2.
It's official now. Pereira's nomination. The Special Victim's bureau is abuzz with the exciting news, but all he can think about is the red-headed secretary that will now sit in front of an empty office. They anticipate Pereira's departure in the coming weeks, after she has tied up as many loose ends as she can.
"Looks like Cameron's going to get her. She's the hardest working help in the office and," Greg says in a low voice over a Friday night beer, "the man can't exactly be opposed to spending the late nights with her. I mean, those legs go on forever…"
Harvey nods curtly, annoyed, though he is not sure why.
"Hey, Greg," says that familiar pretty waitress as she takes away their empty glasses. "Harvey."
He gives her a smile and a nod. "Always stuck with the Friday night haul?"
"Yeah. But thankfully my shift's ending in 20 mins," she replies, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.
He takes the hint and buys her drinks when she gets off work. Later that night when they are lying side by side in his bed, he wonders, not for the first time, if tomorrow will be the last day he sees Donna Paulsen.
She has been conspicuously absent from the office in the evenings, probably because Pereira's caseload is finally tapering off before her departure. He tells himself it doesn't really put a hamper in his work, that his knowledge of the inner workings of the DA bureaucracy has increased tenfold and he doesn't need her. But really, her absence is weighing on his mind more often than not.
He's started to build a reputation as the go-to ADA for the niche cases where his hard-handed, take-no-prisoners approach has gotten results. Even Jessica calls to congratulate him for a job well done, but the praise does not settle the inexplicable uneasiness that has settled in his stomach after Pereira's nomination announcement.
One evening, he spies Donna down the alley of the bullpen and gets up to join her. She is packing her desk up into boxes, extremely particular about what goes where. Over the months, he's learned about idiosyncrasies in the way she operates, like her fondness for colored sticky notes, and her unwavering upkeep of audit logs for files she references in reports. Her meticulous behavior is admirable, and another reason she is so good at her job.
"Leaving on a jet plane?" he asks, trying to appear nonchalant.
As usual, seemingly omniscient, she doesn't need to turn to know it's him. "Yes, making the perilous journey down the hall. Don't know when I'll be back again," she adds as an afterthought.
"Cameron," Harvey realizes, with some relief. "That's exciting."
"The raise is exciting, I suppose," she says evasively, crouching to grab another box from the floor. "And I guess his office has a window."
"He's a good man, too," he declares, deciding to play devil's advocate.
"Maybe it's about time you take off those rose-colored glasses," she says, her voice low.
"What?" he questions.
"Never mind," she mutters with a shake of her head.
She grabs the closest box and starts down the aisle. He doesn't move.
"Thanks for offering to help, Harvey, but I can handle it."
She taps her foot against the ground for a moment in exasperated disbelief until he finally comes to her and grabs the box handles. Their fingers brush and his confidence is bolstered.
"Come work with me."
"Did you already hit up happy hour?" Donna laughs in disbelief.
"I'm serious," and his face lets her know that he is. "I won't get you all the time, he would never allow that."
"You're barely finished your first 10 months here as an ADA, and I'm getting a chance to work for the DA," she points out as she tugs at the box. "Why would I ever agree to this? It's absurd."
"You, and everybody else here knows what I have my sights set on." His grip doesn't give. "The top. And I mean the very top. I'm a big fish and-"
"This is a little pond?" she finishes, unconvinced.
"I know you've heard the higher ups, including Lisa and Cameron talking about my prospects. I was third in my class at Harvard. I'm sitting first chair in trial next month – almost unheard of for such a new recruit, and I've done nearly all the legwork for what is going to be a very highly publicized case. Cameron Dennis, the New York district attorney with the best conviction rate in over half a century trusted me enough to head up the case," he argues. "Need my height, weight and senior year batting average, too?"
Her arms drop to her side. She studies him, brows furrowed, gaze pensive.
"Plus, I don't think you like him very much."
"Maybe I don't like you very much," she challenges.
He smiles, resolve unshaken. "You're a big fish too, Donna, and you know it."
"How the hell do you know Cameron will let you do this?"
"Let me take care of Cameron," he replies, taking the box and starting towards her new desk. "And for the record, 6' 1", 170, 0.400 flat."
"Please," she scoffs, "don't flatter yourself. Six feet, tops."
However, convincing Cameron takes a little more elbow grease than he anticipates.
"You can't be serious, Harvey. We're hurting for resources already. This isn't the private sector, we can't justify hiring another secretary, because there is no way Donna will have enough time to finish your work and mine," he says without looking up from his paperwork.
"My utility will increase with her help. I can take on a bigger caseload, and that means a better record for this office. It's an investment, not a black hole," Harvey assures him. "You'll see the returns soon, I promise."
"You sound like my portfolio manager. And he's a goddamn liar."
"I'm not lying."
Cameron looks up at him, examining him properly for the first time. "Take Allison. Greenman is going on extended leave next week, she'll be shifting her services around the office as needed."
He shakes his head. "I want Donna."
"Harvey," he starts, and his tone is so patronizing that Harvey bristles. "Jessica assured me that you are the best she's ever seen…and you're certainly living up to the expectations that she set for you, but I'm not sure you're doing this for-"
"Give me until the course of the Davis trial. I'll prove it to you," he interjects, having heard enough. "I want Donna because she's the best, and I don't settle for anything but."
Cameron studies him. After what seems like an eternity, he nods in acquiescence, motioning towards the door with a wave of his hand. Harvey leaves with a grin plastered on his face.
That night, he takes Donna to a small but bustling wine bar down the street.
"To our partnership," he toasts, raising the glass of merlot.
"I bet we'll be lucky if it lasts through the month," she murmurs as she takes a sip.
Month one blurs into month two effortlessly but the trial preparation is still happening in full force. Davis' defense successfully had the trial delayed in light of new evidence. A convenient witness has come out of the woodwork to testify that Davis was actually at a dive bar in Queens and not in the house of the little girl he murdered. Harvey knows it's bullshit.
In addition to the Davis trial, he's been juggling a dozen others cases and Donna commitment rate has slowly been rising above the initial agreement. But Cameron hasn't objected and Harvey knows why. He's handling a larger caseload than any of the other ADAs, and more often than not, he wins before the word trial is even uttered.
"Judge Elmer called, he needs you to swing by the courthouse tomorrow morning for a last minute meeting with defense counsel," Donna says, handing him a small stack of folders.
He nods, flicking through them quickly. "If they try to pull some stunt again…"
"He assured me that they are not." She stands to shrug on her jacket.
The office is sparse now, and he should also be leaving. He needs to be up early for the pre-trial meeting. There's nothing else to be done. He continues to stand over her desk, though he is not sure why.
"Go home, Harvey," she tells him gently.
At his apparent hesitation, she bids him to follow her. She prepares him a cup of that terrible coffee, and it's odd to see her do so in the wool coat. He is reminded that she should be going home, she's done too much over the last few weeks. He's about to open her mouth to tell her just that when she begins.
"Are you nervous?"
"Of course not," he scoffs.
"Then what's up?"
She waits patiently. It's remarkable, the way this woman can simply will a confession out of him with just her steady gaze. In fact, it sort of terrifies him.
"I have confidence in my trial abilities," he states, leaning against the small table. "But what if it's not enough? I mean, even if Cameron and I execute everything perfectly, like clockwork, there's still a chance this guy could get off. The jury adds too many variables to predict the outcome. And after what he did…"
"Ah," she nods. "So you are nervous."
He sighs.
"Lisa has been practicing for 20 years and still says she gets pre-trial jitters."
"And?"
"She had her ways of dealing with it," she shrugs. Donna steps towards him, placing a steady palm on his forearm, her skin warm through his shirt. "The point it, you've done everything you can for now. But you need your rest if you're going to send it home tomorrow. You'll get him."
His gaze meets hers, and he thinks he believes her. She exhales lightly, the air comes to tickle the skin on his neck and only then does he realize how close they are standing.
She pulls away suddenly and turns her back to him. She begins shuffling through the utensil drawer for a moment while his confusion mounts. Then she turns slowly with a playful smile on her face and he spies a flash of silver in her hand. A can opener. "But before you go home, you have got to see this."
Two weeks later, they go out on their first victory dinner. The first of many, he tells himself.
TBC
