn't. Instead, he was overcome with emotions of loathing, vexation, and blame that he inflicted on Mellie with every breath he took.
"Get up. Cyrus is here, and he wants to talk to you." She retrieved the NutriGrain bar at her feet and grabbed her hooch, following Fitz down the stairs, both of the postures screaming out their gloominess. She trailed behind him all the way to his office, past nearly five doors that lead to various rooms. Cyrus sat in the leather couch that housed itself in the far right corner, across from Fitz's desk, his eyes closed in unmistakeable vexation. Mellie couldn't help but to attribute the mess to herself again. If only she'd been able to ward Big Jerry off with her words, he would've left her alone, or if only she'd gone to the gym like the other California wives, she might've been able to muscle him off of her.
It wasn't Mellie's fault, though. She reminded herself that as she sat on the couch, a good several inches away from Cyrus. Fitz, being the man he was, took his seat in his office chair and reclined back in it as he poured himself another glass of whiskey. Mellie shrugged and decided no one would judge her if she took a swig of her liquor too, so she did.
"Who is he?" Cy asked.
"Who is who?" Fitz rebuttal-ed.
"Who is the sleazy reporter who has the photos?" Mellie sighed and drew her feet up onto her couch with her, holding her knees, yet being sure not to expose her underwear in her dress. Fitz's face hadn't changed emotions since Cyrus had greeted him in his home, a mere five minutes ago. Not only was Fitz a typically jubilant man, but he was also rather animated. He had a habit of expressing his emotions grandly on his face when he wasn't dealing with his work. Taking both of those facts in mind, Cy knew Fitz had to have been absolutely pissed that night.
Everyone knew Fitz's father, Jerry Grant, considering that he had been a two time governor of California and multiple term senator of California. The masses loved him, and with Fitz growing up in his father's large shadow, the people came to love him too. It had undoubtedly played a hand in Fitz winning governor by such a landslide. But, as much of a family man Jerry was perceived to be, Fitz knew that his father had a thing for affairs and scandalous sex with women. Jerry had engaged in an extramarital affair with a prostitute named Hope when Fitz was growing up, and his secretary. He wasn't sure who the other women were, but he knew there were other women. It hadn't surprised Fitz to learn that his father had his way with Mellie, but no one could blame him for detesting his father even more after catching wind of what had happened.
So, Fitz reserved the right to be vile and aggravated.
"Ask Mellie," Fitz told him.
"He called the house on Wednesday, saying he had something really important to tell me. I typically ignored reporters, but when he said he knew about Jerry, I decided to meet him at a coffee shop downtown," she explained, "I tried to tell him that he should get rid of the photos, but he said he would only do it if we paid him in full."
"How much did he want?" Cy challenged.
"Ten-thousand dollars, cash." Instead of replying, Cyrus whizzed out his phone and punched in a few numbers, waiting impatiently as the device rang.
Olivia Pope was roughly two-thousand-and-seven-hundred miles away. She sat uncomfortably at a dinner table with her father, who poured her a deep, maroon glass of wine. Her nose took in the smell of it, reminding her oddly of communion juice with a splash of alcohol. She raised her eyes to her despicable dad and shook her head gingerly.
"I don't really like wine," she declared, wishing desperately that the night would end. It made Olivia's skin crawl to even be in the same room as her father, who she learned had been stealing bountiful amounts of money from the institution in which he worked. Eli, her father, was immensely nervous. It had taken nail and tooth to convince Olivia's stubborn mind to agree to the return of Sunday dinners after she'd uncovered what she thought was Eli's darkest secret. She knew little though, but he would let her believe that she had uncovered everything.
"That's because you've never had fine wine," Eli argued, sitting across from her at his dining table that could seat four. She grimaced and decided on humoring him, tipping the glass back and letting the rich flavor dominate her taste buds. Her eyes lit in delight as she paused to let out a response.
"It's good," she said simply. Her father chuckled and she took another blissful sip. In the midst of the moment, her phone rang, Cyrus's name flashing on the screen of her phone. Olivia stood and took her phone with her, looking at her father with false apologies. "I have to take this," she reasoned. She walked down the corner, where she thought she'd be out of Eli's earshot, which she was. "Olivia Pope," she answered.
"Olivia, it's Cyrus. I need you to do me a favor." Her free arm that didn't hold the jewel of a communication device crossed over her bosom and she chuckled lowly.
"Really? What is it?" Cy knew that he had many other means to help remedy the sick situation that was Mellie, Fitz, Jerry, and a tacky reporter, but he also knew Olivia was the best way to do it. He had helped mentor her himself, teaching her the ins and outs of the political world and how to pull strings that were just a little to high for her to reach; He taught her the things they don't teach in law school. Not only had he developed a high respect for Olivia, and she for him, but he had also formed a friendship with her. Cyrus knew that the past exchanges between them would lead her to help him.
"I need you to fix something for me. How fast can you get to California?"
"How fast do you need me in California?"
"Tomorrow, noon." Typically, Oliva would have been burdened and vexed with the thought of having to purchase a priority ticket to the first plane out of D.C. in the morning, but having to pack for a week and buy a plane ticket for the next morning at eight thirty that night gave her excuse enough to have to leave dinner with her father. She wasn't going to complain; Cyrus had just saved her from an awkward and forced conversation with Eli about shallow things that she longed not to talk about, or at least not with him anyway.
"You're lucky I like you," she bantered with a slight giggle, ending the call and returning to her father's dining room. "Dad, I'm so sorry. I just got a spur of the moment client who needs me in California by noon tomorrow. I've got to book a flight, p-" Mr. Pope knew that Olivia was relieved to have a sufficient enough reason to get out of dinner with him, and in a part of him deep down, he was hurt by that. Though he had been a pushy parent, he loved his daughter, and he could only hope that she would come around and forgive him for his wrongdoings soon. Until then, he yearned not to hold her against her will.
"I understand, Olivia," he sympathized, emphasizing each syllable of her name like only he could. She gathered her few belongings she had brought; Her purse, her phone, and her coat. Eli escorted her to the door where she got into a cab he had called for her minutes earlier when he assumed she'd be leaving. They waved each other goodbye, secretly grateful they would no longer be subjected to such an odd, uncomfortable evening.
In the Grant home, Fitz peered at Cyrus with skeptical eyes, wondering who he could have possibly called. All he had bothered to learn from listening to the conversation Cy had in front of both Fitz and Mellie was that the woman was named Olivia. Despite the fact that Fitz didn't even know who she was or how great of a job she did, he did know that he lacked confidence in the belief that whoever Olivia was would be able to fix the situation at hand.
"Who was that?" Mellie dared to ask. Cyrus let out a concentrated exhale and stood from his seat.
"That was your SOS."
It was exceedingly early the next morning when Olivia rose to get herself dressed. The time on her alarm clock read five thirty, but she was convinced it was prior. Typically, Olivia wouldn't have gotten up until seven thirty to make it to work on time, and maybe eight if she felt like taking a cab instead of the metro. Still, she had called her firm the previous night to inform her boss she'd be gone for the coming week and packed her bags, only for her dear friend Cyrus, who she felt obligated to do a favor for.
She showered under steaming hot water, being sure to tuck her hair under a shower cap since she had pressed it out straight the night before, and lotioned her body with her favorite body cream and some baby oil. She then brushed her teeth and washed her face before applying an airy, fresh face of makeup that hid her tired state. After that, Olivia put on her clothes; A pair of grey, Calvin Klein slacks, a cream-colored blouse, a matching grey blazer, simple pearl earrings, a glistening pearl necklace, and pointed, cream-colored heels. Once she spritzed her elegant Dior perfume that went easy on the nostrils, brushed through her loose curls, and combed out her bangs, she snatched her purse from the couch where she'd left it last night, put on her coat, and wheeled her suitcase behind her as she locked the door.
It was still dark outside when she rode down the escalator to the metro, a few blocks down from her apartment building. She strutted through to the correct metro train for the airport with her head held impeccably high and her confidence exuding through her pores. When the metro stopped and a meager number of passengers exited, Olivia checked to make sure the train was going to the airport. When she confirmed it was the right train, she stepped on, wheeling her luggage behind her.
The rest of the way to the plane was a blur, but she made it on time to her first-class seat that she'd paid a pretty penny for. The flight was booked, and they'd had to move someone from their seat last night so that she could make it on. Tight air and a quiet, never-ending beeping noise greeted each passenger for the five and a half hour flight they'd embarked on, leaving Olivia with no choice but to close her eyes and pray that she could sleep the hours away.
Cyrus was already in his suit and sitting in the swooning living room of the Grant home with that same determined expression on his face when the clock struck noon. He was elated that Olivia had chosen to grant him his wish and handle the positively chaotic plight that threatened both his and Fitz's careers. His friend had called him twenty minutes earlier to inform him that she was on her way to the Grant home, and so he had summoned both Fitz and Mellie to prepare them for the political genius that was Olivia Pope.
"You wanted to know her name," Cyrus reminisced of the previous evening. "Her name is Olivia Pope. There's nothing that I've ever seen her not be able to handle, and I don't expect this to be an exception. She is smart; Don't challenge her. Do what she says," he finished, looking them both in the eyes with intensity. Olivia didn't shy away from things or handle anything with particular emotional care; He wanted to make sure they were ready for that. "If you don't like her, I don't care. Bond over how much you hate her in your footies at night, but I don't want to hear so much as a thing about her from your mouths that don't include the words 'brilliant', 'genius', or 'thankful'. Got it?"
Both Fitz and Mellie nodded numbly and stood, smoothing their clothes alongside Cyrus when they noticed a cab pull up to their driveway. Cy had given Olivia the code to get into the gated neighborhood much earlier, so she'd arrive without much trouble. Cyrus opened the door and walked down the paved sidewalk that led from the porch to the curb to meet his friend who was doing him an immense favor.
"Cyrus," she greeted with a genuine beam.
"Olivia!" They shared a warm hug as the cab driver retrieved Olivia's bags from the trunk. Cyrus tipped the tab for her; It was the least he could do. Then, the both of them walked up the path toward the Grant home, Mellie and Fitz smiling in the doorway.
Little did any of them know that while Mellie was assessing Olivia to get an idea of what she might be like in nature, Fitz was admiring the stunning smile that she had as she laughed with Cyrus. He was gawking over her high cheekbones and plump lips that he could have devoured on sight. He was in awe of her glossy hair that bounced with her as she strided with a few pieces pulled back behind her bangs to create a heavenly look. He was amazed at the way her dainty fingers held her coffee cup with their polished nails. He was entranced by the way she stepped with so much sureness about her, so much sureness that was sexy.
Little did any of them know that they were witnessing the moment that Fitzgerald Grant III fell in love with Olivia Pope.
When she and Cyrus reached the door, Olivia outstretched her hand toward Mellie, who took it, and shook it graciously.
"Mellie Grant," she introduced. Olivia nodded in recognition of her name and turned toward Fitz, pausing as she caught his gaze, but still shaking his hand. Her heart thumped a bit heavier in her chest when tingles shot up her arm as she shook the man's hand.
It's probably because of how cold I am from the car and how warm he is from the house, she told herself.
"You must be Governor Grant," she guessed with a pleasant smile.
"That's me," he confirmed.
"I'm Olivia Pope. Very nice to meet you both." Fitz spoke for both he and Mellie next.
"Very nice to meet you, Olivia."