Chapter 17

Life Happens Every Day


Flip the Script

As a general rule, Catherine hated going into meetings unprepared. When it came to meetings with her managing editor, she was always spot on. For this particular face-to-face, Catherine wasn't really unprepared but desiring a different approach to her article, an approach she was sure would receive a lot of pushback.

Months ago when she'd pitched the idea of a profile on the incumbent governor and gotten the greenlight, she'd been ecstatic. This was her chance to pen a ten-thousand word essay that would be referenced for years to come, especially if the governor ran for and won the presidency in four years. That was the word on the street: Fitzgerald T. Grant, III would certainly run for president if he won a second term as governor. It was simply an added bonus that he was on her PILF list. The PILF list, politicians I'd like to fuck, was a running joke between her and a few of the other women contributors on the news and politics desk at The New Yorker. They laughed about this list, adding and removing candidates when they went out for drinks once or twice a month. That he was on her list would make for pleasurable one-on-ones with him and be fodder for the jokes she would share with her work friends. She never would have dreamed how pleasurable her meetings with him would be.

This was an easy assignment. Meet with the governor directly during his campaign for a few interviews and then write an essay-length article: Chronicle his background, rise to political power, the tragedy of his wife's death, his status as a single-father/eligible bachelor, his highly successful first term, and political aspirations. It began as a low-risk, high-reward endeavor until they sat down for the first interview, and she saw the back of his neck.

After their initial greetings, he had offered her a beverage. She'd asked for water. He was standing with his back to her presenting a full view of his many delights to behold. But the part of him that made her breath catch was the skin that was exposed when he bent his head ever so slightly, watching the water flow into the glass. His neck looked strong, set against his wavy black mane and starched white collar. Her saving grace against complete humiliation was that she was taping the interview and had a set of prepared questions she managed to eke out while trying to pretend she didn't want to strip him naked and devour him whole. That night she'd pulled out her Calla Lily vibrator and used every last setting. Had her ex-boyfriend been in town she would have called him over to scratch her itch because he would have been happy to oblige, no questions asked.

Unfortunately, she couldn't get the governor or his strong neck out of her mind so she made a decision. If the right opportunity to fuck him presented itself, she would go for it. To their second meeting, Catherine wore a fitted business suit that was professional and understated, but with the right body could be sexy and suggestive, provided she removed the jacket. She pulled her red hair up into a loose bun and applied her makeup for a night out-smokey eye and pouty lips-and armed herself with condoms. During this second interview, she made her move once they had finished all the questions and she had stopped the recording. Under the guise of a celebration for the political endorsement article published by The New York Times that morning in the governor's favor and his decisive rise in the polls, Catherine presented him with a bottle of top shelf bourbon. After three drinks, she sauntered over to him, deciding to go with the truth. She told him about her PILF list and that he was her number one. She also said, whispering in his ear, "I'd like to give you more than just my vote." When he chuckled and politely declined, she continued to press him with assurances that there were no strings attached and sex with him as all she wanted.

And that is how it began. They met 5 more times in his office over the course of a month. They would talk about the politics of the day until there was a lull in the conversation. He'd lock the door. They would retreat into a small room adjoining his office and fuck. The space was tiny with a wooden work table surrounded by shelves of banker's boxes. The sex was hot and raw with no bed or pillow and definitely no pillow talk. In the small, stuffy room they searched for a sturdy surface, sometimes laughing when one of the banker's boxes fell. It was bliss for Catherine, but now upon reflection she couldn't recall how it was for Fitz as she rarely saw his face. After the sixth time and what would be the last of their rendezvous, whenever she called him she couldn't get through so she left messages. Finally, she gave up and stopped calling, stung by the obvious rejection. That didn't stop her from writing a glowing article, and it was published last month. The governor was her subject when she had personal time with the Calla Lily. She also derived personal satisfaction when others praised her article even if the governor never reached out with any comments on the finished product.

The trouble didn't begin until she covered a fundraiser where the governor was the speaker. Catherine had practiced how she would approach him because she wanted to be with him again and find out why he had ended it. She tracked his movements the entire night. She witnessed his quick, but intimate exchange with an unknown woman. He stood achingly close behind this woman whose head was bent over her phone and brushed his lips along the nape of her neck. The woman had smiled, but didn't look back to see who had kissed her. She lingered for a moment and then moved away, returning to her table. Catherine had no doubt that he was involved with this woman. It felt to her like a betrayal and was the beginning of her quest to find out who this woman was and the nature of their relationship. Now as she waited to speak with her managing editor she was beginning to question whether she should let this all go and move on.

"Hey Cat, come on in," Lila said, holding open the heavy glass door of her office, beckoning for Catherine to enter. Every surface was filled with stacks of papers. Catherine could not understand why Lila had so much paper when content was always transferred and stored digitally.

Catherine smiled brightly at Lila, trudged into her office, and had a seat on the sofa across from her desk.

"What is on your mind, Cat. I was surprised when I didn't receive a draft of your article. I can't give feedback without it," Lila said, taking a seat on the sofa next to her, cradling what Catherine knew was a piping hot mug of herbal tea. She took a ginger sip and set it on a nearby table, one of the few clear surfaces in the office. "But you're always the early bird. It's just that I hope you aren't here to pitch yet another change to your story."

Catherine raised her hands and tucked her hair behind her ears in an effort at bracing herself. She clasped her hands together and began. "You see, Lila, that is why I'm here. I haven't been able to get traction with Olivia Pope. Actually that is not true. One of her people accepted my invitation but then backtracked the same day so-"

Lila narrowed her doe-like eyes. Everyone at the office agreed that she looked like "My Fair Lady" Audrey Hepburn but decidedly less glamorous. "I'm truly puzzled, Cat. After the Grant profile, you pitched an election security focus. Two weeks later you came back with a new story, which I expressed was a stretch for you, a profile on Olivia Pope. I approved it because I wanted to see how you planned to make this into a political story since you aren't on the culture desk and Vanity Fair already profiled her. Now you are back asking to flip the script again. What is it now? It had better be good because I am running out of patience. You are running out of time."

"I have reason to believe that Grant is seeing Olivia Pope," Catherine said, "and I want to break the story."

"What?" Lila said, shaking her head vigorously, "Seeing each other? Grant, governor of New York who you just profiled, and Olivia Pope who you want to profile now? What is this...some strange hybrid of your two stories? I don't get it Cat. I just don't get it. You have been off since your last story went to print. What's going on?"

"You are right, Lila. I've been a little all over the place, but I have clarity now. I was at a fundraiser where Grant was speaking and I saw him kiss her. I also have an eyewitness who saw them eating together with his children and-" Catherine explained.

Lila, who had been sipping her tea, rose to her feet, mug in hand. "I agree that their dating-if it is true-would be news for a variety of reasons. But it is not appropriate for the news and politics desk. Maybe the culture desk. I would suggest you pass the tip on to Rayna or Dominick. However, I think the best course for you is to let this rest. We are on the governor's friends list, and I'd like to keep it that way for access purposes for as long as we can. If this was about corruption or some untoward acts, I'd say go for it. The governor has been good for this city and many are rooting for him." Lila said.

Catherine did not like the way the conversation was going. She wanted to hit the undo button and try it again from a different approach. "Lila, this is a political story. I know it. I need a few more days to chase a few leads. You know I have a nose for these things. Give me till the end of the week. If I don't find anything, then I will let it go. Any capital I have stored up with you, I want to spend it on this chance, please. I'm rooting for the governor too, it's Olivia Pope whose suspect. She's the unknown here."

Lila returned to her seat and considered Catherine's words. The wheels were turning so Catherine didn't say anything else.

"Okay, Cat. I'll give you until the end of next week to get me something. I'm giving you this time so you'll know there will be no excuses. It'll be this story or the election security story. No more changes," Lila emphasized.

Catherine smiled and extended her hand for a shake. "Understood, Lila. I won't disappoint you."


Frenemies

Abiba lay in bed cuddling her body pillow gazing at the indentation in the other pillow where David's head had been mere hours ago. He'd already left for work so she was home alone. Until her maternity leave began, she was scheduled for half days at work. She pulled David's pillow close and inhaled his scent. Memories of their lovemaking last night and this morning placed a satisfied grin on her face. Even though she still resented Olivia for intruding in her life, the end result brought David back to her. Now they were going to have a baby and be a family.

The buzzing phone interrupted Abiba's daydreams.

"Hello," Abiba mumbled.

A voice responded almost too brightly. "Good morning, May I speak with Aba...Abeada...Abba Mashaba?"

Abiba rolled her eyes. "Who's calling because you obviously do not know whom you are calling," Abiba said, sitting up on the bed and reaching for her robe.

"My sincere apologies. My name is Catherine Schaeffer, but you can call me Cat. How do I pronounce your name, please?"

"A-Bee-ba. Cat, why are you contacting me?" Abiba said, stifling a yawn. She slipped on her ear buds and dropped her phone in her robe pocket so she could be free to make up the bed.

"Thank you, Abiba. Your name is beautiful by the way," said Cat, "as I'm sure you've heard all your life."

Abiba didn't respond to Catherine's attempt at small talk, but instead, used this time to straighten up the bedroom, run a bath, and pick out clothes for the day.

"Well, I'm a reporter doing a story on your boss, Olivia Pope, and I'd like to get your perspective on her...if you would talk to me," Catherine explained.

Abiba stopped in her tracts after hearing Olivia's name. She walked back into the bathroom and turned off the faucet.

"Cat, Is this story about SpaBliss or Euphoria in general because I would need to get Olivia's approval to speak with you? I don't think-"

"We can talk about your work there, but I'm more interested in Olivia Pope, the person. How is it to work for her? Who is she? I'd love some personal anecdotes," Catherine explained, "From what I've heard she is an enigma, difficult to work for, exacting, and extremely private. To be blunt, I hear she treats her staff like shit. Has that been your experience, Abiba? As I read on the website, you've worked there for less than six months, but you are a major player."

Abiba was surprised by her reaction to these questions. She could only name the feeling as anger and a fierce desire to protect Olivia. Despite all their disagreements and confrontations, Abiba had the sense that Olivia was less an enigma, but a woman fiercely protective of herself and her work. She was thankful to be working with Olivia and wouldn't do anything to jeopardize that. She reasoned that Olivia had collected her share of enemies and that probably was the origin of this call. Abiba decided to play along in order to get more information.

"Cat, if all the things you say about Olivia are true, why would I talk to you? We sign NDAs so I would be putting myself in jeopardy," Abiba said.

"You won't be named, Abiba. I'll identify you as a source close to upper management," Catherine explained, "I'll purposely muddle some of the small details so what you say can't be traced back to you."

"I'd like to ask you a few questions first, Cat, if that is okay?"

"Of course, Abiba, anything." Catherine said. She had her pen and pad ready to capture anything important.

"What outlet are you representing for this story?" Abiba said. She had her own pad and pen, poised to take notes.

"I mostly freelance for online outlets. It all depends on who picks up on the story when I bid it out," Catherine said.

"Oh," Abiba said, "Well what are you really looking for? You could describe any male CEO in the way you've described Olivia, and it wouldn't be news. No, it's expected...so maybe if you could tell me, Cat, what you are looking for, I can confirm or deny it."

Catherine sat up a little straighter in her chair with a newfound respect for Abiba, but mostly for Olivia for choosing Abiba to work for her. This wasn't going to be easy. She felt like she had lost some of her leverage. She weighed her options. What should she do? Reveal her hand? Keep fishing?

"Do you know if Olivia Pope is seeing anyone...like maybe Governor Fitzgerald Grant?" Catherine said, hoping she had a royal flush.

Abiba scribbled a few notes on her pad. "Why don't we meet for a late lunch, Cat? Can I text you the address where I'll be later?"

"Sure sounds good, Abiba. What ti-" Catherine tried to finish her question but Abiba had disconnected the line.

I come to you and place my hand on your bare chest. Your quick intake of breath and pounding heartbeat is proof your desire for me is ripe. I raise my other hand to your chest and with both hands fan out over the expanse, trying to memorize every curve and bend of your muscles. You cover my hands with yours because you want to take control. I twist my hands away and reach for your belt buckle. Your thick manhood strains against your zipper. I release the buckle and meet your gaze, heavy-lidded with desire. You try to unbutton my blouse, but I give you a shove. You fall back on the bed. I undress myself while you watch, eager and hungry for me. I crawl towards you straddling your-

Olivia jumped at the swift knocks on her office door and simultaneously closed her laptop cover. She wasn't using her 27" iMac since writing a personal sex scene didn't qualify as suitable for work. This was Olivia's fifth draft and she still hadn't gotten to the part where they completed the act. She'd spent too much time at the outset agonizing about details like location, their clothes, and whether or not there would be dialogue. Initially, she'd wondered whether she should write it out first or just wing it.

She and Fitz had discussed it over dinner at Olivia's home the evening of their first joint therapy session on one of those rare nights he spent the night at her place. Around six o'clock that evening, she'd called him to say she would be working too late to spend the night at the governor's mansion. He'd surprised her when she'd gotten home later that night appearing with pizza, wine, and flowers.

They were snuggled on the couch eating pizza and drinking wine while cable news provided the background noise.

"I appreciate this, Fitz. I don't know what I'd do without you," Olivia said, savoring a bite of Holy Shittake pie.

Fitz used a napkin to swipe a dollop of white sauce from the corner of her mouth. "You're in luck because you won't ever have to find out."

Olivia washed her food down with a sip of wine and placed the wineglass and paper plate on the coffee table. Three pizza crusts littered her plate. She never ate the crusts. Fitz, happy to oblige, grabbed one and started to eat it. "I've had enough," she said, "You'll have to stop bringing me food after nine o'clock. If I don't get dinner by seven, I can just wait until the morning."

Fitz made a move to get up so he could clean up their trash, but she stopped him. "I'll get it later. Since you've stuffed me with carbs, cheese, and wine, let's veg out for a few minutes." Fitz pulled her back into his arms. Olivia tuned in to the news. Fitz tuned in to Olivia, admiring her body. She still wore her suit skirt that had hiked up her legs giving him a good view of her shapely thighs, clad in sheer pantyhose. Her white silk blouse was almost sheer too so he could see her lacy bra. His hands were inches away from her breasts, but he didn't make a move. These would be the images he'd remember when he took a shower later tonight.

"What did you think of the session today?" Olivia asked.

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. "I thought it went well. Dr. Chase gave us high marks for communication," he said, absently rubbing her collarbone with the pads of his fingers.

"How do you think it went?" he asked.

"Good. We scheduled another joint session so…" Olivia said.

Fitz kissed her on the back of her neck in response, intending just one kiss, but he couldn't stop until she spoke again.

"So what did you think of the whole thought experiment and Dr. Chase's...um...suggestion?" she asked.

Fitz was already hard, but her question hardened him more by several degrees. Olivia moved off his lap and turned to face him on the sofa. His arousal didn't phase her since it was a natural part of their relationship.

"What I said today still stands. I am game to try it, sweetheart. What about you?" he said.

"I...am. I'm game too, but I have a few questions. Should we prepare by writing down what we are going to say or should we speak extemporaneously? If things go well, should we go ahead and have sex or should we wait? What if I freak out and it fails? What would success or failure look like, actually? Would it be too much torture for you? Could you even take it-" Olivia said, pointing to his crotch.

Fitz laughed out loud. "Slow down Liv. I can tell you've been thinking about it. I have too, but I didn't want to put pressure on you. We go at your pace. Always."

Olivia, feeling an uncharacteristic lightness of spirit, took Fitz's hand to brace herself while she hiked up her skirt. She straddled him on the sofa and kissed him deeply for a full second, trapping his hands behind his head, while she ground herself into his swollen crotch.

"I think that's enough pressure for tonight. Why don't you go hop in the shower while I clean up here," she said.

With a sheepish grin, Fitz saluted in agreement and stumbled down the hall to the shower.

Since their conversation that night almost a week ago, Olivia had been working on her drafts. She and Fitz hadn't broached the subject again. She knew he was waiting on her to initiate. He held to his commitment to go at her pace. Olivia often wondered how long Fitz's patience with her would last. Part of her was bracing for him to unmask and reveal his true self. She just wasn't sure what form that would take.

Abby poked her head inside Olivia's office. "Liv, Abiba is here to see you. She doesn't have an appointment, but she says it is important. Do you want me to send her in?"

Olivia placed her laptop in her bottom desk drawer. "Yes, it is fine. Go ahead and send her in," Olivia said, "And Abby, please hire another office assistant for me. You have far too much to handle to be bogged down answering my calls."

Abby's expression fell. "Okay, Olivia. I'll hire someone within the week."

Noticing her response, Olivia said, "Abby, thanks for covering that desk though. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Thank you, Olivia." Abby replied before giving a genuine smile.

Abiba walked in as Abby left. Her locs were arranged in a bun atop her head, and she wore an ornately patterned tunic style dress.

"Hi Abiba, this is a pleasant surprise. You are working half days, no? How's training going?"

"The training is going fine. Melba is a quick study. I'll be stopping by to check on her, though. I can't have her taking my job," Abiba said, only half teasing, "But I'm here to share some intel with you."

Olivia's light mood started to dissipate. "What intel?"

"This morning a reporter called me trying to get dirt on you. Her name is Catherine Schaeffer. She goes by Cat. What she really wants to know is if you are seeing Fitzgerald Grant," Abiba explained. "Are you...seeing him?"

Olivia's mood was now less than magnanimous. "What did you tell her?"

"I didn't tell her anything really, Olivia. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't because I don't know who you are seeing. I pretended I knew something so I could suss out her intentions. I'm supposed to meet her later today, but I wanted to talk to you first."

Olivia felt a familiar pang in her chest. It was the pang of disappointment when someone she trusted betrayed that trust. She thought she had shown Abiba how valuable she was to the company and how much respect she had for her. But Olivia interpreted this conversation as Abiba's power grab and payback for her perceived slights. Olivia knew Abiba was no fool and surmised she suspected, if not knew, she was seeing Fitz.

Olivia turned her back to Abiba and looked out the window. "So what are you going to tell her?"

"Are you seeing the governor," Abiba asked.

Turning to face Abiba, arms crossing her chest in a protective stance, Olivia said, "Yes. I. am. What are you going to tell her?"

"As far as I am concerned, Catherine Schaeffer can go fuck herself. I'm not going to tell her anything. I will stand her ass up," Abiba said.

Olivia walked back to her desk and took a seat, "Thank you, Abiba."

Abiba smiled. "Why are you thanking me? You are as frightening as you are brilliant. I'd never want to be on your bad side."

"Or I yours," Olivia said with a smile.


What a Girl Wants

Catherine sat at her computer staring at her monitor and the eight hundred word first draft of the article she'd begun. She'd been forced to write it just to crowd out the white space that was the enemy of any writer. You can't edit blank space so get some words on that paper. That was the constant command of every writing teacher she'd had. This had been a shitty day for Catherine even though it started out promising with the call to Abiba. Unfortunately, that hadn't gone anywhere. All she'd done was shoot herself in the foot by revealing too much to Abiba who had probably gone straight to Olivia reciting chapter and verse of their phone call. By now both Fitz and Olivia probably both knew she was looking into their relationship.

Catherine made a decision to end this day. The shower was calling her name. Maybe tomorrow after a good night's rest she would reflect on why she was so focused on this story that was getting her nowhere fast.

The shrill ring of the door bell made Catherine jump. She wasn't expecting any visitors, so she looked through the peephole. Nonplussed by the person outside her door, she looked through it again. Why is he here? Catherine thought.

"Who is it?" Catherine said.

A business card for Cyrus Beene appeared under her door at that moment with a message scrawled on the back: I have a message from the governor.

Catherine opened the door intrigued and surprised. A small sliver of hope eased its way into her psyche.

"Come in, Mr. Beene. Would you like something to drink?" Catherine said, closing the door behind him.

"No, thank you," Cyrus said, "I don't anticipate being long." He stepped inside and moved toward the sofa, sitting down. The expression on his face communicated that he didn't want to be there.

Catherine sat down across from him. "So...what is the message?" She assumed it wasn't one she wanted to hear. Fitz obviously hadn't sent a proxy to reconnect them. She wouldn't be seeing the inside of that tiny closet anytime soon, but there was still a sliver of hope. Communication was open.

"I'm here to tell you to call off your story. We can work out a deal. I'll feed you information about our administration and you can be the first to break the news, provided I get a heads up first. I'm willing to do this for the next six months, with options to continue if it works out well, " Cyrus said.

An involuntary smile lit up Catherine's face. "Thanks for the visit, Mr. Beene, but you can tell the governor I decline. I'm a journalist who reports the truth. I have no interest in this deal. Does he have a comment about my current story, the subject of which, probably caused you to show up here tonight?"

Cyrus rose to his feet. "You are no journalist! What sort of journalist seduces the subject of the story for sex? You could have used that profile on Grant to write your own ticket. Instead you were just interested in the sex or perhaps you thought he would be interested in you for more than sex? Now you are going after the woman he's seeing like a woman scorned?"

"So they are together?" Catherine concluded.

"Of course they are together. Whatever you saw that led you to link them together was real. But get over it. You aren't actually interested in dating or marrying a high profile politician are you? Is that the life you want? Don't you enjoy your freedom? You should count yourself lucky that you aren't Olivia Pope," Cyrus said.

"Your reverse psychology won't work on me. The governor and I had a consenting relationship then he ghosted me. I may consider dropping the story, but he will have to be the one to ask me...in person," Catherine said. This was the second time today she felt some semblance of control over this entire situation.

She rose from the sofa and marched to the door. "You need to leave, Mr. Beene. The story is on. Tell the governor he needs to do his own negotiating."

Cyrus gave her a once over before leaving, "The governor doesn't negotiate with terrorists. That is my job. You just made a big mistake. You should have taken the deal because now everything is off the table."

Catherine closed the door and leaned against it to get her bearings. She rushed to her laptop and started typing.


Hard Conversations

It was well past midnight, and Olivia couldn't sleep. She gingerly eased out of bed, careful not to wake Fitz, slipped into her robe, grabbed her laptop, and padded downstairs to the kitchen. She wanted something light to eat like microwavable popcorn, but she didn't want the smell to wrest anyone from their sleep. Perusing the pantry, she found every snack known to man but not popped popcorn. The trail mix would be the better choice, but Olivia chose the salt-n-vinegar chips, a favorite of hers from childhood, which she never indulged in as an adult. When she considered a beverage, water was the best choice, but she chose riesling instead.

Soon she was seated at the kitchen island on a stool totally focused on her sex story.

I crawl towards you, straddling your waist. Because you can't keep your hands to yourself, I bind them at the wrist with a scarf and to the headboard with another. This elicits a chuckle from you which I quiet with a forefinger to your lips. You continue to chuckle. I lean forward and put my lips to yours. I kiss you. You kiss me. We taste each other with our tongues, but I want more. I pull back and begin to rain wet kisses down your chest. When I reach your stomach, I am amazed at your shivering. The more I kiss you the worse it gets. You ask me to untie you, but I refuse. I grasp the band of your briefs, and pull them back slowly. Now you are begging me to untie you, which makes me chuckle. I take my kisses lower and your hips lift slightly from the bed. With both hands, I take you into my-

"Hi Liv..." said Karen.

At the sound of Karen's voice, Olivia shut the laptop quickly, knocking over her glass of riesling. They both rush to clean it up. Olivia grabbed a kitchen towel and Karen pulled off paper towels from the roll by the sink.

"Hi Karen, I didn't hear you walk in. What are you doing up this late?" Olivia said, taking the paper towel from Karen, "I'll get this."

Karen takes a seat beside Olivia's laptop and motions to open it. "What are you working on?"

Olivia drops the rags and moves the laptop away from the kitchen island to the breakfast nook on the other side of the kitchen. "Oh, nothing exciting. Boring work. Spreadsheets and e-mails. I hope I didn't wake you," Olivia said.

"No. It's practically impossible to hear anything down here from my bedroom," Karen said, "Do you mind if I get some of your chips?

"Of course, Karen. So is everything okay?" Olivia asked, taking a seat next to Karen after she'd cleaned up the riesling.

Karen popped a few chips in her mouth. She walked to the fridge and got water from the fridge fountain. "Not really, but I...shouldn't say."

This piqued Olivia's interest. She turned to face Karen. "Why?"

"Dad told us not to bring up swimming to you. He said you didn't like to talk about it," Karen whispered as if she were revealing a great secret. She popped more chips into her mouth.

Olivia nodded her head. "Your dad is right. I don't like to talk about swimming, but I'll make an exception for you."

Karen sighed and placed the chip she was about to pop in her mouth back into the bowl. "I have a swim meet in three days. I feel that I'm ready, but I can't stop thinking about it. I keep doubting myself."

"In my first years of competing, I used to get terrible anxiety before my meets. One thing my coach taught me was to stay mentally busy. The days leading up to my meet, I would do anything to get my mind off competing because an unoccupied mind always left room for my doubts to creep in. Sometimes I would binge watch movies or I would read thick novels. A couple of times I volunteered with Habitat for Humanity to build houses. For the two days before the meet, I wouldn't go near the water."

"That sounds like good advice. You must have had a great coach," Karen said.

"Yes, my first coach, Coach Davidson, was a good one," Olivia said, quickly, deciding to steer the conversation in another direction, "I suggest you go back to bed and think about how you want to keep your mind busy for the next few days before your meet."

Olivia yawned as she watched Karen exit the kitchen. After a sip of water, she retrieved her laptop and walked back upstairs to the bedroom.

Fitz was on the phone looking out the window. "I agree. That's the only way to handle this. We go public first. That way we control the narrative...yeah. I know...it won't be easy to convince-," Fitz said, turning around when he realized Olivia was in the room, "I gotta go, Cyrus,"

Fitz placed his phone on the dresser and said with a smile, "So there you are...sneaking off to do work when you should be sleeping."

Olivia powered down her laptop and placed it on the dresser beside Fitz's phone. "I think I need some exercise. When I don't exercise, I start having sleeping problems. Oh and Karen couldn't sleep either. She's stressing over her...um...swim meet."

Fitz looked concerned. "Did she tell you that?"

Olivia smiled and wrapped her arms around him. "She didn't volunteer the information because someone told her not to talk to me about swimming."

Fitz pulled back so he could look her in the eyes, "I just don't want you to be uncomfortable around them because of that."

"Fitz, thank you, but it's okay. I can handle myself. You don't have to protect me, okay?" Olivia assured him, with a quick kiss on the lips before she disappeared into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Fitz followed her inside.

"I had an interesting exchange with Abiba today. Next to Abby, she's my most valuable asset at Euphoria, but she's been pissed at me for months. I made some hard decisions that were the best for her personally and for Euphoria. Today she had the chance to turn the tables on me, but she didn't."

Fitz stood in the doorway listening to Olivia's monologue as she punctuated it with her toothbrush, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

"So what was it about?" Fitz asked.

Olivia spat out the foamy mouthful of toothpaste and water, and rinsed her mouth out. She grabbed a Dentex floss pick from the glass bowl and explained in between cleaning her teeth.

"That reporter, Catherine Schaeffer, contacted Abiba today to interview her about me. Abiba was able to get her to admit that she was really only interested in knowing if you and I were together so-"

"What did Abiba tell her?" Fitz said.

Olivia held him off and finished flossing her teeth. After swishing with mouthwash, she turned off the light and continued her story.

"She didn't tell her anything. In fact, Abiba was a no-show for their supposed meeting. I know Abiba and I aren't friends as the traditional definition goes-I pay her salary and she signed an NDA-but it sort of felt that way today, as if we'd crossed over...like her loyalty was not just about me being her boss. Who knows, though? The only friends I've had as an adult have been my employees so I could be totally misreading everything." Olivia explained, removing her robe and hanging it on the back of the door leading to the bathroom.

Fitz sat in one of the chairs and did not follow her to the bed. He ran his hand through his hair, a gesture that signaled his anxiety.

"Sweetheart, there is something you need to know," Fitz said, extended his arm beckoning Olivia to sit in his lap.

Olivia ignored this gesture. By the sound of his voice and his expression, she wasn't sure she would find whatever he had to say endearing.

Olivia stood and faced him, her arms crossed. "What is it?"

Fitz dropped his arm. "Catherine Schaeffer and I were involved. We met when she did a profile on me before I was reelected. I stopped seeing her weeks before you and I met."

Olivia sat down on the corner of the bed, but she didn't say a word. They sat like this for two minutes until Fitz couldn't take it anymore.

"Liv, say something."

"I'm thinking," she said stoically.

"It was just sex. No more than a few times, and," Fitz explained, "It meant nothing to me. I didn't even know you then."

"It must have meant something to her if she is trying to out us in the press," Olivia reasoned, "Or maybe she wants to use it as leverage to get you to start things back up with her."

"I don't give a fuck," Fitz said, releasing a rare curse in his conversation with her, "what she's trying to accomplish with this-"

"How many times?" Olivia knew she was being unreasonable, but she couldn't help but wonder how many times they had sex. For reasons she couldn't identify, this news was like a gut punch, taking her breath away. It was all so confusing to her. All she knew was that she shouldn't be upset, but she couldn't stop the emotions from flowing out of her.

"Sweetheart, it doesn't matter. It was over before I met you…"

"Was it so many times that you can't remember?" Olivia said, her eyes welling up with tears. When she finally blinked, releasing the tears to cascade down her cheeks, she swiped them away.

"Oh, sweetheart don't cry. This isn't worth your tears. It was nothing but a serious lapse in judgement. I can't blame it on anything but that," Fitz pleaded.

Olivia took a few deep breaths. She went to the closet to get her clothes. "Olivia, can we talk about this? I love you. It's not a good idea for you to leave now. It's late and-"

She stopped dressing and turned around and faced him. "Of course, you're concerned about how this will look, right...if I leave now? Well, why don't you leave? There are many other bedrooms in this house. Pick one. I want to be alone right now."

"I've never cared about the optics of this…" Fitz said.

"Stop talking and leave, Fitz. Leave me alone. I need to process this by myself. Please just leave. I'm not going anywhere," Olivia pleaded, hoping this would get him to leave the room. She pulled back the covers and got in the bed, turning away from him.

After a time, she heard him moving around the room. "I love you, Olivia. We will get through this. I will be in the next room," he said. She heard the sound of the door closing.

When he left the room, Olivia padded over to her bag and pulled out the anti-anxiety meds she hadn't had a need for in a while. She took one and returned to the bed.