#pearson specter

You were already forty minutes into the manicure when the salon door opened and every head turned. Harvey Specter did not belong in a place that smelled like lavender and hot paraffin. He belonged in a courtroom, in a corner office, in a three-thousand-dollar suit destroying someone’s case before lunch. Yet here he was, charcoal suit immaculate, tie perfectly knotted, scanning the pink-accented room until his eyes landed on you.

You didn’t look up right away. You let him come to you. That was part of the game.

“Patterson merger,” he said without preamble, voice low enough that only you and the technician could hear. “Your client slipped in a last-minute exclusivity clause that’s going to blow up discovery. We need to talk before this thing goes nuclear.”

You flexed your fingers under the UV lamp and gave him a slow, sweet smile—the kind that made opposing counsel underestimate you right before you eviscerated them. Your blouse was blush pink, the exact shade that made men think “soft” until they realized you were using it like a blade.

“Harvey Specter,” you said, tone light, almost playful. “In a nail salon. Did someone finally serve you papers in here, or are you just lost?”

He didn’t smile. He never did when he was working. “Message delivered. Now we talk.”

You tilted your head, studying him. The technician was pretending not to listen, but her brush had stopped moving. You decided to push.

“You know,” you said conversationally, “I bet you’ve never done this for a woman. Never walked into a place like this and said, ‘Whatever she wants—put it on my card.’ Never treated a girl to something just because she deserves it.” Your eyes met his, steady. “And love? Have you ever actually loved a woman, Harvey? Or do you just win them the same way you win cases—hard, fast, and then you move on to the next one?”

The words landed. You saw it. The tiny pause, the flicker behind his eyes, the way his shoulders tightened like he’d taken a hit he hadn’t seen coming. For once, Harvey Specter had nothing immediate to say.

He looked at you—really looked. At the pink blouse, the perfectly done hair, the confident set of your mouth. At the fact that you were smarter than most of the men in his firm and you wore it like armor that also happened to be pretty. Something shifted in his expression. Not lust, though that was there. Something heavier. Respect. Intrigue. Want, but the kind that went deeper than skin.

He reached into his jacket, pulled out a black card, and handed it to the receptionist without breaking eye contact with you.

“Whatever she wants,” he said. “Full treatment. Add the pedicure. The hot-stone massage. The scalp thing. Whatever’s on the menu that costs extra, she gets it.”

The receptionist blinked. You blinked. Then you laughed, low and delighted, because you had not expected him to call your bluff.

“Oh, we’re doing this?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “If Harvey Specter is paying, I might as well go all the way. Throw in the paraffin dip, the brow lamination, and that new gel extension set I’ve been eyeing. Let’s see how far you’ll go before you start negotiating like it’s a settlement conference.”

He didn’t flinch. “Done.”

You watched him pay a bill that would have made most men wince. He signed the receipt like it was nothing. When he looked back at you, the sexual tension that had always simmered between you two—rivalry sharpened into something hotter—crackled louder than before. You felt it low in your stomach. He felt it too; you could see it in the way his gaze lingered on your mouth, your throat, the line of your collarbone above the pink silk.

“This doesn’t change anything about the case,” he said, voice rougher than usual. “I’m still going to bury your client’s demands in motions. But dinner. Tonight. Eight o’clock. The steakhouse on 52nd. My treat. We can argue about the exclusivity clause over red wine and a ribeye that costs more than your shoes.”

You smiled, slow and dangerous. “You’re on, Specter. But I’m ordering the most expensive thing on the menu just to watch you pretend it doesn’t bother you.”

He almost smiled back. Almost. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

The steakhouse was exactly the kind of place Harvey liked: dark wood, white tablecloths, wine list that required a second mortgage, and a maître d’ who knew his name. You showed up in a deeper pink dress that hugged every curve and made the entire room notice when you walked in. Harvey was already at the table, scotch in hand, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled once. He stood when you approached. That alone was new.

“You clean up,” he said, pulling out your chair. His eyes dragged over the dress like he was cataloguing evidence. “Pink again. Of course.”

You sat, crossing your legs slowly. “It’s not a costume, Harvey. It’s strategy. Men see pink and they think ‘harmless.’ They get comfortable. Then I dismantle them in depositions while they’re still trying to figure out why they underestimated me.” You picked up the wine list. “And I like it. I like being a girls’ girl in a world that tries to make us compete with each other instead of the boys. So I wear the color, I win the cases, and I remind everyone that femininity isn’t weakness.”

He studied you over the rim of his glass. The tension was thick enough to cut. “Smart,” he said finally. “Really smart. Most people use armor that looks like armor. You use one that looks like a dress and still manage to make every man in the room feel like he’s the one on trial.” He leaned forward slightly. “I respect that. More than I probably should.”

The waiter came. Harvey ordered a bottle of something expensive without looking at the list. You ordered the most expensive steak on the menu and a side of lobster mac just because you could. He didn’t blink.

Conversation started with the case—your client’s exclusivity clause, his firm’s counter-proposal, the discovery fight that was coming. But it kept drifting. Personal. Charged.

“Why law?” he asked between bites.

“Because the boys’ club needed someone who could smile in pink and still beat them at their own game,” you answered. “And because I like winning. Same as you.”

He nodded, something like approval in his eyes. “You’re good. Better than most of the men who sit across from me. That’s why this—” he gestured between you two “—has always been a problem. The tension. The fact that I want to destroy you in court and buy you dinner at the same time.”

You took a slow sip of wine. “So buy me dinner. Then take me to your apartment and fuck me like you’ve been thinking about it since the first time I beat you on a motion. We can go back to trying to ruin each other’s cases tomorrow.”

His jaw tightened. The look he gave you was pure heat. “You’re pushing again.”

“I like pushing,” you said softly. “Especially when you push back.”

He paid the check without letting you see the total. His hand found the small of your back as he guided you out—possessive, warm, deliberate. The walk to his car was silent but loaded. Every brush of his fingers felt like a promise.

His apartment was exactly what you expected: sleek, minimalist, expensive, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the city that probably cost more than your yearly salary. The door had barely clicked shut before he had you against it.

His mouth was on yours—hard, demanding, nothing like the careful Harvey Specter the world saw in court. One hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. You kissed back just as fiercely, biting his lower lip, tugging at his tie until it came loose.

“Been driving me insane,” he growled against your mouth. “The pink. The mouth. The way you look at me like you already know you’re going to win. Fuck.”

You laughed, breathless. “Then do something about it, Specter.”

He did.

He spun you around, pressed your front to the door, and yanked the zipper of your dress down in one rough motion. The pink fabric pooled at your feet. His hands were everywhere—rough palms on your breasts, sliding down your stomach, pushing your underwear aside so he could stroke you. You were already wet. He made a low, satisfied sound.

“Christ,” he muttered. “All that attitude and you’re soaked for me.”

You pushed back against him. “Talk less. Fuck me more.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

He freed himself, lined up, and thrust into you in one hard stroke that knocked the air from your lungs. No slow build. No teasing. Just deep, relentless, exactly like you’d asked for. His hand wrapped around your throat—not choking, just holding—while he fucked you against the door like he was trying to prove a point.

“Feel that?” he said in your ear, voice ragged. “That’s what happens when you push me all goddamn day. You get this.”

You moaned, pushing back to meet every thrust. “Harder.”

He gave it to you. The sound of skin on skin was filthy in the quiet apartment. His free hand gripped your hip hard enough to leave marks. You came once like that—fast, sharp, clenching around him—before he pulled out, spun you again, and lifted you. Your back hit the door. Your legs wrapped around his waist. He sank back into you even deeper, pace punishing.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

You did. His eyes were dark, intense, and underneath the hunger there was something else—something that made your chest tighten. He was falling. Not just into bed. Into you.

He carried you to the bedroom without pulling out, laid you on the massive bed, and followed you down. This time it was slower for a moment—deep, grinding thrusts that made you see stars—but still hard. He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder and drove in until you were sobbing his name.

“Harvey—fuck—Harvey—”

“That’s it,” he said, voice rough. “Say my name like that. Like you’re not my rival. Like you’re mine.”

You came again, harder this time, and he followed you over the edge with a guttural sound, hips stuttering, face buried in your neck.

For a long minute there was only breathing.

Then he rolled to the side, pulled you with him, and did something you never expected: he kissed your forehead. Soft. Almost tender.

You lay there in the quiet, his arm heavy across your waist, your pink dress a forgotten puddle somewhere near the front door. After a while he spoke, voice low.

“This doesn’t change the case,” he said. “I’m still going to fight you on every motion. I’m still going to win.”

You smiled against his chest. “Good. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

He was quiet again. Then, quieter: “But tonight… tonight was different. You were right at the salon. I don’t do this. I don’t pay for women’s nails or take them to dinner and actually enjoy the conversation. I don’t look at someone in pink and think ‘she’s going to ruin me and I might let her.’” His fingers traced idle patterns on your bare shoulder. “You’re smart as hell. You use that color like a weapon and a shield at the same time. You’re a girls’ girl in a profession that tries to make women tear each other down, and you still beat the men at their own game. I fell for that. Hard. And it’s not just physical. It’s… you. The whole package. The fight. The mouth. The way you look at me like you see every move I’m going to make before I make it.”

You lifted your head to look at him. His expression was open in a way you’d never seen on Harvey Specter.

“I’m still going to destroy your client’s exclusivity clause,” he added, mouth twitching.

You laughed softly and kissed him. “And I’m still going to make you work for every single concession. But after we’re done fighting in court… maybe we do this again.”

He pulled you closer, already hardening against your thigh again. “Count on it.”

His mouth found yours, slower this time but no less intense. When he rolled you beneath him again, the second round was just as hard—deeper, rougher, his hands pinning your wrists, his voice in your ear telling you exactly how good you felt, how long he’d wanted this, how much he respected the hell out of the woman who wore pink like war paint and still beat him at his own game.

You gave as good as you got. Nails down his back. Teeth on his shoulder. You rode him until his control snapped and he flipped you again, fucking you through another orgasm with a hand between your legs and filthy praise in your ear.

When you finally collapsed, sweaty and satisfied, he didn’t let you go. He pulled the covers over both of you, tucked you against his chest, and stayed there—Harvey Specter, the man who never stayed, holding you like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

“Pink,” he murmured against your hair, half-asleep. “Of course it had to be pink.”

You smiled into his skin. “Told you it was strategic.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m starting to see that.”

Outside, the city lights glittered. Inside, the rivalry was still very much alive. But something else had started—something neither of you was ready to name yet, but both of you were already falling into.

You woke to sunlight cutting across Harvey’s bedroom and the weight of his arm still slung across your waist. For a moment you stayed still, listening to his even breathing, the city waking up outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. Your pink blouse from last night was a crumpled heap near the door. His suit jacket was draped over a chair like it had been discarded in a hurry.

He stirred when you shifted. “Morning,” he said, voice gravel-rough. No preamble. Typical Harvey.

“Morning, Specter.” You rolled to face him. His hair was a mess, tie long gone, and he looked unfairly good for someone who had fucked you senseless against his front door and then again in this bed. “So. Last night happened.”

“It did.” He propped himself on one elbow, studying you with that unreadable courtroom stare that always made opposing counsel squirm. “And it’s going to happen again. But we’re not idiots. We can’t just keep this a secret and hope nobody notices.”

You sat up, sheet pooling at your hips. The conversation you’d both been circling was here now, unavoidable. “The clients. We have to tell them. Conflict of interest the size of the Chrysler Building if we don’t.”

Harvey’s mouth twitched—half smirk, half grimace. “Jessica’s going to lose her mind. Pearson Hardman doesn’t exactly hand out gold stars for sleeping with opposing counsel. Even when the opposing counsel looks like you in pink.”

You laughed softly, but the weight settled in your chest. “We tell the clients first. Both sides. If they want us off the Patterson merger, we recuse. If they’re willing to keep us on with full disclosure, then we tell Jessica. I’m not sneaking around like some associate who doesn’t know better. I’m better than that. And so are you.”

He reached out, thumb brushing your lower lip in a gesture that was strangely gentle for him. “You’re right. We disclose because we’re not amateurs. And because I want this—” his hand slid down to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, warm and possessive “—without looking over my shoulder every five minutes.” His eyes darkened. “You like that, don’t you? My hand here.”

Heat pooled low in your belly. You swallowed against his palm. “Maybe.”

“Later,” he said, voice dropping. “First we handle the grown-up part.”

The calls took most of the morning. You sat at his kitchen island in one of his shirts—pink silk against your skin—while he paced in sweatpants, phone on speaker. First your client, then his. You laid it out plainly: you and Harvey Specter had developed a personal relationship. It would not affect your advocacy. Full transparency. If either side wanted new counsel, you would step away immediately.

The responses surprised you both.

Your client chuckled. “Look, you two have been circling each other like sharks for months. The chemistry was obvious in every deposition. As long as you keep fighting for us in the courtroom, I don’t care what you do outside it. Stay on.”

Harvey’s client was even blunter. “Specter, if you’re finally getting laid by someone who can actually match you, maybe you’ll stop being such a pain in my ass on billable hours. Keep her on. Just don’t let the sex make you soft on the exclusivity clause.”

Harvey ended the call, stared at the phone for a beat, then looked at you. “Both clients are keeping us. Apparently our sexual tension has been billable entertainment.”

You grinned. “Told you. Now Jessica.”

He groaned, already dialing. The conversation with Jessica Pearson was shorter, sharper, and far less amused. She threatened to have both your licenses if this blew back on the firm. Harvey took it like he always did—chin up, unapologetic. “It’s handled. Clients signed off. We’re professionals. This doesn’t change how we litigate.”

Jessica’s final words before hanging up: “It better not, Harvey. And tell your girlfriend to wear something that isn’t pink to the next status conference. I’m not running a sorority.”

You raised an eyebrow when he relayed it. “Girlfriend?”

He didn’t deny it. Just stepped between your knees where you sat on the island stool and kissed you, slow and deep. “We’ll figure out the label later. Right now we’re going shopping.”

“Shopping?”

“You need a dress. Something for the deposition next week that makes the other side forget their own names. And I want to watch you try things on.” His hand slid up your thigh under the shirt. “Call it a reward for surviving the ethics conversation.”

The boutique was the kind of place that didn’t have a sign on the door—just an address in a converted brownstone and a receptionist who knew Harvey’s black card by heart. Appointment only. Private fitting suites with their own sitting areas, champagne on ice, and attendants who materialized with armfuls of dresses and then vanished like ghosts. The kind of place where money bought discretion so complete that, as Harvey had put it on the way over, “they’d let you fuck in the room and charge it to the card without blinking.”

You chose the suite with the pale pink velvet chaise and the three-way mirrors. The attendant brought the first rack—silks, satins, structured wools in every shade of blush and rose. Harvey sank into the armchair like a king on his throne, one ankle crossed over his knee, scotch in hand even though it was barely noon.

“Start with the one that has the slit,” he said, voice already lower.

You tried on three dresses before the tension started to crackle. The first was a soft pink sheath—elegant, professional, court-appropriate. You stepped out, turned slowly. Harvey’s eyes dragged over every inch.

“Too safe,” he said. “Next.”

The second was bolder—off-the-shoulder, fitted through the waist, flaring at the hip. You posed in front of the mirrors. “Well?”

He stood, circled you once, close enough that you felt the heat of him. “Better. But you’re still holding back. I know what you look like when you’re trying to win.”

The third dress made him stop breathing for a second.

It was the one. Deep rose pink, almost fuchsia in the light, bias-cut silk that clung to every curve like it had been poured on. The neckline was a deep V that stopped just short of indecent. The back dipped low. A slit up one thigh that went high enough to be dangerous in a courtroom. You stepped out of the dressing area and the air in the suite changed.

Harvey set his glass down slowly. “That one.”

You turned in front of the mirrors, watching his reflection. “You like it?”

“I like what it does to you.” He crossed the space in three strides. His hands found your waist, then slid down to the slit, fingers brushing bare skin. “But it looks better on the ground.”

Before you could answer, he hooked his fingers in the straps at your shoulders and pulled. The silk whispered down your body and pooled at your feet in a puddle of pink. You were left in nothing but a scrap of matching lace underwear and heels. The attendants had closed the suite door behind them. No one was coming back unless summoned.

Harvey’s mouth was on your neck instantly, hot and demanding. “Been thinking about this since the salon. Since you pushed me about paying your bill and I realized I wanted to give you everything just to see that look on your face.” One hand came up, wrapped around your throat—not tight, just firm, possessive, thumb stroking your pulse. You made a soft sound and he felt it. “There it is. That kink of yours. My hand right here while I fuck you.”

You pushed back against him, already wet, already aching. “Then stop talking and do it, Specter.”

He spun you, bent you over the velvet chaise. The mirrors caught every angle—your flushed face, his dark eyes, the way his hand stayed collaring your throat as he freed himself with the other. He pushed your underwear aside and thrust in hard, one smooth stroke that made you gasp. No warmup. No teasing. Just the same relentless pace from last night, the one that said he’d been holding back all morning through the client calls and the Jessica lecture.

“Fuck,” he growled against your ear, hips snapping. “Tight. Perfect. This what you wanted when you wore pink to the salon? Me losing control?”

You moaned, pushing back to meet every thrust. The hand on your throat tightened just enough to make your head spin in the best way. “Harder.”

He gave it to you. The chaise creaked under the force. His free hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise. In the mirrors you watched him fuck you—suit pants still on, shirt sleeves rolled, completely in control even while he was buried inside you. The contrast of his clothed body against your naked one only made it hotter.

“You like my hand here?” he asked, voice rough. He squeezed lightly, just enough pressure to make your vision spark at the edges. “Say it.”

“Yes—Harvey—fuck, yes—”

He rewarded you by angling deeper, hitting that spot that made your knees buckle. You came hard, clenching around him, and he didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, pace brutal, the hand on your throat anchoring you while the other slid between your legs to work your clit.

“Again,” he ordered. “Come again for me. Then I’m buying you this dress and every other pink thing in this place.”

You did—shaking, sobbing his name—while he followed you over the edge with a low, guttural sound, hips stuttering, face pressed to the back of your neck. For a long moment the only sounds were your breathing and the distant city traffic.

He pulled out slowly, turned you, and kissed you—messy, deep, almost tender. The hand that had been on your throat now cupped your jaw. “We’re telling Jessica we’re together. Officially. Because I’m not hiding this. And because you’re not just a rival anymore. You’re mine. The pink, the mouth, the way you push every button I have and still make me want to give you the world. That’s not going away.”

You leaned into him, legs still shaky. “Good. Because I’m not going easy on you in court tomorrow. And I’m wearing this dress to the deposition.”

He laughed—actual, genuine Harvey laughter—and helped you step back into the pink silk. “Then I’m going to spend the entire meeting thinking about how it looked on the floor.”

The attendant returned a few minutes later with impeccable timing, as if she’d been waiting for the exact moment the air stopped crackling. Harvey paid for the dress without looking at the total, added three more in varying shades of pink “just in case,” and tipped generously. The woman smiled like this was the most normal transaction in the world.

Outside, the afternoon sun hit your face. Harvey’s hand found the small of your back as he guided you toward the car.

“Clients are fine,” he said. “Jessica’s pissed but she’ll survive. We’re still going to destroy each other on the Patterson merger.”

You leaned into him. “And after?”

“After,” he said, opening the car door for you, “I’m taking you back to my place and we’re going to see how many times I can get my hand around that pretty throat before you beg.”

You smiled, slow and dangerous, already planning your next move in court and in bed. “Bring it, Specter.”

He kissed you once, quick and filthy, before rounding the car. “Count on it.”

The rivalry was still alive. The case was still on. But the secret was out, the clients had chosen sides in the most unexpected way, and Harvey Specter had finally admitted—out loud, in a fitting room, with your pink dress on the floor—that he was falling for the woman who wore pink like war paint and beat him at his own game.

The courtroom buzzed with restrained energy as the judge reviewed the final submissions. You sat at your table in a tailored rose-pink suit that commanded attention without sacrificing professionalism, notes organized meticulously before you. Across the aisle, Harvey Specter stood tall in his signature three-piece suit, exuding the quiet arrogance of a man who had already scripted the outcome in his mind. The Patterson merger case had consumed months—motions, depositions, heated exchanges that blurred the line between professional rivalry and something far more personal.

Harvey’s closing argument had been masterful. “Your Honor, opposing counsel’s interpretation of the exclusivity clause stretches the contract beyond recognition, much like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole with nothing but wishful thinking and aggressive discovery. The precedent in Langford v. Meridian is clear: such clauses cannot override good-faith negotiation when the facts demonstrate otherwise.” His delivery was precise, each word a calculated strike, eyes occasionally flicking to you with that familiar spark.

You had countered effectively, highlighting ambiguities and potential damages, your voice steady and laced with the strategic femininity that disarmed jurists and opponents alike. “The defense would have this court ignore the plain language of the agreement, Your Honor. My client relied on those protections, and to rule otherwise would set a dangerous precedent for corporate overreach.”

The judge had deliberated, the tension thick enough to cut. Then the gavel fell. “The court finds in favor of the defense on the primary claims. The exclusivity clause is unenforceable as applied. Judgment for the defendant.”

A ripple went through the room. Harvey’s team erupted in subdued celebration—handshakes, nods of respect. You met his gaze across the aisle as the gallery began to clear. There was no gloating in his expression, only that intense satisfaction mixed with something deeper—the acknowledgment of a worthy opponent who had become so much more. He approached your table as papers were gathered, voice low enough for only you to hear.

“Well fought,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You made me work for it. Almost had me on the damages angle.”

You stood, straightening your pink jacket. “Almost. Congratulations, Specter. You earned it. But don’t think this ends the conversation.”

His eyes lingered on you, heat simmering beneath the professional facade. “It never does with us.”

The transition from courtroom to celebration was seamless. The firm had reserved a private room at one of the city’s premier restaurants—dim lighting, rich wood paneling, tables set with crystal and linens that spoke of success. Associates, partners, and select clients filled the space, toasting the win with scotch, wine, and the easy camaraderie that followed a hard-fought victory. You arrived on Harvey’s arm, the shift in your relationship no longer a secret but a quiet, acknowledged fact. Not fully defined as “girlfriend” in every conversation, but undeniably his—whatever this was had solidified through disclosures, shared nights, and mutual respect that transcended the case.

He guided you to a corner booth, his hand possessive at the small of your back. You slid in beside him, immediately pressing close. By the time drinks arrived—his usual scotch, your crisp white wine—you were nearly in his lap, one leg draped over his, your pink skirt shifting just enough to feel the deliberate contact.

“Making a statement?” Harvey murmured, his arm settling along the back of the booth.

You smiled, clinking your glass against his. “Just ensuring everyone knows the rivalry has… evolved. Now, tell me again how you dismantled that exclusivity clause. Because from my side of the table, it looked bulletproof until you hit them with Langford.”

The conversation ignited like kindling. You loved this—the law as intellectual sparring, the post-game analysis that felt as intimate as anything physical. For what stretched into nearly forty minutes, you dissected the proceedings in detail. Harvey recounted his strategy with characteristic precision, referencing precedents and turning points as if replaying a chess match. “The key was forcing their hand on discovery. Once they overreached on those internal memos, the clause crumbled. You nearly pinned me on the reliance argument, though. Smart play—had me rethinking the timeline for a solid hour last week.”

You countered with your own insights, leaning in so your shoulder brushed his chest. “The damages calculation was the real leverage. If the judge had bought the full scope, your win would have been Pyrrhic at best. But you anticipated it. That’s what makes you dangerous, Harvey—you see the board three moves ahead.”

His hand rested on your knee under the table, fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns that sent warmth spreading upward. The discussion flowed effortlessly, a shared passion that made the restaurant noise fade into the background. Legal strategy became foreplay, each point scored with a glance or a subtle shift closer in the booth.

Donna joined seamlessly, sliding into the opposite seat with a martini and that perceptive smile that missed nothing. She observed your proximity, the way Harvey’s fingers now stroked higher beneath the tablecloth, and raised her glass.

“I called this months ago,” she said, voice laced with satisfaction. “The two of you throwing sparks in every deposition, arguing like it was foreplay. I told Harvey he needed someone who could challenge him without stroking his ego into oblivion. And here you are—pink armor and all—doing exactly that. I’ve been waiting for this to snap into place. You’re good for each other. Keeps the firm interesting and him from becoming unbearable.”

Harvey chuckled, the sound low and warm against your ear. “Donna, if you’re fishing for credit, you’re not getting a raise. But yes—she keeps things… stimulating.”

You laughed, the sound genuine despite the building heat from his wandering fingers. “I’ll take that as high praise. And Donna, you were right. This works because we both love the fight.”

The dialogue shifted easily between case specifics and lighter office anecdotes, Donna contributing sharp observations that had you both nodding. All the while, Harvey’s touch grew bolder. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your skirt, tracing the edge of your underwear before pushing it aside. Two fingers slid inside you with practiced ease, curling to hit that perfect spot as the conversation continued uninterrupted on the surface.

You gripped your wine glass tighter, maintaining composure as an associate stopped by to congratulate Harvey. The first orgasm built swiftly, a quiet, shuddering wave that you masked by leaning into his side, pretending to adjust your position. Harvey didn’t falter—his voice remained steady as he thanked the associate—but his thumb circled your clit with relentless precision, drawing out the pleasure until your thighs trembled.

Mike Ross appeared next, beer in hand and enthusiasm unchecked. He pulled up a chair, launching into a rambling tribute. “Harvey, that win was poetry! And you—” he gestured at you “—you had us all on the edge of our seats. The way you two went at it in court, at each other’s throats for months, objections flying like daggers. I thought it was pure hatred, then bam—here you are practically in his lap. It’s amazing. How does that even transition? One minute she’s dismantling your discovery request, the next you’re celebrating together. I mean, the chemistry was obvious, but seeing it up close? Mind-blowing. Respect to both of you for making it work without blowing up the firm—”

Harvey’s fingers never stopped. He thrust them deeper, thumb working faster as Mike rambled on. The second climax hit you mid-sentence, a sharper wave that forced you to bite your lip and nod along as if deeply engaged. “It’s… about respect,” you managed, voice only slightly strained. “We push each other because we’re equals in the courtroom.”

Harvey interjected smoothly, his free hand gesturing casually. “Ross, you’re overanalyzing again. Focus on the win, not the personal. Though she does make losing look appealing.” His fingers curled, drawing a third, more intense orgasm from you while Donna watched with subtle amusement and Mike continued oblivious. Your body clenched around him, a soft gasp disguised as a laugh, pleasure rippling through you in waves that left you flushed and breathless, nearly fully in his lap now.

By the time Mike wandered off, still muttering about “rival-to-something stories,” you were a trembling mess of satisfaction, core pulsing from the multiple releases. Harvey withdrew his hand slowly, bringing his fingers to his lips for a discreet taste while his eyes locked on yours with dark promise. “Still love the law as much as before?” he asked, voice rough.

“More,” you breathed. “But right now, I need you.”

The celebration gradually wound down. Handshakes and final toasts were exchanged, the team dispersing with the glow of victory. Harvey led you out to the street, where his Aston Martin waited—sleek, powerful, the embodiment of his success. The parking area was shadowed and private enough. You didn’t hesitate, climbing over the console the moment the doors closed, straddling him in the driver’s seat.

“Drive or don’t,” you whispered, already unbuckling his belt. “I need this now.”

He didn’t drive. His hands shoved your skirt higher, freeing himself with urgent efficiency. You sank down onto him in one fluid motion, both groaning at the fullness. The confined space amplified everything—your knees braced, hands on his shoulders, the leather seats creaking with each roll of your hips. You rode him hard, setting a rhythm that matched the intensity of the courtroom battle earlier that day.

Harvey’s head tipped back, one hand guiding your movements while the other rose to wrap around your throat—firm, possessive, applying exactly the pressure that made your vision spark. “That’s it,” he growled, thumb stroking your pulse point. “Ride me like you fought that case. Like you own every inch of this win and this moment. Fuck, you feel incredible.”

The words, paired with the grip on your throat, pushed you closer to the edge. You moved faster, grinding down with purpose, the car rocking subtly. His hips bucked up to meet you, the hand on your hip gripping hard enough to leave marks. “Come for me,” he commanded, voice strained yet controlled. “Right here, after I took the win. My victory, your pleasure.”

You shattered around him, clenching tightly as the orgasm crashed through you, a cry muffled against his neck. He followed swiftly, thrusting deep and holding you there as he spilled inside you, his hand on your throat tightening just enough to heighten the peak before easing into a caress.

You stayed connected for long moments afterward, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the fogged interior. Harvey’s hand lingered at your throat, then slid to cup your jaw with surprising tenderness. “This—us—isn’t ending with the case,” he said quietly. “The wins, the arguments, the nights like this. I want all of it. You challenge me in ways no one else does. In court and out.”

You kissed him softly, still joined, the city lights filtering through the windows. “Good. Because I’m not done pushing you, Specter. Next case, I’ll have my revenge. But tonight… this is perfect.”

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As you finished the last bite of your meal in Rachel’s office, a comfortable silence settled between you and Harvey.  Harvey leaned back in his chair, and a sense of relief seemed to wash over his face, "You did well today, Y/N. We'll get through the Jackson case. I promise. Whatever it takes.”

You offered a small, appreciative smile, acknowledging the sentiment. "Thanks, Harvey. It means a lot."

You stared at the clock and the realization that it was time to head home crept in. Harvey, ever the gentleman, offered you a ride, “Come on, I’ll take you home.” He stood up moving the desk back to how he found it and picked up the trash. 

However, your need for control and familiarity after the recent panic attack made you decline the ride, "Thanks for the offer, Harvey, but I think I'll take my own car tonight."

A small, almost imperceptible frown flashed across Harvey's face, quickly replaced by his usual composed expression. "Alright." was all he could stammer out. 

After parting ways, you walked towards the parking lot, keys in hand. As you drove home alone, a subtle sense of curiosity lingered. What if you had accepted Harvey's offer? What could have unfolded in the confined space of his car, free from the walls of the office? 

The thought nagged at you as you navigated the familiar streets, feeling your head cooling off. Rolling down the window to allow the fresh air to overflow your senses  There was a part of you that wished you knew the answer, a desire to unravel the mysteries that lay hidden beneath the surface of your professional relationship with the Harvey Specter.

The next few days went by pretty fast. All days felt the same . It was a routine of restless nights as your mind was clear yet foggy on your night with Harvey. Nervous yet excited on what the following days would bring. You woke up early every day to go to your favorite coffee spot. But every day you spent it at your desk going through Amir related emails and one day you spent the day researching organic cat food for Louis. You haven't even had the chance to really see or talk to Harvey, not that you were keeping track ( 3 times he has spoken to you). 

But about 10 days after the incident, here you were, standing in the elevator, expecting to be another calm day of going through Amir’s associates emails with Rachel.

But when the elevators dinged,  the beautiful face of  Donna Paulsen appeared as the door opened.  She stood there waiting for you and without saying a word she turned on her heel and gestured for you to follow her. And like a loyal puppy you followed Donna through the corridors, her signature click-clacking heels echoing in the hallways as you tried to keep you.

As you walked, Donna’s voice boomed,  efficiently providing a rundown of the latest developments in the Amir Jackson case. Apparently, Amir had signed a contract with his brother-in-law’s firm, and Harvey was currently breaking it down in his office to find any potential weaknesses or loopholes. You were confused but eager to understand your role in all this, so you did your best to keep up with Donna's brisk pace. The details of the case were important, but the question of why Donna was sharing them with you lingered in the back of your mind.

Donna approached Harvey's office, she shot you a sly smile and motioned for you to enter. The door creaked open, revealing Harvey Specter engrossed in his work. Donna whispered, "You wanted to be in the big leagues; well, here you go."

Harvey was seated at his desk, a stack of papers spread out before him. Mike Ross was leaning against the wall, and both turned their attention to you as you entered.

Donna, standing in the doorway, mouthed, "You got this."

It dawned on you—this wasn't just an update on the case. Donna had orchestrated this moment for a reason. You were being given a seat at the table, an opportunity to contribute to a high-stakes strategy session. The realization sent a surge of adrenaline through your veins. Harvey was keeping his word after all. 

 Harvey and Mike acknowledged your presence, you straightened your posture and mentally prepared to engage in the battle of wits that lay ahead.  You are ready to keep up and prove your worth beyond your typing skills. 

Mike walks up to you handing you a file, and you take a seat. Knowing the breakdown you take out your colorful pack of highlighter ready to color coordinate. Purple for potential loopholes, yellow for things to research, blue for important dates and green for  contacts. 

Harvey couldn't help but notice you being meticulously organized. With a smirk, he quipped, "Really, Y/N? Color-coordinated highlighters? Are we in kindergarten?"

You, shot back with a playful smile, "Well, Harvey, some of us appreciate a little order and aesthetic appeal. It's called professionalism."

Harvey raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the quick retort. "Professionalism, huh? I prefer the classic black and white approach. Simple and effective."

You without looking up from your file said, "Well, Harvey, sometimes a splash of color can make things more interesting. Maybe you should try it sometime.” Reaching down to your highlighter bag you pulled one out handing it to him, “Here, I think pink suits you”

He takes it from your hand, not backing down, “You know if your legal skills were as efficient as your highlighting skills we would be done with these files already”

You retorted, “Well, Harvey, if your people skills were as smooth as your hair, we'd have won the case yesterday."

Mike, who had been silently working, looked up with a bewildered expression, unsure of how the banter had suddenly transformed into a flirtatious exchange. He blinked, processing the unexpected turn of events.

Harvey  leaned against the table and raised an eyebrow. "Smooth hair, huh? You're just jealous, Y/N."

"Oh, please," you replied with a smirk, "I've seen smoother hair on a mannequin."

Mike, now thoroughly confused, looked between Harvey and you, trying to decipher when this banter became a new development. 

Before anything can go any further there is a knock at Harvey’s door, it was Rachel. After hearing from Mike about your little fainting incident, she was kind of overbearingly persistent on making sure you were eating and were okay no matter how much you told her you were fine.  Despite your reassurances that the incident of passing out was a one-time occurrence and that you were doing better, Rachel continued to express her care in thoughtful ways.

Today was no exception. Rachel asked to borrow you for a moment. Excusing yourself from your work, you followed Rachel outside the office. She had a warm smile on her face and a bagel in her hand, with your name on it.

"Hey, I know you said you're doing better, but I thought you might need a little pick-me-up," Rachel said, offering you the bagel.

You couldn't help but smile at Rachel's thoughtful gesture. "Thanks, Rachel. You really don't have to keep doing this, but I appreciate it."

Rachel chuckled, "I know I don't have to, but I want to. Consider it my way of making sure you stay fueled and ready to tackle anything."

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While you were outside having that conversation with Rachel, Mike couldn't help but seize the opportunity for a little teasing. Looking at Harvey with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he remarked, "What was that?"

Harvey, ever the master of composure, shot Mike a sharp look. "Shut up and focus, Mike," he retorted, trying to divert attention back to the files.

Mike, undeterred by Harvey's attempt to change the subject, leaned back with a playful grin. "Oh, you're definitely focused on something," he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Harvey rolled his eyes, realizing that he might have just opened himself up to a barrage of teasing from Mike. 

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You returned to the office with the bagel in hand, you tucked it away in your bag without giving it much thought. However, Harvey's raised eyebrow didn't go unnoticed. He questioned, "Aren't you going to eat that?"

Unbeknownst to you, the hesitation stemmed from a lingering unease about eating near files, especially in front of Harvey—thanks to the hot Cheeto incident. Harvey, catching on to your reluctance, decided to assertively intervene, "Eat."

You raised an eyebrow, teasing, "Bossy much, Harvey?"

Harvey quickly adds, “Well I am the boss”.

Mike, always quick to jump into the banter, chimed in, "Hey, wait a minute. Rachel didn't get me a bagel."

Harvey, in his usual deadpan manner, responded, "Deal with your relationship drama outside the office”

Mike mumbled to himself though directed at Harvey “you deal with your relationship drama outside the office” as he turned over to the next file. 

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Without hesitation you grabbed another file, opening it  up you saw on one of the clauses of the contract that it said,  “Keep an appropriate reputation”.

You spoke up, “Have we been able to contact his brother in law?”

“Louis is currently on that”, Harvey said nonchalantly.  

“Louis?!?!”, the shock in your voice was not hidden at all as your hand went to cover you mouth,

“See even she is shocked’’, Mike gestured towards you as he closed his file. 

“Mike you are  going to have a deposition with Amir in about an hour and I got to prep you. As much as I'd rather have you do it,” Harvey eyes quickly glance at you before returning to the file in his hand, “I don’t have time to walk you through it, plus Jessica said I have to throw Louis a bone”, Harvey mumbles the last bit. 

You nodded, understanding that you were too green to already start interviewing people without supervision. 

After an hour of underlining and highlighting things they may be able to use against him, Harvey dismissed you and Mike to prepare for meeting Amir. You gave Mike a questioning look as you exited the office.

The door closed and you could have sworn you heard music playing. 

“He has a whole routine when he has a stressful case”, Mike said as he handed Donna a piece of paper to fax. 

“Whoa, you are just going to share Harvey’s secrets like that”, Donna added. 

“She is part of the group now, she deserves, nay she needs to know”, Mike defensively argued

Donna playfully rolled her eyes and all you can do is laugh. 

“Imma go to the conference room and set everything up”, Mike then turned on his heels. 

“Why are you meeting with Amir?”, you couldn't help the question come out of your mouth.

“Jessica and Harvey believe he is trying to get in our heads”, Mike causally stated like this is somehow normal, “anyway see you afterwards”. 

You headed down to the bullpen with a couple of files in hand for you to review. The bullpen was empty, you saw a memo on your desk that Jessica was holding a mock trial for the associates. You believed she was doing this to boost morale. It's been 3 weeks since the Jackson case was first assigned and every day the stress of the case becomes more evident in not only the partners but everyone. 

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All that can be heard was the click-clack of your keyboard as you diligently worked on a memo at your cubicle in. A man walked it, he didn't go unnoticed as he leaned against the wall, a smirk playing on his face.

"Working hard or hardly working, sweetheart?" he said with a smug grin.

Startled by his words, you looked up to fully take in this strange man, his eyes flickering with a hint of amusement. 

"What can I do for you?", you let out an annoyed breath. 

He wasn't unattractive, tall, seemed to be built, his dark hair slicked back and his tan figure was highlighted with a beautifully tailored suit. 

He ignored your attempt to deflect his trashy pickup line  as he leaned in, invading your  personal space. "You know, I am here to see Mike Ross, but I would rather be seeing you. What do you say we grab a drink sometime?"

You noticed a wedding ring on his hand and that added to your discomfort which was palpable, and  you glanced around, searching for a way out of the situation. Amir Jackson was standing right before you in all his dirty lawyer glory. Before you could respond, the familiar sound of a door swinging opening  caught your attention. Harvey Specter stormed into view, his expression colder than the usual glacial demeanor he reserved. 

"Amir, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Harvey's tone was razor-sharp, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation.

Amir straightened up, his confident facade faltering in the face of Harvey's iciness. "Just trying to get to know the beautiful talent that sits before me" he replied, attempting to play it off.

Harvey's jaw clenched, and he stepped forward, his presence dominating the small cubicle. "This is not the time or the place for your personal agenda. We're here to work, not to entertain your attempts at charm.", emphasis on the word attempt. 

Amir chuckled nervously, realizing he had crossed a line. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble, Harvey. Just thought we could all use a break."

Harvey's stare could freeze time itself. "Save your charm for the courtroom, Amir. Now get lost before I decide to make this a legal matter."

Amir hastily retreated, leaving the cubicle, heading upstairs to interview Mike. 

As soon as he was out of earshot, Harvey's gaze softened ever so slightly as he turned to you. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, grateful for Harvey's intervention. "Thanks, Harvey. I didn't know how to get rid of him.” You left a pause before continuing, “Though he was cute”, it was your attempt to lightened the mood

But it seemed that you failed as you could have sworn that Harvey’s eyes darkened. 

“Don't tell me he is your type?” Harvey glares, trying to play it off as a playful intrigue. Though behind those words were sharp undertones of jealousy. 

Was your type arrogant lawyers? Oh god, you thought to yourself. 

“I mean if we are being honest”, you were already regretting the words coming of of your mouth, “I wouldn’t mind drinks with him, if you know he wasn't-”

“A dirty slimeball”, Harvey interrupted.

“I was going to say married but hey your  words not mine”, You shrugged as you smiled, tilting your head up to look at him. 

Like a switch any sign of a normal human being verison of Harvey goes back to a cold exterior Harvey ", Get back to work. We have a case to win."

Suddenly, the sound of approaching footsteps shattered the silence. Louis Litt barged into the bullpen, a triumphant expression on his face. "I got it, I got it!" he declared, his voice echoing through the walls.

Harvey shot him a stern look. "What do you mean, Louis?"

Louis beamed, brimming with excitement. "I met with Amir’s brother in law and we have a plan"

"Louis, I don't like that look on your face. Well, actually, I don't like your face, period," Harvey retorted, his patience wearing thin but shot you a mischievous  look as you let out a small laugh. 

Just as Louis was about to unveil his plan, you received a text from Rachel, asking for assistance upstairs. Seizing the opportunity to excuse yourself , you made a quick exit, leaving Harvey to deal with Louis's eager revelation.

As you walked away, you overheard Louis saying, "Can I just tell you my plan?"

You missed Harvey's response that carried a tone of indifference, "Louis, I am a lawyer, not your babysitter. You don't need to run your ideas by me. Just do whatever it takes to win."

"Whatever it takes," Louis echoed, his enthusiasm undeterred as he practically skipped out of the room, eager to set his plan in motion. 

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The next day, as you were on your way to the copy room, Louis Litt beckoned you into his office. The air in the room felt different, an unusual tension hanging in the air. Louis, with a somewhat secretive smile, asked for your help with a deposition. He believed you were the perfect candidate to handle the client interview. He said he will be there to supervise it all. 

Despite the lingering suspicion about Louis's true intentions, you were eager to prove your skills and showcase your capabilities. With determination in your eyes, you took the file full of questions that Louis prepped for you into the conference room, ready to face the challenge. As you were coming round the conference room, Louis excused himself to the bathroom saying he was going to be right back and to start without him.

As you entered the room and set up the camera, you were met with the unexpected sight of Amir Jackson—the person you would be interviewing. Suppressing the internal alarm bells, you maintained a professional demeanor and focused on the task at hand.

"Good morning, Mr. Jackson. My name is Y/N, and I'll be conducting the deposition today. Please make yourself comfortable," you greeted, doing your best to project confidence.

Amir acknowledged you with a nod, “Oh trust me. I remember you.  I can't forget a face like that sweetheart”.

 You couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this deposition than met the eye. As you pressed record on the camera, a pit forming in your stomach as you felt that you were part of a bigger scheme that Louis had formed. But you continued on. 

The questions came to an end and Louis was nowhere in sight. You think you did a good job but you really hoped you would have some help guiding you. You were reaching over to turn off the camera when Amir made his way around the table, invading your personal space as he placed his hand on your thigh.  You felt disgusting, but you gritted your teeth and tried to remove his hand. His grip just got tighter. 

“Mister Jackson, you are married and I am not interested so please let go”, you remained calm. 

"This isn't the first time I've given in to another woman's temptation," Amir whispered, his hand slowly making its way up higher. . The situation escalated, and you attempted to stand up, desperate to distance yourself from his unwarranted advances.

Just as the discomfort reached its peak, Louis Litt stepped into the room, 

 "We got you now, Amir," Louis declared, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Louis revealed  that the entire encounter had been captured on camera, since the little red button was still going and Louis left his dictaphone as well. There was enough proof of the man Amir really was

The revelation startled Amir, who looked like he was ready to erupt in anger at being caught.

But a last Amir stammered trying to get his words together. 

“I think you should make some calls”, Louis said, his smile not faltering. 

Amir, now furious, stormed off, leaving you alone in the aftermath of the orchestrated confrontation. 

Anger boiled within you. You were mad at Amir, you wished you had the strength to have slapped him or yelled at him but you froze, your mind was whirling running 100 mph before you can truly comprehend what was going on. Now that it was over you were a teapot full of steam. Ready to blow. The more you thought about it, the more your frustration became directed at  Louis. 

His dramatic reveal. His smirk. This was the plan all along and you were just his puppet. He knew this was going to happen, he wanted this to happen. 

"Why the hell did you put me in that situation?" you snapped, the intensity of your emotions evident.

Louis, unfazed, responded, "It was Harvey's idea. We had to win the case, and trust me this”, he gestured to you and the empty door, “ sealed the deal”

Your anger shifted, now directed at Harvey Specter, the architect of this manipulative plan. The lines between professional strategy and personal boundaries blurred, they have been blurring. But this, this felt like the lines were being drawn all over again, You took a deep breathe as you were left grappling with the aftermath of an uncomfortable encounter.

You stormed  out of the conference room.You were shaken and in desperate need of someone to confide in. As you walked down the hallway your bubbling emotions made every step a struggle. In your mind, the need to talk this out with Rachel outweighed any confrontation you might have had with Harvey.

Focused on reaching Rachel's office, you were determined to leave the unsettling incident behind. However, Mike Ross, perceptive as ever, intercepted your path, concern shown across his face.

"Hey, are you okay? What happened back there?" Mike inquired, his voice laced with genuine worry.

The overwhelming emotions made it difficult for you to articulate your feelings. When Mike reached out to grab your hand, hoping to offer some comfort, a reflexive flinch escaped you. The subtle gesture spoke volumes about the impact of the encounter.

"Don't ask like you don't know," you managed to utter, your tone heavy with frustration and disappointment.

Mike was left dumbfounded, his attempts to provide support met with an unexpected defensive response. As you stopped in your tracks, you turned to face him, meeting the bewilderment in his eyes.

"I was Louis’s bait but if this was Harvey's idea, lord knows you were right there beside him. Batman and freaking Robin," you added, the accusation hanging in the air.

Mike's expression shifted to curiosity as he raced down the hall to Harvey’s office, needing an explanation. What the hell did you do now Harvey, Mike thought to himself. 

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You sought refuge in Rachel's office. Rachel offered a comforting presence. You recounted the events, finding solace in Rachel's understanding.

"I can't believe he used you like that. I'm so angry on your behalf," Rachel said, her support unwavering.

As Rachel provided a comforting presence for you, on the other side of the office, Mike Ross stormed into Harvey's office, his frustration evident. Ready to give Harvey a piece of his mind for giving Louis the idea to use you as bait, Mike's accusatory words were poised on the tip of his tongue.

But Harvey, surprised by the accusation, defended himself. "What are you talking about, Mike? I didn't allow Louis to do anything."

Before Mike could continue, Harvey's tone softened. "How is she, Mike? Is she okay?"

Mike hesitated, admitting, "She's shaken up, Harvey."

Without sparing another second, Harvey stood up, determination etched on his face. "I need to find her."

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The atmosphere in Rachel's office was heavy as you sat there, still visibly shaken from the encounter with Amir Jackson. You found comfort in spinning your bracelet around your wrist.

Rachel, ever the empathetic friend, suggested a visit to the bakery you both loved, a subtle attempt to bring a touch of sweetness to the somber moment. As she left to fetch the cookies, you stayed seated at her desk chair, staring out of the window. 

Harvey stepped in to check on you. The air seemed to crackle with unspoken tension as you looked up, frustration written  across your face. You turned back to the window refusing to look at him. 

You couldn't hold back the surge of emotions that spilled out. "Fuck you"

You were always so poised, always so put together, Harvey couldnt and wouldnt lie that hearing your curse did something to him. But he scratched that out of his mind, returning to the matter at hand. 

Still taken aback by the force of your words,  he raised his hands defensively. "I had nothing to do with what Louis did. I wouldn't put you in that position."

But you weren't convinced. "Your motto is 'do whatever it takes to win,' right? I was just a pawn in your grand scheme of things. Last week, after the panic attack, I thought we were okay. I thought we were on good terms, but now I don't know what to believe."

Harvey's expression hardened as he tried to find the right words to reassure you. "You weren't a pawn, Y/N. I didn't know about Louis's plan, and I would never intentionally put you in a situation like that."

You scoffed, frustration and hurt evident in your voice. "Your actions speak louder than words, Harvey. I'm tired of being caught in the crossfire of your 'win at all costs' mentality.” 

Harvey, his usual composed demeanor faltering, tried to find the right words to reassure you. The weight of your accusations, was challenging the fragile trust that had started to rebuild between both of you. 

You continued to stare out of the window, refusing to meet Harvey's gaze. He could feel the tension escalating, and he knew he had to address the storm of emotions swirling within you.

"Look at me," Harvey said firmly, his voice cutting through the charged atmosphere.

You clenched your jaw, still refusing to comply. Unfazed, Harvey moved closer and he bent down  a little so he would be eye level with you and with a gentle touch, guided your head to face him. His touch ignited the fuel of your emotions, whether it be rage or something else entirely. There was a fire burning within you. 

"I don't like to repeat myself," Harvey stated, his eyes locking onto yours.

You met his gaze, still angry, a tempest of emotions brewing within you. He could see the fire in your eyes and sensed the need for an outlet. "Yell at me," he urged, guiding you to stand up.

You were now facing Harvey, an arm's length between both of you. You took this oppurtunity, you took a deep breath as you let it all out. 

"You are insufferably arrogant and stubborn. You're like a shark in a corporate sea, ruthless and cold-hearted. You wield your charisma like a weapon, and everyone else is just a pawn in your game. You  bend the rules until they are ALMOST at a breaking point", you go off on a mini rant. 

Harvey, with a measured tone, responded, "I don't disagree. The fact that I haven't interrupted you should tell you I take pride in who I am. But one thing you didn’t say and one thing I would never do is hurt the people I care about. Maybe I would occasionally push Mike in front of a slow-moving car, but that's as far as I'd go." 

You stifle a small laugh, trying not to give Harvey any satisfaction. But you nodded at him showing that you believed him.

His hand rested on your shoulder as his eyes looked at you with concern. "How are you?" he emphasized.

You shrugged, voicing your discomfort. "I feel kinda disgusting right now."

Harvey's jaw tightened as anger flared in his eyes. "I'm gonna kill Louis," he declared, ready to retaliate.

As he turned to leave you grabbed his arm. "Don't hurt him," you pleaded, your voice holding a mix of anger and compassion. Despite the hurt you felt, you couldn't bear the thought of Louis facing physical harm.

Harvey paused, looking down at your hand on his arm. "I can't promise that I won't give him a piece of my mind, but I won't hurt him physically."

You nodded, acknowledging the compromise.

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The celebratory feeling filled the air in Jessica's office as Harvey stormed in, anger etched across his face. Louis and Jessica stood there, clinking glasses in celebration of what they believed was a triumph in the Amir Jackson case.

"Join us, Harvey! Louis found a way for us to win this case. It's finally over" Jessica exclaimed, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing within Harvey.

Harvey's eyes narrowed as he observed Louis making himself small under the intensity of his gaze. Unable to contain his fury any longer, Harvey erupted, "Louis, you pretentious fucker! How dare you do that to her?"

Jessica, puzzled, looked between Harvey and Louis. "Harvey, what happened? Why are you so angry?"

Ignoring Jessica's inquiry, Harvey continued his tirade, directing his fury solely at Louis. "You used Y/N. You put her in a bad situation with Amir. That's a new low, even for you."

Jessica's confusion shifted to anger as she slammed her glass down. "What?"

Louis, feeling the heat of Harvey's wrath, defended himself, "You said to do whatever it takes to win."

" One, you know how I feel about cheating. And two, you know what yeah this is my fault. For half a second there, I thought you would be a lawyer, not try to pimp out my associate," Harvey placing particular emphasis on the word "my."

“Here's the deal," Louis began to explain his plan. "Amir's brother-in-law allowed him to join his firm under one condition: he behaves and doesn't cheat on his sister. Now, Amir signed his contract promising to behave because Amir’s brother in law has a list of evidence that could easily get him disbarred, but his brother-in-law promised not to expose him as long as he kept his promise."

Louis sighed as he continued, "Y/n was the bait, Harvey. She is one of the more attractive associates that Amir couldn't resist. So I  let the pawns fall where they should fall and we got it all on camera. Amir's brother in law is going to the association to get him disbarred as we speak. "

Jessica chimed in, "Louis, why couldn’t you let it so Y/N in on the plan.”

Louis nodded, ‘’ I didn't think it would be a big deal”

The room collectively groaned. 

"The only reason you don't have a broken nose right now is because she asked me not to hurt you...physically," Harvey declared, his rage simmering beneath the surface.

Jessica, ever the professional, butted in, “Harvey the case with Amir is over now, let me handle Louis” giving Louis a dirty glare before opening the door to her office moving Harvey out the door, “Tell everyone to go home for the night”. 

Harvey followed suit, leaving Louis to face the wrath of Jessica. As he closed the door he could hear Jesscia yell, “What were you thinking”

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Harvey's footsteps echoed through the hallway as he made his way to Rachel's office, seeking you out. Upon entering, he found you surrounded by Mike and Rachel, laughing at something as Mike shoved his face with cookies. The look on your face seemed lighter, you appeared more at ease.

Harvey addressed everyone in the room, "Alright, pack it up. Time to go home."

As he spoke, ​​his eyes lingered on you, and he added pointedly, "Especially you. Y/N.  No arguments this time, I am taking you home."

Your colleagues exchanged knowing glances, and Rachel and Mike gathered their things to leave. Harvey's directive made it clear that there was no room for negotiation this time; he was taking you home.

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The plush interior of Harvey's car surrounded you, and you couldn't help but feel a bit out of place in the luxurious vehicle. Harvey, however, seemed at ease as he turned to you and casually asked, "Put your location in the GPS."

You entered your apartment complex as the destination. The ride continued in relative quiet,

You were now three blocks away from your apartment complex, when Harvey abruptly took a sharp left. Confused, you turned to him with a puzzled expression, questioning his unexpected turn.

"Harvey, where the hell are you going?" you asked.

He glanced at you, a twinkle  in his eyes, and replied, "We both deserve to have some fun tonight."

You saw him pulling up to a bar, one that seemed too classy for you. You were too undressed for this. The doubt clouded your mind. 

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you couldn't help but ask, "A bar, Harvey, really?"

He looked over at you, the corner of his lips quirked up. "What do you say?" He was parked but hadn't turned off the engine, giving you an out.

You looked over at him and he had that stupid, handsome smug smirk on his.

“Smug and hot, you mean.” Lucy corrected you, getting an outraged look from you in response, as she usually would by saying anything positive about Specter.

“Shush,” You said, motioning for her to stop talking, “ one shall not praise Harvey Annoying Specter around me.” You stated full of obstination, but the younger woman just laughed you off and said:

“Well, here we are. I guess I’ll just have to send you an e-mail with your schedule, since, once again, we spent our schedule minutes of the day talking about “the enemy”.” She mocked with gestures and everything this time. That Lucy really was a piece of work, she timed the whole thing perfectly, in a way that you couldn’t even repudiate her insinuations because you were already standing in front of Specter’s office door.

Not long after you had entered and Jessica had officially started the strategy-meeting, though, all eyes in the room turned to you, as your phone started ringing in your back pocket. "Shit! I'm- I'm so sorry, guys, I guess I-"

"Can you please take your job seriously for once in your life, (y/l/n)?" You heard Harvey Pain-In-The-Ass Specter rudely remark, as you tried to swallow your embarrassment.

“Well, like I was trying to say, I’m sorry. Gonna turn it off right now, won’t happen again.” You said, directing your apologetic look to Jessica.

“You should just go ahead and answer it, could be something important.” She calmly told you.

“Especially now that you’ve already interrupted our work.” Specter chipped in again, which just gave you more fuel to answer the goddamn phone.

“Hello, yeah this is her.” You confirmed to the man on the phone, while taking a few steps towards the corner of the room. “What??? Are you sure? Oh my God! O- okay, just tell me which one and I’ll be there as soon as possible! Right, thank you.” Everyone’s eyes were on you, trying to understand what made you look so distressed. Except his, of course.

“Wait a second. Are you leaving right now?” He asked with a mix of annoyance and irritation in his voice.

“Yes, I am. I’m sorry, Jessica, but this is a family emergency. I have to go.”

“Well, I just hope you know that this doesn’t look good for you, (y/n).” She said, voice inexpressive.

“I do and, honestly? I couldn’t care less about that right now.” You firmly told her, while hoping your career wasn’t over by the next morning.

“I hope everything goes well for you and your family, (y/n). If you need anything, and I mean anything, just let me know.” Louis told you with that childish smile of his. Jesus, even in a moment like this, he tried to flirt with you.

“Thank you, Louis. That’s very kind.” You faked a tiny smile.

“Unbelievable.” 

“What?” You asked, turning back to face Harvey.

“Your firm is under attack and you’re leaving because of some stupid family crap?” Was he even serious?

“Precisely. And I don’t really care what your thoughts are on it. Our priorities are clearly very different.” Who the hell did he think he was to say anything about your family’s issues?

“Well, that shouldn’t matter because, the minute you walk in here, through those elevators out there, you’re supposed to leave all things personal behind.”

“Oh, right. I’m so sorry that I’m not some heartless lawyer like you, who’s just in it for the petty fights in the name of money-making.” Shit. You needed to get the hell out of there before you said something else to make Specter wanna kick you out himself. So you did. Stormed out like there was no tomorrow, leaving nothing but the very shocked Donna, Jessica, Louis, Mike, and Rachel behind. Oh, yeah, and a very pissed-off Harvey Specter.

Okay, maybe you were a little too harsh, but given the place you needed to go, to do what you needed to do, you didn't care about Harvey, your job, or anything else.

---

It was much later on that same day, around dinner time, that you heard a soft knock on your door. But how could someone be at your door, if the doorman downstairs hadn't announced any visitors? Were you dreaming? Well, the day had been so tiring that that wasn't exactly impossible… Nonetheless, you made your way to the door, whilst holding your very needy three-year-old nephew in your arms. Not that you could blame Henry after the day he’d had.

Since you weren’t expecting anyone, it was reasonable to believe that, whoever it was, was going to be a surprise. But not in a million years would have you ever guessed that Harvey Specter was the one knocking at your door. Especially considering what had happened at the firm earlier. How did he even know your address?

“Hi, (y/l/n). I didn’t know you had a kid.” He stated with a bit of surprise of his own, pointing to the little boy you were carrying.

“No, uh, I don’t have any.” You managed to say, trying to control your shocked expression. “This is my nephew.” You clarified again, a little more at ease this time.

“My name’s Henry. What’s yours?” You heard your nephew ask with his cute child-voice.

“Harvey. It’s, uh, it’s very nice to meet you, Henry.” Harvey told the boy, holding out his hand for him to shake, as a sweet smile came to his lips.

“Is he your friend, auntie (y/n/n)?” Henry asked you hesitantly, before making a move. The Don’t Talk to Strangers Rule must’ve kicked in his mind. 

Before answering him, you hesitated a little bit yourself, though. Was Harvey your friend? Obviously not, but if he came to your apartment in the middle of the night like this, it was probably because of something important. Work-related, of course. Which meant you’d have to let him in, so you settled for what would be the easiest classification for a three-year-old.

“Yeah, bud, he is my friend from work.” Hearing that, something in Specter’s eyes changed, you didn’t really know what, though.

“Well, then, can he come play with us?” He gave you such a cute look, that you almost said yes right on cue. But you obviously couldn’t. 

“You’d have to ask him, but I’m sure he has a lot of other, more important, things to do now.” You tried to explain to the little boy, giving Harvey a look. But you didn’t get too far, as the lawyer quickly said:

“Of course I wanna go play with you! That is if your auntie’s okay with that…” Now he was mocking you, that was the only explanation.

“Can we play with him, then, auntie (y/n/n)? Please, please, please?” God, what horrible thing could’ve you possibly done to deserve this particular punishment?

“Um, I guess... If he really has nothing better to do-” Harvey didn’t even let you finish your sentence.

“I really don’t.” He said, shooting you and Henry a bright smile that you’d never seen before.

“Okay, then, come in. Please disregard the mess, I got this stuff to make dinner, but someone just won’t detach, right, mister?” You asked your nephew with fake annoyance in your voice, as you tickled his sides a little bit. He just laughed at you. Though what really caught your attention was the fact that Harvey, too, was chuckling lightly at the scene, as he started picking up your groceries’ bags from the floor. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you, what else?” You gave him a weird look because, well, it was a weird situation. Maybe he noticed your discomfort because he added: “You look tired, so I’ll help you by making dinner and putting the rest of these away.”

“You’re kidding, right?” There was no way in hell that the All-Mighty Harvey Specter was gonna get domestic for you, of all people. Since he didn’t bother to answer, you went on: “First of all, what was it that you really came here to do, hum? And, second, I don’t need your help with anything.” Normally you tried to be kind to everyone, but, then again, Specter wasn’t exactly your normal kind of guy.

“Well, first of all,” he started in a tone of mockery, “that was rude! Look at the example you’re setting for little Henry!” Oh God, as much as you hated to admit it, he was kinda right, because you had completely forgotten about the little boy still cradled in your arms. “Second, we can talk about the reason why I came here later,” after your nephew’s asleep, was implicit in his speech, “third, it looks like you do need some help. And, for your luck, I happen to be a very good cook when I want to.”

“But-” You could barely begin your sentence, as Harvey sharply cut you off:

“You see, buddy,” he started, motioning to Henry this time, “the quicker we get your auntie on board with the game plan, the quicker we’ll get to eat and go play together!” Son of a bitch! Using a child to get to you…

“Can we please, auntie? Please?” How could you not crack after that pleading?

“Fine, but I swear I’ll make you pay if we wake up with food poisoning tomorrow, Specter.” You told him playfully, trying to lighten the mood after all of your bluntness.

“Oh, trust me, (y/l/n), you won’t. This will be the best meal you and the young man here will ever have in your entire lives.” He said cockily, but without the usual arrogance level, if that even makes sense.

A few hours and a really great dinner later, you and Henry couldn’t help but snicker shamelessly at Harvey’s ridiculous faces, as the three of you played a game on your living room’s floor. Trying to catch your breath from your giggles, you glanced up at the clock and realized that it was way too late for your nephew to be out of bed like that. So you broke up the game, announcing:

“It’s bedtime for you, Mr. Henry.” You watched the faces of the pair turn into ones of pure disappointment, as they prepared to pout.

“Just a little longer, auntie (y/n/n)! please!” The little boy started.

“Yeah, auntie, just a little longer! Please?” This time it was the grown man, one of the toughest Wall Street lawyers.

“As moved as I am by your synchrony, guys, the answer is a big no. C’mon, bud, let’s go brush your teeth. And then straight to bed. So say bye to Harvey, and thank him for being so nice to us tonight.” He looked between you and Specter as if still hoping for a hail Mary of some sort.

“Bye, Harvey.” He sounded so sad, but then he smiled brightly again, as he repeated what you’d told him to say word by word: “And thank you for being so nice to us tonight.” Hearing that, both you and Harvey chuckled lightly at the young boy, who quickly added: “Will you come see us tomorrow too?”

“Uh, we’ll, uh, we’ll see about that, okay, little man?” He tried to let Henry down slowly but, watching the boy’s expression become a sad one instantly, he added: “It’s just because both your auntie and I have a lot of work ahead of us tomorrow, but I’ll do my best, okay?” That was definitely a side of Harvey you’d never seen before, he had even bent down to be on your nephew’s level.

“Okay.” Henry said quietly, seeming to be a little happier, too.

“Okay, then let’s just go upstairs already.” You took the boy’s hand to guide him towards the spare bedroom’s bathroom, all the while shooting Specter a look that told him to wait for you a little longer.

“I’ll wait for you down here.” He said, proving he understood what your eyes tried to transmit.

So you headed upstairs with your nephew and, after a good fifteen minutes of brushing Henry’s teeth, helping him into his PJs, and tucking him in, you finally managed to come back to the living room, where you found Harvey looking through some of your photos displayed on the sideboard. For a minute or two, you just watched him. It wasn’t that you liked what you saw or anything. It wasn’t. It was more like postponing the weird conversation you two were bound to have, because, after all that had happened in those few hours, the atmosphere was, at very least, a strange one. But, almost as if he’d felt your gaze on his back, the lawyer in him was switched on, and he interrupted your thoughts by saying:

“Ah, you’re back. Good, because we need to talk.” You just motioned for him to follow you into your home office. But both you and Harvey looked so informal to be in that kind of environment, that you just indicated the small couch on the wall opposite to your desk for you to take your seats in.

“So, uh, before you even say anything, I wanna thank you for being so kind tonight,” a small smile came to your lips, as you remembered, not only the evening but how your nephew had used almost those exact same words, already imitating you, a little earlier. Specter smiled too, you noticed. “and I also wanna apologize. If you came here to talk to me… I must’ve made you waste a lot of time, huh?” You tried with a half-smile this time, as embarrassment started taking over you.

“What? No, of course not! I'm pretty sure that I told you I didn't have anything better to do, didn't I?" He calmly asked with a smile.

"Yeah, but I'm not buying it. You're Harvey Specter, isn't that what you're always saying? And Harvey Specter always has something better to do, isn't that right?" You shot back in a mockery tone, regaining your confidence.

"Well, maybe. But, not today. So don't apologize, and don't thank me. I'm the one who should be thanking you, I had a really good time tonight." Okay, now you were shocked. He had a good time?

"Uh, okay, um, so... What was so urgent that you had to come here in the middle of the night?" You nervously ranted, while tugging your hair behind your ears. He just stared at you, so much so that you almost repeated your question.

"Um, yeah, about this morning… That's why I came here…" You were already guessing that that would come up eventually, but it was the topic of your conversation? "I know that you and I always had our differences, and maybe even some rivalry-"

"Some rivalry? Dude, I'm just a junior partner, and ever since I started on that firm you've been persecuting me-"

"I wouldn't say persecuting…"

"Oh, you wouldn't?"

"Not since you made junior partner anyways. Now it's just a healthy rivalry between work friends…" He tried to use what you’d told your nephew earlier. 

"Oh, so you do admit you were persecuting me when I was an associate, huh?"

"Shit." He muttered quietly, as you watched him with a victory smile on your lips. "You know what? Hell yeah, I did persecute you when you were an associate." Hearing that blunt admission of guilt, you just couldn't find anything to say. “You wanna know why? I did that because, from the first time I saw you doing your job, I saw this very thing that I see now: you kicking ass, you think I wanted to admit this to you? I’ll answer it myself: no, I didn’t. The only reason why it happened is that you led me to it.” He blurted out, completely knocking you off your socks.

“So, um, you treated, you treat me like shit because, um, because I’m good?” You asked, still unsure of what to think about his confession.

“Well, that was part of it, sure. So, you see, I could understand it when you weren’t particularly thrilled at the perspective of working with me. But, this morning, you said that I’m a heartless guy who only cares about money… Is that really what you think of me?” This time he sounded genuinely sad? When Harvey said that he’d come to your apartment to talk about that morning, you thought he was gonna reprimand the shit out of you for disrespecting him ⎯ your sort of boss, a senior partner ⎯, but, apparently, he was asking about it on a more personal level. A level you’d never really thought played a part in your relationship with him.

“Oh, Harvey…”

“Be honest, please. I don’t want your pity. You don’t even know me all that well, so don’t try to minimize anything. I can take it.”

“That’s not what I was gonna do. And, trust me, you’re probably the last person in the world I’d pity.” You told him with a sly smile. “You’re right. I don’t know you all that well. Or, at least, I didn’t this morning. But I do know that you’re not heartless. Also, I was really out of line then, I’ve seen you fighting tooth and nail for a lot more than just money in that firm. You’re loyal to your firm and friends like no one else and, tonight, I watched you sitting on the floor and playing with a little boy. And, trust me, that meant more to him than you’d ever know, especially after today… Anyways, what I’m really trying to say is that I was so damn wrong and that I’m sorry. I’d gotten some pretty nerve-racking news beforehand, not that that’s an excuse but...” You told him, meaning every word and trying hard to show how much you regretted your previous actions.

“Wait, what news?”

“Ah, it’s nothing for you to worry about, really.” You tried to brush him off.

“Oh, c’mon! You said all those nice things about me, but when it comes to your life and your problems you still don’t trust me, isn’t that right?” His tone was sharply inexpressive, but his eyes showed he was actually hurt.

“What are you talking about? Oh my God, Harvey! I’ve relied on you for a number of cases that I really cared about! I let you in on my apartment! I let you spend an entire night around my nephew! Of course, I trust you!”

“Then what the hell is the problem? You think I’m not gonna give a damn about your family issues? Is that it? Because I am literally begging you to tell me about them!”

“I don’t wanna tell you because I don’t want you, or anyone else on the firm, to think that I’m some pathetic little girl who uses her family issues as an excuse to get out of a tough fight.” You confessed in a lower tone, slightly embarrassed, just hoping he would understand and stop poking. “Things are very different when you’re a woman, you know…”

“I would never think that about you. Family is important. Especially if it’s made of people like Henry…” He said, reassuring you, even though there was a hint of sadness in his voice. “Besides, you said you trust me, so you need to trust me when I say that I wouldn’t betray you by telling people about your problems. I’m not here as your boss, (y/n). I just wanna help you.” He sounded so sincere and, if you were being honest with yourself, you kinda really needed to vent.

“Okay, um, where to start? I have two sisters: Henry’s mother, Kat, and a fifteen-year-old, Lisa. I’m the older one of all three of us. Lisa’s sick, like very sick, so my parents, who are both retired, are with her at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, to try and get her better. In the meantime, Kat was supposed to go to college, as well as care for her son, between my parents and me, she wouldn’t even need to provide for them or anything. But, a while ago, she overdosed for the first time. That’s when we found out about her addiction. We’ve already tried a million different things but nothing works. So, my parents and I threatened to make her lose her parental rights over Henry, hoping that it’d be a wake-up call for her, but it backfired. She just took the boy and disappeared, then today I get that call, from the police department, saying that she was in custody for drug distribution and endangering the well-fare of a minor. They asked me to go pick my nephew and, maybe, get Kat a lawyer.” And, just like that, you’d told Harvey Specter, of all people, everything. Tears rolling down your cheeks and him pulling you into a hug.