Chapter 6: Adjournment

With a lax grip around his coffee, Harvey locked eyes with Gretchen's unusually attentive gaze as he approached his office. Most days she didn't give a shit when he waltzed in, greeting him with fleeting, almost theatrical indifference. This morning, however, her eyes were trained like a hawk, and he answered her interest with a perky smirk. "Happy to see me, Gretchen? What's the date today? I want to write this down."

"If you think this is pleased, you'd better pull that damn head in." She nodded sharply to the left. "Donna Paulsen is here to see you."

His gaze snapped up.

Sure enough, the redhead was standing there, her copper mane flowing down a navy dress as she stood pensively, staring out the window. Given the state she'd been in last night, the presence surprised him. He hadn't expected her to be coherent before lunchtime, much less up roaming around, and he guessed the appearance wasn't a social call.

"She say why she's here?"

"Nope." The 'P' popped as Gretchen picked up her nail buffer. "But her face did," she added. "And I'd say one of you is in trouble."

He rolled his eyes at the unhelpful insight. It was impossible to tell if she knew more than she was letting on, but he had nothing to hide. "I'll have you know I've been a perfect gentleman."

"Mm-hmm, I'm sure."

"You know, some of the secretaries around here do actual secretarial work."

Her attention lifted from the file, regarding him with a tepid silence that tightened his Adam's apple. Truth was, her sass kept him in line better than anyone else, and he knew when to read between the lines. "I'll just… go see for myself."

"Uh-huh."

He skated under her watchful judgement, his squeamish charade paying off when she decided to throw him a bone.

"Use your eyes to listen, Romeo, not your ears."

The hoarse and cryptic advice wasn't much to go on, but it stayed at the forefront of his mind as he pushed inside his office, easily appreciating Donna's pert posterior in the stylish dress hugging her curves.

"If you're here to clear the air — "

"You're fired."

The sharp snap of her voice deflated his admiration. She had more sex appeal than Monroe and Bardot combined, but she was as maddening as Jack Nicholson in The Shining which hardened his response.

"You can't fire me."

Grasping the file protruding from the edge of his desk, he waved the documents at her. "You haven't signed the engagement letter yet, so technically, I don't work for you." He sunk into his chair, slapping the papers down next to his coffee.

It was clear what was going on; she was embarrassed. He wouldn't be shocked if she'd never faced the consequences of a night getting wrecked. Lucky for her, he wasn't in the habit of lecturing bad behavior.

"I was going to say that if last night ever happens again, we're done. Otherwise, let's forget it and move on."

"You don't understand. I don't want your counsel, and my dad doesn't need you fighting his battles."

She finally turned around, her gaunt and pale complexion betraying the tight trepidation in her clenched jaw.

"I'll square things away with Teddie, make sure your debt is paid. I just need my pills back."

Said the junkie to their pimp.

Except that wasn't what was going on here.

Like Gretchen told him to do, he looked instead of listening. Donna was antsy, sure, her knuckles clenched white around her purse, but she wasn't strung out or in need of a fix. Addicts didn't typically beg when they had unlimited funds and access to online pharmacies. The offer to get him off the hook for a few pills was bullshit, but it did tell him he'd been wrong about her pride being hurt.

"What happened after I left the hotel?"

There was a starkness to her hazel eyes he hadn't seen before, moisture coating their indecision as she glanced nervously around the room, and shit — he knew that reaction. It had been expressed by countless witnesses who'd coerced or intimated into lying on the stand.

Pushing up, he steered himself in front of her, focusing her line of sight. She blinked at him, her lips parting, but no explanation followed. Given her life in the spotlight, there was no chance she rattled easily, and he had the sudden urge to physically harm whoever had terrified her stubbornness into submission.

"Donna, you're safe here. You know that or you wouldn't be here."

Her shoulders dropped a little, inviting him to hesitantly reach out and gently lock his fingers around her elbow. "Come over here, sit down."

He didn't meet any resistance as he maneuvered across to the leather sofa where she took refuge in the corner. Grabbing a water from the table, he handed her the bottle as perched next to her.

"Take a minute. Then I need you to tell me exactly what happened."

The drink bounced from her mouth to her lap several times before it rested on the glass again, her shaky hands fiddling with the flap of her clutch, lifting it open.

She slipped out her phone, the device trembling as she unlocked the screen. "There was someone in my room. I didn't see them, but they sent me a text."

He took the device, his eyes skimming over the blunt and menacing bubble. It was undoubtedly from Atlas, wanting her to go public and announce her father's guilt, but it was the thumbnail of the video below that made his blood run cold and then ragingly hot. The clip was short, only thirty seconds of her sleeping soundly, but the malicious intent was abundantly clear; the person in the video could have hurt her or worse.

"Did you call the police?"

She shook her head with a sharp inhale. "I had the desk concierge check the room, that's all."

"Why not?"

"You said my father was set-up."

A flicker of resistance broke through the fear propelling her anxiety.

"If someone with that reach can fool the IRS, then I can't trust the local authorities."

Smart girl.

He had to pay credit where it was due. Even traumatized, she was still using her wits, but that only begged more questions. Like whether firing him was a ruse or if she had another plan set in motion.

"Did you come down here to show me this?"

His guard was up as he waved the phone, unimpressed when her chin dropped, coloring her motives with avoidance.

"The truth, Donna."

He'd have to be blind not to notice the flush of red traveling up from the valley of her cleavage to her cheeks telling him she was genuinely embarrassed.

"I don't know."

She blinked away what his gut told him were real tears as she stumbled over her words.

"I couldn't call the police, someone tipped off the paparazzi, and my manager kept calling… I didn't know where else to go that was safe, so I came here."

He splayed his palm over the length of his thigh, weighing up what seemed like the truth. Last night he'd told her to trust him, and it sounded like that's exactly what she'd done; come to him first. And if he'd woken up to a video of someone recording him sleeping,he'd probably be a worse fucking mess.

"Stay here."

He lifted himself off the couch, inclined to trust her, but already regretting the plan he was formulating. It was unorthodox and went against everything he'd willingly do for a client, but Donna was a means to an end that had been a long time coming.

Adjusting his schedule to fit around her situation was an inconvenience he could live with for a couple of days, he just had to do the unthinkable first.

Grovel to Louis.

.

.

A warm breeze ruffled Donna's hair as she stood overlooking the waves of the Atlantic Ocean. Her head was clearer now, calmer than when Harvey had piled her into his Mustang, herding her around like cattle and refusing to tell her anything. It was only after he'd snuck them into The Ludwig to pack an overnight bag that she'd landed on the conclusion she was being kidnapped. Though there were worse places than The Hamptons to be held hostage, and her irate anxiety had started to uncoil once they hit the interstate, her problems shrinking along with the city in the car's rearview mirror.

If Harvey was the only person who knew their destination, that meant nobody else could find her either. After they'd pulled up at the luxurious beach house, he had confessed that his partner owned the place, but that they were guaranteed privacy from peeping Toms and spying neighbors.

As for the rest… She was still in the dark, unable to determine he'd dragged them out on a secondment. He didn't come across as the 'swooping in to save someone' type, and hiding her wasn't exactly a complex arrangement. The press, and whoever had broken into her hotel room, would track her down eventually. Unless, of course, Harvey planned to leave her chained up in the basement, which did sound a lot more like something he'd do.

She sighed into the wind, rubbing a small knot in her shoulder from where she'd slept in the car. It amazed her she'd been able to fall asleep, but the soothing jazz station Harvey had turned on worked to settle her racing panic.

Surprisingly, she did feel safe out here, and she let her mind disappear into the white noise of nature, unstartled when the patio door quietly slid open.

Harvey appeared beside her, his rolled-up sleeves stretching against the banister. Apparently, he wasn't completely immune to relaxing either because his tie was gone, and the hard worry lines he'd worn when he'd started working on his laptop softened somewhat as he spoke.

"You hungry? I'm going to make some lunch."

She raised a surprised eyebrow. "Are hostages allowed to eat?"

"If this was a kidnapping, it would have been a lot damn easier to get you in the car."

He flexed a loose smirk which made her almost regret acting like a brat. "I wasn't being deliberately difficult."

"Just today?"

The sun felt a little too warm on her cheeks as she turned her head back to the water. From Harvey's perspective, she probably did come across as diva-esque, but back home in L.A. she'd always been considered low maintenance compared to A-list celebrities. Her life was routine, average, and boring compared to her short time in New York.

Maybe she could have conducted herself better in hindsight, but Harvey was no saint either. He'd cast his aspersions the second he realized who she was, had gone out of his way to push all her buttons, and this morning was no exception.

"You didn't tell me where we were going. You have my phone, the only set of keys," she pointed out. "I still don't know why we're here. And maybe I'd be a bit more trusting if a pervert hadn't filmed me in bed last night."

"If I was going to film you in bed, trust that you wouldn't be sleeping."

His wink was insufferable, and not even the stretched-out horizon could keep her serenity from slipping. But before she could demand the keys to his Mustang, he pulled her phone out of his back pocket.

"The woman sitting in my chair earlier this week wasn't rash or impulsive. She was charming and intelligent and a hell of a good actress." He nodded down to the beach. "I get that this situation is personal, but there's the line in the sand. No circus means no misinformation being spread and no distractions. We come up with a plan to expose Atlas or we settle. It's your call."

The phone hovering in front of her was a test. If she turned it on, their location would ping, and Harvey would do the bare minimum to keep her from being charged. Of course, if she didn't, that meant he was risking putting himself in danger.

"You said Ted helped someone you care about. Who was it?"

"So it's Ted again, not Teddie?"

She'd made the slip when she wasn't thinking clearly this morning, and she wondered how much he knew about Ted's past. But given the lightness that accompanied his teasing, she guessed he was simply trying to distract her. "I'm serious. If you want me all in, I need to know who it is you're fighting for."

The air around him changed, his muscles growing tense, but then the storm cloud passed as he watched the waves rolling in. "My brother, Marcus. We aren't close, but Theodore saved his life."

She was able to determine a wealth of information from just the two truths. If he referred to Teddie as Theodore, then she knew when they'd met, why they were no longer close, and she'd bet anything that Harvey's brother had been afflicted by some sort of addiction, just like Celeste Black.

The questions she had were pressing, but she held them back. He'd told her what she needed to hear; that she was indirectly worth his determination to see her father's case through.

"Keep the phone." Her lips curved around a smile. "I do my best thinking when I'm being charmingly intelligent, brilliant, and all-around awesome."

"I don't think I said—"

"You didn't have to." She fluttered her lashes. "A queen knows when she's being revered."

He rolled his eyes, tucking her phone in his pocket and extending an arm. "Let me regale you over lunch, then, Your Highness. By all means, after you."

For the first time in days, she fought a grin, biting the inside of her cheek as she led them across the deck.

The real storm was yet to come, and they were nowhere near the eye of the hurricane, but Harvey had given her a safe harbor for a couple of nights, a place she could buckle down and prepare.

Teddie had been right about her being able to trust him, but Harvey was wrong about her only options being to fight with him or settle. There was a third option.

She just had to figure out what it was.