I've been reading a lot of Blind Items for fun lately and because I'm nosy and love gossip. So, after reading a few of these, I had an idea to write something about it. The format of this will be first the blind item, then the events leading up to what happened for the blind item to come out.


This A list athlete has reportedly dumped his long time A list television actress significant other. She's said to have countless affairs behind his back. That may be why he's never mentioned her name and marriage in the same sentence. It seems he has his eye on a B- list mostly movie actress rumored to be up for her first Academy Award this year. Funny thing is, they just met for the first time this weekend.


The paparazzi have been standing outside of his apartment building with cameras since the break up hit the tabloids last week. He'd been named most eligible bachelor by some magazine at daybreak and now the camera wielding professional stalkers have just been trying to catch him with his pants down. He's been gearing up for spring training, held up in his apartment with a few bottles of scotch while studying his new teammates acquired from the draft. He'd also managed to acquire Scottie's issue of Vogue from the bathroom with that feisty redhead on the cover in the breakup.

He'd read the article one afternoon while locked in the bathroom, trying to get some peace and quiet from Scottie reciting lines with her costar in the living room. A costar he was fairly certain she was also having sex with. He was more frustrated that Scottie didn't understand morals and loyalty than anything. He was really done with all of her shit. And it was that feisty redhead's interview that really put things into perspective for him.

Not to mention, he felt completely refreshed upon seeing his name coming out of her mouth in the article. He had felt his confidence bulk up, the heaviness in his chest that had been there since Marcus was in that car accident fleeting. The sudden rejuvenation of his spirits would be attributed entirely to her, even if he'd never get to thank her in person.

He even manages a few genuine smiles at the flashing lights from all of the pictures being taken of him as he exits his apartment building, strap of his duffle bag over his shoulder and sunglasses covering his eyes. The paps seem to multiply by the time the doors to his apartment building slide shut behind him and he throws them a half-hearted wave. Despite his better judgment, he's drawn to the few fans waiting for autographs amidst the crowd anyway.

'Mister Specter' is repeated a few times like echoes and he can't catch any of the questions that follow. A little boy, couldn't be older than 6 or 7, flashes him a smile with a baseball glove clearly too big for his little hand. He leans down to the little boy's height, crouching to make their eyes more level.

"Hey," he greets softly, "What's your name?"

"Mike," the little boy answers, suddenly swinging his torso around as if he's shy. The little boy's father, a reporter who seems to be more mellow than usual, drops a hand to the boy's shoulder. "Are you Harvey Specter?"

"That's right, Kid," he answers with a firm nod, "You play baseball?"

The kid nods aggressively like he doesn't quite have control over his neck. Harvey smirks at the movement, still not totally accustomed to being around children. He hasn't been around any children since Marcus was one. He did his best to avoid Scottie's niece and nephews.

"Keep at it, eat all your fruits and vegetables, and one day you'll be the best in major league baseball," he says, sternly. He nods firmly and stands upright. He shifts his gaze to his dad. "I'll catch you next time."

"Of course," the reporter replies, flashing him a smile.

He turns on his heel and makes for his car, already running a little late for practice. He's been waiting for opening day for months and he can't even arrive to practice on time. He shouldn't have spent that hour watching old interviews of that feisty redhead on YouTube.


He rolls his shoulder as he returns to his position on the mound. He drops both arms to his side and kicks at the dirt. Red dirt catches in the light wind and gathers around his ankles where his pants are bunching up.

Red dirt.

Red.

He has found himself standing on a red dirt mound for the majority of his life and he never once been distracted by the color of the clay. He pictures her laughing. She has a genuine laugh. She presses her palms together and throws her body forward like she's just heard the funniest thing she's ever heard in her entire life. He bends down and scoops up a chunk of the red dirt. He squeezes it between his thumb and index finger, the red dirt smearing over his fingertips.

He sighs, picturing her hair getting caught in the wind and floating behind her. He's never even met her but he can't stop thinking about her. He stands upright again and squeezes the baseball between his fingers.

Maybe he could try a new pitch?

He leans back on his heel and launches forward, releasing the ball from his grasp and sending it into the center of the catcher's mitt. He expels a heavy breath and immediately sucks one back into his lungs, arching his back forward and stretching before straightening his back. He lifts his free hand and wipes the sweat from his brow.

He lifts his glove to catch the ball in return. Once catching the ball, he turns to repeat the process. He tries not think about that feisty redhead, Donna Paulsen, for the rest of practice.


Ever since her younger sister had her baby a few months ago, Donna has been thinking about her own future. She doesn't plan on stepping away from acting any time soon, but she's been encouraged (repeatedly) by her mother to give the idea of grandchildren some thought. She's given it some thought over the years. What kind of man is the kind of man she would like to spend her with? Does she want a man in show business or someone not even famous at all? Does she even want children?

The entire situation has prompted her to think about a lot of things, and one thing she's learned over the years is to be prepared for the endless sexist questions. What are you wearing? Are you dating anyone? Is it serious? When are you having children? She has learned to have the answers to the questions prepared.

She was 100% unprepared to answer what she was looking for in a man. Instead of opening her mouth and giving a description, she opened her mouth and a name fell out. She hadn't meant to say a name, especially to a news source as prestigious as Vogue, but now that moment is forever imprinted in writing. She's mulled over the slip up for almost a month now, since the issue was printed and hit the stands. Harvey Specter isn't even a man she's met beyond news articles and ESPN replays her ex-boyfriends have forced her to sit through.

She covers her eyes with her left hand and closes the magazine before throwing herself back onto her bed. She barely even has a second to kick herself and wallow in peace (for the umpteenth time) before there is a heavy knock on the door that echoes throughout her trailer. She groans and kicks her ugly, sand colored boots together. She's two weeks into filming some desert biopic that's taking everything out of her already.

"Donna! They need you on set," calls a woman. It's probably Katrina, one of the P.A.s the director always sends to bring her back to filming. The director is one that she's worked with before. He's a bit of a sleezeball, but an absolute visionary.

"I'll be right there," she yells in response.

She releases a deep sigh and pushes herself off of the mattress. She isn't normally one to spend much time alone in her trailer, but since her major brain malfunction she has been wallowing in her self pity. She opens her trailer door to see Katrina still standing there.

"You alright?" Katrina greets.

"I'm fine," Donna immediately replies, a tight yet gracious smile spreading over her mouth, "Thanks. I'm just..."

"You're doing great," Katrina says reassuringly.

She doesn't feel great. In fact, she feels quite foolish. And her foolishness is bared for the entire world to see.


Sounds from the saxophone bounce against various noises in the room. The soft hum of voices, glasses clinking against surfaces, and endless laughter collides the the soothing melodic rhythm of the music in a warm welcoming. The busy bar drowns out his thoughts, everything his been burying over the last couple of weeks, as he looks over at Jessica. She smiles, her lips upturned in pride.

She always looks proud when listening to his father playing his saxophone. His mother had been quite different. He noticed when he was a young boy that she had appeared ashamed, like she was disgusted by his success when she was sleeping around behind his back. Jessica has never looked like that, not in the 20 years she has been married to his father. She was the best mother he could have asked for.

"He's still got it," she tells him loudly. He nods slowly and takes a sip of his scotch. Despite the busyness of the bar, no one has seemed to recognize them in the low light, a fact that he's unexpectedly grateful for. "He's the best I've ever heard."

"I wish Marcus would appreciate his music more," Harvey muses.

"He beats to his own drum," Jessica replies with a smirk. She leans her arms onto the table and gives him a hardened look. She arches an eyebrow, her smiles still present. He knows she's still threatening, shouldn't be taken lightly for a second. "We both know you relate to that sentiment."

"What do you mean?" He asks, confused, slightly offended.

"Dana Scott," she simply replies. He sighs heavily there, his shoulders suddenly feeling tense. She's been telling him for years to drop the dead weight, and she was right. He deserves better than an off and on relationship with a few meaningless flings scattered in between. He should have broken up with her for good a long time ago. "She all moved out?"

"She never moved in," he says, taking another swig of his drink, "She was never a permanent fixture."

"You deserve someone who sees you as you actually are," Jessica says.

He sinks further into his chair as his father's set comes to a close. He shrugs instinctively as the music fades and the room erupts into polite celebration. He shifts his gaze back over to Jessica and sees her clapping along while watching his father adoringly. He wonders if he'll ever look at someone like that.

He watches as Jessica greets his father, standing to her feet in her tall heels and offering him a kiss with welcoming arms. They got married when he was 10, after his father had caught his mother cheating and kicked her out. It took a few months, but his father finally picked himself up by the bootstraps and moved on. Jessica is practically the only mother Marcus has ever known and better than Harvey could have ever imaged. She couldn't have children of her own, but she welcomed him and Marcus without hesitation.

He thinks his father loved her more for that.

"Perfect as always, My Love," Jessica says just loud enough for Harvey to overhear.

"All because I knew you were listening," Gordon replies with a sincere grin. Jessica returns to her seat. Harvey watches his father push her chair closer to the table before Gordon gestures to a waitress to have the normal. Gordon plays at this bar twice a week and the entire staff knows their order by now. Gordon settles into the chair between him and Jessica, fully turning his attention to Harvey. "And what did you think, Son?"

"I don't think you've ever missed a note," he muses.

"Oh, Son, I've missed plenty of notes," Gordon replies, "The key is not to wallow in the mistake and push through it."

He lifts his glass to take another drink. He gently sets the glass back down on the table. His father's hand reaches over and squeezes his forearm. The waitress brings Gordon over his drink and his father takes a quick swig. Harvey offers him a small smile that he hopes is convincing.

Surely no one thinks he's wallowing over Scottie. He was never really that serious about her. She's been around since college, and she was always a good distraction from all of the other things in his life, but she's never really been a steady fixture in his life. They've had such an unstable relationship and they've seen plenty of other people throughout the years. He wouldn't waste his time wallowing about her.

"I'm fine, Dad," Harvey reassures.

"She was never right for you," Gordon says.

"I think we can all agree on that one," Jessica adds snarkily, crossing one leg over the other and leaning heavily against the table.

"I have to go," Harvey says with a smirk. He downs the last of his drink and pushes himself to his feet. He pays his father on the shoulder, letting his hand linger as Harvey rounds the table behind him to get to Jessica. He leans down and presses a kiss to Jessica's cheek. "Don't stay out too late, you two."

They never really liked Scottie. In hindsight, he doesn't think he ever really liked her either.


She looks at her reflection in the mirror. She looks...darker than normal. Her pale, freckled skin has the slightest tinge of a tan that compliments her navy blue dress. The dress stops just above her knees and she's finally riddled herself of those god awful boots. She'd much rather walk around in a pair of tall heels. Those boots have really been hurting her feet.

Her hair and make up team left 15 minutes ago, and their handy work is incredible. Her hair is slightly curled into ringlets that brush over her her neckline. The silver heels give her a little bit of edge, topping off her entire appearance and making her just a hair taller.

She's less than prepared to host a party. She's only been back in the states for 14 hours, and she barely got in a nap. She's been filming for the last 3 weeks and hasn't even seen her sky high apartment since a few days before then.

The first knock on the door demands her to rip her attention away from her reflection. The door pushes open before she can even exit her bedroom and Rachel comes tearing in. Thankfully, Rachel has agreed to play primary host tonight.

"Rachel," she calls, owning her arms and heading towards her best friend, "You're truly an angel."

"Stop it," Rachel says, a smile spreading across her mouth. She places a few bags on the counter before a gentleman can follow her trail with even more bags. She smiles her thanks to the dark haired man. "You deserve a big birthday bash. And I love you."

"I love you." Donna practically sings in return, "And who is this?"

"This is Logan," Rachel introduces, gesturing to the man beside her, "And this is that amazing woman I told you about."

"Stop it," Donna says now, "Are you two...?"

"What?" Rachel asks with a laugh.

"Actually, my wife and I are just starting a catering company," Logan says, "She should be up any moment with the rest of the help."

"We have become close," Rachel admits, "You know me. I'm a foodie. I never shy away from a great conversation about food."

"True," Donna hums.

"Honey," a voice calls.

"In here, Babe," Logan calls back, disappearing from the kitchen to meet his wife halfway.

"The party starts in twenty minutes," Donna reminds her best friend.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head about a thing," Rachel says, lifting a finger and lightly tapping Donna's nose, "We have everything under control."


She's been weaving and bobbing through people for the last 45 minutes. She isn't feeling very celebratory, but she only has 3 days to get all of the socializing in before she goes to the next filming location. Everyone is trying to talk to her anyway, to tell her happy birthday even though her birthday was last week some time. She just smiles graciously and participates into some idle chit-chat before excusing herself on to the next one.

The room is loud and quiet at the same time. The music blasts instrumental versions of some of her pop favorites. Rachel really knows how to throw a party in her honor. She hasn't even had a drink yet because she's been too busy greeting everyone who enters.

"Donna!"

She hears her name somewhere behind her, back towards the door. She turns on her heel and is greeted by Jessica Pearson's grinning face. Jessica's knees bend when they lock eyes and she throws her arms into the air, small present grasped firmly in her right hand. Jessica closes the gap between them, pulling her in to a tight hug.

That's when Donna sees him.

His light gray suit looks pristine, and his white dress shirt is the whitest shirt she's ever seen. He's forgone a tie, the collar loose around his neck, but he doesn't even need it. He has the slightest hints of a 5 clock shadow, like he'd shaved that morning but had opted not to shave again. His jaw looks tight, firm, if you will, but a smile plays on his lips. His hair looks freshly cut but still standing every which way. He looks like a vision from head to toe.

Her breath catches in her throat at the sight of him.

Jessica pulls back with a crinkly smile, her hands positioned on Donna's upper arms, and Donna nods slowly like her brain is finally catching up with her. She smiles on autopilot. She remembers to breathe. She allows herself to believe that maybe she was imagining things.

"Happy birthday!" Jessica sings, shoving the present into Donna's hands. She's only met Jessica a handful of times, but they are all set to work together next week. She holds Jessica in such a high regard that she feels like she's in the presence of royalty. Jessica reaches behind her without looking back and a man grabs her hand. "This is my husband Gordon."

Jessica makes room for Gordon to step forward as he offers Donna his hand. With the movements of both Jessica and Gordon she sees him again. She thinks that maybe there's a spotlight shining on him. Why is he lighted better than everyone else in the room?

"Lovely to meet you," Gordon tells her as she finally slips her hand into his.

"Nice to meet you," Donna murmurs.

"And I'd like you to meet my son," Jessica adds, taking a half step back and slipping a hand behind the vision of a man to urge him forward, "Harvey, say hello."

"Hi," he says, the smile meeting his lips fully, "I didn't bring a gift. My coming was actually last minute."

He shoots Jessica a look. She feels extremely foolish now that she's looking him in the face. He pulls both hands out of his pockets and extends his right hand to her. She hesitates in taking it. The universe has to be playing a sick joke on her right now.

"I'm-"

"Harvey Specter," she interjects, slowly moving forward and taking his hand. His left hand covers her hand now resting in his. His fingertips are warm pressed against her skin. Or maybe she's just cold.

"Right," he says with a small nod, as if to chastise himself. She feels two of his fingers press against her wrist. She's trembling, her skin beneath his hands.

"I'm Donna Paulsen," she finally says after a few moments of gathering herself, "It's nice to meet you."

"Looks like we were ditched," he says. He pulls his left hand off of hers and points in the direction of Jessica and Gordon. They've made their way over to the bar where Logan is serving up different concoctions. She watches on as Gordon plucks a cheese cube from the plate at one corner of the bar top and pops it into his mouth. He mutters, "Oh shit."

"What?" She asks, quickly shifting her gaze back to him. She follows his line of vision down to their hands, still loosely pressed together. "Sorry," she whispers, sliding her hand away from his.

"Can I get you a drink? It's your birthday, you should have a drink," he offers, "You look like a Harvey Wallbanger kind of girl."

He's gone before she can protest or comment on his possible innuendo. She isn't entirely sure, but she thinks he was coming on to her. Her heart lurches into her throat and she feels like she can't breathe again.

"Oh my god, Donna," Rachel mutters in a rush, capturing Donna's hands before she can even realize what exactly is going on, "Was that Harvey Specter?"

"He's getting me a drink," she says softly, maybe even slightly awestruck, "He'll be right back."

"Do you think he knows about Vogue?" Rachel asks.

"I think everyone knows about Vogue," Donna replies solemnly.

"Hey," she hears behind her. Rachel snaps upright and smiles at him knowingly before slipping away with the present in her hands and heading towards the bar. She catches him watching Rachel walk away and she sighs heavily in disappointment. "Who was that?"

"Rachel," she says, her shoulders slumping slightly.

"Lively," he says, slowly yet politely. He squints at Rachel's retreating form and promptly shifts his gaze back to her. He immediately smiles at her. "They didn't have the ingredients for a Harvey Wallbanger, so I guess you'll just have to settle for a Harvey and a martini."

"Even better," she utters with the smallest of laughs. He tilts his head a fraction at the sound of her laugh like he wasn't expecting her to find him funny. He offers her the glass. She takes it from him with a small nod and voices her quiet thanks. She takes a sip from the glass. "This is perfect. Thank you."

"I took a guess," he says with a shrug. The curve of his mouth screams triumph as he takes a drink from his glass of amber liquid. He swallows and arches an eyebrow. She thinks he's teasing her. "You seem like one of those girls who like a bitter drink. None of that Appletini shit."

"I do like an occasional fruity drink," she admits.

He leans towards her. Instinctively, she lifts her hand to his chest and presses her palm against his sternum. She feels the pressure of his weight against her hand, a relentless undertaking that leaves her head swarming as he grins mischievously. She rolls her lips before tucking the bottom one between her teeth. She hasn't been this intrigued by any singular person since she met Rachel a few years ago, and now Rachel is her best friend.

"That's okay," he relents with a small nod, "There isn't any shame in a tall drink with vibrant colors, a bit of sweetness on the tongue and a twist."

She quirks an eyebrow in response, half wondering if she is interpreting his words correctly. He winks at her and she nearly loses her balance. She's behaving so foolishly. It seems that any time he's involved she's so foolish.

"I shouldn't keep you," he says suddenly, "I'm sure everyone here wants a moment of your time, seeing as it's your birthday get together."

"You don't have to go," she says all too quickly, "You can stay. I'm...enjoying your company."

He nods firmly and smiles wider. He says, "Looks like it's my lucky day."