Chapter 5: Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered

It was after 9 p.m. and Olivia was still at the office. The documentation she had requested from Mr. Davi had arrived three hours earlier and Olivia wanted to go through it first before passing it along to Huck to do a more thorough background check. Olivia was deep in thought when her cell phone rang. She picked it up, saw the number and her brow furrowed in a frown. "What the hell?" she thought, staring at the name and number. She didn't answer the call and put the iPhone in her pocket.

Olivia got up and went to the office kitchen. She needed a drink but knew that if she drank anything harder than a cup of tea, she'd regret it later since it was always a bad idea for her to drink on an empty stomach. She hadn't eaten in hours.

While she was waiting for her cup of water to heat up in the microwave, she heard her cell phone chime. Incoming text message. Olivia went and picked up the phone. The message read "no u r there. ans ur phone"

Olivia sighed and cursed under her breath. She had enough to worry about. She didn't need this aggravation.

Within seconds, the phone chirped again. This time, Olivia answered it.

"What do you want?" Olivia said angrily.

"Nice to speak with you too, Liv," said a female voice. "I know it's been a while, but geez…"

"Mellie, what the hell do you want?" Olivia said, practically spitting the question out. "Why are you calling me?"

"Is that any way to speak to an old friend?" said Mellie Grant, First Lady of the United States. "What on earth has happened to your manners, Olivia!"

"We didn't exactly part on good terms, if you remember," said Olivia bitterly. "If you don't tell me right now why you're calling, I'm going to hang up."

"Look, Liv, do you really think I would be calling you, after all this time, if it wasn't important?"

"Mellie, I'm warning you, get to the goddamned point, or I swear to God, I'm going to hang up!"

"OK, OK. Look, this isn't easy for me either. If it were up to me, I wouldn't be making this call but I'm being forced to do so," Mellie said.

Olivia snorted. "You? Forced? Ha!"

"Yes, forced. Francois de Juillerat, the new president of France, is coming to Washington later this week and his new trophy wife, Margaux, insists that you join us for lunch. I'm afraid she's going to make an international incident out of this if you don't show up," Mellie said, exasperated.

"What?" said Olivia. "Why on earth would she want me there?"

"Turns out that she read that Vanity Fair article about you being the primary architect of Fitz's presidential campaign and she supposedly was struck by your sense of style," Mellie said, her voice dripping with disdain. "Look, when Margaux called me personally and asked me to arrange this little women's luncheon for the three of us, I couldn't very well tell her no. I mean, come on, how would that look? It would just raise more questions and potentially cause me problems."

"Oh, right, and, of course, we wouldn't want to cause YOU any problems," Olivia said, sarcastically. As soon as the words left her mouth, however, Olivia regretted it and hoped that Mellie wouldn't play her trump card.

"Olivia, you know that I'd sooner gouge my eye out with a red hot poker before I would call you for help. If I'm calling you now to ask you for this favor, it is important. Not to me, but to Fitz."

Olivia inwardly groaned. Mellie went there. She played the Fitz trump card. God dammit!

"How will it look to the French president that his new, glamorous wife made a simple request to have lunch with some lowly former American bureaucrat and the President of the United States was unable to deliver?"

"Mellie, I'm far too busy to be sucked into this little game, and as far as we are both concerned, I no longer exist to you. Tell the first lady of France that you were unable to reach me or that I had a prior commitment."

"Olivia, I can't see why this is such a problem for you. Just one little lunch. 90 minutes of your time. The conversation will be very superficial and will probably revolve around French fashion. Besides, you and the First Lady of France have a lot in common. Before she got married to the French president, she was his mistress. So between your love of fashion and married men, I think the two of you will hit it off splendidly," Mellie said, triumphantly.

That Mellie. She always knew how to hit below the belt.

"You are such a bitch," Olivia snarled into the phone.

"So, I take it that that's a yes?" Mellie asked brightly. "One of my aides will email you the details and leave a pass for you at the White House security gate."

Olivia didn't respond.

"And, Liv? Please don't be late." The line went dead.

Olivia slammed down the phone on her desk and cursed.

The day of the First Ladies' luncheon at the White House, Olivia had butterflies in her stomach. At first she told herself that it was because she was feeling intimidated about meeting the French First Lady, Margaux, who was a great beauty and well known for her impeccable sense of style. But Olivia knew, deep down, that she was feeling nervous over the prospect of seeing Him again after all of these months. How would he respond to seeing her after all these months? Olivia hoped she wouldn't see him, that he'd be busy with the French president and nowhere near the White House private dining room where she, Mellie and Marguax would be eating. But Olivia resolved that if she did see him, she would be professional and stoic. What other choice did she have?

Olivia picked her outfit with care. She selected a conservative but stylish navy blue Lanvin wrap dress that showed a tasteful amount of cleavage. She paired it with a pair of beige patent leather Christian Louboutin heels that showed off her legs beautifully. She decided to wear her long hair up. It was a different look from her standard "gladiator in a suit" attire, but she felt it was appropriate to go with a softer look for this ladies-only lunch.

Margaux was a delight and, in spite of herself, Olivia was enjoying the lunch. After an initially awkward start, Mellie seemed to find her inner Stepford Wife and was putting on an Academy Award winning performance for the First Lady of France. To a casual observer, Mellie acted as though Olivia was one of her oldest and most cherished friends.

They were eating dessert when they heard men's voices coming towards the dining room. Olivia's body tensed up as she recognized the familiar baritone voice of her beloved. She silently prayed that Fitz wouldn't come inside.

Margaux heard the voices as well and recognized her husband's voice. She called out, in French, to him and Olivia inwardly groaned. Oh boy, here it comes, she thought to herself.

The double doors opened and in walked in the President of France, the POTUS and Cyrus Beene. The French president smiled broadly at his wife and Mellie, and he gave both women kisses on the cheeks. Then his eye was drawn to Olivia, who was standing off to the side. Fitz, who had entered the room wearing his most practiced politician smile, did a double take the moment he saw Olivia. He had no idea she was on the premises and the sight of her standing there, in the flesh, after six months apart, left him speechless.

"Bonjour," the French President said to Olivia.

"Bonjour," Olivia said, smiling.

"Mr. President," Mellie said brightly, stepping forward, "I'd like you to meet Olivia Pope She's one of our dearest friends and the former communications director for the White House."

"Yes, I know who she is," the French president said, smiling. "She is what you Americans call a fixer. From what I've read, she's the best there is. Isn't that so, Mademoiselle Pope?"

"Why, thank you," Olivia said, blushing.

Fitz cleared his throat. "Well, Francois, you know how we Americans love to exaggerate. One shouldn't necessarily believe everything that they read."

Mellie shot Fitz a look while Olivia looked down. Fitz's throwaway remark was like a dagger to her heart. It was clear that Fitz had not forgiven her and was still angry with her.

"We were having dessert. Would you gentlemen like to join us for coffee?" Mellie asked sweetly.

Fitz looked annoyed. "I really don't think we have time," said Cyrus, nervously.

"Nonsense!" said Margaux. "That is the problem with America. You don't take time to just relax and enjoy life. Come, sit down, have a coffee with us."

Fitz was trying not to look directly at Olivia, but from the side of his eye, he could tell that she looked good. Very good. Her tight little body was sheathed in a tastefully sexy wrap dress that hugged her slight curves in all the right places. Fitz purposely approached her from behind so that he could check out her rear view. Yep, the onion booty was still there. A glimmer of a smile momentarily crossed his lips.

As the three men joined the women at the table, Fitz chose the seat directly across from Olivia, and as soon as he sat down, he regretted it. For Fitz, it was sensory overload. Sitting across from Olivia was like facing the sun. She looked stunning and he was blinded by her beauty. Her hair was up, in a style he had never seen her wear before, and her delicate, ballerina neck was on display for all to see. With her hair pulled up and away from her face in a stylish chignon, the features of her lovely face were on display for all to see. He couldn't tell if it was intentional or not, but a strand of her hair had come loose and was lightly grazing her cheek. It was a new look for her. Softer, more feminine, if it were even possible for Liv to be more feminine. He liked it. He liked it a lot.

Olivia, could feel the heat of his stare on her and was increasingly feeling more and more uncomfortable. She began to breathe deeply, in an attempt to calm her nerves.

Fitz noticed the rise and swell of her chest as she breathed. A simple silver necklace she was wearing pointed directly toward her cleavage and Fitz noticed that her bosom looked fuller than he remembered it. Was it the bra she was wearing, he wondered? Both the bra and the dress material were thin and the air conditioning in the White House was already turned up to the max, so with the chill in the air there was a hint of her nipples poking through the dress. Fitz licked his lips. Olivia's entire presence filled the room and caused him to think impure thoughts. He couldn't believe it. He was still angry with her, pissed actually about how she had railroaded him into staying with Mellie, but in that moment he wanted to throw Olivia on the dining room table, hitch up that dress and take her right there.

He knew it was wrong, but he had gotten a little jolt of satisfaction earlier when he made that cutting remark telling the French president not to believe the hype about Olivia Pope. Fitz could tell that it had pricked her ego a little. She deserved it. She needed to suffer for what she had denied him. He wasn't going to give her any indication that he still loved her. That he still craved her.

The conversation among the group was light and superficial, but Margaux could see the non-interaction between Mellie and Fitz and could sense Olivia's discomfort. Watching the three of them, the French First Lady realized the true nature of things – that Mellie and Fitz were in a sham of a marriage - and in that moment of realization she knew why she had felt so drawn to Olivia because she too had once been the other woman.

Underneath the table, Olivia's feet were antsy. She was feverishly tapping her right foot on the plush dining room carpet. The tablecloth shielded her feet from view so nobody could see what she was doing. But without meaning to, Olivia accidentally kicked Fitz's leg under the table. He jumped a little and cast her a stern look. Olivia made a little face and slowly mouthed the words, "I'm sorry."

Seeing her full, luscious lips fashion those words out of thin air drove Fitz to distraction. He cleared his throat and looked away because he knew if he maintained his glance a moment longer, he'd be in serious trouble, "unable to leave the table until his raging hard-on subsided" kind of trouble.

For a second, Olivia felt cut down and rejected again, but then she noticed how Fitz was tapping his fingers on the table. He was feeling antsy himself. She silently smiled to herself and decided that she would turn the tables on Fitz and give him a taste of his own medicine. He had tried to make her feel uncomfortable and unwelcome by staring at her. Well, two could play that game.

She kicked off one of her heels and then slowly stretched her right leg across. She delicately moved her foot up until it hitched under Fitz's pant leg. With the grace of a dancer, she slid her foot up his pant leg and began to swirl the tips of her toes around the top of his sock covered ankle. She looked across at Fitz. There was no visible reaction. He was completely ignoring her. His head was turned away and he was speaking to the president of France who was seated right next to him.

Cyrus, who was sitting next to Liv, made a comment and Fitz turned his head to look at him. But to look at Cyrus, Fitz's glance first had to pass by Olivia. As their eyes momentarily met, Fitz noticed a devilish glint appear in Olivia's eyes. Then, without warning, a soft kneading sensation began to spread in his crotch area. Olivia was using her foot like a sex toy, pressing and rubbing her foot up against his crotch area, back and forth, up and down, around and around. The response from his body was immediate and the erection he had was so hard he knew that if he didn't get release right away, he would be ruined. He couldn't believe it. This woman was literally going to be the death of him.

Suddenly, Fitz stood up, and quickly excused himself, saying there was something he needed to do right away.

Mellie looked confused, Cyrus and the President of France just shrugged while Olivia and Margaux, the First Lady of France exchanged knowing looks. Olivia put her head down and smiled a little smile.

The group carried on their conversation a little while longer when suddenly, the fire alarm went off.

"What the heck…?" said Cyrus. "This never happens. We need to evacuate right away."

Olivia leaned down and quickly slid her feet back into her shoes and as she was getting up to walk out of the dining room with the others, a Secret Service agent she had never seen before popped up out of the hallway and said "Ms. Pope? Please come with me."

Olivia was puzzled and said, "I'm going with the others" but the agent insisted that she come with him. They were walking quickly down the hall, headed toward the West Wing. Olivia called out to the agent, "I'm sorry, but why are we going this way? Is this a real emergency or a fire drill?" But the agent told her to keep moving. Then suddenly, he stopped and told her to stand in front of a door, that he needed to go back and get something. Olivia was wondering why he was talking so loudly when she could hear him just fine.

"Wait right here," he said. "Don't move. I'll be right back." And then he was gone.

Olivia was standing there thinking, this is bullshit, and was about to turn and walk away when the door behind her opened and a strong arm grabbed her by the waist and scooped her up. Olivia shrieked and then a huge hand clamped across her mouth. The room was dark and the shades were drawn. The sound of the fire alarm was still ringing in Olivia's ears but she was now officially scared. She wanted to scream but this hand, a man's hand was covering her mouth. She began to struggle and wiggle to try and get away but she couldn't. Then she heard it. The voice. His deep, sexy voice.

"Say it." Fitz said, removing his hand from her mouth. He flipped on the light switch. They were in his private study, a small office off to the side of the Oval Office. It was a room that few people ever saw.

Olivia swallowed hard. She didn't want to look at him. She couldn't look at him.

Fitz had Olivia pinned against the door. She was trapped. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

"Say it," he said again, this time in a kind of a low growl.

Olivia was gasping for air. "Say what?" she asked, frightened and turned on at the same time.

"Say that you missed me," he said in a low whisper.

Olivia didn't respond. Her head was turned to the side.

"This….feel this…feel what you do to me," he took her small, delicate hand and moved it over the extremely prominent bulge at the front of his pants. "You did this.You."

Fitz leaned in further. Every breath that Olivia exhaled, Fitz inhaled. He wanted release and Olivia wasn't going anywhere until she surrendered.

"Mr. President, let me go. There's a fire in the building. We have to get outside," Olivia said weakly.

"I'm not letting you go until you say it. Say that you missed me. Say that you still want me," Fitz said, a hint of anger in his deep voice.

Olivia began to panic. The White House could be on fire and here she was, trapped with the POTUS in a room that hardly anyone knew about. Where the heck was the Secret Service? This was a national disaster in the making.

And yet, she didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay here with him, doing unmentionable things to his body. But she knew that they were both in danger and they had to get out.

"Let me go! Let me go!" Olivia shrieked as she started pounding on his broad chest, struggling to get away from him.

Fitz silenced her by planting a deep kiss on her full, luscious lips. A jolt of electricity passed through the both of them and as Fitz hungrily devoured her lips, Olivia's resolve melted and she kissed him back equally as hard. When they came up for air, Olivia's rational side popped up, like it always does, and she said, "we need to get out of here. The White House could be burning down right now."

Fitz looked down at her and said softly, "There is no fire. I pulled the fire alarm and asked my secret service agent to bring you here."

Olivia sobered up immediately. "What? Are you crazy? You pulled the fire alarm? What are you like in the fifth grade now? Jesus Christ, Fitz!"

Fitz laughed and pulled Olivia close. "This is all your fault. You can't come into a man's house looking like this, play footsie with him, get him all worked up and not expect there to be a huge reaction."

Olivia knew that he was right. She wanted to laugh but she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of being right. She wanted to be mad at him but she couldn't. He was just too damn adorable. So she did the only thing that felt right at that moment. She unzipped his pants and pulled out his thick member. She knelt down in front of him, like she was praying at an altar, and gave Fitz his release.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews and feedback. Dettylover, yep, you're on the right track with your predictions. :)

Regarding this latest chapter, I'm not exactly sure how I feel about it. I may decide to go back and revise it and change several parts of it. Let me know what you think. Merci beaucoup!