From behind the stage, Harvey keeps a vigilant watch over the crowd, bored shitless as he listens to Donna give her speech at the podium. The awards luncheon is just one of too many tedious events they've covered in the three weeks he's been her security detail, and his tolerance for the arts is wearing thin. Politics, he can make sense of. Handing people grants to produce crappy home movies in their parents' basements is — in his opinion — the reason today's economy is so messed up.
He's nothing short of grateful that tomorrow he'll be on rotation again, leaving Scottie the joy of swanning around, securing the threat of undercooked hors d'oeuvres and canapés.
The audience laughs, applauding one of Donna's jokes, but he keeps his hands locked behind his back. Part of his job is to blend in seamlessly, relying on his finely tuned senses to detect danger, and when the clapping dies down, his sensitive hearing picks up a soft electronic buzzing. The sound is on a higher frequency than Donna's microphone, causing his muscles to tighten.
His gaze searches for the source, landing on the lighting rig above the podium. Two red lights begin flashing and, goddamnit, if this isn't karma for his petty thoughts about being bored, he doesn't know what is.
"Donna, MOVE! Everyone, get down!"
Donna's heels teeter at the sound of a loud boom, the room erupting into a frenzy of screams as sparks explode. A hard force dives into her side, and she braces for the pain, but Harvey's large hands cushion her fall as creaking metal crashes to the stage. She screws her eyes shut, her heart thundering as his body shields her from flying glass and debris.
Shouts of panic muffle around them, and Harvey keeps Donna pinned, quickly assessing the situation. All the guests are running toward the front exit, no other imminent danger in sight, and his focus switches back to the woman wrapped in his arms. "Are you okay? Donna, are you hurt?"
His stern bark cuts through Donna's lightheadedness, air rushing into her lungs as her eyes flutter open. Above her, crimson streaks stain Harvey's white collar, while miraculously, she doesn't have a scratch on her. "You're bleeding."
"I'm fine." He shakes the rubble from his suit, tugging his tie open, and wrapping it around his fist. "Don't move."
Worried he'll injure himself further, Donna ignores him, the valiant effort to sweep away the glass unnecessary. Wriggling free, she spots her handbag near the podium and reaches across to grab it.
"Donna, I said —"
"Got it."
Pain slashes her palm, her face contorting as she clutches the leather strap of her Louis Vuitton. Hiding the reaction from Harvey, she uses his arm to stand, leaning on him to get her balance.
"We're leaving out the back," he snaps."Come on."
Her heels stay rooted to the stage, even though she's shaking with adrenaline. "We can't just leave. People might be hurt or —"
"Ow! Let go," she shrieks.
Harvey drags her by the arm, ignoring her protest.
Standard protocol says he should lock down and secure the building, keeping Donna in a safe location until another agent arrives. But since she's incapable of listening to anyone, he's not waiting for backup — he's getting her out now.
Still pulling her, he draws his gun as they reach the nearest exit to his Porsche, and he kicks the door open, surveying the alleway.
Donna winces as he shoves her toward the vehicle.
"What about the police? How do you know it wasn't an accident? You can't just —"
"It wasn't an accident, so get in the damn car."
The color drains from her face, but she finally does as she's told. Harvey's gaze sweeps the area again. The sound he heard was interference caused by a remote detonation, but there's no sign of the person responsible.
Closing the door on Donna, he rounds the Porsche, tucking his Glock into his waistband, before climbing in the driver's side and glancing across. Donna's mouth is a thin, tight line, but before he can celebrate the rare victory of silence, he catches sight of blood trickling down her wrist.
Goddamnit.
He bangs his head back with a frustrated growl. He told her not to wait so he could clear away the shattered bulbs. "Let me see."
"What?"
She looks at him with a bright gaze full of fear and confusion, and her vulnerability gnaws at him. She's impossible when she's being bullheaded, but God, he hates it when her stubbornness caves in.
"Show me your hand."
Donna opens her weeping palm. The cut is already closing, and she lets Harvey see for himself that it's a minor injury. "It's just a scrape." Afraid he's going to yell again, she sucks in a shaky breath, forcing a smile. "I'll live."
Her pretty eyes seek his reassurance, but he doesn't do the comfort thing. Maybe next time she'll listen when he gives her an instruction.
"There's a first aid kit in the glove box. Try not to get blood on the seat." He pulls out his phone, revving the engine as he shoots off a text to Mike.
The roar fails to drown out Donna's throaty whimper, but he refuses to regret being harsh, even though the urge to lean over and help her itches under his skin.
Until she learns to fall in line, being an asshole is what's going to keep her alive.
…
After driving them around for forty minutes, taking side streets to ensure they weren't being followed, Donna's anxiety has formed a hard shell of annoyance, and Harvey's mood is no better.
He pulls up outside the brownstone, the Porsche's engine is still rumbling as she flies out of the car, slamming the door, and Harvey grinds his molars in frustration.
Tearing the keys from the ignition, he storms after her, ramming into her when she halts abruptly.
Her slender fingers reach for his wrist in a panic, and he clutches her waist, about to pull his gun, when he spots Mike fiddling with the keypad on the door of the rental. Realizing there isn't a threat, he gives her hip a small squeeze. "That's Mike, our tech guy. He's making some modifications. Don't worry, you're safe."
Irony charges the moment as her grip loosens and his palm slides across her back. Two seconds ago they wanted to throttle each other, the awkwardness tangible as they sheepishly separate.
Scrubbing his neck, Harvey calls up to the firm's IT genius. "Ross! You done?"
Mike nods, clutching an iPad as he jogs down the steps. "I've installed advanced motion sensors throughout the premises, integrated with a sophisticated AI-driven camera network. The windows are all equipped with smart locks, accessible and controllable remotely. You've also got encrypted communication and redundant power backups."
"Is that a yes?"
"Yes, granddad, I'm done." Mike extends his hand to the redhead. "You must be Ms. Paulsen, I'm Mike Ross."
Her nerves are a rattled mess, made worse by her side tingling from Harvey's caress. After their tense ride together, she's shocked he knows how to be gentle, much less caring.
"Donna." She pulls herself together, clasping Mike's grip. "Thank you for doing all this."
"All part of the service, ma'am. Of course, if you want to know how it all works, I wouldn't ask Marty McFly..."
"Doogie Howser, here, can explain it to you." Harvey checks his watch. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."
"Wait, you're leaving?" she squeaks. "You just drove around pointlessly for half an hour and now you have somewhere more important to be?"
He drove around so that it would be safe to leave her, but he's not going to stand around arguing the point. Instead, he gives Mike stern instructions. "Do not let her out of your sight."
"On it, boss."
Donna's jaw hangs slack as Harvey walks to his Porsche, leaving her with the IT guy. The kid seems knowledgeable and kind, but that's not going to up his chances of winning a fight.
Seeing the horror on the redhead's face, Mike gives her a confident smile. "Don't worry. You're the safest person in Manhattan right now. Harvey wouldn't leave if he thought otherwise."
He extends his arm, motioning up the steps.
"Come on. Once I run you through this tech, you'll feel better, I promise."
The Porsche speeds off, leaving her with no other choice but to lead the way.
Luckily for her, Mike's prediction turns out to be true. Once he runs her through how all the apps on her devices work, she does feel marginally safer.
At any point, she can call up camera feeds, check the locks, and make sure the brownstone is secure, all with the swipe of her thumb. Which also now means her phone and tablet are a gateway to obsessively checking shadows in every room.
She needs something to take her mind off her life being the thrill of somebody's torment, and she glances around the study and up to the bulb that was flickering this morning but has since stopped.
"How are you at fixing lights?"
Mike tilts his head up quizzically at the globe. "Looks fine to me."
She groans, burying her face in her hands, and Mike guesses she's searching for a distraction. Reaching into his messenger bag, he pulls out chamomile tea Harvey told him to bring. "Why don't we take a break?"
"There's more?"
He pinches his thumb and finger together and she sighs. "Tea break, please."
They both head into the kitchen and Donna wanders across to the large patio doors. Outside is a spacious backyard patio bathed in mid-afternoon sunshine, but in order to enjoy it, they would have to disable the smart locks, and she decides against tempting fate a second time today.
Hugging herself, she paces over to the glass dining table, placing her phone down and taking a seat. Mike joins her with two steaming mugs, sitting opposite her and smiling sympathetically.
"You doing okay?"
She shakes her head and he winces. "You're right, it was a stupid question. Sorry," he apologizes.
"Don't be. At least you're not yelling at me."
It doesn't take a genius to figure out she's referring to Harvey. The man gets under people's skin. But from what Mike's seen and heard, all accounts of Harvey being difficult are an encouraging sign. "There's a good man under all that ego. You just have to go digging through a few brambles to find him."
She holds up her bandaged hand. "He snapped at me for getting hurt then said not to bleed all over his Porsche. I think I need more than a brush cutter."
Mike chuckles, blowing over his tea. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, right about now I'd say he's getting his ass handed to him by our boss. And if you think Harvey's bad, you really don't want to piss off Jessica Pearson."
"Harvey saved my life." She frowns, confused. "Why would he be in trouble?"
"He broke protocol. You were supposed to go to another agent while he ran the scene and dealt with the authorities. Not to mention the walloping he's going to get for having all this security installed without approval."
Nothing he's saying makes any sense to her. Harvey is a stickler for rules. Even the slightest step out of line and he reprimands her for it. "I don't understand. Why would he break protocol like that?"
Mike grins. "My guess… It's because he likes you. Which means he doesn't trust anyone else to keep you safe."
She doesn't believe that for a second. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been so quick to jump in his Porsche and drive off. "He trusts you."
Her inflection isn't an insult. She's right. He has a strong aversion to violence or guns, and he tries to minimize his presence in the field whenever possible. But when it comes to securing a location, he knows his shit better than anyone else.
"I can tell you word for word the science behind AI neural networks, the intricacies of quantum computing, and explain how WiFi signals propagate through walls. I can put you in any building, make it Fort Knox, and even Harvey wouldn't be able to get in." He boasts his confidence."That's why he trusts me."
Leaning back in her chair, Donna conceals her surprise. She had no idea the trouble Harvey was getting himself into when he dragged her out of the venue kicking and screaming.
Maybe he does care, after all.
An unexpected warmth spreads through her, but the pleasant feeling shatters when her phone chimes with a notification. Instead of assuming the rationale, her mind jumps to racing images of someone trying to break in, her chest tightening as Mike checks the screen. It's only when he conforms the calendar alert, that she's able to ground herself, embarrassment heating her cheeks.
She can't do this.
Tomorrow she has to be on set, she's shooting for three days, and then she has engagements lined up. She can't be a prisoner in her own home, panicking every goddamn time her phone chirps.
Her chair scrapes back, and Mike trails her fiery stalk into the kitchen, his voice rattling with hesitancy. "Ah, Donna… Ms. Paulsen, I mean." He tries to be stern. "What are you doing?"
"There's a gala on tonight, and I'm not going to miss it because some asshole tried to crush me with a lighting rig."
Her hand quivers as she pulls a bottle of vodka out of the cupboard, but she shakes away the tremor.
If she wants to become one of Hollywood's leading stars, pushing past her limits is a necessity, and the venue will be packed with people and security, she'll be fine.
"I really don't think — "
"Mike, relax." She gets ice from the fridge, pouring two vodkas on the rocks. "I'm going to get changed, then I'll clear everything with Harvey," she bullshits.
If Harvey has a problem with her going, she'll order an Uber. She's paying him; it's not like he can say no.
"Ah, yeah… okay," Mike tries to breathe. She places a drink in front of him, strutting out of the Kitchen, and he scrambles to pick up his phone.
Shit, shit, SHIT.
His thumbs fly over the keyboard, texting Harvey.
[3:01 pm] She's getting changed for an event. Get back here, ASAP.
[3:04 pm] With ballistics. Keep her there. Drug her if you have to.
With what, chamomile tea?
He throws the device down, scrubbing his face. Now he knows why the firm's best agent has a thing for the redheaded actress. Donna Paulsen is Harvey Specter reincarnated. Charming, courageous, rebellious, and doesn't pay attention to a single damn thing anyone else says.
He's a dead man.
Because if he can't get Donna to hear him out, Harvey's going to kill him.
…
"Where is she?"
Mike shrinks under Harvey's hard glare, holding the door wide open. He kept Donna from leaving, but only because she's drunk and he suspects she's spoiling for a fight. "Kitchen." He winces. She may be acting irrationally, but she experienced a trauma, and he empathizes with her. "She almost died today. You might want to go easy."
Harvey ignores the comment, storming off, and like a coward, Mike slings his messenger bag over his shoulder. He likes Donna, but he does not want to stick around for the shitstorm that's about to erupt.
Barging into the kitchen, Harvey lays eyes on Donna, who's perched on the counter, dressed to the nines, and swigging straight from a bottle of vodka. "Are you out of your goddamn mind?"
She crosses her legs, the revealing sequin dress shimmering as she leans back, flashing her cleavage. "You can't stop me from going."
The hell he can't.
And if she thinks her rampant sex appeal will sway him, the show of skin is only more incentive to keep her locked up.
Ripping the bottle from her hand, he slides it down the bench, and he traps her with his arms. "Do you really want to challenge me?"
"Do you?" She grins, dragging her heel up the inner seam of his trousers.
Growling, he grabs her by the knees, pulling her down. She squeals, struggling as he pins her wrists behind her with a bruising grip.
"Get off me!"
He lets her squirm until she's out of breath and breathing hard against his solid frame. "You're drunk," he says firmly. "You're also in shock. And there is no way you're leaving this damn house tonight, understand?"
Her eyes widen, triggering his nagging sense of guilt that happens whenever she gets upset. He would swear she does this on purpose, plays the man with her gorgeous hazel eyes.
"I can't sit around doing nothing," she gasps. "Please."
Her warm breath shudders against his neck, the cuts he got saving her life stinging as he loosens his grasp, holding her wrists more gently. Tears won't change his mind, but they soften his anger. If she is putting on an act, he's falling for it.
"You don't have to. You can help me go through the comments on your social media, then tomorrow I'll stay with you on set, and after that, we can talk about which media engagements are safe for you to attend."
She nods, her lashes catching moisture, and he should let go, but his touch unwillingly lingers. He doesn't do the comfort thing. Yet, something about her demands that he try. "I told you… it's my job to worry so you don't have to. Nothing bad is going to happen, I promise. You just need to listen to me, okay?"
Her chest rises against his with a shaky breath. "Okay." She gives him a watery, sheepish smile. "I'll try."
Relief catches him off guard as he releases her. He's so used to her arguing or being pissed at him that he's had to be cold toward her. But he genuinely thinks she'll make more of an effort, so he considers her needs in return. "Have you eaten anything?"
Wiping her eyes, she shakes her head. "Not since breakfast."
Moving to the sink, he pours her a glass of water to help sober her up. No wonder she's been behaving erratically. The obvious stress aside, he knows how much food she puts away in a day, and all she's running on right now is alcohol. "Why don't you get changed? I'll order us something for dinner."
"You don't like the dress?"
She absently traces the line of the v-neck, her skin flushed from where he was pressing against her. He likes it all a little too damn much.
"Just making sure you won't run out as soon as my back is turned."
He hands her the glass of water, watching mischief return to her smirk as she wobbles around him.
"Uh huh… sure."
He leans back against the counter, his eyes trailing her stilettos, ensuring she won't trip and fall. Once she's out of the room, he unconsciously rubs his thigh with a slow exhale. If she wasn't so drunk and vulnerable… Christ, help him.
She's not the only one with erratic feelings.
Except his problem isn't a high metabolism; it's a six-foot, redheaded actress who is driving him slowly to the brink of insanity.
AN: Some moving forward in this chapter. I go from 0 to 100 real fast, haha. Let me know what you think :)