Fitz's POV
As I walk into the Skybar, the thumping music fills my ears. I navigate my way through the crowd, and before I even lay eyes on them, I know precisely where Andrew and Bishop are. Bishop's loud ass voice booms through the air, unmistakable through the chatter and laughter. Following the sound, I make my way towards the corner of the bar where they are seated.
The scene is just as I imagined: Andrew, with a grin plastered on his face, engrossed in the conversation, and Bishop, animatedly gesturing with his hands, drawing attention to himself as always.
"Look who's here!" Andrew stands up, shouting. "Mr. Fitzgerald Grant himself. He's decided to grace up with his presence!"
"Hey, Fitz!" Tim says as he takes a sip of his drink. He's the quiet one but still quite the lady's man. He was usually the first one out of our group, which we dubbed ourselves the Rat Pack, that women were attracted to. Not that any of us had issues getting girls.
"Shut up Andrew. What's up guys." I grab a chair from a table across from us and plop down while Andrew waves the waitress over.
"What can I get you, sir."
"I'll take a scotch, please."
"No problem." She says as she walks away with a beautiful smile, even though it's fake.
"So, you got out of the damn office? Was it my persuasive pleas?" Andrew says, batting his eyes.
"You are an idiot."
"And you're an old man," Andrew says. The table erupts in laughter.
"Andrew, you are literally three years younger than me. Who in the hell are you calling old?"
"You act like an old man. The real question is, did you come to find a girl the old-fashioned way?" Steve says, leaning in closer to me.
We all met at Harvard, but Steve and I were best friends. We partied together, shared quite a few of the same classes, and even dated and shared some of the same girls. We've been through many wild experiences together and are grateful to be still alive. However, despite his outward persona, I know Steve wants a meaningful relationship deep down. He claims to have sworn off marriage, but I can't help but doubt his sincerity. He longs for a significant other but believes it's a hopeless pursuit. Instead, he chooses to primarily navigate the New York club scene with Andrew, indulging in casual flings with attractive women.
"No, I didn't come to find any women."
"Did you fuck before you came here?" Andrew says, putting his hand on his forehead. "It's like 8 pm Fitz. You don't have to fuck as early as you eat dinner." That table erupts in laughter again.
"For your information, no, I did not."
Bishop finally chimes in, "Come on, guys. Fitz is not that old." Bishop is married and happy. As far as I know, he's never cheated on his wife Ann. She is a great woman. She attended Harvard with us and became a doctor. We knew then that they would be together forever. She doesn't nag him about ridiculous shit, allows him to hang out with us without having to beg like a dog, and is a great mother to their two kids. She's an all-around great girl. He's something we all aspire to be, even if we don't say it out loud.
I let out a deep breath and looked at the drink the waitress just placed on the table. "I don't know. Just not interested." I wouldn't dare tell them that I got turned down tonight. I'm still in shock myself.
"That's because you keep banging the same hookers. I'm sorry, I mean escorts." Steve says, clanking glasses with Andrew. "But tonight, Fitz, we'll find you a hot little number to take back to your penthouse." The whole table cheers and clanks glasses.
"I don't want a woman. I just want to play cards and drink. Anybody bring playing cards?"
"Of course, buddy boy," Andrew says, pulling a deck of cards from his suit jacket.
We sit and play cards, order several rounds of drinks, talked shit, and laugh for hours.
"Fitz, Fitz, Fitz. Look at her." Andrew points at a blond-haired woman. "Look at the breast on her. Do you know what I would do to those?" Andrew says, leaning on me and pointing directly at her.
I slap his hand back into his lap, "Put your hand down. I'm not interested."
"What's eating at you, Fitz?" Bishop says as he takes another sip of his drink.
"I'm just tired, guys. I am tired of this lifestyle. I'm tired of sleeping with women who only want me for my money or being one of many. I'm tired of being married. I want someone who genuinely wants to be with me and actually likes me for me."
Tim chuckles. "Come on, Fitz! We're middle-aged, wealthy guys. We can't expect the type of women we chase to be interested in us for anything else."
Andrew chimes in, "Yeah, this is the price we pay for success, my friend."
"But that's not fair, is it? I mean, if I didn't have all this money, would anyone even look at me twice?" I say, leaning back in my chair and sipping on my drink.
"Fitz, I understand your frustration but don't lose hope. It's not impossible to find a woman who loves you for who you are." Bishop says reassuringly.
Andrew slaps his hand on the table, "Seriously, Bishop? How many of us have even managed that? It's like finding a needle in a haystack. It only worked for you."
"I get it, guys. But don't give up. I have been lucky enough to find someone who sees beyond that. Someone who doesn't need my money, and there are plenty of women out there who make their own way." Bishop says confidently.
"Yeah, I want an Ann. ", I say as I throw back the last of my drink. I wave the waitress over for another one.
"Bishop, you got lucky. Not all of us will find someone like that."
"It's true; luck plays a part. But it's also about being open to possibilities. If you guys keep assuming that every woman is only interested in your money, you might miss out on someone extraordinary." Bishop says as he raises his glass to us.
"That's bullshit, Bishop. You can't trust any of them. You just have to assume they want something. Money, influence, backstage passes, vacations, everything. They want everything." I said, sounding like a bitter old man, which I guess I am.
"You are never going to find anyone, good or bad, if you don't drop that wife of yours," Andrew says, putting his arm around me.
This conversation has become depressing. "I don't want to talk about this anymore." I look at my watch, and it's 11:53 pm. That triggers everyone else to look at their watch.
"Boys, I better call it a night. I got a beautiful wife waiting at home for me." Bishops says as he finishes the last of his drink and gives a sly smile.
"Fuck off Bishop. We're going to pick up some hot chicks and be balls deep in it before the sun comes up." Steve says as he high-fives Andrew.
"What are you, 22, Steve," Bishop says. "The three of you need to settle down." He says, pointing at Andrew, Tim, and Steve. "Fitz, you need to leave your wife and then find someone real to settle down with."
"We can't all be you, Bishop," I say with a fake smile plastered on my face, meaning every word I said.
"All right, fellows. Don't get too wild. Next week?" Bishop says as he puts his coat up and stands up.
"Yep." Everyone says in unison.
I remind all of them I'll be in Paris, but to enjoy themselves.
"Take care, guys. I got the bill." Bishop says as he pats me on the shoulder on his way out.
"Bishop, we love you man!" Andrew yells as Bishop leaves.
"We sit at the table, and it turns into an awkward silence. "Fuck I don't want to go home to Mellie," I say out of nowhere.
"God, I wouldn't either. She is depressing." Andrew says, and he takes another sip of his drink. He's already had 5-10 sips too many.
"Fitz, why do you refuse to leave her?"
"Because" I can hear my own words starting to slur." We have kids."
"For Christ's sake. The boys are teenagers, and they know Mellie. They even think you should leave."
Tim throws back the last of his drink. "Well, guys, I think I'm going home. I've already had way too much to drink."
"I thought we were going to be balls deep in it before the sun came up," Andrew says, raising his hands in the air with a confused look.
"No, you and Steve will be ball deep before sunrise. I will be in my bed snoring away."
"You and Fitz are dead on the inside," Andrew says, making me chuckle.
"We don't need them Drew. We got this." Steve says, throwing back the rest of his drink as he stands up.
"Are you guys seriously leaving me here?" I ask.
"Find a girl, Fitz, but you can't come with us. You have a lot of negative energy around you." Andrew says as he grabs his suit jacket off the back of his chair. "Call me in the morning if you find someone to take back to the fuck pad."
"You are disgusting, Andrew."
"No, I'm honest. Love you, brother." He pats me on the shoulder and kisses me on top of my head as he leaves behind me.
As I sit alone at our table, Time by Pink Floyd plays softly in the background, filling the room with its haunting melody. I can't help but smile as the right person takes control of the jukebox. Finally, there is some good taste in music around here.
From my spot, I have the perfect vantage point of everyone in the bar—couples locked in tight embraces. Women, being paid to be the arm candy for some wealthy guy laughing at jokes they know damn well aren't funny. Professionals, their suits loosened, desperate to let off some steam after a grueling week. And then there are those women, their eyes scanning the room for their next meal ticket.
As I take in the scene before me, a pang of longing tugs at my heart. These people, with their hopes and dreams, stories and secrets, make me yearn for a different life filled with excitement and passion.
Then, I'm suddenly taken aback by the presence of a stunning woman. Her brown skin glows with a captivating natural beauty. I look up and lock eyes with her, instantly transfixed by the kindness on her face. Her doe-like eyes draw me in as a genuine smile appears on her face.
I can't help but admire her physique, noticing her curves. She carries the attributes of my deepest desires. Is she real or merely a figment of my intoxicated imagination? I watch as she makes her way over to me, unable to look away.
She speaks, slightly slurring her words, "Excuse me. I don't mean to be rude or nosey, but you look like the saddest person I've ever seen. Is everything okay?"
I try to sit up a little straighter. l certainly do not give off the perception of being the owner of the Grant Hotels right now. More like a drunk bum. "Yeah, I'm okay."
"Okay. Again, I don't mean to be rude. I just wanted to check on you." She sounded so sweet and caring. She looks like a good girl.
"Is it that obvious?" I said, hanging my head.
"Yeah, it's obvious you're sad; plus, I noticed your friends left you here all alone." What? She noticed my friends had left. Has she been watching me? My god, she looks young. Maybe 23 or 24 years old.
"Yeah, they went home. I just needed a minute to get myself together." I take a sip of the water left on the table by the waitress.
"Have you eaten?" She says in the most angelic voice. Damn, I didn't even think about that. I forgot that I was heating lasagna before I left. That may be part of the reason why I feel so fucked up.
"No, I haven't."
"You can't drink like that on an empty stomach." She starts waving the waitress over.
"What can I get you guys?"
"Can we have two cheeseburgers and fries?" She says as she sits in the seat next to me.
"Sure. Anything else?"
"Yeah, another water and two coffees."
"Got it."
Those words hit me again, They all want something, but what does she want? A meal? Just a cheeseburger? No, that's only the beginning. She'll want more expensive dinners, VIP in clubs, jewelry, and everything else under the sun. No, she has to go. As beautiful, and I mean fucking beautiful, as she is, I know this game. I know how it ends up, and I'm tired of it.
She extends her hand with a cheerful grin, "My name is Olivia Pope. You are?"
I look at her curiously. My face is in the papers all the time. How could she not know who I am? "I'm Fitz Grant."
"Nice to meet you Fitz. I hope I haven't overstep the line. I hate to see people sad in an atmosphere like this."
All I can do is stare at her and think about all the vile things I want to do with her. You are sick, Fitz. She looks pretty young, which would make Andrew quite proud. She has this beautiful look of innocence, but I know that's not true. This beautiful specimen of a woman could get me to empty my bank account if I don't get away from her. My attitude towards her completely changes.
"What can I do for you, Ms. Pope?" I say with a straight face through gritted teeth.
"What do you mean?" She looks perplexed.
"You don't know me. Why do you give a shit if I eat?"
"Hey, you don't have to talk to me like that. I was just being friendly."
"I don't need a new friend, especially one that wants something from me." I can tell by the look on her face that I offended her. It has to be this way. She stands up from the table and looks at me with hurt eyes. "I don't want anything from you." She pushes in her chair and stands there looking down at me. "I hope you get home safe, Mr. Grant."
She walks away and heads over to our waitress. They stand together momentarily, and she signs a piece of paper. I watch her walk back to her table to what I assume are her friends. It's obvious she has a fake smile plastered on her face and a look of embarrassment. Damn it Fitz. She didn't do anything to deserve that. What a dick. Andrew would have slapped me on the back of my head if he was here. That was so unnecessary.
The waitress brings over my food and coffee. She said your good to go. Confused, I asked, "What do you mean good to go?"
She points over in Olivia's direction, who now has her back to me, "She took care of the bill."
What. She took care of the bill. I have never had a woman buy me dinner. Not in an expensive restaurant or from a run-down burger joint. Never. Why would she do that? Do I look that bad? I don't need her money. The alcohol has me so confused. I'm sitting here thinking she wants to use me for a free meal, and maybe she just wanted to make sure I was okay. I'm not even sure how to react.
I can't seem to take my eyes off of her. Her back is all I can focus on, and how her long, curly hair cascades over her bare shoulders sends my head spinning. Fitz, you're an idiot. I owe her a massive apology, not to mention returning her money. Should I discreetly hand the money to the waitress, or should I gather the courage to personally deliver it to her after being an asshole?
Trying to navigate my drunken thoughts, I gaze at her, contemplating the best course of action, when she suddenly rises and slips on her jacket. She hasn't laid a finger on her meal. She passed it over to another person at the table instead. A wave of sadness washes over her, and I can't help but blame myself for causing it. I refuse to let her leave like this.
She started to walk to the door, and I jumped up from the chair, grabbed my jacket, and rushed to the door, bumping into everyone I passed. I catch her outside, waiting for what I assume is a ride. "Miss. Pope."
She turns around to look at me, "What do you want?" Damn, yeah, she's pissed because of me.
"I'm so sorry for how I spoke to you in there. I'm in a terrible place today, and you didn't deserve that."
"Okay." She turned her back to me and continued waiting for her ride. I'm not sure what to say, but I don't want to leave it this way. She looks so cold standing there.
"Here." I take my jacket off and go to place it over her shoulders.
"That is not necessary. I'll be fine." She waves me off.
"Really, it's okay. It's pretty cold out here."
"No, I'm fine. Thank you." She turns back around again to look out into the street.
I am a total dick and terrible at this. Yeah, go to the bar and find a girl the usual way says, Andrew.
I got it; I'll give her the money back. "Oh, I um...I wanted to thank you for buying me dinner. Here." I reach into my pocket and pull a hundred-dollar bill to hand her. She looks down at it and says, "What the hell is that for?"
"It's for buying me dinner."
"Dinner was like $25, and it was my treat."
"I can't accept that. Women don't buy me dinner."
"Well, how sad for you.", she says, looking me up and down with one eyebrow raised.
What! Women aren't supposed to buy men dinner. What type of men has she been with? On the upside, she is even more sexy when she's being sassy. Get it together, Fitz. This is not getting us any closer to rectifying this situation. I like the woman she was when we first met. You know, before I royally messed up.
"Look, please just take it. I just want to say thank you."
"You must not be used to people telling you no." She says sternly. "I don't want your money. Okay. I did something nice for you. Just do something nice for someone else in your life." If only she knew I couldn't give two shits about anyone but my brother and children. I'll keep that part to myself since she already thinks I'm a dick.
"To answer your question, no, I'm not used to people telling me no." She huffs at me and looks back out into the street. Not wanting to press the issue about the money anymore, I ask, "Can I at least take you home?"
"I don't ride in cars with strangers." She says, never looking at me with her arms folded.
"You're literally going to get in an Uber with a stranger. Please, I'm begging you. Let me take you home. I have a driver." Did I just say I'm begging you?
"No, you're drunk and I don't want a ride from you or with you." This woman is impossible and unforgiving. I can't blame her, though. I can't believe two women have turned me down in one day.
"Okay. Miss. Pope." I look around, and I'm not leaving her out here by herself at night. I'll at least wait with her. "Can I wait with you till your Uber arrives?"
"It's a free sidewalk. You can stand wherever you want." The slight slur in her voice is turning me on.
"Alright then." I find myself standing beside her, the weight of silence hanging heavily between us. Her eyes remain fixed, staring straight ahead of her, refusing to acknowledge my presence. The silent treatment she's giving me is infuriating, yet I can't help but stare at her, longing to brush her hair aside to see her delicate neck. However, my instincts warn me that such a gesture may result in a swift kick in my ass. Gathering my courage, I ask, "Why are you leaving alone? Not a single man in that room offered you a ride home?"
"I'm more than capable of getting myself home. I don't need a man to follow me around like a puppy attending to my needs." Independent woman, attractive. I'm dying to know how old she is.
"How old are you, Ms. Pope."
"Why?"
"I'm just curious that all."
"I'm 33." Jesus! 33 years old. She looks ten years younger. What I wouldn't give to ravage her body, but she doesn't appear to be that type of girl. Fitz, the answer is no. You cannot take her back to the "fuck pad" as Andrew calls it. And even if I could, it's obvious she would rather get run over by a Mack truck than be anywhere near me.
"How old are you?"
"Me? I'm um...46." She doesn't say a word or change her facial expression. She continues to stare into the street. Now I want to know if she thinks I'm old. "I'm sure to you that's ancient."
"Not really." Excuse me, but 46 is definitely old. I could tell she was only trying to spare my feelings. As her Uber pulled up, I swiftly positioned myself in front of her, eager to open the car door. But just as she was about to step inside, I halted her in her tracks. "Miss. Pope," a glimmer of hope in my voice, "Would you allow me the pleasure of returning the favor and treating you to dinner?"
"No," she says abruptly, slipping into the car with an air of finality. Her gaze pierces through me as she turns to face me. "Have a good night, Mr. Grant," she says, her voice laced with a cold detachment. The door slams shut, ending our conversation. Damn.