The ring of the phone startled her,
drawing her concentration from the stack of papers before her. She knew that
ringtone, hearing it repeat as she considered whether to answer.
“Hello Cyrus,”
she knew he would only continue to call if she didn’t answer the first time.
“Liv,” the man
sounded out of breath, exasperated.
“Cy, I’m busy.
What is it?” her own irritation boiled to the surface.
“Meet me at our
spot. Thirty minutes,” he disregarded the tone of her voice.
Before she could respond the line
went dead and a loud sigh replaced her planned rejoinder. She glanced back at
the document she had been reading, knowing full well that she wouldn’t
comprehend another word until she met with Cyrus.
XXX
Olivia perused her email while she
waited on a bench. She remembered the first time she and Cyrus met there, just
after she resigned from the Grant administration, and the last time, just a
month prior when President Grant was narrowing down his choices to replace
Andrew Nichols as Vice President. The benches, the people, the trees, they all
held the last 5 years enshrouded in their branches and their cracks and the
whoosh of their coats. She contemplated the time, where it had gone and how it
had changed them. They had started out as a team and now they were adversaries,
barely acquaintances in the political climate of D.C.
“I hope you
still take yours with cream and sugar,” Cyrus’ voice wrenched her from her
memories.
“I do,” she
couldn’t help smiling at the man who would just as soon decimate her career as
help her.
She didn’t speak, sipping her
coffee, looking out at passersby as they hurried along. He had called this
meeting, she had no idea why, and she wouldn’t tip her hand or venture a guess.
“He knows
having the wedding at the White House was your idea,” Cyrus didn’t look at her,
keeping his gaze set upon some far off object.
“Did he say
no?” Olivia finally looked in his direction. She would always have a soft spot
for Cyrus. He was her mentor in many ways, a former colleague who was bonded to
her through deceit and election fraud, and sometimes a friend. She saw the joy
when he and James brought Ella home then the epic depths of pain when James was
taken from them by Jake Ballard’s bullet. They were both survivors, both
burying their pain in work, both sacrificing so much of themselves for what her
father so nobly called “The Republic”
“He isn’t
happy,” Cyrus hedged.
“So you want me
to go see him?” Olivia filled in the blanks.
The tension in Cyrus’ shoulders
visibly dissolved before he breathed, “It might help.” He didn’t quite meet her
eyes, well aware of exactly what he was asking of her.
XXX
Olivia smoothed the imaginary
wrinkles from her skirt, fidgeting with the clip on the White House pass that
hung from her purse, sliding her heel in and out of her favorite Louboutin. She
stood outside the door to the Oval Office trying to think of any reason not to
turn the knob and enter. Her palms were moist and her breaths weren’t coming
easily. She needed a drink, not the coffee she had finished on the way in, but
her wine or his scotch.
“You can go
right in Ms. Pope,” Lauren encouraged from behind her desk. She was seeing less
of Olivia these days and had never known her to be anything but completely
poised. Something about her appearance was off and her hands trembled almost
imperceptibly.
Lauren’s voice gave Olivia the final
push that she needed to open the thick oak door and face the man she had been
actively avoiding for weeks. Her heels on the wood floor drew his attention
away from the security briefing before him and brought his eyes to rest on her
tense features and her bare left forefinger.
“Olivia,” it
was a mix of a stunned question and a strained statement. She looked every bit
as gorgeous as the last time he’d laid eyes upon her and he fought the urge to
stand and rush across the room to take her in his arms. That wasn’t the
relationship she wanted anymore and he would respect that.
“Cyrus asked me
to come,” she hesitantly stepped towards the center of the room, afraid that if
she drew too close to him the magnetism between them would be too great for
either to resist. She couldn’t control the rapid beating of her heart or the
warmth that coiled in her belly and crept to her toes.
“Did he?” he
tried to sound aloof but the ice in his tone more closely resembled jealousy or
hurt. He shifted in his chair, momentarily allowing his eyes to leave her face
and take a quick inventory of the rest of her form. Her heels easily added
several inches to her height, the hem of her skirt cut across her thigh at just
the right place, and her manicure was meticulously done but her hand looked so
strange without the ring. He let out a protracted sigh, perplexed by how they’d
gone from fervent encounters tucked away in the most private locations to
barely speaking.
Olivia drew in a deep breath,
holding her head up and concentrating on the task at hand, “I appreciate you
allowing Cyrus and Michael to have the wedding here.” Her voice was soft,
ingratiating, as she gauged his reaction.
“I don’t recall
anyone asking,” Fitz bit back, not able to meet her eyes again, afraid that if
he did his ire would fizzle. “You went behind my back….again. You and Cyrus and
Mellie.”
She stepped to the front of the
desk, “I’m sorry,” she murmured, fighting the sting of her tears that threatened
to fall, “I didn’t see another way…” She trailed off, knowing just as well as
he did that she wasn’t being honest.
“Did you just
come here to offer an apology or did you need something else?” his tone was
still sharp and it cut to the place only he could reach. His jaw was tense and
the warmth she was used to seeing in his eyes was gone. The irreparable harm of
removing the ring permeated the room. The ring she had worn through argument
after argument, when they were madly in love shuttered away from the world, and
when they pushed each other to the brink. She had pushed and pushed and he’d
never stopped being there, never allowed their bond to break. Seeing his eyes
the night she threw the ring at him and now, standing before him, it registered
that she had found his limit.
“Cyrus said you
knew and that you knew that it was my idea so I thought—“
“You thought
you’d come here and charm me. That you’d apologize and I’d give in,” every
feeling he’d been holding in check spewed forth. “You thought you’d smile and
appeal to my vulnerabilities and all would be well.”
“No,” she
gasped, shocked at his tone and his callous words. “I thought we should talk—“
“We have
nothing left to talk about,” Fitz stood, rounding his desk, pouring a tumbler
full of scotch and taking a long swallow. As he raised the glass to his lips
she watched in rapt attention, not sure how to respond. His fingers tensed
around the glass, pale from the force of his grip. When he set the glass down
and began to fill it anew her mouth went abruptly dry. She stared at his left
hand, those long, thick fingers that knew her so intimately, focusing on the
slight indent where his gold wedding band used to rest.
She thought back to the last time
she had seen him, almost positive that his ring was on his finger that day.
Surely Cyrus would have mentioned if Fitz and Mellie were divorcing, and Fitz
would have called. She would have been his first call, it would be one of his
late night calls from the Oval, his voice would be that low gravely baritone
she loved so much. He’d call her Livvie and ask her to meet him in one of their
secret places. Maybe they would go to Vermont to celebrate or Camp David. They
would spend hours in bed, only leaving for sustenance and to shower off the
remnants of their lovemaking. He wouldn’t be able to keep his hands or his
mouth to himself in the shower and she would return the favor.
Fitz watched a flush bloom across
Olivia’s cheeks and couldn’t help noticing the color spread over the cleavage
that peeked from her blouse. She looked lost in thought as a small grin touched
her lips and her fingers came to rest there. He fought the urge to touch her,
well aware that nothing good could come of it. They couldn’t fall back into old
routines, she wasn’t wearing the ring and he needed to devote his attentions to
leading the country. He was tired of chasing her and he knew she wasn’t
interested in him pursuing her any longer. They couldn’t keep trying to live in
the past. As difficult as it would be they would have to find their new
happiness.
“If you could
look this over and sign it….” Her voice was a mere whisper as she laid a
document on his desk and gripped her purse before silently walking to the door.
She chanced a glance back in his direction but he had turned to look out the
window. She walked from the room, finally allowing a tear to fall when the door
closed behind her.
XXX
The trip to her apartment was a blur
of cherry blossoms and sunshine. The warm weather brought people out from their
winter habitats and onto the street to lunch, shop, and stroll. She noticed
happy couples laughing over shared desserts and walking hand in hand through
the park. She couldn’t help but look at her bare finger with regret. The future
she had imagined with Fitz wasn’t to be and the tears fell afresh.
Tear-streaked and somewhat rumpled,
she entered her apartment and went straight for the couch. She picked up the
framed photo of her with Fitz during his first campaign and cried harder. She
wiped tears from her eyes and fought the urge to call him, acutely aware that
was no longer an option. Her finger traced the contour of his face in the photo
and she recalled the hours she spent memorizing his features. She thought of
his taut abs, his muscular arms, his strong jaw, soft lips, and talented
fingers. Flashes of his bare finger flickered before her and she wondered again
why he hadn’t mentioned a separation from Mellie.
There was a knock on her door and
she swiped at the remnants of her tears before opening the door. A messenger
handed her a thin manila envelope with barely a word before leaving. She
watched him climb into the elevator then closed the door.
Turning the envelope over she
recognized Fitz’s handwriting and her pulse quickened. She walked back to the
couch and set the envelope on the coffee table. Before she could face whatever
the envelope held she needed some liquid courage. Tucked behind the open
bottles of various liquors she found what she was looking for. She kept the
Balblair Highland single malt scotch on hand for when Fitz came to her
apartment. The thin layer of dust reminded her of just how long it had been
since he had visited. She filled a glass and allowed the burn of the scotch
distract from the ache in her chest. Carrying the glass with her she went in
search of the ring Fitz had gifted her, needing the tether to him before she
opened the envelope.
Two glasses of scotch later she
tentatively tore the seal on the envelope and removed its contents. She took a
deep breath and focused on the document, the same one she had left with Fitz
for his signature. Scanning the page she found the signature line blank, there
would be no garden wedding. Her anger flared as she picked up her phone to call
him, then reconsidered. She pulled on her coat, collected her purse and the
envelope, and rushed out the door.
XXX
Abby and Cyrus argued back and forth
about how to handle Cyrus’ impending nuptials with the press. Abby pressed for
a statement from Fitz while Cyrus, always the calculating Chief of Staff,
insisted the White House maintain a neutral position. Fitz sat behind his desk
watching the exchange but barely registering the words. He was preoccupied with
thoughts of Olivia. He knew that it was childish not to sign the documents
needed to host Cyrus’ wedding. It had nothing to do with Cyrus or Michael and
everything to do with Olivia. She had gone behind his back and plotted with Mellie
and he was angry.
“Sir?”
“Sorry Cy, what
is it?” Fitz forced himself to focus on his Chief of Staff.
“I think we
need to maintain the party line,” Cy replied. “You ran on a platform and we
need to stick to that. We need your satisfaction numbers high to get our
economic legislation passed.”
“You know I
support your marriage to Michael—“ Fitz began.
“So long as you
don’t get married here,” Olivia came rushing through the door.
The room fell silent, surprise
registered on Fitz’s features as Cyrus and Abby looked between the two
estranged lovers.
“I think that’s
our clue to leave, Red,” Cyrus murmured, standing and gesturing towards the
door. Abby followed him from the room.
As soon as the door latched the
animosity between them exploded. Fitz took in her furious appearance preparing
to defend himself.
“You can’t just
come bursting into my office,” he beat her to the offensive. “You don’t work
for this administration anymore.”
“How could
you?” her voice was high, nearly a screech.
“You can’t just
try to manipulate me,” he returned.
“I wasn’t—“
“You conspired
with Mellie,” he maintained, stepping from behind the desk.
“He’s your best
friend,” she softened a bit when discussing Cyrus. “How could you not sign? How
could you not agree to let him get married here?”
She held the envelope out to him and
he took another step towards her to take it. When he grasped it he let his
fingers brush over hers, a jolt rushing through him when he felt the band
beneath his hand.
“You’re not the
man I thought you were,” she was in his personal space, finger wagging, and all
he could focus on was his ring on her finger.
A mix of relief and desire washed
over him and suddenly it didn’t matter that she was yelling, all that mattered
was that she was there.
“He deserves to
have a beautiful wedding and a wedding in the White House garden—“
“No,” his tone
was softer than she’d heard it in some time, an edge of gravel to his voice.
She swallowed hard, the flare of her
anger ebbing a bit. Her skin prickled where he’d touched her. “I don’t
understand,” she managed. “Why don’t you want Cyrus to get married here?”
Fitz took another step toward her,
close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from him and smell the Neroli
Portofino he wore. “You don’t remember do you?”
She looked confused as she shook her
head in the negative. Her senses were heightened but her mind seemed to be
moving at a glacial pace. She had no idea what it was she was supposed to
remember.
His hands rose to her cheeks and he
bent his head to touch his lips to hers. “I told you the night we made love on
my desk,” he prompted.
Her expression was still one of
confusion. She was distracted by the kiss, the memory of that night, and his
mere proximity.
“I can’t
believe you don’t remember,” his hands slid down her sides to rest on her hips.
He kissed her again, harder, deeper. The ring and the memory of the passion
they had shared on his desk were overwhelming.
She reached for the buttons on his
shirt as he shrugged out of his jacket then turned to move them in the
direction of the desk.
“Fitz, we
can’t,” she protested. “The cameras…..and we should talk.”
He pulled back when the back of her
thighs made contact with the edge of the desk, “I’m finished talking.”
“What about the
wedding?” she asked as she made quick work of the button on his pants.
He lifted her onto the desk,
watching her skirt ride up her thighs, “I told you all those years ago.” His hands
slid up her thighs and hooked around her panties. “The only wedding we’re
having at the White House is ours.”
A collide of emotions washed over
her and any thought of propriety fell away with the descent of his hands
removing her thong. She fumbled with his zipper, finally freeing him from the
confines of his boxer briefs before his fingers found her wetness. She moaned
into his mouth when he pressed into her, his girth causing her breath to catch
and her nails to dig in to his scalp.
Their union wasn’t about romance and
exploration, it was about months of being separated, pent up sexual tension and
pure desire. Her walls firmly gripped him and each thrust of his cock brought a
thrust of his tongue. She had forgotten the intoxication of kissing him and had
forced the memory of their intimate encounters to the periphery of her
recollection. Their time apart had been lengthy but they came together like two
lovers who could never forget. As her body molded to his and he pumped harder
and faster into her they acknowledged that they were meant to be. His left hand
took purchase on her neck, the lack of metal against her skin only spurring her
desire for him.
“Oh I missed
you Livvie,” his fingers gripped her jaw and his breath came in pants as he
thrust into her. The hunger between them felt like the first time, wanting to
touch and taste and savor every inch of one another.
Their eyes locked, his rhythm thrown
for a moment, a silent exchange before he turned her around and bent her over
the desk. Every thrust came faster, each drawing his name from her reddened
lips until she was nearly screaming.
“Baby, you’re
so fucking tight,” he breathed against her ear, her response a mere whimper of
his name.
Olivia felt his tempo falter and
knew his climax was close. Each collision between their bodies pressed her
closer to her own finish. She concentrated on her looming orgasm, relishing its
swell, knowing that he was the only man who could take her to those heights.
His palm rested on her lower belly,
tilting her hips up into him. The only sound in the room was their mingled
moans and her name whispered with each thrust. Fitz felt the crest of his
orgasm overtake him and quickly slid his fingers to her clit, triggering her
orgasm.
“Fitz…..fuck…..”
she called loudly.
“Shh….” He
laughed against the back of her dainty shoulder as they lay against the
desktop.
They buttoned and zippered and
tucked and straightened, both grinning. He thought of the Secret Service agent
who would get more than he bargained for when he reviewed the recordings from
the Oval Office cameras that evening. She considered what it meant that he had
just made love to her on the desk in the Oval Office and how this time things
would be different. When they had both collected themselves she moved into his
arms again, lifting up onto her tiptoes to kiss him.
“You’re not
wearing your ring,” she whispered against his lips.
“You’re wearing
yours,” he replied as he again deepened their kiss.
