I apologize beforehand for an any grammatical errors or inconsistencies. I wanted to get this chapter up tonight or else I'd have to wait to do it over the weekend. I'm going to go through and revise it though. Also, thanks for the kind and encouraging reviews!
The old community center groaned under the weight of repairs in desperate need of fixing and the relentless storm outside. The rattling hum of aging space heaters struggled against the cold. Their uneven rhythm was punctuated by the steady drip of rainwater seeping through cracks in the ceiling and splashing into mismatched buckets scattered across the room. Paint flaked off the walls in jagged strips, exposing patches of worn plaster beneath. Every so often, the pipes clanged in a metallic chorus.
Folding tables and chairs were arranged in a makeshift layout, each surface cluttered with markers, cardboard, and half-finished posters bearing demands for justice. Black Liberation activists moved with quiet purpose, some painting bold slogans in crimson and black, while others clustered near vents, soaking up the faint wisps of warmth that barely combated the damp chill clinging to their clothes.
The air was heavy with the mingling scents of wet fabric and stale coffee brewing in a battered pot perched precariously on a rotting wooden stand. Despite its dilapidated state, the community center served as the meeting place for the Black Liberation Movement. It wasn't an ideal environment to be in, but this sanctuary was theirs. A safe place where their voices thundered with the power of a packed stadium and hope flickered in defiance of systemic oppression.
Olivia sat at a table flanked by those in her inner circle—Annalise Keating, Angela Webster, Harrison Wright, Marcus Walker, Edison Davis, and Diego Muñoz—or Huck, as he preferred to be called. While the BLM primarily advocated for Black voices, it welcomed allies of all races and backgrounds. Huck, a Hispanic and Latino volunteer, was one of the most loyal. He and Olivia became friends in middle school through hardship and compassion.
Huck grew up in a rough home, often coming to school bruised, wearing the same clothes, and carrying the foul odor of neglect. He never ate lunch because he couldn't afford it. From his frail appearance, it was evident that he didn't eat much at home either. However, no one seemed to notice—not his teachers, not the principal, no one… but Olivia. One day, she caught him digging through trash cans for scraps of food. From that moment on, she started packing an extra lunch for him or sharing her own when food was scarce in her household. She'd also slip him bars of soap so he could shower in the boys' locker room after gym class.
When other kids made fun of him, Olivia stood up for him, knowing Huck's temper would land him in trouble. Once, he beat a violent bully to a bloody pulp, coming dangerously close to expulsion and serving time in a juvenile detention center until he aged out and was sent to an adult prison. Olivia's quiet acts of kindness and unwavering support gave Huck the strength to keep going, and their friendship grew into an unshakable bond—one that carried through the years to the movement they now fought for together.
"Did your ambush work this time? Was Governor Grant more receptive?" Edison's voice was laced with snide condescension, his words a thinly veiled jab at Olivia. It was obvious he was still stewing over the fact that she once again hadn't allowed him to accompany her to meet with the governor.
Olivia suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, taking a steadying breath instead. This was Edison in a nutshell—always ready with a snide remark, always convinced he knew better. Just because he held a law degree from the University of Massachusetts, he carried himself like the undisputed intellectual heavyweight of the group, as if his education alone made him superior—as if it made him smarter, more capable, and more deserving of respect.
Edison was a small dog desperate to run with the big dogs. Olivia knew exactly how the meeting would have gone had she brought him along—or worse, let him go by himself. He would have spent the entire time name-dropping his alma mater and credentials, angling for a job in the governor's administration. The cause… the people they were fighting for, would have been an afterthought.
This incessant need to prove himself was one of the many reasons Olivia had broken up with him. Back in high school, she'd fallen for his passion. Edison had seemed like her equal. He was smart, driven, and just as committed to uplifting Black people as she was.
But college had changed him. Exposure to privilege and rubbing elbows with White legacy students, who viewed him as an anomaly, had inflated his ego. He came back a different person. The passion she'd admired was now tainted by arrogance, and his drive had shifted toward climbing the social ladder. He no longer seemed interested in collective progress; his focus was fixed on personal advancement.
"As a matter of fact, he was. He agreed to meet with me and hear me out. See? Being loud and disruptive does work." Olivia replied, staring Edison down with a cocky smirk.
A tense silence settled in after her words. Edison shrunk under her heated gaze, his eyes dropping to the table, suddenly finding a stain interesting. Olivia leaned back, a small sense of satisfaction washing over her. The others struggled to keep straight faces because they were cracking up inside. They all thought Edison was a pompous ass, and it was nice to finally see him get put in his place.
"So…" Marcus spoke up, breaking the awkward silence. "When's the meeting?"
Olivia glanced at each of them, silently debating whether she should mention her dinner meeting with Governor Grant. She was sure Annalise, Angela, and Huck wouldn't pry too much about her decision to meet the governor at his home, but the same couldn't be said for Marcus, Harrison, and Edison. Marcus and Harrison would likely question the governor's motives, speculating on hidden agendas and urging Olivia to proceed with caution. Edison, on the other hand, would probably accuse her of trying to sleep with the governor in the name of Black empowerment.
"Governor Grant is a busy man, but he said he would fit me in on Friday." Olivia lied with ease, surprising herself.
Olivia wasn't a liar and hated being lied to. But she believed there were exceptions—her dinner with the governor being one of them.
"He said he would fit you in…" Marcus repeated, voice dripping with skepticism. "That doesn't sound promising. Are we talking 'fit you in' as in trying to find a minute between policy briefings and golf?"
"Did he guarantee the meeting?" Harrison piggybacked, spinning his phone in his hand like a fidget spinner. "Or was it more of a 'maybe we'll get something on the books if I can find the time" kind of vibe?"
"How long did he say he'd meet with you?" Edison chimed in, suddenly regaining his voice and a smidge of confidence from the uncertainty the others had in the meeting and their fearless leader.
"He didn't say," Olivia replied tightly, her jaw clenching as she fought to refrain from jumping over the table and strangling him.
Edison leaned back in his chair with a nod. "Aah, so in other words, it could be anywhere from five minutes to an hour. Since he didn't specify the duration, your chat could be brief—long enough for him to nod politely, feign interest, pretending to care about your rambling. Then, he'll hit you with the classic, 'I'll take your grievances under consideration,' before graciously thanking you for stopping by."
Again, his tone oozed condescension, and the little smug smile on his face dared her to prove him wrong. This time, Olivia couldn't stop her eyes from rolling. She wasn't about to entertain Edison's uppity ass with a response because she knew the truth. She was having dinner with Governor Grant and highly doubted it would be brief.
"Five minutes." Angela mused aloud, her lips curling into a sly smirk. "Damn, that meeting's finna last longer than you in bed… so I've heard."
Edison's eyes enlarged and his head whipped in Olivia's direction, as if to accuse her of disclosing private details about their former sex life to her friends. Olivia facepalmed while the rest of the group dissolved into laughter. Leave it to Angela's big mouth to reveal something that was said in confidence during one of their countless girl talks.
Edison shot to his feet, his chair scraping against the wooden floor and tipping over behind him. The noise drew glances from a few people scattered around the room.
"You know what?" Edison snapped, his voice trembling with indignation. "Do whatever the hell you want. When Governor Grant screws you over again, don't call me. I'm done."
Without waiting for a response, he stormed toward the door, each step punctuated by an angry stomp. The flimsy door rattled on its hinges as he yanked it open and disappeared into the rain.
"Good riddance," Annalise said at last, breaking the silence with a slow, deliberate clap. The relief in her voice was unmistakable, and the hint of a smirk on her lips made it clear she couldn't be happier to see Edison go.
Olivia turned to Angela. "Why would you say that?" Her tone was more curious than annoyed. "That was mean. His feelings were hurt."
"I don't give a rat's ass. Fuck him and his feelings. His muppet-looking headass needed to go. He was annoying the hell outta me, and I know he was pissing you off. I could see it all over your face."
Olivia shook her head, not bothering to reprimand her outspoken and protective friend. Instead, she steered the conversation back to the main topic.
"I will meet with Governor Grant on my own." Olivia emphasized, leaving no room for argument. "While I'm preparing for it, I need you guys to continue rallying support for Brandon and his family. We are not backing down. We will get justice for them, no matter what it takes."
They all nodded, understanding what they needed to do individually and as a united entity. Annalise and Harrison were tasked with maintaining the pressure on the Boston Police Department, relentlessly pushing for justice. They would continue to organize protests, demanding accountability and a swift response. Meanwhile, Angela and Marcus were focused on the media strategy, amplifying the case through every possible channel, raising awareness, and ensuring the story couldn't be ignored. Each person had their mission, but their collective goal was clear: justice for Brandon Parker.
Huck, the quiet and serious one, preferred working solo, often hunched behind his laptop. A tech-savvy researcher, he managed the Black Liberation Movement's website and led initiatives like community needs assessments, policy analysis, and tracking racial injustices. From police violence and incarceration rates to education and environmental racism, Huck's research highlighted systemic issues and informed advocacy efforts. Beyond data, he handled practical tasks like overseeing donation distribution. In addition to his research duties, it was also ironing out the logistics for the organization's annual Thanksgiving food drive.
Olivia stood in front of the smudged mirror, propped against a wall in her studio apartment, as she carefully applied mascara. Her apartment was modest to say the least—sparsely furnished, cracked walls with faded patches of paint, and dead roaches caught in strategically placed sticky traps. The compact kitchenette consisted of a tiny fridge and a single-burner stove. Her bed, a twin-size with cheap bedding, was crammed against the opposite wall next to a secondhand desk. One scuffed, wooden door led to a tiny bathroom and another to her cramped closet.
Though the apartment was far from perfect, Olivia made it a cozy haven. Small personal touches filled the space—soft throw blankets, stuffed animals tucked against her pillows, and multi-colored magnets holding photos of loved ones on the fridge. Her framed Associate's degree, from Roxbury Community College, hung proudly on a wall, a reminder of her hard work and determination. The vibrant green leaves of potted plants breathed life into the space. Her keepsakes added personality and a sense of belonging. Despite its limitations, Olivia made sure it was always clean, organized, and a place where she could take refuge from the menacing world.
Angela and Annalise were stretched out across her bed, their contrasting personalities evident in how they lounged—Angela scrolling through her phone, occasionally tossing out snarky comments, and Annalise reading a tattered paperback, pretending to be disinterested but clearly tuned in.
"It's a date." Angela stated, her tone teasing as she glanced up from her phone.
"It's not a date," Olivia argued, leaning closer to the mirror to fix a stray lash.
"Girl, you are going to his house to have dinner. That's a date," Annalise added, her tone mockingly sing-song as she closed her book.
Olivia eventually came clean to them as they were leaving the community center because the idea of heading to the governor's home without any of her friends knowing her whereabouts didn't sit right with her. It was better to have them looped in just in case things went sideways. Besides, they already knew most of her secrets and wouldn't judge her or try to talk her out of going.
After learning the truth, Angela and Annalise invited themselves over to help her pick out an outfit for tonight. Which was why they were there now.
Olivia turned and gave them both a pointed look.
"I'm going over there to discuss important issues. That's all." She asserted, enunciating every word to drill into her friends' thick skulls that her dinner with Governor Grant was a meeting, not a date.
Angela smirked. "And you can't do that at his office?"
"I already told y'all deaf bitches his schedule is jam packed. The only time he's free is when he's at home."
"Mhm…"
Angela's eyes scanned Olivia's outfit, taking in the classy yet casual look—a dark beige cable-knit sweater tucked into fitted black jeggings, paired with knock-off UGG boots from Ross. Her curls were styled in a chic half-up, half-down look, pinned back with a large hair clip. The only other accessory she wore was a pair of faux diamond stud earrings.
Angela's gaze lingered for a moment on Olivia's backside, narrowing slightly as she studied it.
"What kind of panties do you have on?" Angela inquired in a casual yet mischievous tone.
Olivia whirled around, completely caught off guard by the random and intrusive question. "What?"
Angela and Annalise both stared at her, waiting expectantly for an answer.
"Comfy ones," Olivia muttered begrudgingly and turned back to the mirror, face flushed.
Angela and Annalise exchanged a knowing glance. "Bloomers." They said simultaneously before falling over each other in laughter.
Olivia tried to protest, but their loud cackling drowned her out. She huffed and folded her arms, impatiently waiting for them to stop.
"Nope, uh uh–-Liv, you need to change them." Annalise advised through her laughter.
"Yeah, take those granny panties off and put on some sexy draws… ones with lace." Angela said in agreement with Annalise.
"And crotchless." Annalise further stated.
"Yes!" Angela high-fived her, loving the suggestion.
"For what? I'm not sleeping with him."
"Sleep ain't what y'all finna be doing." Angela joked.
Olivia sighed defeatedly. "You know what I mean."
"That man has been fine my whole life. I'm usually not down for the swirl, y'all know I ride for Black love, but I wouldn't mind test driving Governor Grant. All he has to do is look at me outta the corner of his eye and I'm slinging my g-string at him." Angela said with no humiliation or care.
"Angela!" Annalise exclaimed, tears escaping her eyes as she howled in laughter. "Have some shame."
Angela waved her off, unbothered. "I will not."
"You are annoying." Olivia laughed.
"When's the last time you got some dick?"
Olivia playfully threw her hands up in fake exasperation. She couldn't with Angela's persistent and invasive questioning.
"And I'm not talking mid dick. I mean rare, high-quality dick. The type of dick that'll have you begging for a baby."
"The type of dick that'll make you commit a felony." Annalise threw in.
"The type of dick that'll make you want to learn how to fight if you don't know how to already because babyyyyyy, a bitch will get her ass beat if she tries to take what's yours."
"The type of dick that'll put you in a month-long coma."
"The type of dick that'll have you climbing walls while exorcising your demons."
"The type of dick that'll knock all the Mario coins out of you."
"The type of—"
"I got it!" Olivia exclaimed, interrupting their increasingly outrageous scenarios.
"I know that White man is packing. You ever seen him walk? He walks like he got a baseball bat swinging down there." Angela voiced, disregarding Olivia.
Annalise nodded. "He's definitely better than Edison's lame ass, and that's just off looks alone."
Olivia shook her head, "Terrible."
"Girl, hush, you know we're just playing."
Olivia finished getting ready and checked the time on her phone. It was time for her to head out if she wanted to be on time for her meeting. Phone already in hand, she threw her keys and wallet into her buckle flap backpack, then headed for the door.
"I know y'all see me standing at this door. Why y'all still sitting? Get up and get out." Olivia said in jest, clapping to encourage them to haul ass.
"Oop rude."
"Well hint hint."
Olivia giggled at their petulant muttering as they got up and slipped on their shoes, however, they weren't moving fast enough for Olivia's liking.
"Can y'all move any slower? Come on–-chop, chop."
Olivia clapped again.
"You got one more time—"
"We're coming, damn!"
They said at the same time as they donned their jackets and headed toward the door Olivia was opening. One by one, they walked out, with Olivia staying back to turn off the lights and lock up.
"Make sure you leave your panties in the car." Angela called over her shoulder to Olivia as she followed them down the dim and dingy hall, to the stairwell.
"I'm not sleeping with him!"
Olivia proceeded to chase her giggling besties down the stairs.
Olivia's hands gripped the worn leather steering wheel of her 2009 Honda Accord as she maneuvered through the slick streets of Boston. The rain had let up, but the wet pavement still glistened under the streetlights. The heat was cranked to full blast, and its roar almost muffled SZA's airy falsetto coming from the radio.
As she drove, her gaze drifted from the road to the surroundings outside her car. Decaying buildings with boarded-up windows juxtaposed against brightly lit corner stores and crumbling brick facades. She passed rundown homes with iron bars on the windows, graffiti tagging the walls like battle scars, and stray dogs wandering aimlessly through the streets. The signs of struggle were everywhere.
But as she followed her GPS, turning onto one of the side streets, the scenery started to shift. The narrow roads, once cracked and littered, became smoother and cleaner. The clamor of life gave way to quieter, more deliberate sounds. Olivia could see it now—the start of gentrification. New condos stood alongside older, well-maintained buildings, their windows gleaming with an almost unnerving shine. Cafés with brightly colored signs and organic produce lined the sidewalks. The occasional jogger passed by, earbuds in, moving at an easy pace, their lives seemingly untouched by the struggles she knew all too well.
The further she drove, the more the city transformed. The buildings grew taller and more lustrous. The graffiti was replaced by curated street art on brick walls, all staged and intentional. People here weren't struggling—they were thriving. It was almost as if the city was shedding its skin, and in its place, a shiny new version was emerging.
Olivia's nerves began to tighten, and the comfort of the familiar streets felt like a distant memory. She followed the winding roads of this upscale neighborhood, her GPS guiding her as the street names became increasingly unfamiliar. The towering trees lining the roads were meticulously pruned, their leaves rustling in the wind like whispered secrets. Sprawling mansions sat behind gates, their gardens immaculately kept, and large fountains splashed in front yards, shooting water into the air in extravagant displays. The houses were huge—far bigger than anything she had ever seen in her own world. Each one seemed to scream wealth.
Olivia took a deep breath as she continued to follow the curving streets. Her eyes darted from one mansion to the next, each more grandiose than the last. The wealth was palpable—obscene almost—and it made her stomach churn.
Her phone vibrated in her hand, and she glanced at its GPS, which now instructed her to take another turn. The road narrowed as she started driving down an exclusive stretch of street that felt entirely disconnected from everything else.
At the end of it stood a mansion unlike any of the others Olivia had just passed. It wasn't just grand—it was imposing. Surrounded by high stone walls, a massive security gate stood at its entrance, tall enough to appear as though it touched the sky. Inside the gatehouse, guards were stationed, their figures partially obscured in the dim light, their sharp eyes scanning the area with practiced vigilance.
The mansion itself was a stunning sight—larger and more opulent than the rest of the homes in the area. Well-kept and meticulously maintained, it radiated wealth and power. The windows, lit faintly from within, cast a soft glow and hinted at the life inside. However, the sheer size and isolation of the estate made it feel otherworldly, like something untouchable. The surrounding landscape was sparse, nothing but sleek, manicured paths leading to the estate's entrance, giving the place an air of exclusivity. This mansion wasn't just part of the gilded neighborhood—it was the crown jewel of the entire street.
A suited, armed agent from the governor's security team emerged from the gatehouse, his hand resting just above his holstered pistol. Olivia rolled down her window.
"Good evening. Miss Pope?"
"Y-yes." Olivia stammered while willing her nerves to settle.
She couldn't figure out what brought the onslaught of nerves. She was supposed to be fearless and strong. Then again, that was her when she was on her own turf. She no longer had the home court advantage, and that made her uneasy.
"May I see some valid, government-issued identification?" The agent asked, his tone polite but firm, its authority unmistakable.
"O-of course," Olivia replied, fumbling for her wallet as she cursed herself silently.
Get it together, Pope, she mentally chided herself.
She handed over her ID with hands she hoped didn't appear as shaky as they felt. The agent took the card and angled the beam of his flashlight onto it. His expression remained neutral as he inspected it. He gave a slight nod, then stepped back, raising a finger to signal for her to hang tight for a minute.
"One moment."
Olivia watched him go back inside the gatehouse with her license. She wasn't sure what he was doing, but after what felt like forever, he returned and handed her back her license.
"Thank you for your cooperation. You're clear."
Without further explanation, the agent retreated back to his post.
The gates creaked open slowly to a long, circular driveway lined with neatly trimmed hedges and towering oak trees. Olivia tightened her grip on the steering wheel and took a deep breath as she drove toward the multimillion dollar estate. The sight of it all left her in awe. She had only ever seen such exhibits of wealth in magazines and on television.
Fitz stood waiting at the bottom of the wide staircase that led up to a set of wrought-iron double doors. He was dressed down and somehow even more striking than she remembered. His broad shoulders and lean torso were highlighted by a collared, navy-blue, ribbed knit sweater that hugged his frame. His tailored black pants were perfectly snug, showcasing his long, muscular legs. The black, sharp-toed Magnanni shoes that adorned his large feet added a formal touch. In contrast to his palatial home, his attire spoke of understated elegance—a display of quiet affluence that complemented his relaxed confidence.
Olivia parked her car out front and before she could fully open her door, Fitz was there, pulling it open all the way and offering his hand. "Hi."
His simple greeting, joined by a lazy, crooked smile, instantly put Olivia at ease.
"Hi." Olivia grabbed her bag from the front passenger seat, then accepted his help as she stepped out of her car. "Thanks."
The quiet of his neighborhood hit her immediately—no sirens, no yelling, just the occasional rustle of leaves. It was a stark contrast to the chaos of her crime-riddled neighborhood.
"Did you find the place okay?" Fitz asked, his hand lightly grazing her arm as he aided her up the staircase.
"Surprisingly, I did." Olivia responded, somewhat distracted.
Now that she had an up close view, she couldn't help but marvel at the architectural details of the mansion. The limestone exterior mixed classic and modern styles effortlessly, giving it a timeless elegance. The scale of the place was impressive with symmetrical lines and large columns that framed the windows. Outdoor lights bathed the stone in a warm glow. It was a home that demanded attention without the need for ostentation.
It also said a lot about the man who lived there—refined, successful, grounded. The blend of traditional Georgian Colonial style with modern touches seemed like a perfect reflection of him: a moderate, unpretentious politician who knew exactly what he wanted, even without the trappings of a family or a conventional life.
"Why do you say that?" Fitz asked, his hand hovering near her arm, ready to steady her if need be, as he guided her up the steps.
"I just assumed with you being the governor and all, you'd live somewhere that was harder to find. I honestly expected my GPS to send me to some hidden, unknown destination." Olivia shrugged.
"I'm flattered you think I'm that important of a man." Fitz quipped.
Olivia gave him a side-eye. "Don't play with me, Governor. I never said that."
"It was implied."
Fitz bit his bottom lip to hold back a smirk. He didn't need to look at her to know she was giving him the evil eye. Fortunately, they reached the landing before she could harness her "magical powers" and send him tumbling down the steps. It would be deserving and totally worth it because nothing amused him more these days than seeing Olivia Pope riled up.
He opened one of the massive doors and allowed Olivia to enter first. He followed her inside and closed the door behind him with a soft click.
Upon crossing the threshold into the foyer, Olivia's eyes were immediately drawn to an elegant staircase with wrought iron details that spiraled upward beneath an elliptical plaster dome.
"May I take your bag?" Fitz offered with an outstretched hand ready to take it.
"Sure." Olivia started to slip it off her shoulder, but paused with it in the bend of her arm, remembering the contents inside. "Actually, I'd like to keep it with me, if that's alright."
"Of course." Fitz gestured for her to follow him down a hall that extended in the opposite direction of the staircase. "Your timing's good. Dinner's ready."
"Great, I'm starving." Olivia responded.
She lagged behind him, her head on a swivel as she soaked in the luxuriousness of his home.
Its interior was as stunning as its exterior, seamlessly blending modern and traditional designs. Taupe tones, accented with faint brown undertones, created a calm and sophisticated foundation. Dark brown furnishings with clean lines added warmth and depth, carefully balanced to avoid overpowering the neutral palette. Touches of black and charcoal here and there added definition and the right amount of contrast. The marble inlay flooring, with its intricate geometric patterns, was also a striking feature.
Soft lighting gave the place some life. Cove lights traced the coffered ceilings, casting a warm glow, while hidden LEDs lit up textured walls and backlit panels in a way that felt effortless but eye-catching. Even the floating walls seemed to emit a gentle radiance.
Olivia noted that despite the inviting color scheme and impeccable design, his home felt oddly impersonal, like it lacked a lived-in quality, similar to a carefully curated showroom. The subtle lighting and warm temperature should have made it cozy and welcoming, but instead, there was a lingering sense of detachment as though the house was waiting for someone to truly inhabit it.
"I wanted to call you to ask what you like to eat and if you have any food allergies, but since you wouldn't give me your number, I had to improvise." Fitz jested, returning Olivia's focus back to him.
Olivia blinked and realized they were now standing in his formal dining room. It was ridiculously huge and clearly intended for large gatherings rather than everyday meals. Fitz rarely used it–-only for the occasional dinner party, which he hosted maybe three times a year, at most. His home was his sacred place, so he didn't like having people there too often. He was barely there himself.
"I'm surprised my number isn't listed in the kill folder I know you have on me."
Fitz chuckled, shaking his head, "I don't have a kill folder on you… Cyrus probably does though."
Olivia scoffed at the mention of his chief of state. There was no one she hated more, and that said a lot because she had a long list of people she detested.
"The only thing I would've told you is make sure the food's seasoned," Olivia deadpanned, referring to his initial comment while she eyed the mahogany table that could easily seat a dozen people but was only set for two.
Serving platters gleamed under the ornate chandelier hanging above. Polished silverware and delicate crystal glassware were arranged meticulously on one end of the table.
A freshly tossed Caesar salad was served in a sleek bowl as a light starter. For the main course, sizzling grilled chicken pieces, perfectly charred, were paired with golden, tender roasted vegetables. Fluffy steamed brown rice was neatly piled in a pristine dish. The spread was complemented by an assortment of drinks: pitchers of chilled water and iced tea with slices of lemon, bottles of wine and cider nestled in an ice bucket, and zero sugar juice boxes.
Fitz pulled a chair out for Olivia and pushed it in when she was seated. He then sat beside her, at the head of the table, and draped his dinner napkin over his left thigh.
He's a gentleman, Olivia observed. She wasn't sure if it was an act or if he was genuinely that way. Their interactions had never been cordial enough to reveal much about his manners, aside from the fact that he was never outright disrespectful.
"Isn't this a bit much for just the two of us?"
"I figured it's best if we dined in here. Anywhere else would feel too intimate for a business meeting."
Olivia picked up a juice box.
"I knew you were childish, but I didn't think to this extent."
Fitz smirked, "Those are for you. I wasn't sure if you were old enough to drink, so I made sure to have some kid-friendly options available."
Olivia snorted, folding her arms over her chest, "I'm twenty-four." Fitz's eyebrows shot up. "Don't look so surprised."
"I'm sorry," Fitz apologized, a hint of color rising in his cheeks as he offered her a sheepish smile. "It's just…you look at least five years younger. Honestly, I would've believed it if you said you were nineteen or twenty."
He felt better knowing that he wasn't attracted to a barely legal adult. While she had a youthful appearance, Olivia carried herself with a maturity that exceeded her years—well, when she wasn't attempting to unalive him with a stapler. Twenty-four was still younger than he preferred, but was far easier to reconcile than anything under that.
What struck Fitz most about Olivia wasn't just her age but her spunk. Starting a nonprofit was one thing, but keeping it alive and thriving was another, especially in the face of constant adversity. Yet, the Black Liberation Movement continued to push forward, a testament to its leader's obdurate dedication. Olivia's empathy, selflessness, and tenacity weren't just admirable traits; they were the driving forces behind an organization that refused to back down, even when the odds were stacked against it.
She never ceased to leave him in awe, with the way she commanded a room, audaciously stood up to him, and valiantly pursued her goals. There was a rare spark in her that instantly made him take notice of her, looking past the myriad of age-appropriate and superficial women willing him to spare them a glance.
"Black don't crack, Governor." Olivia stated proudly.
And neither do you, Olivia thought. For someone pushing forty, Fitz didn't look a day over thirty. Hated him or loved him, there was no denying the man was naturally and unfairly aging backwards.
"When you're right, you're right, Miss Pope." He replied smoothly, treading carefully, knowing full well it wasn't his place to weigh in on that.
"I'm always right." Olivia sassily bragged.
She found herself loosening up the more time she spent with him in his safe space. The tension that had always defined their interactions was beginning to ease, though her animosity toward him still lingered. It wasn't gone and sat quietly in the background, like an uninvited guest she couldn't quite dismiss. But here, in this setting, surrounded by his unguarded presence, she felt the weight of it start to shift, making room for something else she couldn't yet name.
Fitz frowned and muttered, "Except when you call me racist."
"Oop, not you holding grudges at your big age."
He shot her an incredulous look. "You called me Grand Wizard."
"That was forever ago. Move on." She waved him off.
"It was this morning!" Fitz exclaimed through a disbelieving chuckle.
"The past." She said sarcastically.
"You're something else." Fitz muttered and reached for a platter to start making his plate.
Olivia copied him, and they traded dishes until both of their plates were full.
"Did you cook all of this?" She questioned.
"Yes, I usually have my personal chef prepare my meals, but every now and then I like to cook for myself. Let me know what you think." Fitz paused, processing what he just said and who he said it to. "On second thought, nevermind. I forgot who I was talking to."
"Are you saying I'm hard to please?" Olivia asked, arching an eyebrow.
"No," Fitz replied with a sly grin, "I am saying that you are stubborn and prideful."
Olivia gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her chest. "Governor Grant, I'm wounded."
"You'll live," He said, gesturing for her to dig in.
Olivia glanced down at the lone spoon, lying on her napkin, next to her plate.
"No fork? Knife?"
A playful smirk tugged at Fitz's lips.
"I'm not about to arm you with anything sharp. You might decide to cut out my heart."
She tapped her chin, feigning deep thought. "Spoon, fork, knife, my bare hands—it really doesn't matter. If I really wanted to cut your heart out, I'd find a way. But since you don't seem to have one, you have nothing to worry about."
"Fair enough." Fitz chuckled, hesitantly handing Olivia a fork and knife.
Olivia snatched them from him.
"Thanks." She said flatly.
Ever the gentleman, Fitz waited for Olivia to take her first bite before he began eating. They ate some salad first, then moved onto the entree. Olivia chewed thoughtfully, savoring the chicken. It wasn't bad, but as she'd expected, it was bland. Fortunately, she came prepared.
She reached into her bag, pulling out an array of seasonings: lemon pepper, paprika, garlic powder, dried thyme, and salt. Fitz raised a brow, watching with growing curiosity as she lined up her seasonings and spices on the table. One by one, she added a pinch of each, then took another bite. Her eyes fluttered closed as the flavors kicked in.
"Mmm, that's better," she moaned, satisfied.
Fitz, now thoroughly intrigued, held his plate out toward her. Olivia glanced at it, then back at him.
"Can I help you?"
"I'd like to try some of that." He replied, nodding toward the seasonings and spices.
With an exaggerated huff, Olivia set her utensils down and half-heartedly blessed his food with flavors she bet he never tasted in his life. Truth be told though, she didn't mind doing it for him and was eager to see his reaction.
Fitz took a bite, and as soon as his taste buds registered the flavors, his eyes went wide, a look of pure shock spreading across his face. Olivia grinned.
"Wow, that's good." Fitz announced, clearly impressed.
"You're welcome."
"Thank you."
After that, they ate in silence—the soft clinking of their utensils against their plates filled the quiet air. The silence wasn't awkward at all. Olivia and Fitz were simply content being in each other's company.
Halfway through their meal, Olivia grabbed the wine bottle and a bottle opener. Before she could uncork it, Fitz plucked both items from her hands.
"Allow me."
Olivia leaned back in chair. "You afraid I'm going to make a mess?"
He flashed a small, crooked smile as he popped the cork and filled her glass.
"That misogynistic thought never crossed my mind." He said innocently.
He poured himself a glass as well, though he wasn't much of a wine drinker. He'd indulge tonight—the bottle was open now. Olivia was about to take a sip, but stopped when Fitz held up his glass.
"Let's make a toast," he said, his eyes meeting hers. "To progress."
"To progress," she echoed, clinking her glass against his.
The wine tasted fine to Fitz—smooth, a bit fruity with a hint of oak—but for Olivia, it was an entirely different experience. The flavors danced on her tongue, rich and complex, far beyond anything she'd ever tasted before. She was used to the cheap wines she purchased from her local convenience stores. The kind that was more about getting the job done than appreciating its taste. But this… this was something else. It was the kind of wine people sip slowly, savoring each intricate note. She took another sip, appreciating the warmth it brought, realizing she had never truly understood what good wine could be.
Fitz set his glass back down and used his napkin to wipe his mouth. He then leaned forward, resting his elbows on either side of his plate.
"Now that we've gotten something in our stomachs, let's talk shop."
Olivia straightened her posture and set her glass down. She directed her full attention to him. In the blink of an eye, her expression changed from relaxed to serious.
"Why don't you tell me about how your organization tackles the issues you've brought to me."
Olivia cleared her throat and shifted in her chair, wanting to get comfortable before starting this uncomfortable conversation… uncomfortable for him because she had no qualms about confronting the truth.
"It's all interconnected," she started. "You tackle unemployment by creating accessible job opportunities and improving education, making sure people have the skills they need to succeed. When you lower the cost of living and make housing affordable, people aren't as stressed about basic survival, which in turn, reduces crime. Healthcare is a big piece too—if people can get the care they need, they're more likely to be productive, which leads to better opportunities and a healthier community overall. It's a cycle that needs to be addressed as a whole, not just in pieces."
"I get that, but walk me through it. How are you currently addressing these issues?" Fitz urged.
"We take a multi-faceted approach, focusing on empowering individuals and uplifting entire communities. Our strategy centers on four key pillars—education, economic empowerment, housing, and healthcare. In education, we start by addressing the gaps left by underfunded schools. We've implemented free tutoring, mentorship programs, and school supply drives, all designed to make education feel attainable and keep kids off the streets. But the root problem is systemic. Public schools in predominantly Black neighborhoods are often underfunded because of how they're tied to local property taxes. That's a policy issue." Olivia articulated with practiced ease.
Fitz caught the subtle jab but agreed, "That's a big policy issue."
Olivia became more animated as she gave him insight into the work her organization has been doing since it was established two years ago.
"On the economic front, we're committed to creating self-sustaining communities. We organize job training workshops, partner with trade schools, and offer job placement assistance, particularly for those shut out of traditional opportunities, like people with criminal records or single parents. The goal is to build a real pipeline from unemployment to stable work. As we grow, we hope to offer microloans to help small businesses get off the ground."
Fitz nodded thoughtfully, considering the approach.
"I like the idea, but offering microloans can be tricky, especially for a grassroots organization such as yours. It's not just about giving people the money; it's making sure they have the support to use it right. There's a lot to think about—things like credit history, the risk of default, and the need for financial education. For small businesses, specifically in underserved areas, it's more than just providing capital; it's about building trust and creating something sustainable around them."
"You're absolutely right, and we're still figuring out all the logistics. It's definitely a big challenge, especially with everything you mentioned. Right now, it's just an idea we're working through, but if we can get it right, the impact could be huge."
"I agree."
"When it comes to housing, we're trying to partner with developers to build affordable places, but honestly, zoning laws and predatory landlords have been making it extremely hard for us. Gentrification is pushing families out faster than we can keep up, and without things like rent control, we're at risk of losing whole neighborhoods."
Fitz brought a finger to his pursed lips as he absorbed her words. Though he was looking at her, he wasn't seeing her. His eyes were physically directed at her, but his busy brain was not actively processing the information coming from them. Olivia sipped her glass as she let him sort through his thoughts. A moment passed before he blinked and came to.
"And healthcare?" He finally inquired, prompting Olivia to continue.
"Healthcare is one of the biggest struggles we face. We do what we can with free clinics, but it's really just a band-aid solution. People are dying from treatable conditions because they can't afford basic care. Most don't even have access to preventative services." Her voice rose slightly, filled with frustration, the thought of lives lost to financial barriers igniting a fire in her words.
"You're doing amazing work, Miss Pope." Fitz commended her softly. "But like you said, this goes beyond what any one organization can tackle. It's going to take meaningful policy changes, laws, and real investment from the government."
"That's where you come in, Governor," Olivia said, her voice filled with hope. She was glad he was finally acknowledging that while her organization made gallant efforts, real change needed the government's backing. "We'll keep doing the work on the ground, but without legislation, we're just patching holes in a sinking ship."
Fitz leaned back, lightly drumming his fingers on the table as he pondered the best strategies for achieving meaningful reform.
"One solution could be a bill that mandates equitable school funding, allocating state and federal funds based on student needs rather than property taxes. That would help level the playing field. It won't be an easy sell, but there could be incentives for businesses, like tax credits, to sponsor mentorship programs, internships, that sort of thing."
Olivia contemplated it, then nodded. "That's a start."
"In regards to employment, expanding the Community Reinvestment Act could be a step in the right direction. It would require banks to invest more in Black-owned businesses and affordable housing projects. There's also potential to push for more federal grants to support housing development and stronger tenant protections to prevent unfair evictions." He took another sip of his drink and retrieved his other thoughts. "As for healthcare… a bill capping the price of essential medications and increasing funding for community health centers would ideally make basic care more accessible."
"What about also expanding Medicaid eligibility?" Olivia proposed.
Fitz shrugged. "It's ambitious but not impossible." He sat up straighter, needing her to fully understand what he was about to say. "Miss Pope, I want to be clear about this… these ideas are not promises. I can bring them to the legislature, however, I cannot guarantee they will be drafted into bills. If lawmakers decide to move forward with them, only then would it come to me for approval. And, to be perfectly honest, progressive bills don't come across my desk often."
"I understand, Governor." She reassured him. "Your endorsement will give us some headway, but we both know they won't give in easily. It's up to you to apply pressure on their necks."
Fitz nodded slowly, his gaze drifting as he mentally braced himself for what was shaping up to be the toughest fight of his career—a career already marked by its fair share of uphill battles. Cleaning up the mess left behind by his predecessor had been no small feat, but at least he had the support of his constituents. This time, he would be stepping into the ring alone.
Pushing for legislative action wasn't the problem; the real challenge was confronting the entrenched power players responsible for blocking progress—many of whom he had cultivated good relationships with throughout the years. Fitz prided himself on being a man of honor and integrity—one of the few politicians who had managed to keep his hands clean while getting the results he wanted. He was skilled at negotiating and finding compromise, so his hand had never truly been forced.
He had the position and the influence, but what Olivia was asking him to do went beyond politics. It would no doubt change him. His soul would no longer remain intact, breaking the promise he made to his mother shortly before she passed. He just hoped he didn't have to go into his stocked arsenal and deploy any of his weapons. He might not have had a kill folder on Olivia, but he had one for every person he thought could potentially become a ruthless enemy of his. If he went that route, he could only pray the carnage would be nominal because he would be going up against a small army of ultrarightist legislators.
"I'll do my best. That's all I can promise you." He declared.
Olivia searched his eyes, looking for any signs of reluctance and/or insincerity. All she found was resolution.
"That's all I'm asking for… for now."
"Is there anything else?" Fitz asked, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows.
"Police reform." She reminded him.
"Ah, right… What do you suggest?" He gave her the floor while he finished the rest of his wine.
"Defund the police."
Fitz placed his glass back down and expelled a heavy sigh. "I hear the calls for defunding, and I understand where they're coming from. People are angry. Rightfully so. Far too often, police officers abuse their power, predominantly in Black communities." Olivia scoffed as if to say "that's an understatement." Fitz was unfazed and continued. "But here's the thing… policing is dangerous work. Officers are putting their lives on the line every day. I've met good cops, ones who genuinely care about the communities they serve. And while the bad ones make the headlines, the good ones are left trying to pick up the pieces in a system that's broken. Defunding doesn't get to the heart of the issue. It simply leaves us with fewer resources to fix what's wrong."
"I respectfully disagree, Governor. If we defund the police and instead invest in healthcare, education, housing, and job programs, we can tackle the systemic issues that lead to criminal activity in the first place. Right now, we're asking police officers to handle everything—from mental health crises to homelessness—when trained professionals in those fields could do a better, safer job. That shift would not only reduce police violence but also allow cops to focus on serious crimes, where their expertise is really needed."
"Miss Pope, I hear you… investing in community resources is essential. I agree with that one hundred percent. But defunding the police? That's a leap I'm not convinced we're ready to take."
Olivia opened her mouth to protest, but Fitz raised a hand, signaling for her to wait.
"Let me explain. Reallocating funds sounds great in theory, but we need to ensure those systems are in place first before we start stripping police budgets. Right now, if we reduce their resources, we're asking them to do the same dangerous job with less support. That could lead to more mistakes, not fewer. Defunding is not reform." He calmly argued.
"It could be. If we reallocate some funds toward civilian-led oversight, we can rebuild trust in a system that's failed too many people. It isn't about punishment; it's about prevention. By strengthening our communities and addressing inequality, we can reduce the demand for policing altogether." Olivia disputed.
Fitz shook his head. "Empowering communities is as much about collaboration as it is money. Law enforcement and community programs can and should work together. Defunding the police risks creating a divide when what we really need is a partnership."
Olivia's head tilted slightly. "Do you honestly think the people who live in constant fear of ending up as a mural on a building or a face on a t-shirt would willingly work with the very people who torment them?"
"I believe they will follow their faithful leaders. If you and other community spokespeople agree to cooperate, so will they." Fitz countered.
Olivia rolled her eyes. "What about the police's cooperation? What if they refuse?"
"Then, they will face the consequences." Fitz answered, a sharp edge now added to his voice.
"Oh, what? Paid suspension? That'll show 'em." Olivia sneered.
Fitz pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to subdue his growing frustration. Olivia's obstinance was making that incredibly difficult though. He tossed his napkin onto the table and stood.
"Excuse me for a moment."
Fitz left the room and Olivia baffled by his abrupt departure. He returned a few minutes later, carrying a folder. He handed it to her as he sat back down.
"Open it." He commanded, nodding to the folder.
Bemused, Olivia did as he said and pulled out a printed document tucked inside. Fitz polished off the remainder of his plate as Olivia read the document. When she finished, she carefully put the document back in the folder and set the folder off to the side.
"About an hour after you left my office, I received a call from the Massachusetts Municipal Police Training Committee, informing me of their decision to extend de-escalation and cultural sensitivity training at all four police academies."
Puzzlement lingered on Olivia's face. "O-kay." She said slowly.
"A proposal to enhance accountability measures like independent oversight boards, harsher penalties for corruption, and eliminating qualified immunity has been floating around the legislature for quite some time…"
"And?" Olivia snapped rather impatiently. If he had a point, he needed to get to it already.
"Well today, legislators and legal experts started drafting that proposal into formal bill language."
Olivia's eyes widened in surprise and glimmered with elation. "Are you serious?" Fitz nodded. "Is that why you're going to finally make a public statement?"
The document she read was the statement he planned to deliver tomorrow, where he would announce his support for increasing police accountability.
"I was going to make a statement regardless. This is the third time this month a law enforcement officer in our state has made headline news for killing a Black person—innocent or not. My administration will be cracking down on corrupt officers, no more slaps on the wrists and paid vacations disguised as suspensions. I spoke to two of our police commissioners, whom I grew up with, and they agreed with me. Moving forward, any officer found guilty of misconduct will face immediate termination and, if warranted, criminal convictions—no exceptions, no cover-ups."
Olivia let out a low whistle, impressed by the conviction in Fitz's voice. The usual glint of amusement in his eyes had hardened into steely determination. A subtle smile tugged at the corner of her lips. This was the man she'd voted for—the one who prioritized doing the right thing over the smart thing.
She'd been hesitant about coming tonight, unsure how it would go. If she believed it was going to turn out like their previous encounters, she would've stayed home. But Fitz had surprised her. His plans were thoughtful, and his actions were calculated. He was obviously a highly educated guy, but she hadn't expected him to be so well-versed in causes she assumed he overlooked.
Fitz, too, found himself reassessing Olivia. He'd always regarded her as brilliant, but tonight he realized just how sharp and informed she truly was. She came prepared, knew her facts, and wasn't afraid to go toe to toe with him. She'd done her homework, and it showed.
A heavy silence hung between them as Olivia and Fitz were both immersed in their individual thoughts. Finally, Fitz let out a weary sigh and glanced over at her.
"Care for dessert?" He asked gently, his voice breaking the silence and easing some of the tension in the air.
Olivia blinked, snapping out her cogitation.
"Depends… what ya got?"
"Store bought apple crumble pie, topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream." Olivia quirked a questioning brow. "I can't bake. I can barely cook." Fitz elaborated.
"That's true." Olivia concurred with a knowing nod, earning a narrow-eyed glare from Fitz.
"Keep it up, and I'll withhold your scoop of ice cream." He playfully warned.
Olivia fought back a smirk. She actually hated vanilla ice cream, so his threat was more of a favor.
"Promise?"
Fitz chuckled and stood up to start clearing the table. Olivia followed suit. Without asking if he needed help, she took it upon herself to assist him. They made several trips between the dining room and his state-of-the-art gourmet kitchen that was probably a true culinary paradise for his chef.
Olivia sifted through his cabinets, opening and closing them, until she located some tupperware. While she packed up their leftovers, Fitz loaded the dirty dishes into the dishwasher.
"Why don't you take those with you." Fitz suggested, referring to the stacked containers of leftovers. "I'm not a leftovers kind of guy, and all of that food will go to waste if it stays here." Fitz added.
Olivia shot him a skeptical look. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah." Fitz shrugged.
He was lying about not liking leftovers. He wasn't that much of a rich snob where he thought he was above them. With a personal chef, who cooked for him everyday, he figured Olivia could use the leftovers more than him. Whether she stretched them out for a few days or shared them, it was better than sitting in his fridge, waiting to be forgotten about.
"Thank you," Olivia said sincerely.
Fitz nodded in response as he pulled out a tub of vanilla ice cream from his freezer and grabbed two dessert plates from an overhead cabinet that Olivia was too short to reach. A glass pedestal sat in the center of the main island, housing the apple crumble pie. Olivia cut them both generous slices and plated them. Fitz scooped some ice cream onto his, and Olivia declined when he offered her a scoop.
"You know I was kidding about the ice cream, right?" Fitz asked, a playful lilt in his voice.
"I know. I just don't like vanilla," Olivia replied as she slid onto a chair at the second island.
"I hope you're only talking about ice cream," Fitz threw her a wink.
Olivia tried to keep a straight face, but one look at his goofy, lopsided smile sent her into a fit of giggles. Fitz's smile grew wider at the sound of Olivia's infectious laughter, which just became the most beautiful sound he ever had the pleasure of hearing.
"Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Tea? Milk?" He asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
"Coffee's fine, thanks."
Fitz poured her a cup too.
"How do you take it?"
"Sugar, cream, and honey if you have any?"
Fitz grabbed everything and placed them in front of her so she could mix her coffee the way she liked. He then rounded the island and settled into the chair next to hers, their knees lightly brushing under the counter. When Olivia was done sweetening her coffee, she slid the sugar bowl and creamer toward him.
"I'm good, thanks. I prefer my coffee black."
"Like your women?" She quipped, her eyebrow arching.
Fitz threw his head back with a hearty laugh, the sound deep and authentic. When he looked back at her, his expression softened. "Well, there is one I can't seem to stop thinking about."
The intensity in his gaze left no question about who he meant, and Olivia's breath hitched. She quickly averted her gaze to her plate and began eating. Fitz copied her.
Olivia couldn't help but think Fitz made the right decision earlier, having them eat in the formal dining room because eating in here felt very intimate. After a few bites, Fitz set his fork down and leaned back.
"Tell me something, Miss Pope…" He waited for Olivia to look finally at him. "What made you get into activism?"
Olivia sighed. The answer to that question was personal, and she wasn't sure she wanted to share it with him. However, the genuine wonder on his face convinced her to give in.
"I come from a poor, broken home." Olivia began, and nudged her pie around the plate with her fork to distract her from looking at Fitz. "My good-for-nothing dad was a deadbeat, and my mom… she did the best she could to provide for my siblings and me, but it was hard."
Fitz didn't say anything. He just sipped his coffee and listened, his eyes fixed on her. Olivia felt a tightness in her chest, but she pushed through.
"She was always at work so my siblings and I had to fend for ourselves a lot of the time. My older brother, Terrence, became the man of the house and did his best to raise me and my little sister, but he eventually got caught up in the streets, trying to help my mom out. Now, he's serving a twenty-year sentence at MCI-Concord for drug dealing, possession of an illegal firearm, and assault. He had priors, so they threw the book at him. My mom was devastated." Olivia had to pause because her voice started to tremble with emotion.
Olivia sniffled and turned her head away from Fitz as she wiped the unshed tears from her eyes before they could fall. Fitz placed a tentative hand on her back and rubbed it in soothing circles.
"How long has he been incarcerated?" He asked sympathetically.
Olivia drew in a breath and exhaled deeply, regaining her composure. "Going on eight years. He missed the birth of his daughter, her first words, first steps, first day of kindergarten, first grade graduation… everything. All because he was trying to beat a rigged system." Olivia replied, bitterly.
Fitz struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. Now, he really felt bad for constantly giving her a hard time, even if it was in jest.
"I'm not saying what he did wasn't wrong, because it was, but when options are limited, people tend to pick the most promising one."
"Do you visit him at all?"
"Twice a month. I used to go every week, but he made me stop—said he wanted me to spend my time helping people avoid ending up like him. It's better this way though. It's hard seeing him caged up like an animal… You know, he'll be your age when he gets out."
Fitz grimaced at that. He lived a lot of life in his thirty-eight years, especially in his twenties, and couldn't imagine having those transformative years stripped from him.
"By then, my niece will be the age he was when he went in…" Olivia shook her head. No matter how much time passed, it would always be difficult for her to accept that her brother would miss out on the best years of his life. "Hopefully, I'll be able to go with my niece and her mom to see him on Thanksgiving. We'll have to leave super early so I can make it back in time for the drive." She muttered to herself absentmindedly, as an afterthought.
Fitz furrowed his brows, "The drive?"
"Huh?" It took her a second to process what he was asking. "Oh, I was talking about the annual food drive my organization puts together. We didn't receive a lot of donations last year, so we ran out of food pretty quickly. This year though, our campaign is a little more aggressive. Our goal is twenty-five hundred."
"How much have you raised so far?"
"About two hundred dollars, give it or take."
"Yikes. Thanksgiving is only two weeks away. Do you think you'll reach your goal in time?"
"The optimist in me says we'll get there, but the realist in me knows we won't even make it past a grand. Hell, we're not making it to a grand." Olivia admitted, reaching for her cup of coffee.
They both sipped their coffees in brief silence until Fitz remembered something.
"You mentioned that you had a younger sister… how's she doing?"
Olivia shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't seen or spoken to her in over a year. After my mom died, Kennedy ran off with some SoundCloud rapper she met online. I found her a few months later and tried to get her to come home. Somehow that turned into a huge fight. We almost came to blows, but I walked away before it got physical. She was eighteen, so I couldn't force her to come with me. Last I heard, she's an OnlyFans model. I wish I could say I'm surprised, but Kennedy always craved attention and a materialistic life."
"OnlyFans?"
"Yeah…" Realization dawned on Olivia. "You don't know what OnlyFans is?"
Fitz shook his head. Olivia thought the innocent expression on his face made him look almost adorable. Damn his boyish good looks.
"What is it?"
"Seriously?"
Fitz huffed. "Are you going to tell me what it is or continue to shame me?"
"Look it up."
She expected him to do it later, so she was caught off guard when Fitz pulled his iPhone from his pocket and searched OnlyFans. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head when he got his answer.
"It's a porn site!?" He exclaimed, quickly closing the browser and dropping his phone onto the counter as if it was on fire and just burned his hand.
"That's an aspect of it." Olivia laughed at his aghast expression. "Technically it's an interactive platform for small content creators to post whatever their subscribers want to see."
"And they get paid for that?"
"Yup." Olivia confirmed. "You know if this governor gig doesn't work out for you, you'd make a good OnlyFans model."
Fitz gasped with a puckish smirk. "Miss Pope, you think I'm attractive?"
Olivia's face flushed with embarrassment. "I—no, that's not—it's just—don't flatter yourself!" She stammered, clearly flustered.
Fitz nearly toppled off his chair from laughing so hard, especially when Olivia shoved him. She leaned back, folding her arms and pouting, which only made him laugh harder.
"ANYWAY…" She shouted over his boisterous laughter.
Fitz wiped tears from his eyes, still chuckling. "Whew... haha... that was funny... Sorry, what were you saying?"
"To answer your question from earlier… I became an activist because I want Black families to thrive, not scrape by. I want them to stay together and find stability without resorting to extreme or illegal measures. I want to break the generational curses that have been wreaking havoc in our communities and tearing us apart for too long. I want Black lives to matter in a way that goes beyond just saying it—I'm talking about real, lasting change. I want us to feel safe in both our communities and our bodies. I want us to finally be free." Olivia confidently answered.
Fitz's eyes gleamed, and a surge of immense pride swelled in his chest as he stared at her.
"You will," he said, his voice filled with certainty. "One day, Miss Pope."
So what do you think will happen next? Do you think their night ends there, or is it just getting started? Thanks for reading, and also 'tis the season everyone! I hope you all stay safe and have a wonderful holiday!