A/N: Just wanted to say I hope everyone's been able to find a little happy this week. Amidst all my anger and outrage, I used writing to regroup, so I'm glad I was able to finish this chapter. Thank you as always to all who read/reviewed/shared. I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think.
"I'm telling you, Liv, it's fine."
"And I'm telling you it's not." She narrowed her eyes, refusing to let her exasperation dwindle her conviction.
"For the love of –" Leo Bergen ran a frustrated hand over his face. "Why are you here again?" He leaned onto the table currently separating them.
She smirked, thoroughly amused by his attempts at intimidation.
"I'm here, Leo, because it's been over a week since Hollis Doyle publicly compromised the integrity of this company by admitting he used your private planes specifically for his and his business's…side affairs, because your attendants would – and I quote – 'turn a blind eye to a chimp snorting coke in a convertible if it threw enough gold-covered shit at them.' And you and your lovely team," she glanced pointedly at the two men seated to his side, "seem incapable of handling the situation on your own."
He blinked, then cleared his throat and stood upright.
"Touché." He picked up the manila folder resting on the table. "But this is the plan, and we're sticking to it."
She considered him for a moment before starting to gather her bags. "Then, I guess we're done here."
"Wait, that's it?" Leo watched her, his brows furrowing. "There aren't any more wrath-induced monologues? No more ominous warnings about how I'll be responsible for completely destroying the company's future?"
She let out a humorless laugh and turned to him. "The fact that you consider any of my professional opinions to be wrathful tells me everything I need to know about you and your willingness to stand knee-deep with Hollis Doyle in whatever flaming pile of misogyny he's climbed into these days. Not to mention, I have far, far more important things to handle with clients who don't have in-house marketing teams that like to waste my time –"
"Ms. Pope?"
All three men released a breath at the interruption, their faces giving away their relief. She rolled her eyes and glanced at the door.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," the young woman she recognized as Dean's assistant immediately cast her eyes downward as the attention shifted to her, "but Mr. Shaw asked to see you before you left."
"Thank you, Lucia," Olivia spoke, her tone dropping the edge it held moments before. "But please let Mr. Shaw know that I'm busy and –"
"He said," she stopped to clear her throat, "He, uh, he said if you said that to tell you that, um, we won't…need your services for the Hollis Doyle situation after today."
Her posture grew impossibly erect at the sound of snickers filling the room, and she just barely caught sight of Lucia's mouthed "Sorry," before cutting daggers at Leo.
Without saying a word, she grabbed the folder from his hand and opened it. She made her way to Lucia, who was now fidgeting with her hands in the doorway, and the room silenced.
"Lucia, can you give this a quick read and tell me what you think?"
Slowly, she reached for the folder and her eyes began scanning the documents. Olivia watched the subtle shift in her expression – wide, curious eyes shrinking to narrow slits, one brow rising, lips pursing – she felt the smirk growing on her own face at the sight.
"So, what do you think?" She asked again after a moment. Lucia's eyes darted to something behind her, presumably Leo, and Olivia held a finger up before she could start speaking. "Your honest opinion."
"Honestly?" Lucia toyed with the corner of a page and chewed on her lip for a moment. "I think…" she glanced down, then suddenly squared her shoulders and looked back up, "I think it's not that great. It's… tone deaf, completely disregards why people were upset with our original response and makes it sound like we're siding with Doyle while throwing our own attendants under the bus."
Sparing only another smirk in Leo's direction, Olivia took the folder back with a smile. "Thank you, Lucia. Maybe if they had you running things in here, I wouldn't have to stop by so often."
She chose to ignore Leo's scoff as she placed the folder back on the table, noting instead Lucia's growing smile at the comment.
"Send me an updated press release and a better plan of action by the end of the day." She finally glanced at the men, all three now wearing identical, unimpressed glares. "Otherwise, I will let you handle the Hollis situation alone. And, judging by your track record, you don't want to handle it alone."
And with that, she guided Lucia out of the room. She could only imagine the testosterone-fueled vitriol Leo was spilling in her absence, but as she told him, she had far more important things to deal with.
Just as they reached a split in the hall and she made a turn for the elevators, Lucia called out to her again.
"Um, Ms. Pope?"
"Hmm?" She turned, already digging in her bag for her phone.
"Mr. Shaw wanted you to…"
Olivia sighed. The time on her phone told her that she had at least fifteen minutes before she was to meet Abby for lunch, but she had no interest in staying longer than she needed to.
Just as she considered denying his request again, Dean suddenly appeared down the hall.
"Hey, babe." He called out loudly, and she could feel the frown immediately tugging at her lips.
"Dean," she greeted, her tone doing little to hide her annoyance.
He didn't show any signs of noticing and walked up behind Lucia, placing a hand on his assistant's shoulder.
"Didn't Lucy tell you that I wanted to see you?"
"Yes, Lucia did tell me you wanted to see me."
"Excuse me," Lucia interjected, immediately starting to move away. "I should probably go see if Mr. O'Shea got back to me about your interview next week." And with that, she was gone.
Dean grinned, taking their sudden privacy as an opportunity to pull her to him for a kiss. She acquiesced for a moment before taking a step back and pressing a hand to his chest.
"I'm here for work."
Entirely undeterred, Dean started to lean back in with a smirk. "I'm trying to get to work."
"Dean, come on." Her hand resisted him more forcefully, and he finally took a step back.
"Fine." He frowned, reaching for her hand. "Let's go to my office. I can have Lucy order us lunch."
She followed as he began walking, but quickly refused, "I'm meeting Abby for lunch soon."
They breezed past Lucia's desk, which was notably empty, and made their way into his office.
"I'm sure you can call to cancel." He closed the door, guiding her to sit on the couch resting against a side wall.
"And why would I do that?"
"Because," he placed an arm around her shoulder as he sat beside her, "you've been here I don't know how many times in the past week and a half, and we haven't had lunch once."
She raised an eyebrow. "Well, I've been a little busy trying to salvage this company's reputation."
He chuckled, running a hand across the back of his neck. "Yeah, this Hollis Doyle thing is…"
"A headache? A total nightmare? Proof of your marketing team's incompetence?"
"All of the above?" He smirked.
Groaning, she stood and began pacing.
"I can't believe how they want to handle it, I mean Leo –"
"In my defense," he held his hands up, "Leo was Dad's guy."
She nodded her head. "Trust me, I can tell."
He leaned back, watching her continue to pace.
"You know who I feel bad for in all of this?"
She glanced in his direction. "Other than your underpaid, overworked staff who's getting the brunt of the blame?"
He shrugged dismissively. "Well, aside from them…Doyle's children."
"His children?"
"Yeah," he rested his hands behind his head. "By the time his trial is over, they'll probably lose everything – the money, the prestige, the houses…"
"That is not everything." She rolled her eyes. "They'll still have some place to live and some way to make a living.
Shrugging again, he continued, "If they're really unlucky, they'll probably end up like my driver."
She stopped pacing then, the mere mention of him stopping her in her tracks. Looking at Dean confusedly, she asked, "Fitz?"
Dean stared at her for a long moment, his eyes narrowing. "Yeah, Fitzgerald Grant. I didn't know you two were on a first name basis."
She cleared her throat, looking away.
"I told you he helped me with my car a few days ago."
"You told me someone helped you with your car. You never said who," he returned.
She chose to ignore his remark and slowly made her way to the window behind his desk.
She hadn't seen Fitz since their lunch together, though it hadn't been for lack of trying. She had visited the office nearly every day since Hollis' public blunder and, after their lunch, had spent an extra few minutes each time scanning the parking garage in search of him.
She didn't know what she intended to do if she did see him, but…she missed him. The thought made her shake her head.
What the hell was wrong with her?
She tried to justify it; they had exchanged kind gestures, and they were...friendly.
Yet, as much as she didn't want to admit it, she had become fixated on him like a schoolgirl with a crush – the half hour they spent together playing in her head on a loop, and the sight of his smile as she spoke his name coming to mind at random times of day.
And so, try as she might to ignore it, and despite how completely unreasonable it was, she couldn't deny that she did miss him.
"What about him?" She finally asked.
Dean was suddenly behind her.
"You remember Big Gerry Grant and the media circus around him?"
She stiffened unintentionally as he placed his hands on her shoulders. "You mean that law firm partner who embezzled millions from the nonprofits he chaired?"
"Yup, that's the one." He pulled her closer to him. "That's his father."
Her eyes widened and she glanced back at him. "Really?"
He nodded. "Apparently, the public backlash attached to the family name was so bad, he couldn't get a job even with a law degree from Harvard." Something about the amused nonchalance in his tone irritated her, and she lightly shrugged his hands off of her. "I heard he was teaching, but then his resume showed up in our HR department a few weeks ago, so…I guess that didn't work out either." He chuckled, and she walked out of his grasp entirely.
"Liv?"
"That's – I don't see why you're laughing. It isn't funny."
"Are you serious?" He chuckled again, reaching for her. She stepped back, and he frowned. "Liv, come on..." He scoffed as she crossed her arms. "Weren't you the one who just said Hollis' kids would be fine. I don't see how this is any different."
She didn't respond, instead pulling out her phone to check the time.
"Look, I should get going. Abby's –"
"Abby can see you tomorrow." He walked to her, wrapping his arms around her waist before she could step aside again. "Today, we're having lunch, or…" he leaned in, his lips just barely touching hers, "not having lunch."
"Dean," she tried to lean back, but his lips were soon on hers and his grip around her waist tightened. She couldn't ignore how wrong it felt – how foreign and misplaced it seemed to be, just as all his kisses as of late – and just as he tried to shove his tongue into her mouth, she pushed him away.
"Dean, stop."
He stared at her incredulously as she took a step back, his arms falling to his sides. "Damnit, Liv. What? What is it? Did I do something?"
She sighed, rubbing at the growing tension between her brows. "I told you I was just here for work."
"And when has that ever stopped us before?" His voice was strained by exasperation. "Are we ok? Because you said we were fine, but ever since we've been back together, it doesn't feel like we are. You've barely let me touch you."
"That's not true –"
"We haven't slept together once." He pulled out his desk chair roughly, immediately sinking down into it. "You haven't invited me up to your place, and you always seem to find an excuse not to spend the night at mine."
She scoffed, glaring at the back of his head as he turned away from her. "I've been busy."
"So you've said." He started going through the papers scattered on his desk, not actually reading any of them.
She was relieved to hear an incoming text and glanced at her phone. "I need to go."
He didn't bother looking up. "Fine, then go."
She waited for a moment, expecting to be hit by the usual wave of anger she felt when they went back and forth like this, but it never came. She was struck instead by a dull flash of annoyance, replaced almost immediately by indifference. Rolling her eyes, she didn't bother with a response before finally making her way out of his office.
Just as she walked out, she nearly collided with Lucia.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Pope."
"No, I'm sorry, it was my fault." Olivia eyed the young woman, taking note of her bloodshot eyes and flushed cheeks. "Are you ok?"
"Oh," Lucia looked away quickly, wiping at non-existent tears. "I'm fine, I just –" she breathed in, "I got some bad news about a sick relative."
Olivia's gaze softened with sympathy, and she placed a comforting hand on her arm. "I'm so sorry. If you need, Dean can give you the rest of the week off –"
"I don't want to bother Mr. Shaw," she spoke quickly. At Olivia's worried expression, she continued, "I think it would help…to keep myself busy."
"Ok." Olivia nodded. "You have my number. If you need anything or he gives you a hard time, just let me know."
She seemed surprised by the offer, her eyes growing wide. "I wouldn't want to bother you."
"Lucia," she interrupted, "it wouldn't be a bother, especially compared to whatever mess Leo's going to send me later."
They shared a laugh, and Lucia nodded.
"Thank you."
Olivia smiled at her, and Lucia returned to her desk. Though, just as she turned to leave, Lucia called out once more.
"Ms. Pope?"
She looked back at her.
"I just wanted to say," Lucia looked away, a light, embarrassed blush tainting her cheeks, "I'm glad you and Mr. Shaw are ok again. He's better when he's with you."
Surprised by her comment, and unsure of what to say, Olivia gave her one last, small smile before finally making her way to the elevator.
"You're standing me up?"
"I mean, you're more than welcome to spend your lunch hour helping me review these numbers – in fact, I'd appreciate it – but I'm not leaving until I figure out what happened to that $200."
Olivia sighed and checked her watch. "By the time I make it over there I'll have to run back to the office for a meeting."
"Fine." Abby groaned into the receiver. "I'm sorry, Liv, I know we've had this scheduled for a week, but that was the pay-it-forward money. I mean, who the hell steals money used to feed the homeless?"
"Say no more," Olivia interjected. "We'll just reschedule for next week. Good luck finding your cookie-money monster."
"Ha-ha." She could almost see Abby roll her eyes. "But thanks, I owe you croissants the next time I see you."
"I won't say no to that," she grinned.
They exchanged final goodbyes and ended the call just as she got an incoming text. She nearly groaned as she saw it was from Dean.
She glanced at it just long enough to see that it was an apology and an invitation to dinner, before she walked directly into someone. Gasping, she nearly collided with the pavement when two hands suddenly reached out to grab her arms.
"Shit, sorry."
She recognized his voice immediately, her gaze slowly rising to meet his.
Her stomach flipped at the sight of Fitz's worried eyes, and she let out a breath as he steadied her.
"Are you ok?" His hands slid down her arms and she shivered at the feel, noting the absence she felt when they returned to his sides.
"I'm - yeah, I'm good."
"Good." He smiled, and she tried to ignore the sudden flutter in her chest.
They stood silently for a moment, neither making a move to leave when he eventually asked, "So how's the car?"
She grimaced, earning a smirk in return.
"That bad?"
"I didn't even try to start it this morning." She rolled her eyes. "I need to take it in, but the last time I went to a mechanic, I almost got sucked into paying half a month's salary for nonexistent problems."
He chuckled, and she could feel a small smile tugging at her lips.
"Yeah," he drew out, "they'll definitely take advantage of you if you let them."
She shook her head. "You know, I didn't even want a car. I thought it was pretty pointless, but then I almost got mugged on the subway after a late night at the office, and it just seemed like the better option."
She laughed it off but watched his brows furrow at the mention of the incident.
"It was forever ago." She waved a hand dismissively. "My best friend made me take self-defense classes and gave me a can of pepper spray for every purse I own for Christmas."
They both laughed, and he started reaching into his pocket.
"I have a guy, if you want someone to check it out." He swiped on his phone, pulling up a number. "He's pretty good, and I trust him. Just let him know that I sent you, and he'll make sure to take good care of you."
He showed her the number and she quickly unlocked her own phone, adding it into her contacts.
"He's a little rough around the edges," he warned, "but he says it's part of his charm."
She smirked as he rolled his eyes.
"I'll make sure to tell him you said hello." Sliding her phone into her pocket, she smiled at him. "Thanks for saving me and my car...again."
He nodded. "No problem."
They fell into another silence.
She didn't know what it was, but being in his company was like a breath of fresh air. There was a natural ease with him, and she couldn't bring herself to want to leave.
But when nearly a minute passed, she finally looked away.
"I should get going," she glanced at him a final time. "Thanks, again."
She could feel his eyes on her as she started walking away. She barely made it a few feet when he suddenly called out, "Olivia?"
She promptly ignored the chill running through her at the sound of her name leaving his lips and turned back to him.
Smiling coyly, he took a step closer. "Have you eaten yet?"
She tried hard not to stare as he began driving out of the parking garage.
Sitting in the passenger seat, she was afforded a much better a view of him than when she was in the back seat, and she stole several glances before finally forcing herself to look out the window.
"So this friend you were supposed to meet, is she the same one who gave you enough pepper spray to lead an army?" He asked several minutes into their ride.
She laughed. "That's her." After a moment, she continued, "We were going to meet at the deli, but she had a work emergency."
They eased to a stop at a light, and she turned to see that he was looking at her.
"And here I thought I was special." He smirked.
She stared at him for a moment, remembering her conversation with Abby days before their unexpected reunion.
"I see he's still got you all worked up."
"It's just...he was...special."
She quickly pushed the memory aside, and, biting down on a grin, finally responded, "Sorry to burst your bubble."
He raised a hand to his chest. "I'm hurt."
"You can't blame me," she shrugged. "Food that good deserves to be shared…not to mention, I took her there first."
His smirk widened. "Alright, good point."
The car in front of them crept forward, and his attention returned to the road. She allowed her gaze to stay on his profile.
"So, where are you taking me?"
"You're not the only one who knows where to find good food."
"You didn't answer my question."
He glanced at her quickly, pointedly. "I didn't intend to."
With a small, amused smile, she relaxed further into her seat.
Neither spoke after that, and her eyes again wandered to the window. The silence was comfortable, and the air between them easy-going, and she found her thoughts starting to drift.
She couldn't remember the last time she had allowed herself to enjoy just being with someone else.
Things with him felt effortless in a way they felt with few other people – people who had been in her life for years – and she was unnerved by the thought.
Suddenly, the low buzz of a saxophone filled the car, and she turned to see his hand toying with the radio. He turned the volume up as the sounds blended with the flutter of a piano.
Seeming to notice her gaze, he cleared his throat.
"Is this ok?"
Once again, she found herself unable to contain a smile.
"You didn't strike me as the jazz type."
And once again, she watched the familiar smirk forming on his face.
"But I did strike you as the mysterious, chill surfer type?"
They both laughed at the memory, and she turned to face him completely, giving him her full attention.
"I wasn't completely wrong."
"Which means you weren't completely right." He raised his eyebrows, flashing a grin in her direction.
She narrowed her eyes playfully before turning to face the car's front.
The song drifted into another, and, after a moment, he spoke, "My mom used to listen to it all the time."
She glanced at him again, taking in the sudden, wistful expression on his face.
"She used to put it on when it was just us, and we'd dance around the living room." He paused, a small smile lighting up his face. "One time, she dressed up and got me a jacket and tie from my dad's room, and we just spent hours dancing…"
She watched as his smile slowly fell.
"Later that week she told me she had breast cancer." His words were quiet. "I was young and I didn't really understand it, but then a few months went by and she…" He took a moment to clear his throat before continuing, "Whenever I listen to it, it reminds me of dancing with her. I guess it just…sounds like home."
Before she could say anything, he shook his head. "I didn't realize how ridiculous that sounded until I said it out loud," he chuckled humorlessly. "I'm sorry for ruining the mood like that –"
"No," she finally interrupted. Moved by a strong urge to comfort him, she reached across the console to place a hand on his leg. "It doesn't sound ridiculous at all…and I'm sorry about your mother."
He glanced at her briefly, his lips pressed together and upturned at the sides to form a shy, appreciative smile. She returned a smile of her own, before slowly removing her hand.
After a brief silence, she spoke, "Al Green reminds me of my mom. Well, Al Green and Aretha Franklin."
She thought about it for a moment, letting herself get carried away by the memory.
"She had these two CDs she'd play nonstop whenever she was cleaning or cooking, and it used to drive my dad insane." A soft, reminiscent laugh escaped her. "He'd try to drown her out with his Otis Redding records, but she always won out…"
It was the first time in forever she had really entertained a memory of her mother, and she couldn't help but let out a sad sigh.
Suddenly, she felt Fitz rest a hand on her leg. Her gaze landed on it, before slowly rising until her eyes met his.
He didn't say anything, but it was still enough. His gaze and touch, like an instant balm, filled her with comfort, and she could feel her brows furrowing in response.
Clearing her throat, she looked out the window just as his attention returned to the road. He removed his hand from her leg, and for the few seconds following, she had to fight the urge to reach for it.
Letting out a breath, she closed her eyes. She noticed only then that her heart was racing, and – using the gentle waves of jazz floating from the radio as a distraction – she tried desperately to curb the building avalanche of thoughts about the man to her left.
She didn't open her eyes again until he turned the car off.
Looking in his direction, she found him already staring at her, his gaze intense.
She shifted unintentionally under his stare, waiting as he opened and closed his mouth several times before he finally spoke.
"We should…"
"We should go." She finished for him.
Neither of them moved, their eyes still locked. And then – whether he did it on purpose she would never know – he licked his lips. Almost instinctively, her gaze shifted downwards, and she couldn't stop the flash of memories of searing kisses that still haunted her in her dreams.
She looked away quickly, feeling her face heat with embarrassment.
The moment he unlocked the door, she climbed out of the car and took a deep breath, hoping to clear her head.
She wasn't naïve enough to believe she had already gotten past her attraction to him, but she needed to get over it – fast. Though, as he joined her on the sidewalk, and she could feel goosebumps rising on her arms, something told her that her efforts would prove to be pointless.
What the hell had she gotten herself into?
The walk down the block was short, and they came to a stop in front of a small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Its sign was faded, and she could just barely make out the name "Antonio's."
"A coworker told me about this place a few weeks ago," he said, holding the door open for her. "I've been here twice and haven't stopped thinking about it."
As soon as they were both inside, they were greeted by a hostess.
"Just two?" She asked, grabbing their menus. When they nodded, she led them to a booth in the back, starting to rattle off the day's specials.
Olivia glanced at Fitz, who wiggled his brows playfully, prompting her to stifle a giggle.
When their hostess left, and they were settled into the booth, she glanced at the menu.
"So, what do you suggest?"
"I've had the manicotti and it's amazing, and I've heard the shrimp linguine is pretty good…"
She eyed him as he trailed off, noticing that he wasn't looking at the menu.
"Now what do you really suggest?"
He glanced around the restaurant and leaned in conspiratorially, "It's not on the menu, but last time I was here, I saw someone get this chicken parmesan pizza and it looked incredible."
Smirking, she closed her menu and mimicked his actions – leaning in and lowering her voice, "Let's do it."
He grinned, and she noticed only then just how close their faces were.
"Alright, how are you two doing today?"
She was grateful for the interruption, immediately leaning back into her seat. She watched Fitz do the same, his eyes still locked on her and an unreadable expression on his face, before they both greeted their waitress.
"My name's Sofia, and I'll be – oh," she tilted her head at Fitz, "you didn't come with your friend today."
He seemed surprised that she recognized him and let out a chuckle.
"No, he's working through lunch."
She nodded, then glanced in Olivia's direction.
"Well, your new friend's much prettier," she grinned.
Olivia smiled at the older woman, getting ready to respond when Fitz suddenly spoke, "Yeah she is."
Surprised, she turned to see his stare fixated on her. It sent a chill up her spine, and she found that her throat was suddenly dry. Clearing it, she returned her attention to Sofia.
"So, what can I get for you?"
Once again, she found herself trying hard not to stare at him.
His suit jacket was resting to the side, and the sleeves of his shirt unbuttoned and rolled to his forearms. It was just enough to give her a more detailed glimpse at the bulging muscles usually concealed by his attire.
After they ordered what Sofia explained was known as Dino's Special – a signature dish of her husband, the chef, that had long since become a secret staple of the restaurant – she jokingly warned that it tended to get messy, and Fitz took it upon himself to properly prepare. Olivia laughed at his dramatics until he was done, and she was left with the image before her.
As her gaze lingered, she let herself remember what it felt like to have his arms wrapped around her.
"So, what does the rest of your day look like?"
"Hmm?" With her attention so preoccupied, she barely heard his words and took a moment to think them over. "Oh, I – uh," she looked away, taking a second to compose herself, "I just have a few meetings at my office and some paperwork to go over. I'm a little behind, so I'll probably stay late tonight."
He frowned. "And you didn't drive today?"
"No," she looked at him confusedly, "why?"
"If you wait, I can give you a ride. I mean, it might be later than you intended to get home, but…"
Shocked by his offer, she felt her eyes go slightly wide. "What? No, Fitz, it's –"
"Liv," he interrupted, his gaze pointed, "I'd rather give you a ride than know you're taking the subway by yourself so late."
And suddenly, it made sense. She could sense her own gaze soften with realization, and a soft smile spread across her face.
"You don't have to worry about me. I told you, it was forever ago and –"
"And I'd still feel better if you took me up on my offer."
She found herself fighting off a grin, touched by how much he seemed to care about her well-being.
"Would it help if I said I'll catch a ride with my boss? He'll definitely still be there."
He eyed her for a moment, before slowly nodding.
"Ok, but if anything changes, just call me – or I mean, Mr. Shaw, I guess." He looked away, the air between them suddenly changing at the mention of him. "If you let him know you need a ride, I'd be more than willing to –"
"Fitz," she called softly, because she could tell that he was starting to ramble, and she didn't like that things suddenly seemed uncomfortable between them.
He returned his gaze to her, and she gave him a small smile, hoping it would ease the tension.
"Thank you. I appreciate it, really."
He responded with a smile of his own, and they fell into a momentary silence.
When a few minutes passed, he suddenly requested, "Tell me something."
She raised an eyebrow, looking at him questioningly.
"About yourself, I mean," he explained.
She shrugged. "Like what?"
He mimicked her, shrugging before taking a drink of water. "I don't know."
"Well," she thought it over for a moment, "you already know that I'm originally from D.C., that I'm an amazing food and wine connoisseur," she laughed, "…that I started swimming while in boarding school –"
"Oh there we go." He picked up his glass again, gesturing in her direction. "You said in high school, you never mentioned anything about boarding school."
"That's true," she grinned. "Well, I spent most of middle school and all of high school in Europe –"
"Wait, Europe?"
She giggled at the sight of his wide eyes.
Nodding, she continued, "I guess I have my dad to thank for that. My mom always liked me better, and once she was gone, I think he tried to ship me off as far away as possible…" Though she spoke jokingly, the way his gaze suddenly softened told her that he could sense the seriousness behind her words. Feeling exposed, she looked away, her hands toying with the napkin on her lap.
"I, um…"
"If it helps," he spoke up, getting her attention again, "my father was pretty shitty, too."
Suddenly, her conversation with Dean sprang to mind, and she immediately decided it'd be best to stay silent, waiting instead to see what he felt comfortable sharing.
"I think he planned out my entire life the moment he found out he was having a son," he chuckled, shaking his head. "If it were up to him, I probably would've been running for president right about now." He rolled his eyes. "But he got into some things and screwed everything up…for both of us."
She bit down on her bottom lip, stopping herself from asking the questions coming to mind.
And then he looked at her, his eyes narrowing.
"What?"
"Nothing," she answered a little too quickly.
"What?" He repeated slowly, his expression amused.
"I just…"
"You want to know how I ended up here."
"I want to know whatever you want to tell me," it came out before she had time to think it over. It was true. She was moved by something stronger than curiosity – the desire to get to know him feeling almost instinctual.
She wasn't entirely sure why, but she wanted to know Fitzgerald Grant.
And that scared the hell out of her.
He stared at her for a long moment, considering her, before finally starting to speak again.
"The summer after my sophomore year of undergrad I considered dropping out," he paused, seeming to get lost in the memory. "I was studying pre-law like I was always supposed to, and I was completely miserable. I wanted to do something that got me from under my father's thumb…I considered joining the Navy, but that didn't work out, so a friend and I decided to try out chauffeuring."
He grinned, shaking his head. "It seemed like fun and I knew it'd piss my dad off, so we got the right certifications and licenses and that's how I spent the next two summers." She could tell by the faraway tone of his voice that his mind was distant, lost in the past.
"When law school started, I stopped because, in my father's words 'it was time to get serious,' and he threatened to disown me if I didn't spend the summers working at his firm." He chuckled incredulously, "And yet, no sooner than I graduated was he getting arrested for embezzlement, and tax evasion and whatever the hell else he had buried himself in over the years. I thought it was hilarious, until I realized I couldn't get a job in the field because of him..."
He blinked, his eyes – suddenly present and vulnerable – meeting hers. "But honestly...I don't think I wanted one either. It felt wrong, I would've been practicing with a law degree that was probably paid for with stolen money."
He sighed, and she fought the immediate urge to move to sit by his side.
"I got married later that year, we moved and I finally found a nice teaching job at a high school. I thought I was finally going to have some normal, but –" He suddenly looked up, and she followed his gaze to see Sofia making her way over with their food.
"That looks amazing," he smiled as she set it down.
Still absorbing the information he had just shared, Olivia watched him, knowing very well they weren't going to return the conversation.
Taking his cue, she thanked Sophia before adding, "It really does. I think we may have to trade favorite secret lunch spots for a week or two."
"Uh-uh," he grinned, shaking his head, "this right here is all mine."
They shared a laugh, the heaviness of their conversation moments prior starting to dissolve.
"Would you like to do the honors?" he offered, spinning the tray until the slice with the server tucked beneath it was in front of her.
She smirked. "Don't mind if I do."
"That was…incredible."
"No, that was more than incredible. It was life-changing."
They both laughed, and she rested her head against the booth.
"We have to come back here."
"At least twice a week," he agreed, slowly adjusting his sleeves.
She waited until he put his suit jacket back on before finally standing. She reached into her purse, pulling out a few dollars to leave on the table.
He glared playfully as she did so. They had spent several minutes arguing over who would pay for the meal. He insisted that it was his turn, since it had been his suggestion in the first place, but she quickly refuted, arguing that the deli didn't count given that she didn't technically pay.
They went back and forth until Sophia came over, and he promptly slid her enough to cover the bill before she even set it down. She returned moments later with his change, and Olivia immediately threatened him to put it away, insisting that she could at least pick up the tip.
"Honestly, I think we're on to something." He waved a hand at Sophia, as she silently bid them farewell from across the room. "I say we try every hole-in-the-wall in the city –"
She noticed that his collar was crooked, and, unable to help herself, she reached up to fix it. He paused as she did so, and she could sense him watching her.
Suddenly feeling too flustered to meet his eyes, she kept her gaze on his chest as she removed her hand.
"That sounds like a plan," she smiled, before waving at Sophia herself.
She walked in front of him as they made their way outside, and she could feel his eyes still on her. She didn't dare glance at him as he moved to her side and they made their way back to his car.
Only when she was inside, and the rest of the world was locked out by the car door did she turn to him.
"Thank you for lunch, I really enjoyed it…" she trailed off, and he watched her patiently, not yet starting the car.
"And," she paused, considering her words, "thank you for opening up to me, you didn't have to do that."
He studied her for a moment, before his lips slowly curved upwards into a modest smile.
"I figure that's what friends are for."
She thought it over, only partially joking as she asked for confirmation, "So we're friends?"
"Well," he pretended to think, "I'd say we know each other pretty well, wouldn't you?"
The pointedness of his stare brought to mind memories of his hands on her thighs, of her legs wrapped around him and his fingers in her – knowing each other "well" seemed to be putting it lightly.
She felt herself flush at her own thoughts, and, as if picking up on it, he continued, "I mean, we've lunched together and I shared my mechanic with you. Not to mention, we skipped right to discussing our dead mothers and terrible fathers, so I think that makes us friends – good friends, actually."
They were silent for a moment, and then they both laughed. Hard.
"Ok," she got out in between giggles, "you have a point."
He chuckled. "I do, don't I?"
Their laughter tapered off moments later, and he finally started the car.
"Now, come on, put on your seatbelt. I'll drop you off at your office before I go back."
Still grinning, she didn't bother to refuse his offer, instead buckling herself in and resting her head back against the seat.
Friends. They could be friends, couldn't they?
But as she looked at him, finding it difficult to tear her eyes away from his profile, she realized she wasn't sure they could.
She was tired – exhausted, really.
After getting through hours of meetings and a seemingly never-ending mountain of paperwork, she wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower and slip on her favorite pair of silk pajamas.
The thought made her sigh as she entered her building, and she was so lost in the fantasy that she almost missed the concierge calling out to her.
"Ms. Pope? Ms. Pope –"
She turned to him, flashing an apologetic smile.
"Hey, Eddie, what's up?"
"I just wanted to warn you that you have company," he raised his eyebrows suggestively, and she narrowed her eyes.
"Thanks for the heads up."
She knew from experience that asking him for more details was pointless, and she had a sneaking suspicion of who it was. Making her way to the elevator, she started to massage her temple.
This was the absolute last way she wanted to end her night.
Even with the warning, she was still surprised to find Dean leaning against her door, checking his watch for what she could only assume to be the hundredth time since he had gotten there.
"What are you doing here?" She asked in lieu of a greeting.
His head snapped up, the impatient glare on his face barely letting up.
"Where have you been?"
"At work. What are you doing here?" She repeated.
"You never answered my text about dinner."
"I'm sorry, I was busy…" she trailed off, her eyes falling on the suitcase resting at his side. "What are you –"
"Are you gonna let me in?" He looked at her expectantly. "I've been standing here for almost an hour."
She sighed. "Dean, I'm really tired –"
He stepped closer to her. "Come on, Liv. You can't still be mad about earlier."
Truth be told, she could barely remember their earlier conversation.
"I'm not, I'm honestly just…tired."
"Fine." He reached out, wrapping his arms around her waist. "We already missed the reservation I made at Per Se. I was gonna suggest ordering Chinese, but I can just put you straight to bed instead."
He smirked and she shook her head, removing his arms.
"I'm serious –"
"So am I."
When she didn't budge, he huffed and ran a hand over his face.
"Something came up, and I have to fly out to Florida tomorrow to take care of a few things. I probably won't be back for a week, and I thought we could spend some time together before I left…"
Her annoyance started to ebb, giving way to guilt, and, with a sigh, she finally unlocked her door.
"I already ate at the office, but there should be something in the kitchen you can heat up."
"Other than popcorn, I hope." He chuckled, setting his suitcase by the door.
She eyed it again as he walked into the kitchen.
"Why did you bring that with you?"
"I told you," he walked back out of the kitchen, grinning as he made his way to her, "I plan on putting you to bed tonight." He helped her remove her coat before pulling her to him. "I'm leaving early tomorrow morning, so I figured it'd just be easier to stay here."
It was practically routine for them. He'd always spend the night when he had an early flight the next morning – it was practical, and cut his commute in half – and yet, she couldn't ignore how much she didn't like the idea of him staying the night.
He started to lean in, and she placed a hand on his chest.
"I think you should stay at the penthouse." She didn't mean for it to come out so bluntly, and she almost felt bad as she watched his grin falter.
He took a step back, his hands falling to his sides. "So you are still upset about earlier. Look, babe –"
She quickly busied herself with hanging up her coat. "I told you I'm not –"
"You also told me we were ok, but here we are –"
"Just drop it ok? I'm fine, we're fine –"
"Really? Then why are you still being such a bitch?"
She stilled immediately, and she could hear him curse under his breath.
"Liv, I'm sorry, you know I didn't –"
"Leave."
"What?"
She turned to him, her eyes narrowed. "Dean, leave."
"Liv, babe…"
"No, don't 'babe' me and do not touch me." She pushed him back as soon as his hands reached for her arms. "You need to leave."
"I'm sorry," he held his hands up. "But…"
"But what?"
"Come on," he sighed. "Don't make me leave. I mean, Dad's using the penthouse tonight, and I already sent my driver home –"
"Then get an uber, take the subway, catch a fucking cab –"
"Nobody's gonna give me a ride all the way home, and with Amtrak's schedule, the earliest train I could catch tomorrow would still get me here an hour after I'm supposed to leave."
She looked at him incredulously. "Are you kidding me?" Letting out a breath, she rubbed at her eyes. "Look, Dean, it's been a long day. I'm tired and I really don't want to do this –"
"I can sleep on the couch," he spoke quickly. "I'll be gone before you wake up, and you won't even know I'm here."
Groaning, she could feel her exhaustion eating away at her resolve. She didn't have the energy to deal with this.
"I want you out before I even open my eyes…and I'm locking my door."
She didn't wait for a response, immediately making her way to her room, only stopping to call out as an afterthought, "And don't touch my popcorn."
She realized it was a mistake the moment she closed her bedroom door, but with no desire to confront him again, she settled for simply getting ready for bed.
Fifteen minutes later, she was finally under her covers. Closing her eyes, she waited for the day's tension to leave her body, but found it nearly impossible when she could still hear Dean getting settled for the night.
She tossed and turned several times before groaning.
After a few minutes, she began running through her usual tricks to clear her mind – counting backwards, taking deep measured breaths – but nothing seemed to work.
That is, until, finally, a familiar face came to mind.
She saw his smile first, coy and charming, followed by a distinct pair of blue eyes that instantly calmed her.
Her entire body immediately relaxed, and she found herself falling asleep, not for the first time, to the alluring mental image of Fitzgerald Grant.