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The next day, Liv was preparing some documents and files for the new Grant deal. Liz and Reston had been ecstatic with the new client announcement; after the recent success of the firm, this had been the icing on the cake.
Her desk phone rang and she picked up, half-expecting it to be Abby or Leo asking her to come upstairs.
"Olivia Pope."
"Miss Pope," the low voice on the other end of the line was familiar to her, and she sat up straighter in her chair. "How are you?"
It couldn't be him.
"I… I'm sorry, who is this?"
He chuckled. "I'm offended that you've forgotten me so quickly. I thought lawyers were supposed to care about their clients."
She shut her eyes briefly, lowering her voice. "I didn't think it was you, I thought you were in London."
"Ah, so you do remember me."
"Of course I remember you, Mr. Grant."
Fitz wasn't supposed to be calling her right now. He tried to stop himself from dialling the number, but all of a sudden there he was, sitting at a desk talking to Olivia Pope, trying not to groan just at the way she called him Mr Grant.
He'd never been so turned on by a woman before. She was on the other side of the ocean, for Christ's sake, and his trousers were still feeling uncomfortably tight after a ten-second interaction.
"I'm glad." His voice was rough. He was restraining himself from saying something entirely inappropriate.
"Is there something else you needed?"
You, he thought. "I was wondering if you were free on Monday, say, five o'clock."
"One second, I'll just check my calendar…" There was a slight pause, and the muffled sound of typing. "I'm supposed to be with Leo in a hearing. It might run over, but–"
"Tell Leo this is more important," Fitz interrupted, all the while a voice was yelling in his head What are you doing, you idiot? "Or I can tell him it's more important."
"Is there something you're concerned about?"
Goddammit, her worried voice was so fucking cute.
"We can have a meeting," he said. "Over dinner."
"Dinner?" She repeated, softly.
"Mhm. Is later better for you? Seven p.m.?"
There was a brief pause – hesitation, on her part. And then, "Seven works."
Fitz smiled. "See you then, Ms Pope."
He ended the call, and dropped it on the desktop just as Stephen Finch rounded the corner and walked into the office.
"What are you grinning like an idiot for?" Stephen scoffed, then eyed the phone. "New girl on the block?"
Stephen was Fitz's longtime business partner and friend. He, and their other friend Marcus, knew Fitz better than most people ever could. So it was also difficult for Fitz to lie to Stephen's face.
"I don't know," he admitted, sighing. "I'm playing with fire."
Stephen rolled his eyes. "When are you not?"
Fitz shot him a look.
"Come on, Grant. Tell me who it is."
He rubbed a hand through his hair, glancing away. "It's Olivia Pope."
"Am I supposed to know who the fuck that is?"
"She works for Reston North."
"Oh, the firm with Leo Bergen? Oh, wait– is she the girl who somehow got Hollis Doyle to admit to money laundering?"
"Yeah, that's her." Fitz was waiting for the penny to drop.
Stephen looked up at him sharply. "Didn't we just sign a deal with Reston North for their help with this Van Hiesen shit?"
Van Hiesen was a motor company, and Grant Enterprises just so happened to buy some of their shares right before they hit a spike in the stock market. One particularly irritating lawyer from the DA's office was trying to imply that they'd involved themselves in insider trading.
"Yes," Fitz said, carefully. "We did."
"Are you telling me…?"
"She works for me now."
"Fuck."
"Yeah," Fitz exhaled, "pretty much."
"You can't get involved with your own attorney, Fitz," Stephen said, seriously. "There's dangerous, and then there's that. She could lose her job."
"I wouldn't let that happen."
"Still, it's so risky."
"Well nothing's happened yet, Stephen, so you can chill out a bit."
Stephen shrugged and didn't reply. Then he turned to the corner of the room, where an expensive bottle of scotch was standing on the side of the cabinet with two shallow tumblers.
"You want a drink?"
Fitz nodded. He was going to need one before Stephen found out about his secret dinner meeting with Olivia.
–-
"Who was that on the phone?"
Abby walked into her office just as Fitz hung up, leaving Liv feeling very confused and (frustratingly) hot and bothered.
"Oh, just the new client," she muttered dismissively.
"Fitzgerald Grant?"
Liv rolled her eyes. "How do you know everything?"
"It's my superpower, what can I say." Abby grinned. "Are we still on for drinks tonight, or have you made plans with that smoking hot billionaire?"
"Abby," Liv hissed. "Someone might hear you–"
The associates' offices weren't exactly private. They'd been nicknamed 'The Bullpen' by Leo, who tried to avoid them as much as possible. Her cubicle reminded her of something from a 90's sitcom office.
"Oh, so what," Abby whispered. "Fine. If you're not going to talk about it here, we are talking about it later. At the bar."
Liv sighed. "Fine. But there's nothing to talk about. He's a client. I'd never go there."
…Even though her mind had already betrayed her the previous night. She'd dreamt of Fitz; how commanding he looked in his pristine suit, how perfectly the shirt had clung to every ridge of muscle on his chest and arms. And then she'd imagined him picking her up and pressing her against his office door, ripping her blouse off with that telltale panty-dropping smirk of his.
"Earth to Olivia."
Her gaze snapped back to Abby's. She hoped she hadn't blushed too hard. "Yeah. Sorry."
"I was just saying that Leo wants an update on him."
"On who?"
"On Grant," Abby said, frustrated. "Did you even listen to a word I was saying?"
"No," Liv replied truthfully, getting up from her desk. "But I'll head up there now. Thanks, Abby."
–-
Later that night, a few of the associates had joined Abby and Liv at one of their favourite bars in the city. Usually, it was a time to secretly dish out gossip from the office and slag off your clients without getting caught. Friday nights were one of the rare times they could let loose and get to know each other outside of the firm.
"So, tell me everything," Abby said, smiling wickedly.
Liv rolled her eyes and took another sip of her drink. "Like I said, there's nothing to tell."
"Bullshit. Any time that man's name is mentioned, you go beet red."
Liv blinked, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. "Am I seriously that obvious?"
"Only because I've known you for so long. I can read it all over your face." Abby subtly checked nobody else was listening in on their conversation. "You want to sleep with him."
Liv had already had a few drinks, and she could feel the warm buzz of alcohol coursing through her system. So instead of doing the rational thing – aka deny everything – she groaned and admitted it.
"Yes, but who wouldn't?" She downed the rest of her glass in one. "Have you seen the man? He's walking sex on legs."
"I'm not denying that. If I worked for him, I'd want to jump him, too."
"I thought people were supposed to be less attractive in person than they look in paparazzi pictures, but– somehow, he's even more gorgeous in person."
"Who's more gorgeous in person?" Harrison, another associate at the firm who she'd become firm friends with, slid up to the bar beside them. He grinned. "Hope you're talking about me."
Abby scoffed. "Stand down, Wright. You know we're not talking about you."
He frowned. "Damn."
Abby called for another round of drinks and they made small talk, but as soon as they started drinking again, the questioning continued.
"I want to know about this mystery man of yours," Harrison said, wiggling his eyebrows. "I've never heard Olivia Pope talk about a guy like that before."
Liv laughed. "It's because I'm drunk, Harrison, not because I'm madly in love."
"Still!"
"He's not my man." Liv decided to set that record straight, and just as she said it, her phone buzzed. "What–? Ugh, hang on. It's probably a work thing."
She got up from the bar stool, trying not to sway too much as she walked towards the bathrooms. She checked the screen and did a double-take.
"Hello."
"Hi, Liv," his low voice rumbled from the other end of the line.
"How did you get my phone number?" He'd called her desk phone earlier – this was different. This was her personal phone.
"I have my ways."
She gave up with that line of questioning. This definitely wasn't the time to be on call with a client, in one of the busiest upscale bars in New York.
"Fitz, this isn't a good time– I don't have the best judgement right now to be making any business decisions."
He chuckled, and the sound was so rough and deep that it sent a shiver right through her. "Has somebody been drinking?"
"Maybe a little." She pressed one hand to her forehead, suddenly feeling a lot more sober. "I definitely should not be having a conversation with you about the fact that I'm tipsy. I should hang up."
"But this is fun," he said.
"Fun for you, maybe," she muttered. And then, "Is it that obvious that I'm drunk?"
He paused. "I only knew because you called me Fitz."
Fuck. She didn't even remember doing that. "Did I?" She stuttered. "I'm sorry, that was unprofessional."
"Don't apologise."
"Still, it's…" She trailed off, noticing Abby watching from the bar with a knowing smirk on her face. "Is there a reason you called me?"
"Not really," he admitted, not sounding particularly sorry about interrupting her evening.
"Where are you?"
"At a bar. In London."
She smiled. "You have no right to make fun of me being drunk, then. You drunk dialled me."
He exhaled. "I did not drunk dial you, Olivia."
"You just missed my voice so much already?"
He ignored her sarcastic tone and answered shortly, "Yes."
She blinked in surprise. Before she could even conjure up a reply to that, Harrison leaned backwards in his bar stool and yelled, "Livvie! Is that the mystery gorgeous man on the phone?"
Liv sent him the sharpest death glare she'd ever sent anybody in her life. Abby smacked Harrison's arm and he held his hands up, looking offended.
She prayed Fitz hadn't heard – she thought he hadn't, but just as the embarrassment was wearing off, Fitz's low voice was back in her ear.
"I hope that mystery gorgeous man is me."
She shut her eyes. Shit. "You have too big of an ego, Mr Grant," she said. "I think I'd better get going before your overhear anything else from my big-mouthed friend."
He chuckled. "I'm not letting you get away with not answering me."
"Tough," she replied. "The mystery gorgeous man could be anybody."
"Mhm," he smirked. "Well, I'll get the answer out of you on Monday."
The 'business dinner.' How would she survive that? Especially now.
"We'll see about that."
"Sounds like a challenge, Ms Pope," he said lowly. "I look forward to it. See you on Monday."
With that, the line went dead. Like that morning, she was left feeling strangely flustered. If he kept calling her, this was going to become a major problem. Just his voice had her imagining things that were way over the line.
As she walked back towards the bar, Harrison started grinning from ear to ear.
"I swear to god, Harrison, I'm going to kill you."
He cracked up. "It was actually him?"
"No, it wasn't," she lied. "It was a client. Who overheard you."
His face instantly dropped. "Shit. Seriously, Liv? I–"
She stared him down for a few more seconds, and then started to laugh. "I'm kidding."
Only partly, she thought. If it was any other client, she would've been off their case within minutes. But Fitzgerald Grant wasn't just any other client.
"Fucking hell," Harrison sighed in relief, collapsing onto the bartop. "Alright, Pope, good one. Next drinks are on me."
