Sadly, I don't own Scandal. I hope you guys like this!

Chapter 1 Eligible

Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III's morning routine was absolute, and he had never wavered from it until this morning. Typically, his alarm would begin blaring at 4:30, and if he was alone, he would hit the snooze button every 6 minutes until 5. That was how he liked it. Up until Hooker-gate, he would indulge in hours of extracurricular activities with a high priced call girl, and then get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep alone in his bed after she would leave. Three days ago, that all changed when he received a call from from the Times' reporter Gideon Wallace.

"Hi Mr. Grant. I was calling to get a comment for a story I'm working on," Gideon's voice echoed through the receiver.

"Sure Wallace. What's your story?" Fitz asked in his typical care free tone.

"We got a hold of Sharon Marquette's client list."

Suddenly, Fitz felt as if his tie was strangling him.

Gideon continued dryly, "According to the list, you are a fan of hardwood floors, sunny days and cups of coffee late at night."

Gideon continued with an audible chuckle, "Congratulations Mr. Grant, you were the only john listed as FTF. I had to Google it, but it stands for Fun to Fuck."

Fitz's fingers were gripping the phone so tightly that there was the distinct possibility that it would crumble into dust at any moment.

"Are you still there Mr. Grant? What's your comment?"

"Fuck you! That is my fucking comment," Fitz roared before slamming the phone down onto his mahogany desk.

Since that phone call, Fitz has been forced to roll out of bed begrudgingly at 4:30 and spending the next 30 minutes getting his "date" from the night before out of bed and out of his life. He spends next fifteen minutes throwing on clothes and curses the New York Times for threatening to publishing Sharon Marquette's list naming him as a frequent john. Now he needs to buy a woman dinner, maintain a conversation, a pull out the Grant charm just to get laid.

By 5:15 he is walking into his building's gym, popping in his ear buds and heading over to the weights to begin his daily work out. He began working out early in the morning because he virtually had the gym to himself. As word spread through the building about Fitz's early morning work outs, the gym became filled nearly to capacity from 5:15 to 7:15. Looking around the gym, Fitz was only one of 2 men in the entire complex. At 5:15 in the morning, the women looked like they were club ready; not health club ready. Fitz observed that in addition to the new crowd during his work outs, other changes were taking place as well. Every day, the work out attire became more revealing. The corners of Fitz's lips spontaneously curled upwards into a smirk as he thought "At this rate, the gym will be able to double as a nudest colony in a few days."

Fitz wondered if any of these women read the Times this morning. Did they read about Hooker-gate? Would they care? He shrugged to himself. These were not the type of women he would want to bed anyway. He went for leggy blondes in their early 20s and these women were middle aged society women. Fitz resolved to himself that Hooker-gate was not going to be a long term cock block for him. He was rich, handsome and had serious game when it came to women. He was going to ride this out and everything would be just fine. Just to be sure, he decided to "nail" down his plans for the evening. Fitz wiped down his machine and chugged his water. "OK time to pull out the Grant swagger," he thought to himself. Fitz instantly zeroed in on the hottest piece of ass in the gym. She was a 21 year old heiress/socialite named Michia Piertro. The two had met several times, but she wasn't something Fitz would have ever pursued before. Michia was close enough to Fitz's type. She is definitely not what you would call a natural beauty, but she was definitely a turn on. In her skimpy workout attire, she looked more like a petite play boy bunny than an heiress.

Today was the first day Michia was taking her DD's out for a spin since she purchased them. As Fitz got closer, she tucked a strand of her bleach blonde hair behind her ear and gave her brightest smile. "These things were worth every penny," she thought as Fitz stopped in front of her. Michia looked at Fitz like dog eying up a juicy steak. He decided to save his A game for when he really needed it.

"Hey Beautiful," Fitz said flashing her the Grant smile that could make any woman melt like a popsicle in July.

"Hey Fitz," Michia cooed as sprung onto her tiptoes and leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

"What is your schedule like tonight?"

"It depends on why your asking," Michia said coyly while twisting a strand hair seductively around her right index finger.

"I was thinking that we could grab a drink at Pravda and catch up," Fitz said trying to sound sincere.

"That's absolutely fabulous Fitz!"

"I actually had a date with some guy that I met at PH-D, but he isn't Fitzgerald Grant, so I'll cancel."

"How's 9?" he interjected quickly, hoping that it would put an end to her mindless babbling.

"Puuurrrfect," she whispered into his ear, pressing her hands into the sweat soaked fabric covering his chiseled chest.

Michia quickly pulled away from Fitz, and hopped onto the treadmill with a little shake of her spandex covered ass – hopefully to get Fitz's attention. That wasn't going to be an issue. Michia's ass commanded Fitz's attention from the second she turned around. Her ass was an entity all its own, comparable only to Kim Kardashian.

As she turned around, Fitz slowly lifted his gaze upward spending a few seconds surveying her breasts that were exposed up to centimeters away from her nipple and then continued on route north until their eyes met. His eyes turned from a light blue to to a steely gray and the corners of his mouth turned up into an appreciative smile.

Until she was standing in front of him holding her phone, he had absolutely no idea what she had been doing on the treadmill, and truthfully he didn't care. Michia's eyes were focused on her phone, as gently tapped the screen in a series of light and rhythmic taps.

"You have Bump, right Fitz? I'll give you my info," she said looking at him for a response and then looking back down to her own iPhone.

He nodded, and began to tap at the screen of his own iPhone which he had been holding casually in his right hand. They both held their phones in the palm of their hand and lightly tapped the sides of their phones together, his soft rubber case bumping lightly against her sparkly jewel encrusted one. They held them until they felt the light vibrations on their fingers and pulled them away.

She lifted herself onto her tiptoes whispering in his ear again, this time with a giggle, "I'm sure our phones won't be the only ones doing some bumping toda. I sent you a little something along with my info. Just a little something to help you look forward to our date."

"OK" he replied coolly. "I've got to run. See you tonight." In that moment, he decided to make a hasty retreat to his apartment to avoid any additional conversation with Michia.

"See you tonight," she called loudly enough to make the other women in the gym jealous.

In the elevator, Fitz considered opening the file that Michia had sent him. He decided that it would be better to wait until later in the day. He was relatively positive that he was going to need something to get him through the day and he knew Michia well enough to know that whatever she had sent him would be worth the wait.

By 8:00 he was showered, dressed and making his way to the car waiting to take him to the office. He stepped into the elevator, took a deep breath and then jammed down the L button until was illuminated with a soft orange glow. "Maybe it won't be so bad, Fitz mused. Maybe no one will care. After all, who really gives a shit if I sleep with hookers," he thought.

The chime of the elevator snapped him out of his inner monologue and back into reality. He managed to convince himself that his little predicament would go completely unnoticed and today would be business as usual. The doors of the elevator slid open to reveal an annoyed looking woman holding an annoyed Lhasa-Poo. She shot Fitz a death glare that practically screamed I just wish you would implode. He knew, before stepping foot into the lobby. He knew that the shit had hit the proverbial fan. He offered up an apologetic smile as he stepped out of the elevator. He brushed against the woman while his eyes focused in on Gianni the door man rushing toward him.

"Good morning Mr. Grant!" Gianni offered nervously.

"I think you should take the back way out today, Sir. There are a lot of people out there wantin' to take your picture"

"Thanks Gianni, but my car is waiting out front. I'm going to have to face this bull...(he trailed off) eventually".

"OK. Let me get the door for you. Good luck Sir."

Gianni pushed the heavy glass door open and as Fitz stepped out into the frosty spring morning, and he was instantly surrounded. Within seconds, there was a whirlwind of chaos swirling around him. Microphones were bring thrust toward him from every direction. His name was being shouted by so many reporters, that he suspected this is how it would feel to be headlining a sold out show at Madison Square Garden. It was overwhelming, even for a man who has been in the spotlight most of his life. "Walk you idiot" "WALK" he thought to himself. He had been standing frozen under the burgundy awning of his building for a few seconds while reporters continued to hurl questions at him.

He pushed through the crowd and finally reached his waiting Town Car. He slid in and slammed the door behind him.

"Good Morning Mr. Grant"

"That is a matter of opinion Stephen"

"Rough one, huh?"

"You could say that."

Fitz's iPhone began ringing. He shoved his hand into his pocket and fumbled around until his fingers were grasping the rubber of his Griffin Survivor case. He pulled it out of his pocket hastily and glanced at the screen. "Cy calling," was blinking across the display and Fitz tapped at the answer button.

"Morning Cy"

"Where in holy hell are you Fitz?"

"I'm on my way, Cy. I will be there in 10 minutes. I was hung up this morning"

"So help me Fitzgerald - "hung up" better mean that you were helping orphans and not getting a morning blow job from some barely legal whore."

"I said 10 minutes," Fitz growled as he hit the end button.

Fitz rubbed his temples before turning his attention back to his iPhone. He spent the a few minutes checking on his stock portfolio and then decided that he had waited long enough to open Michia's attachment. Based on his conversation with Cy, this could possibly be his last free moment until he leaves work this evening. He tapped at his bump app and then clicked on the file named .

The picture that appeared on the screen was not what Fitz was expecting. Sure, she was naked, but she was on a deserted beach, slung onto a chaise lounge accentuating all her best assets. This wasn't some picture that she took on her iPhone while she was drunk. Everything about this picture screamed professional.

Fitz chucked to himself, "Gotta love a woman who is prepared with naked pictures on the go". He felt the Town Car veering to the side of the road before coming to a slow and deliberate stop.

"Here we are Mr. Grant."

Fitz let out a very audible sigh, closed out the file, and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

Fitz opened the rear door of the Town Car and looked toward the driver. "Thanks Stephen," he said less than enthusiastically. The crisp spring air attacked his exposed skin a million little pricks, but this morning it was a welcomed diversion. Flash bulb exploded around him. He couldn't make out anything the reporters were saying, instead all the questions being shouted at him melted together into a soothing white noise. That is until he heard the one question that separated itself from all the other "noise".

"Fitz, have you spoken to your father?" yelled a male voice.

"How does the President feel about his son hiring prostitutes?" shouted a female voice.

"Walk you idiot" "WALK" his brain seemed to scream. Again, he stood frozen in shock over the scene taking place in front of him. Almost in slow motion, he looked at his office building towering above him. Finally, after what seemed like hours, his brain and legs began communicating, slowly propelling him through the crowd and toward the lobby doors.

He should have felt relief as he stepped into the familiar lobby. It should have been his refuge, but it wasn't. He knew that going up to his office; the office where Cyrus would be waiting for him, was going to be more unpleasant than anything he had experienced this morning. He looked around the lobby that he has walked through a minimum of 2 times per day for the last 5 years. He took it all in as if it were his first time. The marble floors, the high ceilings and the industrial looking elevators less than 100 feet in front of him. He inhaled the familiar scent and turned his head toward the news stand to the left of the lobby. On a typical morning, he would have made his way toward the news stand with his Starbucks in hand. He would have grabbed a New York Times and Wall Street Journal and made small talk with Chen while he paid. Today, he didn't want a paper. Part of him wanted to walk over and burn down the news stand, but he quickly realized that it would just exacerbate the problem. In reality, it would only destroy about 200 papers, and tomorrows headlines would probably read: Without His Hookers, Fitzgerald Grant Finds a New Way to Heat Things Up. Fitz sighed loudly, and returned his gazed to the foreboding elevators in front of him. He felt like shit and wanted to blame it on his lack of coffee this morning, but knew it had very little to do with the coffee. He looked behind him at the hoards of reporters still clamoring outside. Stripping down naked and walking out into the throng of reporters while being stung by millions of bees would more appealing than entering the elevator that would deliver him to Cyrus. His car had already left, so walking out wasn't a plausible solution to the problem at hand. His eyes locked onto a pen laying on the door man's desk which was located directly to his right. "OK" he thought. "I could grab the pen and stab myself in the Coratid. I could put myself out of my misery. Obviously, Cy would commit himself to finding me in the afterlife to chew me out, but by then I'll have a better plan." Fitz considered it for a moment before coming to the realization that he would probably not pierce his Coratid deep enough to actually bleed out and Cy would spend the entire ride in the ambulance bitching at him.

He sighed for the thousandth time this morning, although audibly, it sounded more like a growl. He walked toward the elevator and jammed down the up arrow on the elevator. The elevator doors slid open and Fitz considered for a moment that this maybe the elevator to actually deliver him directly to hell. He walked in and poked at the button displaying 76. The doors closed and Fitz was standing alone in the small space. He could practically feel the walls closing in on him.

"OK. Here we go" he muttered.