TEN MINUTES TOO LATE

CHAPTER ONE

The First Cut

"THE PRESENT DAY"

It had been four weeks since it happened.

Had it only been a month?

Donna stood in front of her open bedroom window and inhaled deeply. The smell of summer lingered on the final rays of sunlight as they dipped behind the tall buildings of Manhattan. She didn't mind. Not in the slightest. Fall was her favourite season. Fall meant red, therefore it belonged to HER. There was something so very 'Donna' about it. Cooler, sharper, snappier – whether it be the crisp bite to a September morning air, or the rustle of autumnal leaves as they line the avenues of the city.

And Halloween. Her favourite holiday. This year they would have a party – she'd make sure of it.

She could barely see her reflection in the window. It was still too light. There was a faint outline – the white of her dress, a faint glimmer of sunrays hitting her irises, the darker outline of her lips, the bright autumnal shade of her hair. It would be dark in an hour and dusk was her favourite time of day. After all, the best reflections came after dark, didn't they?

Ever since that night, four weeks ago, Donna had found herself haphazardly gazing out through tall, clear windows, watching as night sweeps over the city and wraps the world in darkness – and in sparkles. It had become one of her favourite things to do and she knew it was a guilty pleasure – a sort of weird re-enactment of something that had been so private and so intimate. When she does it her memory drifts to that night and she plays out every moment out in her mind, remembering how softly the light lit the scene from the office hallway, providing the perfect reflection for the actors to bear their souls.

She remembers every direction. She remembers the sound her skirt made as she walked towards him. She can still smell his cologne – orange with a hint of bergamot – and she can recall every word that was spoken. She knows how each scene unfolds.

It didn't start as anything extraordinary. Harvey had always done some of his best thinking whilst taking in the view from his 50th floor office. Or from his penthouse apartment. It calmed him. It helped him focus his thoughts. Looking down at the city under his feet reminded him that he'd made it. It told him he could do anything. The word was his lobster!

So, no. None of that was unusual.

The astonishing came later.

The astonishing came with a tiny, simple, monosyllabic word – 'no'.

She hadn't expected him to say it.

No.

His smile had made her heart melt and the tone of his voice commanded the butterflies to flutter in her stomach.

He didn't want to be alone. Not anymore.

Not after forty years of life. Not after twelve years of … of what? Of friendship? Of soul-mate-ship? Of painful, heart-breaking, never-ending, relentless, tumultuous, unrequited love?

The push and pull ended that night. In that room. In that moment. With that word.

No, he didn't want to be alone. Yes, he wanted to be with her.

She had turned on her heel. She was expecting the shut-down, the block, the self-preservation. But the walls didn't go up. Not this time. Maybe it was Jessica's shock decision which hit home for him. Jessica – his partner – had chosen life over work. She had seized her own happiness. She had taken the bull by the horns and she was prepared to wrestle it to the death to get what she wanted.

For him, the decision hadn't been as spontaneous as Jessica's, but it had been just as bold. Donna knew that now, but did she know it then? Maybe she did. She knew there had been months of therapy, months of quiet acknowledgement, months that had followed years of denial. Years of pretence. Years of building up walls around himself – walls that only she could dismantle. Sure, Scottie had removed a brick or two. Zoe, Esther, all the faceless-nobodies he'd claimed for an evening here or there had chipped away at the surface. Hell, even Mike had helped him to see that no matter how chaotic his life got, there was always one constant – one certainty … Donna was always standing dead of centre, shoulder-to-shoulder with him in whatever hideous mess he'd found himself in.

That's what he had told her. That's the reason he had given her when she asked him why he had taken her hand that night and held her. She reached first and it had been an impulse – a 'Donna' thing to do – but she had known he would respond exactly the way he responded. She knew because … well … she was Donna. She knew what he was thinking. The way he was standing at the window told her he had caught up with life – with her. The tilt to his smile told her he loved her. The soft gasp in his voice told her his walls were slowly crumbling to dust.

The hidden told her more than the revealed, because for Donna, the hidden was the revealed. To the outside world, 'no' meant Harvey Specter didn't want to be alone. To Donna, the resolve etched on his face, the harmony in his voice and the relaxed contours of his body meant Harvey Specter wanted to be with her. He was ready.

But that was four week ago and so much has happened since then.

Their relationship had slowly evolved despite the warzone they were living in. Jessica's departure had thrown the dynamics of the Pearson Specter Litt family into turmoil, but none of them had envisaged what was to come. The rest of them – Louis, Mike and Rachel – had brought despair, conflict and pain into those first few weeks, at a time when she and Harvey needed the freedom to explore their feelings. It should have been much easier than this. After twelve years, fate owed them one. Surely karma should have made things simpler. Were there no gods to intervene? No goddesses with a wry sense of humour thinking, 'these two star-crossed idiots need a fucking break'.

Donna moves away from the window, her heart raw with the unfairness of it all, but her brain acknowledging that 'that's life' and she just had to suck it up. She switches on her dressing table light, sending bright amber into the dark corner of her bedroom. She brushes out her hair, wondering if she should wear it up, or at least add something – a barrette maybe – that would complement the importance of the evening. 'He likes it down', she remembers and the deal is sealed. She brushes her copper waves one last time, letting her hair fall around her shoulders. She's happy if he's happy. Leaving her hair how he like it is a small thing after all.

She leaves her bedroom and moves into the sitting room, making sure she has everything she needs in her bag: spare change, top-up lipstick and rouge, cell-phone, tissues and finally … house keys. The party is due to start in half an hour and she's aiming to arrive on time and not late (Donna is never late) but also not early (Donna is often early, but never to a party).

She locks up her apartment and descends the stairs of her building. It's a Friday night, but she knows the best place in her locale to pick up a cab. Harvey had offered to send Ray around, but she declined. She knew he had to be there early to organise things with Robert and Sean. Not that he was looking forward to it. He hated change and this was change with a ten foot tall letter "C" decked out in fairy lights under a hail of ticker tape.

Her stomach sinks as she considers the merger. It had been her idea. She had pushed him towards it and she knew she'd have to be with him every step of the way to see it through. But she was there. She was always there. And inside the hell they had just left behind them, she had fallen in love with him even more. And Harvey? Well, he had become the man his father had always dreamed he'd become: emotionally coherent in his love of her, unfaltering in his support of her and dedicated to a promise he made to protect her.

She keeps hold of that thought as she rides through the streets of Manhattan to the downtown location of the restaurant booked for tonight's party. In one respect, her life had morphed into the life she'd always dreamed about. Somebody loved her and that somebody was Harvey Specter. For twelve years she'd wished her heart had chosen him and she'd fought against the very real fact that it had. She allows her thoughts about Harvey and the future they'd planned block out the worst August of her life – and she doesn't just mean the abysmal billables or the lack of new business or the virtual gun placed at Harvey and Louis's temples, forcing them to finally accept the financial help they needed to keep the ship afloat. Their ship – and Jessica's legacy.

She had to pull him through the last week. She prevented him from throttling Louis and rejoiced with him when Mike agreed to join them as a consultant. Of course she commiserated over the (hopefully temporary) loss of Rachel, but mostly they were all getting there. Barely getting there. In truth, some were existing better than others. Dread and nagging claws at her stomach as the lies, disappointment, anger, shame and grief of the last fortnight bombards her mind. She had been in the thick of it – with Louis and Tara and with Mike and Rachel. She didn't want to go behind his back and god knows, she hadn't wanted to be right about any of it. Not this time. But ignorance is never bliss – not in Donna's world. Something was wrong and she couldn't rest until she found out what it was. She interfered, she fought for her friends and she went against Harvey's wishes. There was pain and anger, but she's glad she did it. She hoped Louis would be there tonight. She knew Rachel wouldn't be there.

They take a right turn and rush headlong into backed up traffic on 3rd Avenue. Donna glances at her watch. She's cutting it fine now, but if they take a short cut in the direction of Lexington, they might still make it. She asks the driver and he obliges, racing through the streets and reaching their destination just five minutes after the 8.30pm start. She pays the cab driver and thanks him for his expert driving, leaving him a big tip.

After Donna steps out of the cab, she stands in front of the doorway for a moment, taking in the enormity of what was about to happen. She inhales a deep breath because she knows all of their lives are going to change forever. From tomorrow she is going to be employed by a new firm – Zane Specter Cahill.

And then she feels like she's been hit by a truck.

A hefty blow almost knocks her to the ground as something or somebody collides with her. She yells a guttural 'hey' in response as the figure almost knocks her to the ground. Then her bag is ripped out of her hand and a man – hooded in royal blue – runs off down the street with it.

Before she knows what she's doing she's running after him, which is stupid given she's wearing five inch heels. She realises almost immediately that she doesn't have a hope in hell of catching up with him, yet the injustice, the rage, the offence carries her forward in a momentous surge of anger.

"You alright, lady?"

She doesn't recognise the voice and she doesn't turn around, her gaze is still fixed upon the hooded figure who has just caused her to almost break an ankle by running in her newest Christian Louboutin diamante encrusted sandals.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I've lost my purse, my keys and … fuck … I've lost my cell … fuck!" She turns around and looks at the man who is dressed in a tuxedo suit. She assumes he's one of Zane's lawyers or clients – shorter than her with grey hair, blue eyes and a cock-eyed smile. "Sorry about my language, but … shit …"

"Hey, don't worry about it. I got a good look at him. We'll call the police. I'm sure I could give them a good description for you."

Donna smiles and thanks the man.

Others from the party call out in concern: "Everything all right?"

"Yeah, we got it," shouts the man.

A shiver shoots down Donna's back and settles in a dull ache at her spine. She was just about to call for more help, but now she's suspicious. "How have we 'got it'?" she asks him, her brow knotted with even more dread than that which is lying in her stomach.

The man smiles at her. It's a strange smile. Unsettling. "Are you Donna Paulsen?"

She doesn't say yes. There's something wrong – terribly wrong – she looks back at the doorway to the restaurant. A few more people have arrived. There's only one security man. Should she shout for help? Should she run? Or would that be stupid.

Her throat feels raw, but she manages to speak. "Who are you? What do you want?"

The man smiles darkly and steps forward. "Somebody wanted me to give you something." He grabs her by her shoulders before she has a chance to scream.

And it's over in seconds. And he's gone.

Funny thing was, when the blade entered her body and nothing followed it, she thought she'd struck lucky. She thought she was safe. A voice in her head said 'is that it?' The man had disappeared, following the hooded guy – his decoy – into the blackness of the city.

She stands alone, a sharp pain testament to what has just happened to her, but she still can't believe that was it. No gunshot. No assault. No further blow. Just one deep cut into her flesh, below her ribcage, missing her stomach, missing her lungs. She tells herself she'll be okay. She fights the shock. She takes a deep breath and she decides she has to fight it. What choice does she have?

Her hand shoots to her side and she feels the warm wetness immediately, but she refuses to give in. She isn't going to fall where she stands. Mind over matter. She tells herself it isn't that bad. It can't be. Fate – the cosmic balance in the universe – wouldn't allow anything bad to happen. Not now that she is happy. Not when she finally has the life she's always wanted.

Donna starts to walk towards the restaurant. She needs Harvey. He'll know exactly what to do. He'll be able to fix everything … make it all better.

After twenty steps her legs start to shake. She tells herself it's the shock and she blocks it out. She focuses on Harvey and how much he needs her.

Another ten steps and her body starts to fall asleep, her limbs locking, her muscles aching, the pain growing stronger.

She focuses on the stairs now. There are three of them leading up to the restaurant. She tells herself she can do it. She draws in a breath, concentrating everything she has on the slow inhale and exhale of her lungs. Feeling her own chest rise and fall in soft vibrations.

She makes it by grabbing onto a rail and hauling her body up.

The doorman she passes is chatting to a blonde paralegal or associate or … or who cares … she's nearly there. She doesn't have time for him to check her name off his list, so she doesn't answer him when he calls after her. 'I'm Donna' she replies in her head. She hears him follow her, but she doesn't stop walking, her eyes searching the room for Harvey. In a blurred sea of black suits, she scans for tall, for brown hair, for dark eyes.

One foot goes in front of the other and it feels like every step could be her last. Her head swims, her legs feel like jell-o, her hands. She looks down and sees red. She feels red under her fingertips. She feels drops of red running down her legs.

"Ma'am if you don't give me your name, I'm afraid you're going to have to leave," says the doorman again. He has a paper list held tightly in his hand.

"Donna", she croaks faintly, then she mumbles 'Just Donna' under her breath. And then she falters, her arms grabbing onto a stool belonging to the restaurant bar.

"Ma'am are you okay?"

Her eyes close. But she still – somehow – manages to stand.

"Ma'am? … Oh shit … oh … Can somebody call 911 immediately! This woman's seriously hurt!"

When her eyes open, a kaleidoscope of shapes and colours blur her line of vision. Black suits. Sparkling gold, silver, blue and pink dresses. She reaches up to push her hair away from her face so she can see, but all she sees is red on her hands and all she feels is bile rising into the throat.

She hears her name again. "Donna? Donna, oh my god what happened?" She looks up into the bright blue eyes of her friend and he stumbles backwards in shock when he sees the blood. "Harvey!" he screams at the top of his voice. "Can somebody get Harvey Specter?" Then he turns back to her, his face marked by the horror of the situation. "Oh my God, Donna. What happened?"

Donna half-rests on the stool and reaches for her friend. Mike takes her blood-drenched hand in his without flinching, swooping his arm around her. The pain is suddenly unbearable and the entire left side of her body starts to burn. Her legs give way underneath her, but she feels another set of arms around her, catching her and lowering her gently to the floor.

Her breaths are laboured as she looks up at both of them. Harvey and Mike – her lover and his best friend. They both look like hell. They're both shouting for help. She feels guilty. Even as she lies on the floor, her blood on their hands, she feels guilty. The night is ruined. Stupid, she knows, but she can't help it. She feels Harvey scoop her into his lap, Mike still holding her hand, and then panic engulfs her.

"Harvey, I'm sorry." She looks into his eyes and she is terrified. His face is red, his skin sweaty, his eyes wild and his jaw is pulsating with tension and fear. She can hear voices all around them. There are shouts for help and there are calls for witnesses, but all she needs is his arms. His strong, safe arms. She can't believe how stupid she'd been to think this was nothing. She had lost so much blood already and she was tired and she wanted to sleep. 'He'll know what to do', she repeats in her mind. Her own psyche knowing what she wants to hear as her body starts to shut down.

"I'm going to check on the ambulance," says Mike as he takes to his feet. "You need to put pressure on the wound. Stop the bleeding."

The doorman is at her side then. He has a tablecloth folded into a ball which he pushes against her middle. She bites down hard as the pressure and pain collides.

"Donna, stay awake, please you've got to." Harvey's voice breaks and she knows he's crying. She's crying too. She knows there are others around them. She hears Mike telling them it won't be long now. Her eyes close again and he shakes her back into painful reality. "Stay awake, do you hear me?"

"I'm sorry … I … I followed him. I shouldn't have. He stole my bag."

She feels him lift her head up and his body changes. He no longer looks like he's been hit by a bus. He looks defiant – like he's charging into battle. "Donna, I'm ordering you to keep your eyes open, you hear me? Shut them one more time and I'm going to kick your ass!"

She laughs because she knows what he's trying to do – keep her awake and alert. "I'm trying."

"You have to do more than try. You've got to keep your goddamn eyes open because … if you fall asleep … you might …" she wants to brush the tears from his face but she doesn't have the energy to raise her hand. "Look, we are getting you out of here … help is on the way … just hang in there … please hang in there … I love you."

Donna smiles herself awake. "I love you too and we're … we're going to …" Her voice catches in her throat and she coughs. And there's blood. She sees nothing but terror written in Harvey's face and she panics because she feels herself floating away from him. "Harvey … am I going to die? I don't want to …"

"Shh, you're not going to die."

"But, I can't. I can't feel my legs and … it hurts … I …"

"Hey, no stop … stop that right now." He strengthens his voice. The lawyer takes over. "You're going to be fine … look the paramedics are here. Everything will be fine. I promised that I'd look after you and I'd never let anything bad happen …"

His voice trails off and she knows he's hurting. His promise that she'd never have to feel scared ever again in tatters.

When the medics arrive, they separate them but she manages to keep hold of his hand. As strangers fuss around her, poking at her body, scrambling for apparatus that will help her, she keeps her gaze trained on him. She forces herself to imagine their reflection in that glass window, standing shoulder to shoulder, smiling at each other. She strengthens her grip on him.

And she feels him squeeze her hand back.

She feels the pressure on her side intensify – somebody is pushing their hands hard against her wound.

Her mouth is forced open. She feels tubes. She fights the urge to gag.

She coughs but her throat is blocked now. She heaves in response, the tube lodging into her throat.

And then his hand is gone and she can't hold on any longer.

'Keep that pressure on her', she hears.

'We need to get her to the ER right now!'

'She's got ten minutes before she's in trouble.'

'Quick, we're losing her.'

The last thought she hears in her own head is, 'Harvey's here. I'm going to be okay.'

To be continued …

(Don't panic. I only do happy endings! Promise!).