A/N: This chapter was so much fun to write! I honestly think the three of us are enjoying this more than any of you readers are. Prepare yourself for an emotional rollercoaster on this one.
A huge and heartfelt thank you to Jo and Stef for their continual guidance and support. Love you bunches.
Reviews are always appreciated and enjoyed so leave one if you can!
You've Got Mail
Chapter 6
~oOo~
The wind blows through Harvey's hair with an aggressive bite. His scarf is pulled up high over his neck but it still doesn't cover his ears which feel like they might shatter at the slightest touch. It's fucking cold, and fucking early, but you can't tell from the way Rembrandt is trying to play grabass with a squirrel who is clearly in fear for its life.
Harvey's head is on a constant swivel lately. It's completely ridiculous, but he feels like he's being followed. Walking Remy at the ass crack of dawn is about the only time he hasn't run into Donna Paulsen this week. Grabbing a cup of coffee, she was there. Outside his favorite bar, he swears he caught a glimpse of her getting into a cab. He's certain he saw her during a business lunch, but by the way she practically climbed into the nearest planter, she was obviously just as uncomfortable seeing him. He knew his mind was surely playing tricks on him, however, when he thought he saw her leaving Human Head on Sunday. There is no way that woman could possibly be into Jazz. Not real Jazz, anyway.
The thought of music brings his mind back to the other woman who's been occupying his thoughts. This one, a welcomed distraction from the constant stress and self-doubt that's had his stomach in knots, Theatergirl.
Just last night they spoke online. Not via email, but actually live chatting. A conversation, of sorts. It felt comfortable. Natural. Except for the part where she completely ignored his earlier suggestion about meeting in person. He cringes at the thought as he runs his long fingers through his hair. He'd left his gloves in the pocket of his other jacket and is paying the price as he blows into his hands for warmth.
"Come on, Remy," he tugs on the slobbering dog's leash. "Take a shit or get off the pot. My dick's gonna freeze off out here."
Rembrandt simply gives two cheery barks and wags his tail before continuing to sniff out another squirrel.
His thoughts drift back to Theatergirl… she'd declined his invitation to meet. Indirectly, of course. She hadn't mentioned it at all. It was as if he'd never brought it up. It's for the best, he nods, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He's not even good company for his dog lately, not to mention the fact that he's currently in a relationship. A real-life one, as a matter of fact. Not that he was suggesting anything more than friendship. Plus, the interaction hadn't been a total bust. She'd needed advice and he had given some. He feels like he truly helped and even the memory of it sends a wave of warmth out to his extremities.
A proud bark from his four-legged companion jolts Harvey back to the present. Rembrandt had finally taken care of business, and Harvey can't remember ever being happier to pick up a pile of shit.
~oOo~
"I'm not sure what's going on up here, Mr. Specter, but I think this is as close as I can get."
Harvey looks up from his cell phone in the back seat of the Lexus to see what Ray is talking about.
"What the fuck?" He extends his neck to get a better view. There's a large group of people, mostly women, and children, parading around with signs on the narrow street in front of them.
"Are they picketing?"
Before his driver has a chance to respond, one of the women turns her sign toward them and the words written on it make his blood boil.
Save West Village!
Sleigh the Dragon!
"Son of a bitch!"
Harvey climbs out of the car and makes his way toward ground zero for the new development. There are far more people protesting than he could see from the back seat of the car. Every single one of them, toting a sign with something about stopping the new megaplex or chanting about saving Bobbie Byrne Theater.
"This woman is the bane of my existence," he grumbles angrily to Mike who is waiting for him out front. "She really knows how to piss a guy off!"
"It's not personal, Harvey. She's just doing what any -"
"It IS personal, Mike!"
The look on Mike's face coupled with him being rendered speechless, a near-impossible feat, has Harvey backtracking.
"I mean, not personal - personal. But… "
"But now that you know why she hates you so much, for that situation with her father last year, it feels more personal. I get it, man." Mike pats his boss's shoulder. "I do."
"Shut the fuck up, Mike." Harvey glares at his hand until he drops it. "And she doesn't hate me, she hates Pearson Specter."
"Actually," Mike says under his breath as he follows Harvey to the elevators, "I'm pretty sure it's you."
~oOo~
"What the hell are they chanting down there?" Tony Giannopolis shouts looking out the large glass window. "Can't you arrest them or something?"
"Tony," Harvey says to the man's back. "Tony! Would you turn around and forget about them, please."
"Forget about them? How the hell am I supposed to forget about them when I have to walk past them on my way in and out of the fucking building?" Tony's hands wave in the air in frustration." I can't even concentrate on my work with all this damn commotion." The billionaire plops into his thousand-dollar chair like a pouting toddler. "You're my goddamn lawyer, Harvey. Do something about it."
"Mike, go make some calls. See if you can get a court order for them to evacuate the premises."
"On what grounds?"
"Disturbing the peace."
"I don't think—"
The daggers shooting from Harvey's eyes have Mike backing out of the office with his tail between his legs.
"Listen, Tony." Harvey clears his throat. He hates this man with a passion, and trying to soothe him during a tantrum is a whole new kind of hell. "Everything is running on schedule. This little display is just a desperate business owner's last attempt at holding onto something she knows she's already lost."
"I see a lot more than one woman out there, Harvey."
"So Donna Paulsen rallied up her friends and family. Maybe a few loyal customers." Harvey sighs. He actually feels a pang of sadness for her, which just pisses him off even more. "It's not going to make a bit of difference. It's just a nuisance. Nothing more." Harvey gets up and takes a look down at the crowd. "She's the last business standing, Tony. She has no choice but to sell."
~oOo~
"Jessica wants to see you," Gretchen says before he even sits down in his chair. "And Mr. Giannopoulos has left you three messages.
"Three messages? I just left the man an hour ago." Harvey drops his head into his hands in frustration, elbows propped on the desk.
"He wants you to know that Ms. Paulsen is now speaking to the crowd on a soapbox."
"Perfect." Harvey deadpans. "Fucking perfect. Who the hell does this woman think she is, Susan B. Anthony?"
As he storms past Gretchen, he doesn't notice the grin she fails to bite back.
His day doesn't get any better from there. He faces Jessica's wrath about how she's tired of Tony's whining, Mike's failure to clear the protest, and to top it all off, an empty damn bottle of Scotch when the workday finally ends. He gives Gretchen an earful for that one.
How's the good fight going? Making any progress?
Harvey sits at his desk tapping his Mont Blanc repeatedly on the hard word surface. He wasn't planning on writing here, but he's in a foul mood, and lately connecting with Theatergirl has been the best tonic.
Seems I have a fight of my own going on at work, and despite the fact that there's really no way I'm going to lose, it still doesn't feel like I'm winning. And I'm used to winning.
Have I mentioned that I box? I know what you are thinking. 'That's terrible.' 'Such a brutal sport.' It's no handbag shopping though, so those who live in glass houses and all that.
I started at a young age with my father, and then eventually my kid brother. Well, he recently turned thirty but he's still a little punk to me. I've never boxed competitively. It's just a great workout and an excellent way to blow off steam. A good sparring partner can help a guy work through problems better than most therapists and for a lot less money.
I've had the kind of day that requires me to tape on the gloves and hit something. Hard. And repeatedly.
I hope your day was better.
PS. Rembrandt says hello. He told me this morning while he took forever to take a shit in sub-zero temperatures. It's like he does it just to show me I'm not the boss of him.
~ NYC_901
~oOo~
"Let's go." He stands in the doorway of Mike's office.
"Go where?" Mike glances at his watch. "It's late."
"I need to hit something."
"I'm sorry, what now?"
"The gym. We are going to my boxing gym."
"Harvey, I don't box."
"No problem." Harvey pushes off the door jam, "All you need to do is stand there."
"But I have plans! I'm meeting Rachel for drinks." Mike whines to his boss's back.
Harvey just walks away, ignoring Mike's last plea. If he's in a shitty mood, then Mike may as well join him.
~oOo~
Something about sweating is therapeutic for athletes. It's been true for Harvey for as long as he can remember. A long hard run, a double set of deadlifts, or beating the shit out of a punching bag, a workout is a workout. The more he gets his blood pumping and his pores sweating, the quicker he can work through whatever ails him.
He can't help but chuckle at the look on Mike's face when he finally surfaces from the locker room.
"What happened in there?" Harvey teases. "You shut your balls in the locker, or what?"
"Very funny." Mike gives a strained smile. "You aren't planning on hitting me, right? I mean, I need this face."
"What you need is a strong stance and a good grip." Harvey gestures to the punching bag in the corner.
"Ohhh." Mike releases a long steady breath he'd been holding. "Thank God."
Harvey warms up with some fancy footwork and short sharp jabs to the bag as Mike holds it steady.
"So," Harvey says between punches. "You're still seeing that girl who works at that theater?" He delivers a cross that knocks Mike off-balance. "Even with everything that's going on?"
"Well, that's yet to be seen."
"Meaning?" Harvey ups his game to some quick combinations and grins when Mile has to widen his stance.
"Meaning she doesn't exactly know who I work for."
Harvey stops moving a moment and then shakes his head before continuing to beat the heavy bag.
"You mean you haven't told her you're on the dark side? That you work for the evil Harvey Specter"
"I was planning to tell her tonight. And I work with the evil Harvey Specter." Mike grins.
"Yeah, well you might want to make sure her drink is empty when you do," Harvey unloads a series of body shots, "otherwise it will probably end up in your face."
"Holy shit." Mike's eyes widen as they focus on something over Harvey's shoulder. "Harvey."
Harvey doesn't bother to stop. He's finally in a good rhythm.
"Harvey," Mike repeats, his facial expression turning somber.
"What the hell?" Harvey barks when Mike drops the bag and steps around him. Turning to see what the issue is, Harvey's eyes find the TV on the gym wall.
The first thing he notices is the name 'Giannopoulos Cooperation' scrolling across the bottom of the screen. The camera scans across the early demolition site and then along the surrounding businesses, stopping on the front of none other than the Bobbie Byrne Theater. And there she is. Donna Paulsen. Filling the entire screen with her emotion-filled eyes and swirling red waves.
"I just feel it's important for the people of West Village to understand what's really going on here." Donna's voice booms throughout the gym as Harvey turns up the volume.
His mouth has gone completely dry. He despises the way this woman insists on being a thorn in his side but the fact that she continues to stir his loins is what's really got him seething.
"God, dammit. She really doesn't know when to fucking quit!"
"Tony Giannopoulos has been shredding small towns and villages like ours for years." she continues, eyes fixed right on the camera like she's speaking right to the two men staring dumbfounded at the screen. "He tears down businesses that have been standing for generations, businesses that have been a staple to the surrounding communities and a part of what makes those communities home to so many, and he builds overpriced shopping malls, movie theaters, and parking lots."
"Hey. At least it's Tony she's painting as the bad guy here. It's not like she's mentioned-" Mike gives a soft backhand slap to Harvey's shoulder before stopping mid-sentence.
"But it's not the Giannopoulos Cooperation alone." Donna's voice ticks up a notch as she sniffles and stands taller.
"Oh shit." Mike winces.
Harvey is frozen in place. It's one of those moments when you know what happens next is going to sting like a bitch, like as a kid when your mother's about to clean your cut with alcohol or preparing to rip a bandaid off the hairy part of your arm.
"It's the firms who represent them. The lawyers who work behind the scenes to do the dirty work that has to be done to make these kinds of deals happen. Ruthless firms like Pearson Specter… and shady lawyers like Harvey Specter himself."
Harvey's heart pounds in his chest and there's a ringing in his ears. He can't quite identify the emotions running through him. There is anger. Definitely. But there's something else. Pain. His stomach knots up and his jaw tightens. Why the fuck does he care what this woman thinks of him?
"Harvey?"
It's not the first time Mike tries to get his attention, but this time it comes with a shake of the shoulder that rouses him.
"We're done here," Harvey grumbles as he heads toward the locker room leaving Mike scrambling for something to say. He stops and turns before he's out of earshot. "When you go meet that girlfriend of yours later, pass along a message for me, will you."
Mike swallows and nods knowing it's not a request.
"Tell her, Donna Paulsen better have her bags packed. That second-rate theater will be mine by the end of the week."
~oOo~
As soon as he's out of the shower he pours himself a double of Macallan.
Turns out the exercise was a bad call. It was the liquor he needed all along. He sits on the leather sofa, fire crackling, and boots up his laptop. Scottie is out of town on business and the only chance he has at saving this fuck fest of a day is an email from you know who.
And when his inbox shows a new message waiting, he smiles for the first time today.
This fight of yours at work sounds like it might end up being a hollow victory. You seem conflicted by it like it's not sitting right with you. Is it that winning will come at too high a cost? Or is it the nature of the win that's bothering you? I don't know. I'm surmising based on the few clues you've given me, but if achieving your end goal feels more like a loss, then it's not really a win at all.
I can totally see the appeal of boxing. Keeping fit, relieving stress and tension, pretending you're pummeling the asshole that's pissed you off that day. Sign me up! If nothing else, it would give me the edge at the next Hermes sale.
It's too early to say whether my day has been better. The jury is still out. But I am feeling more positive. I'm definitely out of my comfort zone here, but I've taken your advice, and I'm doing something about my situation. I'm still backed into a corner, and I may not have a bigger gun, but I have a few concealed weapons my enemy was not previously aware of, and I'm using them. I'll let you know how this gunfight ends.
Of course Remy is the boss of you. He's had you wrapped around his paw right from the start. And that's as it should be.
Give him a squeeze from me.
~ Theatergirl
~oOo~
How about a pat on the head? For Rembrandt, not me. I don't really do squeezing.
I'm glad to hear you aren't taking this work thing lying down. At least if you fight it with all you've got, and it still doesn't work out, you know it wasn't for lack of trying.
There is a lot of truth in your surmisation about my situation, but no shop talk for me tonight. I'm burying my stress in overpriced Scotch and can't bear to think about work for another second.
This probably sounds terrible, but sometimes I kind of enjoy other people's problems. It helps me focus less on my own.
A co-worker of mine, well a friend I guess, is head over heels for this girl he met recently. He fell hard for her from day one, and I am fairly certain that at this very moment, while I'm typing these words, his plane is going down in flames with no chance of survival.
He can be so naive I actually feel a little bad for him. He let his emotions run free with a girl he didn't really know at all, and it turns out she's the enemy. Or… he is. Either way, he's fucked.
Kids these days.
~ NYC_901
~oOo~
Harvey didn't hear back from Theatergirl for days. He'd assumed she was as overwhelmed as he was dealing with her business. He'd buried himself in doing what needed to be done to finalize the last steps for the megaplex, and from the way she'd talked about the fight she was up against, he was certain it was taking a lot of effort to stay ahead of it.
Mike had been in a pissy mood ever since his date with the girl from the theater. Apparently, she actually asked him for legal advice on how they might beat this thing with Giannopoulos, which made it ten times worse when Mike had to tell her that would definitely fall under a 'conflict of interest', considering he worked for Pearson Specter. There was no drink to the face, but from the way he was sulking around the office, he may have preferred that to the response he got instead. Harvey didn't ask for the details. Actually, he didn't ask about it at all, but that didn't stop Mike from talking his ear off. It never does.
It's late Thursday night when his mailbox finally alerts him of a new message.
I need your help.
I've given it my all. I swear I have. I've used every weapon in my arsenal, came out fighting all guns blazing and while I'm sure I may have scored a few hits, I've learned today that in the end, it all pretty much made no difference.
And to make matters worse, I've just met with a close friend who was hoping to help me with a last-ditch legal challenge, but her news was not good. That's actually an understatement. Her plan turned to shit. A complete clusterfuck. So much so, that I spent most of the conversation consoling her because she was so upset thinking she'd let me down. Which of course she hadn't.
Anyway, I think you might be my last hope.
So, do you still want to meet?
~ Theatergirl
~oOo~
I would love to meet you. When? Where?
~ NYC_901
~oOo~
"How are you going to know which one she is?" Mike is nearly bouncing with anticipation as he and Harvey walk to the coffee shop where he's set to meet Theatergirl.
"Table in the back right corner." Harvey wipes his palms on his jacket. His hands don't get sweaty. Why the fuck he is so nervous? "She said it's her spot."
"Charming. Or weird?" Mike chews on his lower lip thoughtfully. "What if she's like some kind of germaphobe? Like, she has really severe OCD and she has to turn the handle three times every time she opens a door." Mike nods, letting the possibility sink in.
"Maybe she just likes the view from the corner," Harvey responds with an eye roll. "It's a moot point anyway, Mike. We are just getting together to see if I can help with some business issues she's having."
"Ahhhh. You mean she likes to watch people." Mike completely ignores the rationalization. "Like maybe she has some creepy stalker vibe and the minute she gets you in her clutches she's going to go all Fatal Attraction on you?"
"Seriously, Mike. You watch way too much Netflix."
"Wait." Mike grabs Harvey's arm. "Seriously, Harvey. Hold on."
Harvey shakes his arm free, but he does stop. "What, Mike? You're going to make me late."
"What if she's one of your exes? I mean not an ex-ex, because Scottie is the only girl you've really dated in years, but you have slept with quite a few," he pauses, "I mean, chances are high she could be one of them." Mike's eyebrows lift as he tilts his head to one side.
"For Christ's sake, Mike." Harvey starts walking again, but there is a small seed of fear now planting its roots.
"You should at least prepare yourself for it." Mike quickens his pace to close the gap. "And the worst-case scenario is you don't recognize her, but she remembers you!"
Harvey pinches his eyes shut at the thought. It certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd had that awkward encounter. But he pushes the idea away as quickly as it comes. If he'd ever been with a woman like Theatergirl, there's no way he'd forget her.
"Listen, Mike," Harvey's voice is confident and unwavering as they stand at the crosswalk just two blocks from the coffee shop. "I've spent the last several weeks talking at length with this woman. I feel like I know her better than some people I've known my entire life. She's not compulsive, or a voyeur, and she's definitely not an ex."
"Fine," Mike concedes. "But she still might be ugly."
Harvey furrows his brow. The reality of that possibility bothers him more than he cares to admit.
"Shit," he says when they reach the steps to the corner shop.
"What?" Mike looks around and then at his watch. "You're right on time."
"It's not that," Harvey grumbles.
"You're nervous!" Mike covers his grin with his hand. "Harvey fucking Specter is nervous to meet a girl."
"I'm not nervous! I just never even considered that she might not be attractive." Harvey paces back and forth. "You know what? It doesn't even matter. We're only meeting as friends anyway. A guy can have ugly friends. I have you, don't I?"
"Hilarious. Really. But I'm not buying that for one second. Tell you what." Mike snaps. "I'll go in, take a quick look. If she's hideous, you just keep walking. Delete all your emails. Start ghosting her. People do it all the time."
"I'm not going to ghost her, Mike!"
"You have no idea what that even means, do you?"
"Just shut up and go take a look."
Mike heads up the concrete steps and into the coffee shop. The small bell on the door signaling his entrance.
Harvey paces, hands stuffed deep into his coat pocket. The thought crosses his mind to step up on the edge of the planter, see if he can get a peek inside. But before he gets up the never, he hears the jingle of the small bell, and Mike resurfaces. The expression on his face is a mix of nausea and constipation.
"Oh. God." Harvey's voice cracks. "What is it? What's the matter with her?"
"Are you certain she said, back right corner?" Mike stays a few feet from Harvey, perched on the steps like he's not sure he wants to let him pass. "Maybe you misheard?"
"She definitely said back right corner, Mike." Harvey takes a step toward his friend, his stomach feeling uneasy all of sudden. "She's twice my age, isn't she? I knew she was way too mature and smart to be under fifty."
"Oh, it's not her age. She looks about your age."
"So, she's not attractive?" Harvey exhales. Clenches and then releases his jaw. "It doesn't matter. It's about who she is on the inside." Harvey takes the first step toward the door and Mike steps back on. Still keeping himself between Harvey and the building.
"Oh, no. It's not that either," Mike's voice is tentative. "She's attractive alright."
"I knew it!" Harvey's eyes light up. "I knew she would be."
"She actually, um… " Mike hesitates and looks back over his shoulder and through the window decorated in Christmas lights and festive paint. "She reminds me of… Donna Paulsen."
Harvey steps backward off the first step. His eyes search Mike's with trepidation. "Well," he stammers, clearly caught off guard by the comparison, "Donna Paulsen is beautiful, there's no arguing that." He steps back up as if he's soothed his own apprehension. "As long as she doesn't have her personality, I am perfectly fine with it." He steps up again so he and Mike are nearly toe to toe.
"Well, I can tell you this, Harvey." Mike puts a hand on his friend's shoulder. "If you don't like Donna Paulsen… you are definitely not going to like this girl."
"Why not?" Harvey's eyes darken as he focuses them intensely on Mike.
"Because she is Donna Paulsen."
Harvey stands motionless. He doesn't speak, not with words, but the shock is written clearly on his face. Then with a sudden burst of energy, he nearly throws Mike down the steps as he uses his shoulder to get leverage, pushing past him to the front window. Squinting his eyes, he peers through the coffee shop, past the socializing customers and wait staff. When his line of sight finally clears, he sees her. Back right corner. Long red waves of shiny hair encompassing her porcelain face and dark green eyes. His heart sinks.
He stands motionless and just watches for several seconds before turning and walking down the steps to the street.
"What are you going to do?" Mike offers. His voice is soft and full of concern for his friend.
"Nothing." It's barely audible.
"What do you mean, nothing?" Mike shakes his head.
"I mean, nothing." Harvey starts to walk back in the direction they came from and leaves Mike stuttering on the curb behind him. "Call a cab, Mike. Shows over."
Mike grabs his arm to stop him. "You can't just leave her sitting in there, Harvey." He says to his friend's back, "You do realize she's still Theatergirl. That's still the girl you fell for! You can't just walk away."
Harvey yanks his arm free. "I said, call a fucking cab."
He doesn't turn around. He doesn't look back. He just walks and walks and walks.
How could he have missed this? How in God's name could have been so clueless?
Little by little, as he walks through the bitter wind, he begins putting all the pieces together. A troubled business under attack. The legacy of her mother and grandmother tugging at her heartstrings. His advice to make it personal and fight for what is hers, followed immediately by picketing and news appearances where Donna damn Paulsen calls him out by name. What a moron he'd been not to see it.
"Her tag is Theatergirl for fucks sake!" He hadn't meant to say it out loud, much less loud enough to get a strange look from the homeless man seated against the building where he waits to cross the street. She had mentioned early on that her grandmother loved taking her to the theater as a girl, so he'd always just connected the name to that.
Harvey goes through the entire gamut of emotions while walking aimlessly in no particular direction. Anger is probably the most prominent. At least early on. He feels like a fool, it's true, but it runs deeper than that. It feels like something precious has been stolen from him. Torn from his grasp without warning. Even though they'd never met in person, she'd meant something to him. And he to her.
And that carries him to his next emotion. Resentment. In Harvey Specter's world, when things don't go the way he wants them to, someone is to blame. And while deep down he knows this is as much his fault as hers, he's running too hot to be rational. This is all her fault. Somehow she caused this mess and he was just caught up in it. Period.
The bitterness doesn't last long though. His pace has been quick and steady and despite the freezing temperature, he gives in to the need to remove his coat. When the chilling breeze cuts through his sweater, the claustrophobic tightness in his chest eases, and with it, the negative emotions that are consuming him.
Up next. Regret.
Harvey stands looking across the street at the café. Somehow he's wound up right back where he started. Because for every irritating real-life detail that now seems clear as day, there is a memory of an online one. An uncharacteristic smile. A hearty laugh. A sense of warmth from Theatergirl's kind words, or the way he consistently looked forward to connecting with her at the end of a long day.
Before he can change his mind, he crosses the street, heads back up the steps, and pushes through the door with the jingle of the bell.
His heart breaks a little when he lays his eyes on her. She's been waiting all this time. Her nose in a book, anticipating the arrival of a caring friend. He's over an hour late now, and she will only be more disappointed at the sight of him.
"Well, if it isn't Donna Paulsen," he does his best to keep his voice steady and light, "my biggest fan."
The look on her face when she sees him stings more than cares to admit.
"Your biggest fan is yourself." She says flatly. "You also happen to be your only fan."
"Now that's not true. Not the second part anyway. My dog is a huge fan, especially at supper time." He pulls back the chair across from her. "Mind if I sit?"
"Yes, actually." Donna's back straightens in surprise. "I'm expecting someone!"
"Well, I'll just sit until he arrives." Harvey takes a seat and then eyes the book she's holding. The smile that spreads across his face is one of genuine pleasure. "Pride and Prejudice?" He slides the book toward him and makes Donna gasp. "I'm guessing this someone you're expecting is of a romantic nature?"
"Hey!" Donna's pitch shows her irritation. "Give me that. What could you possibly know about romance?" She pulls the book away from him and he laughs.
"Well, I know about the wonderful Mr. Darcy and the love of his life, Elizabeth Bennet."
He shocks her with that one and he begins to think this evening may not go as poorly as he thought.
"You've read Pride and Prejudice?" Her eyes are wide and skeptical.
"I think you'd discover there's a lot about me that would surprise you if you got to know me."
"I can think of nothing I'd like less than to get to know you, Mr. Specter."
And on second thought, it may go exactly as he thought.
"Can I get you something?" The waiter appears out of nowhere and addresses Harvey.
"No," Donna spits out. "He's not staying."
"A coffee, please. Two sugars and a splash of Vanilla."
Harvey speaks over her and the irritation on her face is evident when the waiter goes to fetch his coffee.
The bell on the front door rings and Donna's face lights up in anticipation as she looks over his shoulder. She doesn't catch the shadow that passes over his.
"That him?" Harvey teases. "He's a little young."
The boy looks to be about twelve and Donna isn't amused at his attempt to be funny.
"Your date must be running pretty late. Looks like you've been here quite a while." He gestures toward the several empty tea wrappers on the table. "You two in some kind of romance book club together? Do guys usually stand girls up in romance novels?"
Donna furrows her brow and her lips turn downward into a pout that Harvey finds both endearing and sexy as hell. He hadn't come in here to give her a hard time, but she just seems to bring it out in him so naturally. Honestly, he's got no idea what he came in here to do.
"The man who is meeting me here tonight would never stand me up!" Her eyes bore into him with such hatred he fights the instinct to hide his face. "He is warm. And kind. And… thoughtful. If he doesn't make it here tonight, then he has a perfectly good reason." Donna looks down to her folded hands on the table as a soft smile tugs at her lips. "Because he doesn't have a hurtful bone in his body. He understands how to make a person feel special. Important. Valued." Her eyes look back to his, any hint of a smile forgotten. "Which is far more than I can say for you."
"Correct me if I'm mistaken, Ms. Paulsen." Harvey's thorns begin to surface, a completely typical reaction for him when his character is called into question. She had both complimented him and insulted him in the same sentence. The loss of the way Theatergirl viewed NYC_901 cuts far deeper than he's prepared for. "It was you who bashed me on public television." He takes a drink from the coffee that was just placed in front of him, letting that reality sink in before he continues. "I am simply a lawyer, hired to do a job for my client. As I told you before, it was never meant to be personal." His eyes lift from the table to rest on hers. "It was you that did that."
Donna scoffs in disbelief, but he can see he's struck a chord. She's speechless. He knows he's not playing fair. Not by a long shot. He was the one who had given her the advice to go after him in the first place. But Harvey Specter has never been one to play fair. And maybe she's right. Maybe he is nothing like NYC after all. Maybe it was all just pretend.
"Don't you dare try to turn this around on me." Donna's voice is thick and trembles just enough to make him swallow. "You know very well it was personal for me." Her hands clench into fists on the table like she's trying to keep from slugging him with them. "First you took my father's livelihood, robbed him of his life's work, for what? A measly bonus check you probably blew the very next day on a high-priced hooker and a bottle of booze?"
Harvey actually winces at that. She's upped her insult game and he's grateful for it. Better she focuses on hating him than on losing a man she thought she could count on. He's about to offer a rebuttal but she doesn't give him the chance.
"But that wasn't enough. It's never enough for you heartless, corporate bastards in your high-rise glass towers and thousand-dollar suits. There is always more money to be made. Another deal to close. And it's not your fault that some, what were the words your protégé used on your behalf, second rate theater happens to be the only piece left of a dream passed on through generations!" The bitterness coursing through her is palpable and Harvey can certainly feel the power of it. "You're just doing your job!"
He doesn't respond. He just sits there blinking at her while his insides churn and lash about like a raging sea.
"I'd like you to leave now." Her voice, cold. Her eyes, hollow as she looks past him to the door.
He hears the words but doesn't move or acknowledge her request in any way.
"Please," she drags her eyes back to him, "just go." This time her request is more like a desperate plea than an angry demand"
Harvey finds the strength to stand. His legs wobble beneath him, but no one could ever tell. He stands tall, his face like steel, void of emotion despite the pain raging in his core.
For a brief moment, he considers telling her the truth. At least then, she wouldn't have to deal with the rejection of being stood up. But when he weighs that disappointment against the heartache of finding out that her Mr. Darcy is actually the villain and not the hero… he decides against it. It's the least he can do.
And for the second time that night, he walks away without the smallest backward glance.