Thank you to everyone who favorited and/or took the time to review the story! I'm sorry for taking ages to update this; I've already got quite a few chapters started but they still need some polishing. I've decided to upload this fairly short chapter in which we finally get to meet Mike. (And, yes, I've sneakily borrowed some of the actual dialogue from the show - but some lines are just too good :)
Harvey eyed the nervous wreck of a Harvard Law graduate currently sitting in front of him. He checked his watch. 11:04. He still had to endure at least ten minutes with this guy who had graduated 8th in his class last year.
"...and I uh I really en- enjoyed Prof. uh Ge-Gerard's class because he's uh he's really..."
Harvey took a deep breath. Someone shoot me, someone please shoot me now. He started drumming against the wheel of his chair with his thumb. The candidate sensed that Harvey was getting increasingly impatient and that only made him more nervous and his stammering became even more pronounced. Finally, Harvey interrupted him.
"Okay, very well, Mr. Carson. Why don't you tell me why you'd like to work for me?" Of course, all candidates had prepared for this question and so far every one of them had responded by telling Harvey that they thought that they would benefit "so much" from working with the best closer in New York City. Harvey believed that Jake, middle name nervous wreck, Carson would be no exception, but then he was immediately alerted when Carson said: "I uh I think that you're uh that you're an uh inspiration."
Harvey raised an eyebrow. Wait, give the kid a chance to save this.
"Really? And why is that?" he asked.
Carson was shifting nervously in his seat. "Um, well, because of uh the fact that uh you're uh disabled."
Harvey rolled his eyes. You blew it, kiddo. A part of him wanted to end the interview right there but instead he decided to teach the kid a lesson.
"Mr. Carson, before you came here this morning I assume you got out of bed?" Carson looked at Harvey, confused, but then nodded. "Really? Me too. And what did you do then? Take a shower? Get dressed? Have breakfast and read the paper? Travel downtown? Well, guess what: Me too. Now, is any of this a particularly remarkable feat? Huh?" Carson shook his head. "No, of course it isn't! Now, if you had said that I'm inspirational because I'm an awesome attorney and I close deals like no other – okay. I would have agreed with you. But calling me an inspiration just for being disabled? That's bullshit with a capital B! Now, please excuse me."
Poor Carson's face now looked like a tomato and he literally fled out of the room, stumbling past the desk Donna was sitting at. The candidates waiting outside stared after him in terror. What on earth had Harvey Specter done to that guy? Donna got up from the desk and walked into the interview room. Harvey was sitting with his arms crossed over his chest and was looking out of the window.
"Now, what happened there?" she asked.
"That douchebag called me an inspiration," Harvey said without turning around.
"Hm, I thought you'd condone if a Harvard Law graduate is inspired by the best closer that the city's ever seen?"
Harvey put his hands on the push rims and turned around to face Donna. "He called me an inspiration for being disabled," he added, uttering the final word with as much disdain as he could.
"Oh." Donna sat down in one of the armchairs to be on the same level with Harvey. "But he's able-bodied, so why would he be inspired by your being disabled?"
"Exactly!"
"And even if he was disabled…shouldn't he be rather inspired by someone other than…" She paused for effect. "…an arrogant self-absorbed blowhard who thinks he's the smartest person in the room?"
Harvey looked at her. Donna gave him a wink. A smile started to play on his lips, which quickly developed into the trademark Specter grin. As usual, Donna had succeeded in cheering him up.
"Ready for the next candidate?" Donna asked.
"You think there are still some left?"
"There probably all scared shitless now but each of them would probably get your name tattooed on their butts if that would get them the job. So, yeah, I think they've stayed."
"Yeah, but now we're really gonna have to streamline this. Give each guy a hard time. Before you send them back give me a wink if they said something clever. We need to find another arrogant self-absorbed blowhard. Cool?"
"Cool."
"Relax. I'm not gonna call the cops. Have a seat." Harvey motioned to the chairs in front of the desk. He eyed the kid in the bad suit who had just dropped a briefcase full of dope into his lap. This is gonna be good.
"So, I assume your name isn't actually Rick Sorkin, right?" Harvey asked.
The kid shook his head. "No. My name is Mike Ross. I'm- I'm a bike messenger."
"Bike messenger, huh?"
"Yeah. Listen, Mr. Specter, I know your time is valuable and I really appreciate you not calling the cops but–"
"Wait, I'm not gonna let you off so fast. I wanna hear the story." Mike raised his eyebrows. Harvey smiled at him. "See, I've spent the whole morning interviewing Harvard Law graduates with rods up their asses for the position as my associate. And then you burst in and drop a suitcase full of dope into my lap. And as much as I'd like to pretend that this is something that happens every day, it's not. So, how does a bike messenger end up with a shitload of dope in the Chilton hotel?"
Mike spent a moment studying the older man sitting opposite of him. On the one hand, he looked like a typical alpha male dressed in a power suit who was oozing confidence; over the years, Mike had seen hundreds of guys like him in the city. But there was something else; a certain air of vulnerability, well-hidden behind all the hotshot lawyer swagger. Mike was really intrigued by Harvey Specter. Plus, he seemed to have a sense of humor, which he liked, and so he started to tell him the story.