A/N: A big fat thank you to all you lovely people that have left a review. Every one means so much to us. Please keep those reviews coming, they fuel our creative juices. Thank you to Aimee and Stef for all their help and support with this chapter.
I hope you enjoy
Jo xx
You've Got Mail
Chapter 7
~oOo~
"He stood you up?" Rachel looks at Donna, appalled. Shock and disbelief evident on her face.
"I wouldn't put it that way."
Louis snorts. "He arranged to meet you, he never showed. That's the definition of standing someone up."
Donna casts him a withering look. She doesn't need him to point out the obvious. She's still smarting and somewhat defensive. The humiliation she felt sitting in that cafe last night remains fresh and raw. She'd managed to avoid the subject by simply dodging her friends all day, but they're now at Rachel's apartment, having dinner. They'd both insisted on keeping their regular fortnightly 'girls night', on the basis that she needs their moral support. Which she supposes is true, but she suspects their insistence really comes from a desire to get all the details of her failed date with NYC_901.
"Maybe he got held up?" Rachel suggests, clearly sensing Donna's discomfort.
"Then why hasn't he emailed her?"
"Maybe something happened to him and he's got no access to his laptop?"
"Everyone has access to some kind of technology these days. He could send a quick message on his phone," Louis continues, oblivious to how much he's rubbing salt into Donna's wounds.
"Not if he's in a coma!" Rachel snaps.
"Guys, please. Don't argue." Donna rubs her temple.
Louis and Rachel exchange a look before directing their sympathetic gazes back in her direction. It just makes her feel worse.
"How long did you wait for him?" Rachel asks gently.
Donna sighs. "I don't know. Maybe an hour. But then Harvey Specter turned up."
Louis gasps and Rachel spits out her wine. "What the hell! You're only telling us this now?"
Louis has a hand across his chest, his eyes wide. "What, pray God, was that reprehensible yet also devastatingly handsome brute doing there?"
Rachel rolls her eyes. "Really, Louis?"
He shrugs. "Specter may be an asshole, but he's an aesthetically pleasing one."
Both women shake their heads.
"I don't really want to talk about it," Donna mumbles, the color rising in her cheeks as she recalls their painful conversation. She averts her attention to her plate, scooping up a forkful of creamed potatoes.
"Oh no, what did he say this time?" Rachel asks.
Louis leans forward, his eyes sparkling with anger. "If he called our theater second rate again, I'll march up to those goddamn offices and make those sons of bitches rue the day they ever dared cross swords with us. Handsome or not, Specter's just asking to get Litt up!"
Donna shakes her head and swallows her food. The lump in her throat makes the action difficult, but it has nothing to do with Rachel's culinary skills.
"No, he didn't mention the theater. Unfortunately, he clocked straight away that I was waiting for someone who was running very late, so he just teased me about that."
"Heartless bastard," Louis cries, throwing his napkin down on the table. "Please tell me you told him to go screw himself."
"Pretty much," Donna says, pinching her lips, her stomach churning as she remembers how she laid into him. "I let him have both barrels. Accused him of being a corporate monster who destroys lives for a quick buck."
"What did he say?" Rachel asks, looking worried.
"He defended himself, of course. He stated he'd done nothing wrong, he was just doing his job and I was the one making it personal."
Louis inhales sharply. "I'm sorry, say that again, because my ears are a little clogged with rage."
"I know. The nerve, right? Anyway, I don't wanna talk about him. And before you ask any more questions, I don't wanna talk about NYC_901 either."
Louis scowls. "But—"
"He didn't show. I don't know why. That's all there is to say about it." She can see Louis practically frothing at the mouth to probe further, so she adds, "Maybe he turned up, took one look at me, and decided to bail."
"Impossible," Louis scoffs. "You're a goddess."
She tilts her head, and gives him a warm but weak smile, reaching across the table to lay a hand over his. "Thank you, Louis. I appreciate that. But can we leave it for now? I may never know the reason and I can't afford to dwell on it."
She knows that she's kidding herself. She's done nothing but dwell on it since last night. NYC_901's no show, and then her whole encounter with Harvey Specter has been on constant rotation in her mind ever since she watched his retreating form leave the cafe.
She takes a deep breath. "What I did want to mention to you two, before speaking to the rest of the troupe, is that I've had a court order today, informing me that I am responsible for maintaining safe access to my theater once the development is underway, and if I don't make all the necessary provisions, then the theater will be forcibly closed."
"What?" Rachel sputters. "But surely Giannopoulos is responsible for that, it's his development?"
"You'd think, wouldn't you? But apparently not. You should see the stipulations for what I would have to put in place to make access safe for the public. The cost would be more than the theater turns over in a year."
"That makes no sense," Rachel exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration.
Louis looks apoplectic. "Of course it does, Rachel. Dr. Evil and his Mini-me at Pearson Specter have obviously worked their machiavellian magic and somehow managed to bend the rules and twist the law to their advantage, as per their modus operandi. I bet Specter upped the ante when Donna told him where he could shove his clients' development last night."
Donna shakes her head. "No, the court order was sent before I saw him last night."
Rachel looks mortified. The mention of Harvey Specter's 'Mini-me' is a reminder that Donna is not the only one to fall foul of the infamous duo.
"Do you think my fallout with Mike might have prompted them to do something so underhand?"
"No, Rachel. Please don't think that. Despite working for Pearson Specter and withholding that fact from you, from what you told me about him, my gut says that Mike Ross really liked you. In fact, I'd wager he regrets how everything has turned out just as much as you. It's unlikely he would do this to spite you."
"Maybe." Rachel scowls. "He's still an asshole though." She stabs her chicken florentine with vigor. Donna knows that her friend's anger toward Harvey Specter's associate is as potent as it is because she liked him a hell of a lot, too.
Silence falls around the table. The three friends toy with their food as they all mull over the current shitty situation.
It's Louis that finally mumbles the question no one wants to ask.
"Is this it then? Is it over?"
Donna wipes her mouth on her napkin, picks up her wine, and leans back in her chair.
"Well… The situation is, I'm the last business standing. I've failed to stop the development. Building work is about to start, and now I have this court order which Pearson Specter knows I can't comply with. The way I see it, my only chance now is to make a last-ditch appeal to the man himself."
"Giannopoulos?" Rachel asks, her eyebrows lift in surprise, but her shoulders drop in accepted defeat.
Donna nods then shrugs. "That's all I've got left. Unless you two have any bright ideas."
Their silence confirms what she already knows. This is her last Hail Mary.
"Giannopoulos it is then. God help me."
~oOo~
Dear NYC_901,
Last night, I went to meet you. I waited, but you never came.
I wish I knew why.
Did something serious happen to prevent you from being there? I've not heard from you since, so I admit, I'm a little worried. Are you okay?
Of course, the alternative is that you are fine, but you just decided not to come. I hope that's not the case. I felt so foolish. Especially as, while I waited, a man showed up. Not just any man either, but the man that has recently been making my life a misery. Remember him? The 'bag of dicks' I think you referred to him as. The one who belittled my existence? It couldn't have been worse timing.
I'm ashamed to say, I lashed out. This time I didn't stutter or stumble. I said exactly what I wanted to say to this man and it was cathartic. But afterward, I regretted it. You might think I'm ridiculous. After all, this man has been nothing but an arrogant asshole to me. But here's the thing. I like to think I'm someone who can stand her ground, defend herself and not take any shit from anyone. But in this instance, I went too far. I was cruel. And I'm never cruel. There was something in his demeanor that made me realize that what I said to him hurt. And while my words shouldn't matter to him, after all, I'm just another bug to be crushed in his eyes, I was left sitting there in that cafe with the distinct impression that I'd wounded him. Deeply. And I felt terrible.
Anyway, even though this form of communication of ours might seem strange to some, after all, we've mostly talked about a whole lot of nothing. I just wanted to say that all this 'nothing' has meant more to me than so many 'somethings'.
So, in case I never hear from you again. I just wanted to say... thanks.
~ Theatergirl
~oOo~
Donna has been sitting waiting for over two hours.
She knows it's deliberate. A ploy to make her squirm. If the smug smirk that Tony Giannopolous' blonde, busty, and perfectly coiffed secretary keeps throwing her way every now and then didn't highlight this to her, the mere fact that he agreed to see her at all, tells her what she already suspects.
The billionaire has no intention of yielding one inch. He just wants to rub in the fact that he won, and she lost. He wants to watch her beg and then take immense pleasure from refusing her pleas. He hasn't agreed to her taking up five minutes of his 'Oh so precious' time out of the goodness of his heart. She's pretty sure he doesn't have one. He has no intention of giving her a chance to make her case. He just wants those five minutes to crow.
She's met men like him before. Arrogant, cold, ruthless, and seriously lacking any compassion. She knows this is a lost cause. She also knows that when she is finally invited into his lair, the experience will be nothing but humiliating. But she's going to do it anyway. Just as she explained to Louis and Rachel last night, this is her one last chance of saving her grandmother's theater. And nothing, not Tony's derision, not the minuscule almost non-existent chance of a reprieve, and certainly not her shattered pride is going to stop her from this last-ditch effort.
If she's going to lose everything, she needs to be able to look herself in the mirror and know that she did everything she could. It's this thought that keeps her sitting on the leather sofa in the plush waiting area outside his penthouse office. It's also what enables her to smile sweetly back at Tony's pristine Stepford wife bitch secretary.
The intercom buzzes for the hundredth time, and with a wry smile, Ms. Betty Draper wannabe picks up the phone receiver with her perfectly manicured hand and listens to the voice on the other end.
She glances at Donna and her mouth turns up in the slightest of sneers. "Yes, sir. Right away."
Replacing the receiver she smiles insincerely at Donna. "Mr. Giannopolous will see you now."
"Thank you," Donna answers, returning the fake smile twofold.
Tony Giannopolous' office is exactly as she expects it to be. A vast bold open space in monochrome. Black marble, glass, and steel. It's almost clinical, it's so cold and void of any color or warmth. The floor-to-ceiling windows that wrap around the entirety of the corner office give the space light but also give the unsettling feeling that you're perched on a precipice, about to be cast over the edge into the abyss. Just to accentuate that impression, situated in the far corner against the backdrop of the New York City skyline is a gargantuan black mirrored desk. It's like an altar, the point at which lesser beings like herself must kneel before.
The malevolent God himself sits behind it, fingers steepled under his chin, his expression nonchalant save for the curled lip that conveys his disdain and condescension for the woman who stands before him.
Instead of greeting her, he waits, eyebrow quirked in amusement. They both know why she is here, and right from the off, her expectations are met. He's going to make this as awkward and as uncomfortable for her as possible.
Donna decides right there and then, she will do what she came here to do, but she won't play by his rules, and she certainly won't let this egotistical tyrant intimidate her. She straightens her back, lifts her chin, and awards him her warmest smile.
"Mr. Giannopolous, thank you for agreeing to see me."
He doesn't say anything.
Donna steps forward. "Do you mind if I take a seat?"
He smirks. "You really won't be here long enough, Miss Paulsen." He makes a show of looking at his Breguet Classique watch. "You have four minutes left."
Donna bats her eyelashes. "That's all I need." She takes a steadying breath and maintaining eye contact the whole time, she launches into her well-rehearsed speech.
"I know that the West Village development is due to go ahead. I also know that there is nothing I can do to stop it. But I believe that regardless, there is a solution to our current situation. One that could see us both winning. I note from your architectural plans drawn up by Mr. Thomas Kessler, that within the extensive and ambitious schematics of your entertainment multiplex, you plan to build an arts center. One that will incorporate gallery space, workshop areas, venues for musical performances, and most importantly, a theater. My proposal would be that rather than knock my theater down and spend more money building this center, incorporate my theater within it. With help from Mr. Kessler, we could adapt my building to blend in with your development and provide the same facilities that the arts center would have. We could—"
Giannopolous slowly spins his chair to face the window, so that Donna is talking to his back. To further make his point, he yawns. An exaggerated, almost theatrical yawn that would have been too over the top even for one of her stage performances.
Donna exhales with a sigh. His reaction is expected but still disappointing. The man is a pompous ass. And with her last hope just extinguished by his obvious dismissal, she really has nothing left to give but call him out on it.
"I take it from your childish and unprofessional behavior that you are too pigheaded to even listen to what I am proposing and consider that my idea could actually make you a lot of money."
Tony starts to chuckle. It's a dark and condescending laugh, void of any real humor. He turns back to face her and she takes a step back. His eyes are full of anger.
"Do you have any idea how rich I am, Miss Paulsen? Do you think I got where I am today by not knowing exactly how to make a lot of money? Do you actually believe that your dump of a theater has any place in my upmarket, chic, and stylish new development? If so, you are as delusional as you are stupid."
"How dare you—"
"No, Miss Donna Paulsen. How dare you. You slur my name, you picket outside my office, outside my lawyers' offices. You attack me on television, and when you finally begin to realize that this pathetic resistance of yours is futile, you have the audacity to come to my office and present a worthless pitch that even my five-year-old nephew would scoff at."
Donna clenches her fists and breathes in deeply in a bid to keep calm. She's just about reached her limit with this despicable man.
"You may have an obscene amount of money, Mr. Giannopolous, but I wouldn't call you rich. To be rich means that you have people in your life that care about you, that love you unconditionally, and that have your back no matter what. I'm fortunate that I have that in abundance. Friends and family that love me dearly. From the moment I arrived at your sterile office, it's been plain to me that in that regard, you are far from a wealthy man."
Tony just laughs. "Thank you for the amateur psychoanalysis. But, I can assure you, I'm doing just fine. However, as money has so little value to you, I'm guessing you can't afford any of the structural changes that the court order, engineered so cleverly by my lawyer, instructed you to make. Which means you'll be forced to close by the end of the week anyway. I, therefore, suggest you take your pretty little head out of my office and march yourself down to Pearson Specter and eat some humble pie. If you don't sign on the dotted line by the end of the day, my offer is gone, and you will lose your theater and have no money to show for it. Now get out!"
Donna stares at him, hatred coursing through her veins. The desire to leap over his glossy desk and throttle the callous bastard is strong. But adding an assault charge to her woes is the last thing she needs.
So instead, she simply turns on her heel. As she reaches the door to his office, he fires one last fatal zinger.
"Oh, and Miss Paulsen. When you do pay Harvey Specter a visit, you'll find that my initial offer has been amended. I'll only be paying you a fraction of the sum that your fellow West Village business owners graciously accepted. Take it as recompense for the slur campaign you waged against me. Only fair, don't you think?"
She doesn't answer, she just walks out and doesn't look back. His laughter echoed by the walls of his stark office.
~oOo~
"You sure you don't want me to come in with you? For moral support?"
"I'm certain, Rach. I need to do this on my own."
"I just hate the idea of you marching into the lion's den. Just the thought of you facing Harvey Specter on your own makes my stomach sick."
Donna reaches out and hugs her friend. "I'll be fine. I probably won't see him anyway." She pulls back and awards Rachel a confident smile she doesn't feel. "It'll be one of his many minions no doubt. I'm too inconsequential and definitely below his paygrade to spare me any of his time."
Rachel shakes her head, her eyes filling with tears. She quickly swipes them away. "I'm sorry, I promised I'd be strong for you. Especially after the meltdown you've already suffered from Louis."
Donna sighs. She'd broken the news to her two friends that she had decided to sell the Bobbie Byrne Theater the moment she returned from her disastrous trip to Giannopoulos' office. Louis had reacted exactly as she'd expected. He'd stomped, yelled, thrown a few things, and then burst into tears. Sobbing even more when he'd tried to seek comfort from Bruno, his Maine Coone, only for the cat to metaphorically give him the middle finger and evade his clutches. She swears that the evil cat gave her a smirk to rival Tony's as it had sauntered out of Louis' living room.
"I'm sorry that you'll now be out of a job," Donna says ruefully.
Rachel waves a hand. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me." She looks up at the tall impressive offices of Pearson Specter. "Are you certain you want to do this alone, Donna?"
"Absolutely. And I really do need to go in there now and get this done. I just want it over with. Like ripping off a band-aid."
They hug once more, this one a tighter and more heartfelt squeeze.
"Whatever happens in there, Louis was right. You are a goddess. So you go in there and hold your head high. Show Pearson Specter what you're made of. Remember, you're Donna, and you're awesome!"
"Thanks, Rach."
On autopilot, she makes her way into the building. She signs in at the desk, she hears herself give the reason for her visit to the building security officer. When the elevator doors open on the 50th floor, she strolls steadily towards the receptionist desk and dutifully takes a seat as instructed.
She's partly numb. Resigned to her fate, she just wants this painful moment to be over. But her encounter with Tony this morning has left her scarred, and the last thing her fragile ego can take right now is the potential for more condescension from Harvey Specter.
She looks around the busy office as she waits. Like Giannopoulos Corporation, the space is swanky, sophisticated, and clearly expensive. But unlike Tony's offices, there's warmth here. Which surprises her for a corporate law firm. Observing people as she does, the hustle and bustle, the brief conversations as people pass her by, she gets the sense that the company is more like a family. There's ambition and no doubt a lot of ruthlessness too, but there's also camaraderie and an atmosphere that speaks of teamwork.
"Miss Paulsen?"
Donna is shaken from her thoughts and she looks up into the brilliant blue eyes of the man she remembers seeing faux boxing with Harvey Specter. He's handsome, in a boyish way, and despite the icy color of his eyes, they convey warmth. He seems friendly, if not a little nervous. Which should be strange considering the power dynamic at play, but then she instantly deduces who this man is.
"Mike Ross?"
He looks a little taken aback, but he smiles, nods, and holds out his hand for her to shake. She obliges and returns his smile.
"It's a pleasure to meet you." His tone is genuine, and Donna instantly feels a little less anxious. He holds his hand out towards the corridor. "Would you like to follow me?"
Donna nods, rises, and the two of them walk a short distance to a small conference room. The walls are glass so there's little visible privacy, but once again the space is warm and inviting.
As Donna takes a seat, Mike asks, "Can I get you a drink? A coffee, some water?"
"A glass of water would be great, thanks."
He pours a glass from a jug on a nearby tray and she notes a slight tremble in his hand. Interesting.
"Are you the person I'm to deal with today, Mr. Ross?"
"I am. And please call me Mike."
Donna bites her lip. "I thought Mr. Specter might want to take the opportunity to gloat about the fact that he did indeed take my second rate theater, even though it took slightly longer than the week he predicted it would take."
Mike pauses at her words before turning and passing her the glass of water. He sits down opposite her, smoothing his tie as he does so.
"Would you believe me if I told you that Harvey… Mr. Specter... takes no pleasure in the loss of your theater."
Donna eyes him shrewdly. "Not really, no."
Mike nods slowly. "That's fair, considering all that's happened. But, I can promise you that is the case, and he won't be coming in here to gloat."
Donna looks away and swallows. "Well, that's something, I guess," she mumbles.
"I also just wanted to say, how sorry I am. I know this was never about money for you, and I realize that this must be incredibly difficult for you to be here today. I hope that—"
"Mr. Ross—"
"Mike…"
"Mike!..." She says his name through gritted teeth. "While I'm sure you have a very pretty speech prepared, full of platitudes and words of comfort designed to make you sleep better at night, and maybe, just maybe, you really do believe that those words will make me feel better, let me save you the trouble by asking you not to bother. Just give me the damn papers to sign, so that I can leave this place as soon as possible."
Mike swallows and has the decency to flush a deep shade of scarlet.
"Okay."
He opens a folder and removes several documents. He places them in front of Donna and begins to run through all the legalese she's not really interested in hearing but knows he has to point out. As he talks she doesn't look at the documents but gazes past his shoulder and out into the open office space beyond. As she scans the humdrum of corporate activity, her spidey sense suddenly kicks in and the hairs stand up on the back of her neck.
She feels him watching her before she spots him. At the end of the corridor appears to be a grand corner office. Suddenly Mike's voice fades away to a distant hum, for there Harvey Specter stands, still as a statue. He's in the doorway of that office, his back ramrod straight, his hands in his pockets. He's without a jacket, wearing a perfectly fitted vest over a crisp collared shirt and signature fat tie. He looks incredible. Imposing. Master of all he surveys. But it's not his appearance that has her pulse racing. It's the way he's looking at her.
Intense doesn't quite cover it.
Her heart is suddenly beating chaotically, banging against her ribcage like a panicked bird. She looks away, feeling burned by his piercing gaze.
"... So if you're still certain that you don't want your own lawyer to read everything over, then you just need to sign here, and here, and then again here." Mike's voice comes back into focus like a radio that's been out of signal suddenly jolted back in tune.
Donna looks up at Mike with a stunned expression. She feels bamboozled. What the hell is wrong with her? All the man did was look at her across an office and she's totally blindsided. Her pulse is racing, Mike might as well be talking in Swahili, and she doesn't even want to contemplate the party that's just broken out in her panties. What is that all about? The man causing her current deranged state is public enemy number two. He was number one, but that title got passed to his son of a bitch client earlier this morning.
"Miss Paulsen?"
Donna shakes her head and blinks as though to clear her mind. "Sorry." She picks up the pen and begins signing. Just as she completes the last signature she spots something on the last document that causes her to pause.
"Hang on a second. I think there's been a mistake here."
Mike frowns. "Oh? I don't think so. I checked over the details. Believe me, I'd know if there was an error," he says with a knowing smile.
Donna narrows her eyes. She points at a number at the top of the page. "What's this figure then?"
Mike looks over at where she's pointing. She notes his mouth twitch and a flicker of understanding in his eyes, which he immediately schools over. "That's the settlement figure Mr. Giannopolous agreed for your property."
"No, it isn't."
"Er... yes it is."
"No… it isn't."
Mike purses his lips and shuffles another document out from the file in front of him. "This here is a copy of the original offer letter sent to you. As you can see, there is the figure Giannopoulos Corporation offered. It matches the sum set out in this contract, here."
Donna leans back and studies the man carefully. He's looking at her with an innocent expression, but Donna knows it's bullshit. Mike Ross knows exactly what she's asking and why.
"Yes, you're right, Mike. However, Mr. Giannopolous made it quite clear to me today that the amount he would now be offering for my property is substantially reduced. So please explain to me why that hasn't happened."
Mike collects the signed documents from the desk and places them back in the folder.
"I assure you, Miss Paulsen, the papers you just signed are correct. The original offer still stands."
"Why?"
Mike sighs and glances over his shoulder as though checking the coast is clear. He then lowers his voice. "Let's just say that after a discussion with his lawyer today, Mr. Giannopolous reconsidered his decision to cut your original offer."
Donna stares back at him open-mouthed, utterly flummoxed once again. Mike gathers up the files from the desk and stands. She follows, again on autopilot, although how she manages to put one foot in front of the other is a mystery. Her limbs feel like jello. She's not sure if that's an after effect of Harvey Specter's piercing stare or the realization that he had a hand in getting her a fair deal out of his usually stubborn and unyielding client.
Mike walks her out, and once they reach the elevators, she turns to face him. "Why do I get the impression Mr. Specter didn't want me to know about his role in getting that figure changed, and you just reluctantly let the cat out of the bag?"
Mike smiles. "Because he didn't want you to know. Harvey doesn't want anyone thinking that deep down he's not the ruthless, uncaring asshole people assume he is. He's under some ridiculous impression that it makes him look weak."
She's not that shocked. As much as she wants to stick to the narrative she has built for Mr. Specter, this revelation actually makes sense. What does surprise her, is how much that realization makes her heart warm and her stomach flip.
"Huh!" is all Donna can say to that in response.
Mike leans forward. "And I may have let the cat out of the bag, Miss Paulsen, but I didn't do so reluctantly," he adds with a coy smirk.
Clearly, Mike Ross is eager to paint his boss in a more favorable light. Once again she's struck by the young man's loyalty. It's in keeping with the whole feeling about the place she's had the moment she arrived. Except, as she studies the man before her, she deduces that Mike's loyalty goes further than that. He sees his boss as a friend. She manages a small smile and shakes his hand. "Thank you, Mike."
He nods, pressing the elevator call button. He seems nervous again, which confuses her momentarily until he opens his mouth to speak. "Do you mind if I ask how Rachel is?"
Donna grins. "I don't mind."
Mike rolls his eyes. "How's Rachel?"
"Angry and hurt."
His shoulders drop and he looks down at his feet. He looks so suddenly forlorn, like a puppy that's been kicked. If he starts toeing the floor she might just have to adopt him. She decides to throw him a bone.
"Regardless of the situation between your boss and myself, you should have been honest with Rachel from the start. Because if you really like each other, the one needn't have had anything to do with the other. You upset her by being deceitful…" Mike nods slowly and manages to look even more crestfallen. "But you know, time is a great healer, Mike. And perseverance combined with contrition can often pay dividends."
His head lifts and his features light up at that just as the escalator doors open and Donna steps inside.
Mike looks at her expectantly. "One more question, Miss Paulsen…"
Donna raises an eyebrow in anticipation.
"If that's true… that time is a great healer. Do you think… Do you ever see a time when you might consider forgiving Harvey?"
Donna's expression falls. Despite Mike's words about his boss and the revelation that Harvey stopped his client from being so vindictive, she's reminded just why she is here and everything that she has just lost. The thought makes her suddenly go cold.
"Goodbye, Mr. Ross." And the doors close with a ping.
~oOo~
Dear Theatergirl,
I cannot tell you what happened that night, and I know I don't have the right to ask for your forgiveness, but that's exactly what I'm doing. I feel terrible that you found yourself in another situation that brought you pain and heartache. You went there expecting to see a trusted friend and were met, instead, with the opposite, a man who has only made you feel miserable and insignificant.
I can assure you, whatever you said was provoked. There is no excuse for the way he's treated you. If your words or actions hurt him, he deserved it. If you sensed he was affected by it, maybe it's because your words struck a chord. Opened his eyes.
We all lash out when we feel threatened, say things we may not mean or will most likely regret. You have nothing at all to feel bad about. I put you in that situation. The fault is mine.
Someday, I hope to explain everything. Meanwhile, I'm still here. Talk to me.
~ NYC_901
~oOo~
"That's all he said?"
"Yep."
"How do you feel about it?"
"Honestly? Relieved I think. I'm still disappointed he never showed. Not only because I truly believed he might have been able to help me save the theater, but also because… well… I just wanted to meet him. But maybe it's better this way. He's still talking to me. We're still friends. I'm honestly happy that I haven't lost what we have."
Rachel looks disappointed but she doesn't push the matter any further.
They're sitting in a little cafe that overlooks Central Park. It's been two weeks since Donna signed over the theater. Breaking the news to the troupe had been difficult, but no one was surprised. Clearing out her office and offloading all the props and stage equipment had been more traumatic. It wasn't so much the loss of her business, but the memories of her grandmother that echoed around the place. Despite knowing that there was nothing more she could have done, Donna can't help feeling that she's let Grandma Bobbie down.
"Harold called by the way," Rachel says, changing the subject.
"Oh, Harold!" Donna sighs fondly. "How is he?"
"He's really good. He wanted to let us know that Stu Buzzini got him a job on the latest film adaptation he's written."
Donna grins. "That's fantastic. I'm happy for him. Maybe working on something so high profile will finally give him the confidence he needs to ask you out."
Rachel groans. "Don't. It's bad enough that Mike Ross keeps calling. I don't need two men trying to 'woo' me."
"Woo you?" Donna snorts. "Sorry, have I just stepped inside a Jane Austen novel?"
"Well, what would you call it? He keeps sending flowers, sonnets, chocolates, really, really bad self-penned poetry… although I reckon that's deliberately bad in a kinda cute way. He even sent me a cappella singing gram yesterday for christ's sake."
"You're kidding me."
"I'm not! It was so embarrassing. Mrs. Krazinski in the apartment opposite me threatened to beat them with her broom if they didn't 'cease that god awful racket'."
Donna chuckles into her coffee.
"It's not funny. I'm worried what he's going to come up with next."
"You know, you could just agree to meet with him and try another date."
"Now you're kidding me!" Rachel looks shocked.
"I'm really not. Look, I know you liked him. And it was obvious when I went to sign those papers, that he's got it pretty bad for you. He made a mistake, sure. But as I told him, the situation with Harvey Specter and my theater needn't get in the way of you two seeing each other. Don't you think it's worth giving him another chance?"
Rachel sighs. "I'd feel so guilty. After everything you've lost because of the firm he works for. The man he works for."
"If I'm fine with it, then so should you be."
"Really?"
"Yes… really. Besides, maybe Harvey Specter isn't quite as despicable as I first believed."
Rachel almost chokes on her coffee. "Come again? The man put you out of business. Yes, he might have made sure you got the money you were originally promised, but it was never about that for you. Not to mention, let's not forget what he did to your father."
Donna frowns as she slowly stirs her coffee. "Yes, well, about that…"
Rachel pauses, her cup just inches from her mouth. She places it back on its saucer. "What?"
Donna chews her lip. "I spent the weekend at my father's in Connecticut, as you know. We were discussing some of the ideas I had about what to do next with my life. And he happened to mention that he could help me financially if I needed him to."
Rachel leans back in her chair and frowns. "I thought he was pretty much penniless."
"So did I. I mean, he was. But he's not anymore."
Rachel narrows her eyes. "Let me guess. Does Harvey Specter have anything to do with your father's change in fortune?"
Donna shrugs. "I don't know for sure, but I strongly suspect so. Without going into too many details, Dad received a letter from Pearson Specter, it wasn't Harvey, it was a different lawyer called Katrina Bennett. It stated that my father was owed recompense from the changes made to his business deal. That certain addendums in the new contract were mishandled, something like that."
"Oh my God!" Rachel gasps, a smile creeping on her face.
"That's not all though," Donna shuffles in her seat. "My Dad confessed that when he lost that deal, he wasn't entirely blameless. He'd bent a few rules, and muddied the waters of what was allowed within the law, something I never would have picked up on when I went through the deal with him to help."
"But Pearson Specter did!" Rachel deduces. "They spotted what he'd done and used it to get a win for their client and in the process, cut your Dad out."
"Pretty much, yeah. They bent the rules too, I'm certain, and they didn't need to cut my Dad out like they did. But, if he'd been squeaky clean, they wouldn't have had the means to screw his deal!"
"Wow!" Rachel says in wonder. "So… Pearson Specter just suddenly decided to right a wrong on an old case, then."
"It would appear so, yes."
Rachel chews the corner of her mouth as she lifts her coffee cup and takes another sip. "Why do you think that is?" she asks coyly, clearly already having an idea of the answer to her own question.
"I know what you're thinking Miss Zane, and you need to reign in your imagination."
"Oh come on, Donna. The heat between the two of you whenever you are within half a mile of each other is thermonuclear. I think it's crystal clear what's going on. He likey likes you."
Donna rolls her eyes. "He does not! We despise each other. Any heat is from the death rays we shoot each other from our eyes."
"There is such a fine line between love and hate," Rachel continues with a smug grin. "And I don't care what you say, Donna, the sexual tension between the two of you is off the charts!"
Donna shakes her head. "Ridiculous," she mumbles, despite the fact that her mind is suddenly awash with memories of the smoldering looks Harvey has sent her way. Causing her pulse rate to instantly pick up, and heat to rise up her chest, making her flush.
"Mm-hmm… Right, of course. Well if that's the case, you tell me the reason he seems to be trying to make amends with you?" She crosses her arms and taps her foot on the floor.
Donna shrugs. "Guilt!"
Rachel sighs, shaking her head. "It's more than guilt, Donna. I bet Harvey Specter is the type of man who rarely looks back. He's constantly moving forward onto the next case. And I bet 'regret' is a dirty word to him. Yet he seems to be going to a lot of trouble to fix past decisions that have negatively impacted you."
"Well, it doesn't matter what his motivations are. I appreciate what he's done but that doesn't mean that I'm going to be best buddies with him."
"I don't think handbag shopping, gossiping, and having manicures together is what he has in mind," she retorts, tongue in cheek.
"Enough, Rachel. Can we change the subject, please? You were going to tell me about Louis's latest conquest. You said he's met someone at Si and Devlan's new bar?"
Rachel knows when to wave the white flag. She nods and launches into the tale of how Louis is drowning his sorrows with a buff Portuguese fitness instructor named Paulo, ten years his junior.
Donna is only half listening. Her brain is refusing to behave. It immediately wanders to images of molten brown eyes, Tom Ford suits, and the most heartbreaking smile she thinks she's ever seen.
Damn you, Harvey Specter.
~oOo~
Of course, you are forgiven. Honestly, I'm just relieved that you're okay. I'm not sure I could survive without your sound advice, valuable insight, and most importantly, tales of Rembrandt's latest exploits.
Your correspondence keeps me sane and I kinda need that right now.
People are always telling me that change is a good thing. But all they're really saying is that something that you didn't want to happen at all, has happened.
My theater closed last week. Did I tell you that I ran a theater? The clue is really in the name, I suppose.
It was only a modest venue, little known, but within my community I like to think that for many years it had a special place in people's hearts. It certainly did in mine.
Soon we'll just be a memory. And no doubt some foolish person will probably think it's a tribute to this city. How it's always changing. Evolving. I know it's certainly something I would say.
But the truth is, I'm heartbroken. I feel as if a part of me has died. And my mother and grandmother have died all over again. And no one can ever make it right.
But I don't want to sign off tonight on a negative note. So, I'll finish by saying that you'll be pleased to hear that I finally got rid of Agatha. She's been donated to an adult book store on 7th Avenue. I probably should feel guilty about it, but I figured she'd enjoy glaring disapprovingly at men rifling through porn. She'll be in her element.
I think my grandmother would agree.
~ Theatergirl