DA's Office - Pt IV
Harvey stuffs his hands in his pockets, glancing around the DA's office. Most people have packed up and left for the evening, and he's on his way out too, but he stalls by Donna's empty workstation, wearing a befuddled look.
"She's getting changed."
Bertha swans past, her head buried in a file, and he nods, biting the inside of his cheek. He should go. They rarely leave at the same time, anyway. Usually she finishes before him, but she does always duck her head in to say goodnight, and hovers awkwardly, glancing at his watch.
"If you need something, it'll have to wait until tomorrow…"
Her voice floats in behind him.
"I have a date, he's a doctor, and this is the only time he has free all week."
She rounds him to collect her purse, bare freckled shoulders entering his gaze, and his heart stammers as he gets a full frontal view of the figure hugging black dress. She's sexy as hell in her modest tweed skirts, but this floors him, robs his mind of anything Sauvé to say, and he tries to focus on what she said—clearing his throat. "A date?"
She nods, shrugging her blazer off the chair with a teasing smile. "It's where two people go for a meal, have a couple of glasses of wine, get to know each other…"
He tips his head with a wry smirk. "Where's the fun in that?"
She rolls her eyes at him. The night they met, he surprised her by being forward with his intentions, and she can admit he was smooth and charming, but unlike Harvey, she isn't afraid of being in a relationship. "Not everything is about sex."
"Says who?" He grins smugly, struck by the fact he's relived that's not on her agenda tonight. She can date whoever she likes, sleep with whoever she pleases, but as he trails her around the workstation, his eyes drawing to the sway of her hips, something awkward knots in his stomach. He doesn't do the jealous thing, but as he pulls her coat down from a hook in the lobby, he can secretly admit, this particular guy—who he knows nothing about—bothers him.
"Never pegged you for the doctor type," he comments, opening up the jacket.
She shrugs into the sleeves, quirking an eyebrow over her shoulder. "Why not?"
Her freshly sprayed perfume wraps around him, and he lets go, moving to get the door. Truth is, he can't picture her with any type. And now he feels stupid assuming that when she leaves of an evening, there's never been a man in the picture. Any guy would be an idiot not to want her, and stumbles over himself, caught off guard but the sudden realization. "It's just… like you said, the spare time thing."
The cold night air is a welcome relief as he lets her pass through first.
"It's not ideal," she admits, leading them out. "But it's not like we work short hours, either."
He pulls the handle closed, and tucks his hands into his pockets as they stroll side by side, wondering if it would be unethical to make stay back later, just because visions of her dating are trampling through his head.
"And if it's terrible, at least we both have an excuse to bail early," she reasons, smiling across at him.
They come to a stop at the curb, and he stretches his arm to hail a cab. "Want me to call with a fake emergency?" he teases. "Women do that sort of thing, right?"
"I didn't say it was going to be a disaster," she admonishes, not wanting to jinx the evening. Plus, she's well aware he has his own thing going on tonight. "Besides, I don't think Isabella would approve."
She winks, and he flinches, having almost forgotten about the woman he's supposed to be meeting. "How do you—"
"I'm Donna, I know everything."
That and he isn't exactly subtle when he's in his office or good with technology it would seem. He obviously has no clue how to turn off their newly installed intercom because the channel's been left open for two weeks.
He shakes off his surprise, glancing at his watch to discover he's late—a tardiness he dislikes, but when a car pulls up, he offers it to Donna first, not wanting her waiting around in the cold. "I'll get the next one."
She smiles her thanks, a light blush creeping along her cheeks as he gets the door, and he instantly forgets he's in a rush. He'd rather steal a few more moments with her, and when she climbs in, he leans against the frame of the vehicle. He was joking before, but he would still get her out of a pinch if she needed him, and he ducks down, catching her gaze. "Hey... If you ever get stuck, you can call me. Anytime."
The offer lands softly between them, and she appreciates the gesture, a warm tingle spreading through her as she buckles herself in. She programmed her number into his phone for the same reason. "I'm number three on your three dial."
Her mouth curves, and he grins, about to pull back, when he stops suddenly. "Wait, who are the other two?"
"Your father and Jessica Pearson." She answers, smirking at his confused look. He's only mentioned his mentor a handful of times, but she did her research. "From what I've heard, that woman can talk anyone out of anything," she explains, poking her finger at his chest. "And you, my friend, are a magnet for trouble."
She's not wrong, at least about Jessica, and he rolls his eyes at the rest, hiding his amusement. "Goodnight, Donna." He closes the door, stepping up onto the curb, and he watches the vehicle disappear into traffic before remembering, again, that—shit—he's late.
He jumps in the next cab, and meets Isabella who is there waiting, looking stunning and everything he wants on his version of a date, until he tries to do the conversation thing Donna suggested, and he's met with frustrating disinterest.
Isabella is charming and sophisticated, smart, but she isn't a certain redhead who laughs at his dumb jokes, calls him an idiot, and teases him mercilessly over his enthusiasm for sports and cars.
Isabella is… plain by comparison, and he calls for the cheque after their second round of drinks, falling back on his charm, and the original evening he intended.
With a palm placed against the small of her back, he leads them out, whispering something suggestive in her ear, and putting all his other thoughts to rest.
Donna is out somewhere enjoying herself, and he's going to do the same.
….
Lunchtime the next day rolls around, and he has his nose buried in a brief, hovering by Donna's desk when she casually mentions she won't be seeing Lucas again, that the man was nice but there were no sparks. He's secretly relieved, but doesn't glance up, just tells her that's too bad, before meandering toward his office.
He knows she'll have other dates. That someone will come along one day and sweep her off her feet, and he tries to convince himself that it won't be a problem. So long as she's happy and is treated right, he has no reason to be bothered. They're friends, they flirt, share an occasional drink, and every time he considers there might be more to it, he pushes the notion further down.
He's not cut out for relationships, isn't the marrying kind, and she deserves to be with someone who is.
