Harvey Spector was a man of chance; he always seemed to be at the right place at the right time. From Jessica seeing his potential and sending him to Harvard to becoming the best damn closer in the city. Things in his life always presented themselves in the most unexpected ways. Each of his mistakes quickly became a life lesson that he tried to abide by, a code if you will. But even with all of life's twists and turns, he always knew that he could handle it, solve it. That was his job—closing tricky situations, make them go away.
Make the pain go away.
These things had quickly become his secret to success. He learned how to manipulate pain and pleasure to fuel his triumphs rather than letting them burden him with their clammy sickness. He had learned how to attain absolute control in his life, and for a while it had worked out. There was a set order of things, a pattern, which he followed.
No more unexpected events.
Harvey Specter was done with surprises.
But that had all been before he had seen those electrifying blue eyes.
Before he meet Mike Ross.
Now everything was disoriented in a foggy haze clouding his every thought. Everything went to hell and it was all his damn kid's fault.
"You care, admit it." Mike's voice resonated in his after thoughts. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone that the Great Harvey Spector has a heart."
Harvey laughs without humor. How the mighty have fallen, mused Harvey as he walks the darken streets of New York, nothing but a string of street lamps illuminating his path. The rain soaks through his Tom Ford suit and leather shoes, causing spasms of chills racking his frame. To say that Harvey's night wasn't ideal would be an understatement. Taking another swing of his Bourbon at his side, he continues down his path of self-destruction.
Or at least to a colossal hangover.
He had to come to the terms that he could never have Mike, not only was it unprofessional but for god's sake the kid was straight. He grinded his teeth, reminded of Mike's blond-once-girlfriend and that pretty paralegal, with devilish grins, running their hands over Mike as he moans in pleasure.
It disgusted him.
The ache that he had for his associate was a constant and was becoming detrimental to his work. He knew he had to get it out of his system, and that's what he planned to do.
Drink until he forgot.
"Hey, what's a hunk like you doing here all alone, huh?"
Harvey eyes glanced over to the women, dressed promiscuously, as she teetered on her stilettos, trying to get a better look at him.
"Want some company? Hhmmm?"She hummed, stepping forward and putting a delicately manicured hand on his chest. "You just look so lonely."
And there something about her that reminds Harvey of Mike. It might have been her cool blue eyes or her dirty blonde hair…
She knotted a hand in Harvey's hair and whispered, her hot breathe coming out in steam in the cold night air, "I promise I'll make it worth every cent you spend for it."
But she could never be Mike. No one could ever be his Mike.
Shaking his head, he warily pushes the girl gently off her hold of him. "Sorry, not tonight."
"What are you? Gay or something!" yelled the girl, her eyes scrutinizing.
"They don't have to be in heels, as long as it's Prada," smirked Harvey, remembering telling a baffled Mike the response when his associate inquired about his past relationships.
He left, not sparing a glance back as he made his way to his apartment, reading himself for a night filled with unrequited feelings and Bourbon—lots of Bourbon.