DISCLAIMER: The Good Wife does not belong to me. It is the creation of Robert King and Michelle King. I'm writing this fiction to express my love for the series and maybe vent a little.
Eli slammed the door behind him as he ran out of Stacie's apartment.
Witches and Bitches.
The lot of them.
Even Marissa, his own daughter whom he loved more than life itself was well on her way to become one of them, a regular viscous smart aleck heartbreaker who changed boyfriends as often as she changed her socks, deeming that none of them were smart enough, witty enough, good enough for her.
Women were trouble. Relationships were trouble.
Celibacy was hot. Women are not.
Mantra's he'd repeated to himself for years. Utterly ridiculous, but it kept him from missing the intimacy he lost after his divorce.
Except…Stacie was kinda hot.
And Vanessa was very hot.
Maybe that was his problem. He always went for females who were bound to burn him. He'd always been turned on by intellect. But why couldn't he seem to find someone who was as soft as she was sharp?
Why'd he go for the vixens? Why couldn't he ever fall for a pretty woman who was also good, and sweet, and…
Eli's brow furrowed as he shut his eyes in denial, trying to ignore the fluttering of his heart. But before he realized it he'd opened them again, taken his mobile from his coat and his fingers were typing a familiar name on his iphone's search engine.
In took no time at all. That happened when cookies were stored of places you've already visited. Less than a minute and Eli found her picture on a database of Washington based translators.
The soft face, the open smile, the intelligent bright eyes and soft hair…
A bittersweet warmth flooded him inside even as his mouth filled with disgust with the memory of his cheap evening with Stacie.
He'd met her for drinks because he wanted to rub his win in her face. But then she surprised him by agreeing to sleep with him, despite his misogynistic behavior. She'd allowed him to assert his manhood over her, and he had been too high on his victory to question it.
It had been so long since he'd indulged in a woman, felt good enough about himself to be able to.
The irony almost killed him.
She'd used her body as a weapon the better to break him.
Using a body, what was it that Marrissa had said…
She'd been visiting and expressed disgust that a senator's wife was selling her memoirs, her pain, as she called it, to pay her bills.
His daughter actually thought that if the poor woman had sold her body it would have been more "honest".
Eli wondered what Marissa would say about Stacie using her body to put one on him. She'd probably approve, harpy-to-be that she was.
Gazing at Natalie's picture, the crisis manager felt his eyes dampen.
If only he had met her twenty years ago…
Actually, twenty years , she would have been seven years old.
Sighing, Eli headed home. He needed a shower. And to make sure not a single canister of whipped cream was in his place.
The mere thought made him ill.
This might turn into a multiparter, depends on my muse. I must say this fic was inspired by Finch85's "Mr. Gold Goes to Washington". Be sure to check it out. Reviews would very helpful. Thanks for reading!