I

Donna paces back and forth in the conference room, her eyes fixed on the clock mounted to the wall opposite her. Each tick is a subtle, insistent reminder that Harvey Specter is now twenty-three minutes late to his own deposition.

Her client, George Wolcott, the CEO of Wolcott Aerospace, sits at the head of the long table, sipping at his coffee as he scrolls through his phone. He's been remarkably calm for the past half-hour, but she can sense his frustration bubbling just below the surface. He's used to running things, and this is just another example of someone trying to hold him down.

"Seems a waste of tax dollars, the state of our public legal system," he says dryly. "What a joke."

Donna doesn't answer. She just continues to pace. It's not that she disagrees with him; she's just trying to keep herself focused and calm. She knows if she stops moving, the anger will start to creep in, and if there's one thing she can't afford, it's to give Harvey the satisfaction of getting to her.

"Relax," Samantha says as Donna struts past her. She's perched on the edge of the conference room table, her legs crossed casually. "He's just trying to get into your head."

"Well, he's succeeding," she mutters, shooting another glare at the clock. "Damn it, Samantha, where the hell is he?"

Rachel, seated to George's left, offers a sympathetic smile. "Maybe he's stuck in traffic?"

Before Donna can reply, a sharp rap on the glass door draws her attention. It's Louis, his eyes wide with panic. He's mouthing something, his breath fogging up the glass, and gesticulating wildly with his hands. Donna doesn't need to read lips to know what he's trying to say.

Harvey's here.

She sees him then. He's striding down the hallway with that maddeningly relaxed swagger, exuding confidence with every step as he makes his way towards the conference room. Donna casts a brief but appreciative look over the navy Tom Ford two-piece suit, the Hermes tie with a not-quite-bold blue and black motif, and the Italian leather shoes – all of which complement each other. This is not an attorney playing peasant, wearing plain business casual in an attempt to look more approachable. No, this is an attorney playing king.

Harvey Specter, you insufferable show off, she thinks. You're supposed to be a public servant. But she can't ignore the heat pooling in her lower abdomen and inching upward, slowly, as he approaches her. She likes what she sees. Maybe a little too much.

Damn him.

Harvey reaches the conference room door and pauses, his eyes locked on hers through the glass. It's like a standoff. She meets his gaze head on, her jaw set as she struggles to keep her expression neutral. He's testing her. Waiting for her to break, to let some of that annoyance show in her eyes.

She holds her ground. And then, as if by some unspoken cue, they both move.

He opens the door and Donna steps forward. "Harvey," she says, her voice as casual and unbothered as his appearance. "You're late."

He gives her a lazy once over that's slow and thorough enough to be obscene.

"Donna," he says, and she hates the way her stomach flutters. Hates how the sound of her name on his lips, soft and teasing, feels like a caress. She hates that she likes it. She hates him. She really fucking does.

His lateness is clearly a move designed to disturb the equilibrium, and instead of even a word of apology, he's...checking her out? The nerve of this man.

Although to be fair, she does look good. Her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders and she's wearing one of her more daring dresses – a form fitting burgundy cape midi with an elegant cut and plunging neckline that stops just shy of impropriety. It's one of her favorites, and a little showy, perhaps, for a simple deposition, but she's never been the kind of lawyer to shrink into a corner when it comes to taking the stage.

"Well?" Donna asks, arching a brow at him, "are you just going to stand there staring or are we going to get started?"

His lips quirk upwards in amusement, but he offers no reply as he slides into the chair facing Wolcott. He doesn't bother to acknowledge her team, a deliberate powermove, a public declaration that he's the alpha in the room. She can feel the shift in energy as everyone seems to lean in towards him, waiting for whatever he's about to throw down. It's ridiculous, but undeniably impressive, this magnetism of his.

She has no choice. Donna knows her only chance is to get right in front of his shit and call him on it. Cut it down before it sways, and does what it's doing right now. She's going to need to be uncompromising. Because she won't win by losing ground. And that's what any hesitation and cowering will amount to: inching back, one step at a time, until she is the one squirming, looking like the fool.

So she breathes in, steps forward and sinks into her own seat, across from Harvey. "If everyone's ready," she starts with faux-pleasantry. Samantha and Rachel meet eyes in subtle amusement, and Wolcott rolls his shoulders back in anticipation. He looks like a man ready for battle, which is exactly the image Donna is trying to project.

Before any of them have a chance to respond, the conference room door opens again and a young man Donna doesn't recognize enters, carrying an armful of files.

"Sorry I'm late," the young man says, setting the files down on the table. He gives Donna an awkward smile. "I'm Mike Ross, Harvey's second chair. And you must be –"

"Just take a seat, Mike," Harvey interrupts.

Mike blinks, his eyes darting between Donna and Harvey.

"Right. Okay."

Donna frowns. watching as Mike pulls out the empty chair next to Harvey and sits down. She expected Harvey's second to be a seasoned veteran, not this baby-faced kid who looks like he just stepped off a college campus.

Mike's eyes sweep over Donna's team. His gaze lingers on Rachel for a moment, and he smiles at her. She smiles back. Harvey clears his throat, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly at Mike, and the younger man quickly averts his gaze.

As expected, Harvey cuts right through the introduction. "The offer hasn't changed," he says, his focus on George, "you know it's the best one you're going to get, and you should take it, Mr. Wolcott. Because if you go to trial, I can guarantee you won't be happy with the outcome."

"Please refrain from speaking to my client directly," Donna says, shooting Harvey a warning look. "If you have something to say, you say it to me." It's cold and assertive, and she can see the slightest irritation tick at his jawline. His eyes flicker with something dark and indecipherable. The air between them feels hotter, tenser. "You're the one who came late, and now disrupted the start of these proceedings. I was prepared to explain the intricacies of your so-called deal and lay out the facts of this case to my client. If you're adamant that you'd rather not take this seriously, we could be done here within minutes, of course. Or, you could sit and shut the hell up and allow us to do our jobs."

Harvey's almost smiling. "So the answer is no, then?"

"What do you think, George?" Donna asks the CEO, her eyes never leaving Harvey's.

He hesitates for a beat, considering the question. "Well, Ms. Paulsen, I think I agree with your initial response to Mr. Specter's proposition."

"Good." Donna glances at Rachel. "For the record, please note that our client would like Mr. Specter to shove his plea offer up his ass. And if he mentions it again, we'll consider it harassment and proceed accordingly."

Rachel bites her lip to keep from smirking. "You want me to..."

"Yes."

"Up his..."

"Yes."

Donna turns back to Harvey, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

His smile, still there, widens. It's unnerving, really, how much he's enjoying this. "In that case," he says, leaning back in his seat, "let's get started."

They dive straight in, and it's immediately clear that Harvey's done his homework. He knows Wolcott Aerospace inside and out – every financial statement, every employee file, every meeting memo, down to the very last comma. But that's okay, because Donna does too, and she's not going to give him anything for free.

She pushes hard against Harvey's line of questioning, countering and blocking, refusing to allow him any real progress. But he's always ready for her, never missing a beat, and as the deposition goes on, the intensity of their back and forth builds.

Their exchanges become heated, neither of them holding back as they trade insults and accusations. Harvey's relentless, grilling George on every minute detail of Wolcott Aerospace's operations. More than once, Donna has to intervene, shooting down his line of questioning or redirecting her client to give only the information relevant to the charges.

With any other attorney, a deposition would be a straightforward, efficient process. It would all be so boringly perfunctory, a quick-step through a monotonous, colorless choreography. But not with Harvey Specter. No, he likes to throw his weight around. Thinks the world will submit to his pompous, arrogant will.

But oh, he is fun, Donna thinks. With his ease and that sharp tongue. How his eyes hardly leave her, even when he's badgering Wolcott with one pointed question after another. There's some kind of secret language he and Donna are having, one of insults and sarcasm, a mutual flirtation cloaked in aggression, and although it's obvious he's playing her, she has to admit it's...distracting. Disturbingly captivating. Like she's stepping on the tracks watching the light illuminate in the darkness, seeing the speed of the train that's moving straight towards her, mesmerized and enthralled and perhaps dying for it. A kind of sick, perverse pleasure she shouldn't be seeking, because what in the hell is happening inside of her head, what is this maniacal pounding against her rib cage?

Whatever this is, she can't afford to lose herself in it, to show weakness or even a moment of mental lethargy. Because god forbid Harvey breaks through the wall. So Donna matches each of his questions, returns the jabs aimed at Wolcott, all while maintaining a cool composure that betrays nothing. At least, that's the goal. She will not give him an inch, will not make it easy.

Hours pass, but it feels like minutes. The room is thick with tension and something else – something heady and charged that Donna's struggling to keep at bay. Around them, the others watch, transfixed. George answers Harvey's questions mechanically, his eyes darting between the two lawyers, sensing the undercurrent but unable to fully grasp its nature. Mike and Rachel exchange glances, a mixture of confusion and mild discomfort in their expressions. Only Samantha seems truly amused, smirking from where she sits in the back of the room, sipping at a glass of water and watching the showdown with unabashed fascination.

"Mr. Wolcott," Harvey says, his gaze shifting to the CEO, "can you explain to me why your company billed the state for 'aerospace engineering consultants' in 2018 when your own records show no such consultants were ever hired?"

Donna shifts in her seat, her eyes narrowing. "My client has already addressed this issue. The discrepancy was due to a clerical error, which was corrected in the following quarter's report."

"A clerical error that conveniently resulted in a three million dollar overpayment," Harvey counters, his gaze sliding from Wolcott to Donna. "That's quite the typo."

"It was an oversight, one that was promptly rectified. And if you had bothered to read the full report, you'd have seen that Wolcott Aerospace not only returned the overpayment but also paid a penalty for the inconvenience. So unless you have any new questions, I suggest we move on."

Harvey leans back in his chair, his expression infuriatingly calm. He stretches out his long legs beneath the table, and suddenly, his foot brushes against Donna's ankle. She stiffens at the unexpected contact, and expects him to move, to apologize, to do anything but what he does next.

He leaves his foot there, his expensive leather shoe resting lightly against her Louboutin. It's a challenge, she realizes. He's daring her to react. Move, he seems to say without words. Yield. Give me your space.

But Donna Paulsen doesn't yield. Not to anyone, and certainly not to Harvey Specter. So she stays put, her foot planted firmly on the ground, refusing to relinquish even an inch to him. And then, in a move that surprises even her, she pushes back, her foot pressing ever so slightly against his. It's just a light, brief pressure, but it's enough to make her point clear. I am in control here. You yield, not me.

Harvey raises an eyebrow, but there's the smallest twitch of a smile at the corners of his lips. Donna has to resist the urge to smile back, her own lips threatening to quirk into something that can only be described as flirtatious. It's ridiculous. And stupid. And wrong. And so damn confusing. Because they are supposed to hate each other, aren't they? They're supposed to be at each other's throats, and yet here she is, sitting across the table from the most frustrating, arrogant asshole she's ever encountered, playing footsies with him under the table.

A fleeting sense of guilt washes over her, thoughts of Wes flickering through her mind. What would he think if he could see her now, playing these juvenile games with another man, allowing the lines to blur? He'd be appalled by her lack of professionalism, her willingness to stoop to Harvey's level. But the ache of shame is quickly overshadowed by a rush of defiance. She's an adult, dammit. She doesn't have to answer to anyone.

"Mr. Wolcott," Harvey continues, his voice lower now, more intimate, as if he's speaking only to Donna, "you've been in the aerospace industry for over three decades. In all that time, have you ever encountered a 'clerical error' of this magnitude?"

Wolcott frowns. "Well, I–"

"Don't answer that," Donna interjects. She leans forward and Harvey's foot brushes higher along her ankle, moving with an almost deliberate languor. Donna clenches her teeth. "Mr. Specter is clearly trying to manipulate you into saying something that contradicts your previous testimony. We've already addressed this issue. Move on." She punctuates her last words with another push of her foot, the tip of her heel digging into Harvey's leg in warning.

Harvey's eyes darken, his lips pressing together in a tight line. He doesn't move his foot, though. And neither does she.

They're at a stalemate, neither willing to back down. She wonders what the hell they must look like right now – Harvey all long and languid in his seat, with that dark look on his face, her body tensed and coiled and ready to spring, their feet locked in an invisible war beneath the table. She can only imagine what the rest of the room thinks is going on.

And yet they won't break their gaze, or retreat an inch from the space they've carved out for themselves in this room. Because that would be the ultimate loss of power between them, and neither will accept defeat.

She will not break first, she won't, and so she does the unthinkable.

She slips her foot out of her heel. Her skin brushes against the cotton of his sock and travels slowly upward, inching past the hem of his suit pant. Harvey inhales sharply, and for the first time, Donna can see a flicker of surprise in his eyes. She keeps her expression blank, feigning complete nonchalance as she continues her path upwards until, finally, her bare foot meets the skin of his calf. She watches, almost in awe of her own behavior, as Harvey's jaw tightens, his eyes growing impossibly darker.

God, what the fuck am I doing? Donna thinks, even as she presses the ball of her foot against Harvey's leg, feeling the muscles of his calf flex beneath her touch. She should be horrified. Disgusted, even. But all she feels is an intoxicating sense of power, the rush that comes from holding Harvey Specter captive, of watching as his carefully controlled mask slips, just a fraction.

"Something wrong, Harvey?" Donna asks, tilting her head to the side. "You seem...distracted."

For a moment, she thinks Harvey might actually snap. He stares at her, his eyes blazing, and she can practically hear the wheels turning in his mind, trying to decide how to respond to her challenge and get back the upper hand, or at the very least, a way out of this without losing any of that precious ego of his.

"Maybe we should break for lunch," Mike suggests, sensing Harvey's growing agitation. "We can pick up where we left off after we get some food in us."

"Good idea," Rachel quickly agrees. "I think everyone could use a breather."

George doesn't wait for permission. He stands up, mumbling about needing a cigarette, before making his way out of the conference room.

Donna finally withdrawals her foot and Harvey exhales slowly, his eyes losing a bit of their fire. He almost looks lost, confused even, like he's coming up for air, breaking a surface he didn't realize he was sinking into. But almost immediately, he collects himself, rising to his feet and buttoning his suit jacket.

"We're not done here," he says and without another word, he turns and strides out of the room.

Mike scrambles to gather the files in front of him, stuffing them into his briefcase. He hesitates for a moment, offering Donna an apologetic smile. "Sorry about Harvey. He gets a little..." Mike trails off, shrugging.

"Don't worry about it," Donna says, appreciating the sentiment. "He's an ass, but it comes with the territory."

Mike chuckles. "True." He taps his knuckles against the table and nods towards Rachel. "What's good to eat around here?"

"Lots of choices," Rachel says. "Depends on what you're in the mood for."

Mike shrugs. "I'm open to anything."

"I was going to grab some sushi," she says. "There's a place around the corner..." She trials off, glancing over at Donna.

"Go." Donna says, waving her off. "I'll eat something later, I need to go over these notes."

Rachel hesitates. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm good, Rachel."

Rachel stands, closing her laptop. "Samantha?"

"I'm not in the business of fraternizing with the enemy." She gives them an arch look, her demeanor icy. "So thank you, but I'll be skipping the little sushi date."

The implication of her words isn't lost on Rachel, who instantly blushes, while Mike gives Samantha a confused look, as if he's not quite sure she's serious.

"Come on," Rachel says to Mike, though her eyes dart nervously back to Donna. "Before all the spicy tuna rolls are gone."

Donna arches a brow in amusement and Mike obediently follows Rachel out of the room.

The door clicks shut behind them, and Donna sinks back in her chair, her shoulders sagging a little as the tension she's been carrying finally recedes.

Samantha studies Donna with interest, a slow smirk spreading across her face. "This rivalry of yours is hot."

"You enjoyed that, did you?"

"Immensely."

"Glad I could entertain." Donna picks up her pen and pulls one of the files in front of her, a silent signal that she's not in the mood for chit chat.

She is frustrated as hell, not just by Harvey's theatrics, but by her own behavior. She let it all get too close. Allowed him to push her. She has no excuse for it, none whatsoever. Her lack of control is beyond humiliating.

So why does a part of her still yearn to pick right back up where they left off, and test the waters even further?

Samantha makes no move to leave the conference room, remaining in her seat and watching Donna with an annoyingly perceptive look on her face. Donna ignores her, flipping open a file and forcing herself to read through it. But she's distracted, her mind replaying the morning's events over and over, trying to figure out where it all went wrong.

"You did well, Donna," Samantha says after a moment. "Specter's good, I'll give him that, but he's met his match with you. And I think he knows it."

Donna frowns, taken aback by the rare compliment. Samantha isn't usually the kind to hand those out, especially to her. Their relationship has always been a bit...strained. They respect each other as colleagues, but the competition for partnership over the years has caused them to clash more times than not, leading to more than one cold war. Donna has always felt like the underdog around Samantha, the younger and less experienced one, but there's something reassuring in the other woman's tone, the way she's looking at Donna with pride and maybe even awe. It's a bit jarring.

"Thank you."

"Don't let Harvey's posturing fool you." Samantha stands up and collects her things. "He wouldn't be putting so much into this if he didn't consider you an actual threat. His ego won't allow it. And that you are able to match him tit for tat? That's made an impression on him. I'd even go as far to say you intimidated him, and men like Specter don't like feeling like they don't have control, so whatever it is that just happened? Consider it a small victory, and make sure it stays that way."

With that, she sweeps out of the room, leaving Donna to digest her words.

Donna sinks back in her chair. A small victory? Maybe, she thinks. Or maybe just a momentary blip. Either way, she won't be taking her foot off the pedal. And she won't let his mind games get to her again. No more footsie under the table. No more weakness, and no more playing games. She has too much riding on this case to lose it all for a fleeting thrill and a momentary loss of control.

She stands up, tucking the files into her briefcase. She needs some fresh air. See if she can track down George and smooth things over a bit.

A/N: I know, weird place to leave it. There were meant to be two more scenes in this chapter, but it ended up being too long, so Chapter 4 (affectionately know as Harvey Spirals Over A Foot and If You Think You Hate Wes Now, He's About to Get So Much Worse) will be up in a few days.