It's been nearly a month since Harvey agreed to palm off all his regular clients to service Donna Paulsen. Three weeks of almost regretting the decision, and now fifteen minutes of actually regretting it, while he waits for her to show up at the shooting range.
When she struts in, her excuse for being tardy turns to white noise as his gaze roams over her. Even ticked off, he can't help but appreciate the functionality of her snug pink sweater and tight jeans. She scores another point for herself, handing him all the correct permits to use a firearm in New York.
Maybe he was wrong and she won't completely embarrass herself during their little bet.
They co-sign the paperwork for an S&W 686 revolver, collect their protective gear, and head into the range where he motions to their shared booth.
"Ladies first."
He hands her the gun, his fingers lingering on the barrel. "Remember, Ms. Paulsen, when I win, you agree to do as you're told."
She jerks the weapon away from him with a tight, polite smile. "It's Donna. I hope your aim is better than your memory, Mr. Specter."
Marching forward, she firmly lays down the box of bullets, and without fumbling, she loads the cylinder, spins it, and snaps the metal closed.
Her confidence needles Harvey's ego. There's no way she can beat him, but he safeguards himself with some light, competitive, banter. "Let me guess, you got your FSC preparing for a role."
Donna fits her orange visor. He's trying to distract her, but she got her firearm safety certificate when she was twelve, and her focus isn't that easily rattled. "If you'd watched any of my movies, you'd know the answer to that."
"Rom-coms pretending to be action films aren't really my thing."
Of course they aren't.
His thing would be watching anything that blows up, whilst polishing off a pizza and drinking too much beer.
"Let me guess, you get sentimental thinking Die Hard is a Christmas movie."
"Hey, you start knocking Die Hard and we're never getting off on the right foot."
"I think that ship already sailed, McClane."
All he's done since they met is threaten to slap a leash on her if she doesn't behave. It's time to show him that she's perfectly capable of defending herself.
Covering her ears with the silencing muffs, she levels the weight of the revolver in her palm, balancing clarity with speed. Taking aim, she exhales, firing all six shots straight through the chest of the hanging target.
Harvey squares his shoulders.
Holy shit.
Removing his earmuffs, he inspects the tennis ball sized opening in the paper silhouette. She's good. If Tanner were here, the agent would be in trouble, but he's not Tanner.
Meeting Donna's smug look, he flashes a cocky grin, taking her down a peg. "Not bad, princess, but this isn't amateur hour."
Exuding confidence, he maneuvers her small waist out of the way, covering his ears as he steps into place. Unlike Donna, he doesn't hesitate with his aim. As soon as the revolver is reloaded, he fires. All six bullets tear through the target's forehead, leaving a hole no bigger than the button on his suit jacket.
A deserved gloat rewards his competitive nature as he takes off his muffs. "And that's how it's done." He turns around. "Now, are you ready to — "
Stopping, he spots Donna's protective gear on a hook, but there's no other sign of her.
For fuck's sake.
Less than twenty minutes together and she's already throwing a goddamn tantrum because something didn't go her way. Growling in frustration, he has half a mind to let her run off. Tanner can have her. He stomps In a half circle, that damn irritating niggle buzzing at him. It's his signature on her contract. Starting today, he's responsible for her.
Goddamnit.
Grabbing the revolver and bullets, he leaves everything else, rushing the weapon over the counter and scribbling his name. Fortunately, he knows the owner, who lets the lax sign-out slide, but when he catches up to Donna in the carpark, he sternly points out the misconduct. "There's an eight hundred dollar fine for leaving without returning a firearm."
Donna glares at him. She's not pissed off that he won; he's a trained professional, and she expected him to. But she also thought he'd praise her effort, not manhandle her out of the way like a boorish jerk.
He stops in front of her, glowering back. "We had a deal."
"No, Mr. Specter, we had a chance to make this work," she snaps. "I told you already, I don't need a guard dog, and if I did, I wouldn't choose one that's going to bite my hand when I try to be civil."
If she made any effort to be civil, he goddam missed it, but it is possible he came on a little too strong. It wouldn't have killed him to admit she's a decent shot.
Shit .
"Look," he grumbles. "I don't care how impressive your shooting is. It's my job to worry about your safety so that you don't have to. And for the record, I don't bite."
A smirk twitches his lips. "Well, not unless a lady — "
" Don't ." She doesn't need to hear about his extracurricular activities with women.
Shuffling her feet, Donna considers her options. Louis will be livid if she fires Harvey's firm. Her agent called this morning, worried that coming out to the range was a terrible idea, and if Louis' forewarning comes true, she'll never stop hearing about it. "Say it again…. How I impressed you."
Technically, he didn't say he was impressed, but he isn't surprised that's what she heard. The challenge with admitting she's good is that he doesn't want her getting cocky, so he's subtle with his acknowledgment. "You didn't learn to shoot like that on a movie set."
"No, I didn't."
"Then someone missed something in your background check, and I'd like to know what."
Glancing around, Donna spots a vintage green Porsche that can only belong to Harvey. "Is that your car?"
He nods.
"Let me drive it home, and I'll tell you."
Hell no, there's no goddamn way he's letting her drive his Porsche.
"I'll make you a deal." Harvey digs out his keys. "If you can tell me the model and horsepower, you can drive her."
She opens her palm with a confident smile. "1966 911S, one-sixty horsepower, and she does zero to a hundred in eight seconds."
His eyebrows lift in surprise. "You know your cars."
"I know men, and I've dated men with cars. I pay attention."
She tries to take his keys, but he swings them just above her head, grinning. "One-ninety horsepower, zero to a hundred in six seconds. I restored her myself."
"That's cheating!"
Her hazel eyes flash with annoyance, and he chuckles. "So we're clear, I don't let anyone drive my Porsche. But… you did impress me."
This time he gives a little lean. He won't encourage her ego when it comes to guns, but she can be as cocky as she likes about vintage cars. It's their first step onto some common ground, and it's also kinda hot.
"I get to pick the music."
There's still the matter of why her shooting experience didn't come to light earlier, and he wants to make sure there's nothing else that was missed, so he agrees.
Once they're both buckled in with their lap belts, Harvey revs the engine and steers them out of the car park, holding in a groan when Donna trades his smooth jazz for some teeny bopper pop shit.
So much for finding common ground.
Reaching across, he twists the knob on the car's radio, turning the volume down. "Let's hear it. Because I know our firm didn't miss anything. Which means you were either a delinquent child or you got your FSC before you were sixteen."
"I was twelve," she admits, proudly. "Junior state pistol champion in Connecticut, three years running."
No wonder she's so damn cocky.
"So instead of going to sleepovers and having pillow fights, you decided it would be more fun to play G.I. Joe?"
Donna's quiet for a moment, his question prodding her complicated childhood, most of which she spent feeling awkwardly out of place. At school, she related more to her teachers than her peers, and at home, she was constantly in the shadow of her sister's drama.
"My dad and sister used to argue a lot. When things got heated, he would take me out on hunting trips. That's how I learned to shoot."
Harvey switches on his turn signal, merging onto the busy freeway. He read about Donna's half-sister in her file, how she emancipated herself at sixteen, but it strikes a different chord hearing Donna talk about her.
"Must have been rough."
"I guess." Donna flinches when he almost clips the side of a lorry. "You do know there's a speed limit?"
His flicker of sympathy is quickly snuffed out.
"The princess is a backseat driver. What a shock."
"I'm serious."
She grips the door handle as he overtakes a large SUV, and Harvey grins. "We're in New York, not L.A., relax."
"How can I relax when you're driving like a maniac?"
He switches lanes, still smiling, until he catches sight of her pale features. She looks genuinely terrified — a sight he isn't prepared for. Damnit , he'd rather see her smug. At least then he wouldn't be bothered by a twinge of guilt.
With a sigh, he eases his foot off the gas. "Listen, I'd be a lousy security detail if I couldn't drive a getaway vehicle."
"Is that supposed to be comforting?"
He shrugs. "I haven't lost a client yet." She loosens her grip a little, making him smirk. "And I'd never let anything happen to this car."
"That, I can believe."
Her hand returns to her lap as Donna tentatively places her trust in him.
The city is marginally less chaotic than the freeway, and she takes her eyes off the road, checking her phone.
A text from Louis makes her smile.
[3:38 pm] You haven't killed each other, have you?
She quickly types back.
[3:55 pm] Wouldn't that defeat the point of hiring security?
Three dots appear, signaling his fast response.
[3:55 pm] That wasn't a no…
Thinking about her reply, she glances over at Harvey. He kept his promise, bringing them back to town unharmed, and the drive was endurable.
Just.
[3:56 pm] We're fine, Louis. Don't worry, I didn't fire him.
Even though she thought about it.
Tucking her phone away, she recognizes the neighborhood of her brownstone rental. Jessica Pearson gave her a list of secure recommendations, and she chose the property based on the leafy green area. It's still very much a concrete jungle, and nothing like her oceanside home in L.A., but the flowers are all in bloom and will be for the duration of her stay.
Harvey pulls up in front of her Jacaranda tree, idling the car as she unbuckles her lap belt, ribbing him with sarcasm.
"Don't you want to come in? Check there are no monsters under the bed."
It's not what's under her bed that tempts him.
"If you want me to swing by tonight and tuck you in, that'll cost extra."
Closing the door on his smugness, she sways her hips around the front of his Porsche with sassy flair. She lost at shooting and got cheated out of driving his car, but when she strutted into the range, his smoldering broodiness gave away his attraction.
He has a problem with her — no denying that, but he's into her, his hooded eyes once again staring as she swings by the driver's side door.
This time she has him beat, and she grins, doing a little victory jog up the steps.
Turns out Harvey Specter is human after all.
Entering her security code, she's still smiling as she lets herself inside her temporary home. It's not her oceanside sanctuary in L.A., but it's nice. Two stories, polished wooden floors, and a kitchen the size of a small restaurant that she'll never use. It has a calming beige/stone theme, dressed up with contemporary chandeliers and minimalist water features that welcome her into the lobby.
At some ungodly hour tomorrow morning, she has her first public engagement, an interview with The Today Show. Heading to the study to prepare, she discovers one of the ceiling lights flickering, so she takes her laptop to the lounge, away from the distraction.
Getting comfortable, she texts Harvey.
[4:23 pm] I'll take my chances with the monsters, but not the Porsche. I'll have my driver drop me at the studio. See you there.
It's over an hour later when he finally responds.
[5:48 pm] Whatever you say, princess.
Urgh — if he calls her princess one more time…
Taking a deep breath, she refocuses. Harvey Specter's arrogant, albeit sexy, smug grin, is the last thing she needs in her head.
Especially because she isn't a morning person, and she's sure he's going to have a field day with that.
…
Concealing his amusement, Harvey steers a bleary-eyed Donna toward hair and makeup. She showed up late — no surprise there — and has been grumbling like a bear pulled out of hibernation.
"Are you always this fun to be around in the morning?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Not really." Despite her endearing fresh-faced freckles, he prefers starting his day with a 5am run, not babysitting a banshee. "Through here."
Unlike Sleeping Beauty, he's been here for an hour, canvassing the layout of the studio. It's an extremely low threat level, but he takes his job seriously, and has met with all the crew, including the beauty specialist, Katie.
Pushing open the door to hair and makeup, he nudges Donna inside, where the young blonde is waiting. "Go on. I'll get you some coffee."
"Aren't you supposed to stay glued to my hip?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Is that what you want?"
Like a switch being flipped, her entire demeanor changes. "God, no. Coffee, please ," she begs, fluttering her lashes.
Her eyes light up as if he just offered to fly her to the moon, and he shrugs. "Sure."
Leaving her with Katie, he closes the door, shaking off the effect of Donna's soft pout. He figured she'd be used to people running around doing her errands. But he was also surprised when she left her entourage in L.A., only tasking him with the vetting of two local contacts: a masseuse and personal trainer.
She's challenging his perception of a stubborn, obnoxious actress, that's for sure.
After finding the beverage station, he heads back to hair and makeup, re-entering the room with a long black in his grasp.
Donna's transformation is a sight to behold, and he doesn't mean the expensive products painting her face. She's chatting animatedly with Katie, making the woman laugh and vibrating with energy. It dawns on him that this is her job — turning on the charm as a public figure. And he's not immune to her bubbly persona as he hands over her coffee.
"A lifesaver on and off the field, Mr. Specter. I'm impressed."
She hums her appreciation as she sips the dark brew, and he can't tell if she's being genuine or placating him, but fortunately, he's an expert at subterfuge.
"I have some checks I have to do, but I'll be back before they need you on set. Don't leave this room and stay out of trouble."
Donna rolls her eyes at his hardened expression. "What if I need the bathroom?"
"Hold it."
The door swings closed with his exit, and Katie fans her cheeks. "I would sit and watch paint dry if that man told me to."
Donna leans back in the chair, savoring her cup of coffee. Five minutes with Harvey and she's sure Katie would change her mind, but he's not being the overbearing shadow she thought he would be.
As long as he keeps giving her breathing room, they might just survive the next three months.
AN: Thank you for all the reviews! This to me is a bit of filler chapter (the ones I always complain about having to write, haha), but I think it's gone OK. Must be time for a bit of whumpy action next