Memorabilia

Donna leaned in the doorway of Harvey's home office, her gaze investigating the job he'd done unpacking the study, and a rush tingled through her as she spied several picture frames adorning his shelves. The photos of friends and family were a sentiment she'd never seen him exhibit in his condo, but here in Seattle he was embracing the nature of change, and she loved seeing this side of him.

In the past, she'd always been the one to place his prized possessions on display. But he'd insisted that they were sharing a home now and teasingly reminded her that she wasn't his secretary or COO anymore; she was his wife.

Her eyes fell to Harvey, who was casually perched on his recently purchased sideboard, which now housed all of his basketballs — except the one sitting between his palms. Originally, he'd favored a pine finish for the furniture, but the ebony wood complimented his sports memorabilia, drawing her eyes along the fine craftsmanship, then back to her husband's soft, contemplative expression. He looked deep in thought, and she was able to tell from his relaxed features that it was the Michael Jordan ball he was holding, her voice soft as she disrupted his musings. "We never did get together to celebrate signing him."

Happily being pulled out of his pleasant reverie, Harvey met his wife's smile with a cheeky smirk. "You mean we never celebrated you signing him?"

She shrugged, teasing his sarcasm. "If we stopped to celebrate everything I did, you would never have made junior partner."

He chuckled in agreement, once again lolling his head down at the fading ink. Since he and Donna had become a couple, he'd shown her the gratitude he'd neglected to in the past — a task he was bold enough to admit he now excelled at, using an abundance of words to tell her how he felt. But unpacking his office today, seeing all the evidence of their achievements spread around, he'd been remiss in realizing he really had no clue how she'd managed the impossible time and again.

His blanket philosophy was that her intelligence, empathy, and a certain siren call were used to fulfill his needs. But staring down at the signed ball between his palms left him with the desire to revisit all the tiny details he'd missed out on when he expected the world of her with no explanation.

Meeting her gaze in the doorway, all he wanted to do was to immerse himself in her side of their stories, and now he finally had the chance. "How did you convince Jordan to sign? You never said."

With a raised eyebrow, she padded over the floorboards in her socks, taking the ball from his hands and placing the object on its designated stand. "Are you sure you want to know?"

Her teasing made him rethink his urge to uncover all her mysterious accomplishments. But whatever tricks or tools she'd used, he still wanted a window into everything he'd missed out on. "Tell me," he said, beaming his curiosity as he tugged her between his legs. "I want to know."

Donna looped her fingers around his neck and raised her chin with a smug smirk. "Well, first... I told Michael that his batting average was off and maybe he should call back when the Mets had a better season."

Harvey stiffened, trying to gauge if his wife was joking or not. "You did not say that to His Airness."

"You're damn right I did." She smoothed down his fine hairs with a proud nod. "I wanted to see how humble he'd be. I wasn't going to let you sign with a hot-headed basketball jock who'd throw you to the wolves anytime he had a sponsorship on the line."

Harvey squeezed her sides. She'd always had his back, and the simple gesture couldn't speak for all the times he should have thanked her, but her relaxed smile told him she'd always known how grateful he was. "So you threw Jordan off his game. That's how you beat him?"

Pulling her palms down to his shoulders, Donna bit down on her inner cheek. When the rising star of the NBA had politely corrected her and asked to speak with Harvey directly, she'd appealed to the man's sensitive nature.

"I didn't beat him. I convinced him." She swept her thumb over the light stubble prickling Harvey's jaw. "By telling him that you were the best closer in New York, and a sports enthusiast who understood the meaning of passion and loyalty. I told him about your shoulder, how the injury ended your baseball career, and how whenever you found yourself a little lost, you'd go to the batting cages with Gordon. I showed him the man who would be representing him, not the lawyer."

She smiled sweetly, then pushed her fingers down to his chest with a smirk. "I also said that if he didn't sign with you, he'd be bankrupt within a year from overzealous lawyers trying to capitalize on his brand."

"Stop." He interrupted her happy laugh, pulling her down onto his lap and covering his hitched breath with a slow exhale. He hadn't deserved her back then, and part of him questioned whether he deserved her now, but her soft lips descended on his mouth, kissing away the shadows of his doubt.

"Everything I told Michael was true, Harvey," she whispered, resting her forehead against his. "You wouldn't be here, married to me, and cooking dinner for us tonight if it wasn't."

Her grin turned his hesitation into bright adoration, his knee bouncing her thigh. "How do I know any of that was true and not just a ploy to get me into the kitchen?"

Donna shimmied off his lap, clasping her wrists behind her as she walked backwards, tempting him to follow her out. "I guess you don't."

She turned, swaying her hips around the door, and he stood up, the same excitement he'd felt the night they met leaving him at her mercy.

He might not know all the finer details of their past like his wife did, but he had the best years of his life ahead doing some catching up.