Warnings: References to drug and alcohol abuse.

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Chapter 3: Knight's Move

The Ludlow Hotel hadn't changed since the last time Harvey had been summoned to a meeting there. Its interior still clung to a dated chic from the mid-2000s. Exposed brick decor, dim lighting, and more velvet than his eyes were comfortable seeing before 9 a.m. The hotel wasn't unimpressive, but for all its pretension, it never quite managed to feel like anything more than an expensive option for people who liked to play at being interesting.

He approached the door to Donna's suite, clenching his fists with unenthused energy. Going to the press had been insanely idiotic on her part, but it had worked — he was here .

Of course, he wouldn't be if it weren't for the debt he was ready to square away with Theodore. Their past was a chapter in his life that should have been closed years ago, the kinship between them as brittle as a pencil shaving. Where he dabbled in the grey, Theodore colored it red. When he'd found out his former colleague was helping the DA falsify evidence, he'd packed up his shit and gotten out, until his brother had dragged him back in.

An altercation with a loan shark had brought charges to Marcus' doorstep, but instead of prosecuting, the then-ADA had helped his brother get his life back on track. Theodore never revealed why he went out on a limb, given the bad terms they were on, but Ted had come to collect, and he owed the man.

Although having his kneecaps bashed in might be less painful than what he was about to do.

Knocking sharply on Donna's door, he waited impatiently, then rapped again. He'd flirted with the desk hostess, so he knew she was in, and he squared his shoulders when she appeared, looking far less glamorous than when she'd attended the press conference early this morning.

The suit she'd worn was gone, replaced by baggy sweats, and her puffy eyes narrowed at him. He could tell she'd been crying. Probably because she'd realized what a colossal fuck-up she'd made, involving the press and goading the IRS. Too bad he was fresh out of sympathy.

"Get dressed," he said, watching an argument brew in her smoldering gaze. Her headstrong attitue was another thing he wasn't going to stand for. She couldn't be trusted, so they were either going to do this his way or not at all. "I told you, I don't do business until I know who I'm getting into bed with. Either you come down for breakfast, and we talk like civilized adults, or I'm leaving."

Donna's neck flushed hotly under her sweater, the rawness in her throat choking her impulse to fight him. "Doesn't exactly sound like a two-way street."

"You want a lane? Prove you can drive without crashing into a pylon."

His words were no harsher than Logan's. Pleasant, actually, by comparison. She didn't regret her decision to go public, but the backlash from her manager and the studio had been borderline abusive. Her plan had no padding, she was free-falling, and at this point, she was willing to silence her ego for a clear way out of the chaos she'd caused.

The only problem was, she didn't regret a thing.

She'd started a war to prove her dad's innocence, and his battle was still her fight.

"What about my dad?"

His indignant look waved a 'collateral damage' red flag, but his hostility told her he was here because he'd realized he could somehow benefit from taking her case. That meant she had leverage.

"I didn't risk everything just to save myself. If you won't help him, then I'll find someone who will."

The sharp intake of his breath gave away his staunch frustration, but she was right — he needed this win as much as she did. Because even though his jaw was pinched with annoyance, he begrudgingly agreed.

"I know Mike Ross, your father's lawyer. I'll find out what he knows."

It was hardly a truce, and she knew his offer wasn't out of the kindness of his heart, but gratitude mixed with satisfaction lifted the corners of a small smile.

"Thank you."

The door then closed abruptly in Harvey's face, and he swore that if she wasn't ready in five minutes, he'd forget the whole goddamn thing.

Christ, she was infuriating. How she'd swindled someone as indomitable as Theodore Black into caring was one of the universe's greatest mysteries and also a veiled warning. He'd have to keep his eyes wide open, because she was no damsel in distress, and he wasn't her knight in shining armor.

The game she'd started was a means to an end for both of them, and the sooner he got her on a flight back home to Theodore, the better.

The covered outdoor dining area at the Ludwig was mostly deserted, and Donna was grateful for the privacy. The meltdown she'd been having when Harvey arrived wasn't normally how she conducted her emotions. She knew how to handle grief and stress — usually with a Valium and a glass of wine on the side — but she hadn't expected the studio executive's threat to sue her or the furious voicemail from her father, demanding she leave well enough alone. It was too late for that now. She'd made her stand, and if Harvey was as good as Teddie said, he'd be able to help her work a plan.

She glanced over at him, surprised when he nodded over his eggs and bacon, breaking the stony silence.

"You should eat."

The comment seemed a strange way to broker the awkwardness, particularly when she was used to hearing the opposite. In L.A., people were constantly taking food out of her hands, telling her there wasn't time to eat. That was one thing she wouldn't miss if the studio fired her. Right now, though, she didn't have an appetite for her plain buttered toast. She was more concerned with why Harvey had shown up and dragged her down here.

"I thought you weren't going to help me. What changed your mind?"

"Who said it changed?"

He carved up a piece of bacon, staying tight-lipped while she took a sip of her espresso. If they kept on at this rate, they might as well fax their communications. Ignoring why he'd taken the first—unwilling—step, she decided to take the high road, give him a reason to trust she wouldn't keep anything else important from him.

"You should know, the studio is threatening to sue me for a breach of contract. I didn't exactly tell them about the press conference or that I was taking a hiatus from the show."

"You mean going off half-cocked to get my attention backfired? What a shock."

"I didn't do it to get your attention." Her saucer rattled as she dropped her mug down. "Maybe it escaped your ego, but there are other good lawyers in New York."

The edges of his forced smile lifted, brimming with immature sarcasm.

"Careful, Your Highness. You're starting to sound ungrateful."

His mouth devoured a large bite of bacon and eggs, and she wished he'd choke on the greedy forkful—let her be the one to decide if he was worth helping. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that I care about my dad?"

Harvey swallowed and then freshened his palate with a swish of OJ. After witnessing Jim's holier-than-thou attitude, he couldn't be anything but skeptical of the redhead's motives.

"Well, let's see. You haven't picked up a phone to call your father in three years. You won't go see him. And if he'd agreed to let me represent him, I'm betting you would have been on the first red-eye back home. Doesn't sound like someone you'd risk everything for to me."

Her head bowed away from his allegations, proving them right, and it felt damn good to call her out. She wasn't as smart as she gave herself credit for. But he wasn't interested in her agenda. He could give a shit about it, so long as she did what she was goddamn told.

"I'll deal with your contract, but if you want to keep your job, find an executive producer with a sympathetic ear and grovel, fast."

"You want me to play the victim?"

"Emotionally distressed, harassed, grieving daughter… whatever you want to call it. Just make sure the studio execs will look like assholes if they don't support you."

Her arms looped over her chest, her attention coming back to him with full ferocity.

"Do you want to know why I don't speak to my dad?"

He honest to God didn't, but he'd taken an untimely bite of his bacon, and he was a lot of things, but never impolite when it came to table manners.

"I was sixteen when he invested in a deal that fell through. Our family lost everything, but my mom and I, we didn't care. My dad was a good man who made one mistake, and we forgave him for it, but it didn't matter. He started drinking because he couldn't handle the guilt, and nothing we did could get through to him."

His food went down with a thick swallow. For all he knew, Theodore had told her about Marcus, and she was peddling more bullshit to get him onside. Except, she had a tell, the same one he got when memories from the past stirred in his dreams during the dead of night — guilt. He could see it in the twitch of her nail pulling back skin, and he chewed more slowly. Facts were something he could use, so he let her finish.

"My dad only ever laid a hand on me once. The night my mom walked out on him."

Donna's chest rose, her knuckles brushing her cup as she exhaled. She'd never told anyone about that evening, not even Teddie, and she wasn't admitting it to Harvey to garner sympathy. Realizing what he'd done, her dad had broken out of his drunken stupor and she'd seen a flicker of the man who was worth fighting for.

"I hadn't seen him lucid for… I don't know how many days, but in that second, he sobered up, told my mom to take every penny we had and go. He got clean after that, but the guilt still haunted him, and my mother died waiting for him."

She could feel the burn of more tears starting to sting, but she forced them back. Her life wasn't a sob story she was trying to sell. Itwas just her truth.

"That's why I don't speak to him anymore, but it's also how I know he didn't steal from Atlas. That company gave him his life back, and he wouldn't betray their loyalty for money. That's not who he is."

Her certainty didn't bring out the smug reaction Harvey's ego wanted. Instead, a pang dropped low in his gut, which had to be pity. If she was being honest, then she'd been dealt a shitty hand growing up, and if she really was willing to sacrifice everything for family, then that made her a shadow of the woman he thought she was.

Caring was a weakness he didn't respect, but when he glanced up, there was nothing timid about the fire in her chestnut gaze. He noted the changing color of her irises with a keen interest. In his office, they'd swirled emerald green when she'd been toying with him. Now, golden flecks were blazing a stubborn inferno in defense of her guilty father.

At some point, she'd have to accept that Jim Paulsen wasn't the man she remembered, but he parked the conversation for the time being. She was far too emotional to see reason, and he scraped his knife, pushing the remainder of his eggs to the far side of his plate.

"I'm done. Have some."

"Why?"

It didn't matter to him if she was a mess on her own watch, but he'd already warned her about being civil, and he was sure she'd be less likely to jump down his throat with food in her stomach.

"So I know you can listen when I tell you to do something that's for your own damn good."

She unfurled her arms with an indignant snort.

"Careful, Your Majesty. You're starting to sound like you care."

"Hardly."

Her fork swept up some of his eggs, but his relief was short-lived when she tried to barter with him.

"First, I want to know what's in this for you. I can't follow your lead if I don't trust you either."

There was a clatter behind him, a waitress clearing off another table, and he used the momentary distraction to briefly weigh up whether Donna's infuriating obstinacy was worth losing his sanity over.

He moved his gaze back to her poised hand, watching her fork hover with an almost imperceptible tremor. She'd cut off her own nose to spite her face, he no doubt, and he'd gladly let her, except in this instance, she had a point. It would make his job a hell of a lot easier if she stopped trying to fight him at every turn.

"Ted Black helped someone important to me. If I help you, that makes us even."

"So I'm the repayment of a debt?"

He shrugged, nodding at her tight fist. "You wanted to know why I'm here."

To his amazement, she listened to him, her silence unnerving when she finished and went back to his plate for a second helping. If she was offended, she was doing an impressive job of hiding it.

"Who is he to you?" he asked, unsure what to make of her being fine with what, for all intents and purposes, was a business transaction

She wiped her mouth with a napkin, helping herself to the last of his juice with a raised eyebrow. "I should be asking you that. Not a lot of people owe Ted favors."

Theodore's penchant for creating enemies over friends might be the first thing they agreed on, and the only common ground they'd stumbled onto. "Not a lot of people call him a friend either." He moved the ball back into his court, trying to ascertain why she was different. "Are you sleeping together?"

"Why? Are you planning on asking me out again?"

She drained his OJ, and Goddamn, she was insufferable. "I told you. I don't mix business with pleasure."

If she was the last woman on the planet, seducing her wouldn't be enthralling anymore, though the olive jade swirling in her gaze teased otherwise.

Her hand brushed over her toast, peeling off a corner, teaching him two things: she was impossibly difficult when she was hungry, and incensing when she wasn't.

"We're not together." She finally gave him a straight answer, shrugging. "We care about each other."

The way she said it implied only one variation could be true, and he wondered if that had to do with Theodore or if Jim Paulsen had left his daughter with some long-standing daddy issues.

His watch beeped, reminding him he had another appointment, and he brushed the comment off, mumbling under his breath, "glad to hear it."

It was time to make a call, and he glanced over at her small and timidly bewitching smile.

"I like lilac sheets."

An image of her sprawled naked on pastel linen invaded his mind which he deterred with sharp avoidance. Getting into bed with each other was figurative, and he still had reservations about signing her, but they hadn't killed each yet — a slightly better than abhorable start.

"Email my secretary a copy of your employment contract and stop by my office tomorrow night. I'll have an engagement letter ready for you to sign." He stood up, pointing at her phone. "Remember, play the victim, not the vigilante. And if you talk to the press without my sign-off again, don't bother coming in."

Without waiting for a response, he stalked away to take care of the check, blowing a sharp breath into his hollowed cheek. If she refused to play by his rules, she'd learn the hard way that he wasn't messing around.

AN: Thank you to everyone leaving reviews! This is definitely a bit of slow burn plot compared to some of my other stories so I'm glad people are finding it interesting xx But I do think it's time to bring some other characters into the fold! Stay tuned for some Mike Ross next chapter... :)