12 hours earlier

Cyrus Beene was a busy man. Being Senior Advisor to the President did not exactly lend itself to much free time. But in situations of dire desperation, he would force himself to make free time. Like James's birthday, or when his arthritis would paralyze him, making it difficult for him to get out of bed in the morning.

But right now, he was sitting in 2100 Prime, once known as the Jockey Club waiting for his 12:00pm appointment. Sure, it was a working lunch, but any meal outside the White House cafeteria to him was equivalent to a romp in the English countryside. To add to his palpable feeling of slacking off, it was an election year. Sure, President Grant was leading his Democratic opponents by more than 10 points, but they were about a year out until Election Day. Anything was possible. And working for the Grant Administration for as long as he had, he knew anything could blow up at any given moment.

However, if this meeting went as planned, in about a week, polls would have them in landslide territory.

"Sir? Sir?" a chirpy voice greeted his ears. He looked up to see a waitress equipped with a pad, waiting to take his order.

"Oh…sorry." He responded. That tended to happen. Getting so lost in his thoughts, the world itself did not exist. "You know what; I'll start with a Pinot Noir, the Martinelli Bella Vigna. A bottle. I have a guest coming so I won't order until she gets here." He said briskly as the waitress scribbled his order on her pad.

"Coooming….write…up" invoking that annoying habit waiters had of stretching out a sentence as they wrote.

As she walked off, he checked his watch. 11:40 am. Knowing Olivia Pope, she was going to arrive in exactly 10 minutes.

But then again, he was not sure he knew Olivia Pope as well as he thought he did.

It had been years since they had sat down for a meal. And months since he had actually spoken to her in an unofficial capacity. The Olivia of old, the formidable cutthroat pupil had changed so much. 2 years ago, fresh out the White House, she had created Olivia Pope & Associates. A small, boutique consulting firm that catered to Washington's elite located in a fashionably shabby office on Delaware Ave.

But the Olivia Pope of now, still a shrewd business woman had expanded beyond her island of misfit toys employees and had moved her office to an elegant K Street townhouse. Or so the Washington Post said. He had seen a picture of her in the gossip pages at a Sally Quinn party with her boyfriend, Derek Ramirez, an attorney at Arnold & Porter.

He remembered that day a few years ago when the President had heard the news…how his whole demeanor changed. The slumping shoulders. His boyish face expressing the pathos of his disappointment.

But as his thoughts dug deeper within his head, he felt a gentle tap on his shoulders. He looked around to see her standing in all her glory.

"Fancy meeting you here." She said with a smirk.

He stood up to greet her but she held up an elegant hand. "Please, Cyrus…"

As she sat, the waitress worked her way over to the table, placing the wine down and pouring out their glasses.

"Wow, Pinot Noir, and a California?" she said. "Rough times at the White House?"

"Very funny. But things are running pretty smoothly." Cyrus said hastily.

Olivia smiled, taking a sip of her wine. Did she know why they were here?

"So if things are running so smoothly, why am I here?"

Cyrus decided that now would be a good time to take a gulp of his wine. So he could bullshit his way into a respectable answer.

"You know, I always knew you were confident, never took you for being smug."

"Well you know me, I don't do bullshit. Why am I here?" she said looking bored, smoothing out her elegant white sheath dress.

"I like the dress Liv, what is it? Michael Kors?" Cyrus shot back. He was desperate, flattery always worked.

She laughed, rolling her eyes and taking another sip of wine. She seemed to flinch at him using "Liv". He knew how to oil her engine. It must have brought back memories.

"It's Ralph, thanks but you haven't answered the question." She blinked slowly.

Cyrus took a deep sign and an even deeper drink. He strategized in his mind. Remember, the greater good argument.

"As you know, its game time, and we need troops on the field. I know…I know you walked away. And with everything that went on, this is precarious. But we want to bring you in for Communications. You run the shop, staff, and the works. We can talk about pay later but right now, we need to know if you are in or out."

Olivia looked gob smacked. And then it hit Cyrus. The smugness, the faux boredom. She thought there was another scandal. Now he knew he was in for the kill.

"Look, Fitz-"There was that flinch again. Good.

"Don't…" she said looking flustered. "Do not say his name…" she said in a strangled whisper.

Cyrus did not want to look to gleeful. It was like taking candy from a baby.

"…what I was going to say is that the president has put everything behind him."

"Of course he has."

Cyrus observed her carefully. The power had shifted.

"It's just a campaign, Liv. You don't need to come back to Pennsylvania Ave. All we want is an adequate Communications Director who knows what they're doing."

"I have a whole staff of strategists, PR people and consultants who would be willing to take this on. Perhaps I should email a few resumes to you? Maybe talk to a few friends?" Olivia said trying to gather herself together. She immediately went into business mode.

Cyrus chuckled.

"We need the big guns. You know we have some bodies buried. And we need you in the tent pissing out just in case-"

Olivia looked outraged. Her pretty face screwing up in rage.

"No! What you need is for his dirty little secret to be on the payroll because you know someone's going to start digging. The democrats aren't playing around and they are going to rehash the whole sordid affair. You know the Amanda Tanner story isn't as dead as we all think. Some nosy reporter is waiting in the wake; political enemies are waiting to eat him alive. It's been what, two years? And not a peep. They want blood Cyrus. You have no idea-"

"Of course you would know, Ramirez, isn't his dad Andy Ramirez? The Senator from New York, Democrat right? Ambassador to China? People are talking about him to be VP to Thompson? You don't think that's a little reckless?"

Cyrus had enough. His blood was boiling. How dare she threaten what he had worked for? Particularly when she had come so close to ruining it.

"So before you start prognosticating in your ivory tower, remember, you are close to the fire. You are literally sleeping with the enemy, Liv. And if you do not have the power of the White House behind you, away from Ramirez during campaign season it is going to come out. An idiot amateur reporter figured out Billy's shit. What makes you think a bright trial lawyer who wants to see his dad become the first Latino Vice-President won't take down his lover and the Republican president to boot. It wouldn't hurt. He could move up, there are a lot of perks with his dad becoming VP. He becomes a senior partner, hell, maybe he even runs to be Attorney General. " He finished. He could feel his heart thumping."

"He loves me" she said, her eyes shining with tears.

"The president "loved you". And yet a two year affair and one abortion later, he's still president isn't he? Didn't resign…wonder why? As much as you don't want to admit it Liv, great men don't just give up ambition for love. If Fitzgerald Grant wanted, if he really didn't care about the presidency, he would have resigned a long time ago. With or without your help."

There it was. The punch. He had hit her hard. He knew she could not say no. There was a part of him, deep in the pathologies of his brain that jumped for joy at his triumph. As he took a sip of wine, the waitress returned.

"Sir? Are you ready-"He cut her off.

"No. I'm not ordering." Cyrus said. He got up to leave, not even looking back to see the results of his work. Not lingering around to pay the bill, let alone look at Olivia's heart-shaped face screwed up in heartache.

He played the bottom of the deck. Her need to have the president remain in the White House, her noble almost masochistic need for Fitzgerald Grant to be great would never go away. No matter how long it had been. It seems like she was still the same Olivia after all.