♛ ┇ ▒ ⋅⋅⋅ WALKER ENT. V. GREENFIELD CORP. ⋅⋅⋅ ▒ ┇♛

𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 the entire night without asking Mike about his dirty little secret. And by the end of it, when he sent her home with a complete understanding of how to fill out and file a subpoena, she realized that she didn't want to ask. Ever.

The first time she'd ever met Michael Ross had been their senior year. He'd just transferred out of St. Andrew's private high school, a shaggy-haired new student with impossible genius and a knack for skipping class because he didn't really need to go, anyways.

In any other situation, she never would have affiliated with him. She had been the class valedictorian before he showed up with his perfect GPA, and she chafed against the competition from the get-go. But he was a new kid. And she knew what it was like to be smart enough to get good grades, but too stupid to keep out of trouble.

Trevor Evans was his only friend, and Trevor Evans was the first name that popped up when you Google'd bad influences. If Quinn and Mike hadn't gotten along so well from the start, Trevor's presence would've been too much for her.

It almost was, the one time she came over to Mike's house during college and found Trevor with a briefcase full of weed. Mike had to peel her off of him, and she hadn't spoken to Trevor since she'd given him two black eyes.

It wasn't that she was against drugs. One night earlier, it was Trevor's test-selling schemes that got Mike Ross expelled from college and denied transfer to Harvard. And for all his faults and mistakes, Mike Ross was a good person, and he deserved to be a lawyer.

Trevor took that from him for little more than money. Quinn wasn't going to take it from him for something as useless as her own moral standings. Not after everything she'd done for Mike. Not after everything he'd done for her.

The rest of the week passed uneventfully. Bagels in the morning, break room sandwiches for lunch, and ordering in for dinner using the firm's money. An artifact of a woman by the name of Norma Schultz nearly passed out at Quinn's desk on Wednesday trying to deliver the time and date of the Walker depositions. Quinn sent her off with a cup of coffee from the break room and told her to rest her legs. Other than that and a few mini-conversations with Rachel mostly pertaining to the case at hand, Quinn's life was absorbed by legal work.

It was easy to forget about Mike and his own litany of problems as she researched private investigators, finally coming back to the burden of proof. She didn't have the right to dive in and demand access to personal emails from both corporations, but she could hire someone else to dig deep and find digital records.

The only issue was that she couldn't just hire anyone. Any PI would chomp at the bit to work for Pearson Hardman, even if they were only being hired by an associate. The best private investigators weren't found on the internet, either. That's what made them private.

She'd have to find another way.

Quinn shut her computer off and leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms. Maybe she could speak to Louis, or try her hand with Norma on the grounds that the woman wouldn't sneeze herself off this mortal coil. She doubted Rachel had deep knowledge on where to find the best detectives in the city, but there wasn't harm in asking. Her last resort...

She didn't want to think about her last resort, so she got to her feet and directed herself towards the break room before she gave her iron deficiency anything else to work with.

She didn't even make it halfway to the room before stopping, her eyes not processing what she was seeing.

Mike Ross, sitting in a corner office playing with a basketball. And at the desk of that office... the man she'd run into at the bagel shop earlier this week. Her eyes darted to the name on the door.

Harvey Specter – Senior Partner

"Shit," Quinn hissed. What the hell is he doing in there?

She walked towards the door and was quickly halted by a sharp voice on her left. "I'm sorry, where do you think you're going?"

Quinn's entire body pivoted to face a red-haired woman, sitting at her desk with a quizzical look on her face. Brows knit, but not too much, a faint smirk to her red lips, two coffees on the desk, but only one of them was stained scarlet.

"You're his secretary," Quinn said, looking at her for a moment.

"And you're a legal associate," the woman replied, reading her effortlessly. "And you know Mike Ross."

Quinn narrowed her eyes at the woman, before cocking her head and returning the favor. "You know about Mike Ross."

The secretary stilled, her expression shifting from gaunt to neutral in a matter of moments. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Quinn froze in place and looked between the secretary's brows, thinking. She knows. So Specter knows. And for some reason, they're keeping Mike around despite that. Is it his photographic memory?

Is it because they enjoy the risk? Do they think he's worth it?

Or do they think what I do?

"Then we'll be fine," Quinn said with an exhale, leaning over the desk and meeting the secretary's eyes. "I'm not stupid and I know that you know, but the truth is: Mike Ross is a good person, and he deserves the chance he's been given here."

The secretary glanced up at her. "I know." She then got to her feet and held out a hand. "I'm Donna Paulsen."

"Quinn. Whitaker." She shook Donna's hand firmly, and then glanced towards the office. "Look, you wouldn't happen to know anyone who could refer me to a private investigator that isn't working out of their garage?"

Donna reached into her desk and pulled out a business card. "His name's Ben Luderman. Call him and say that Harvey referred you. He'll take your case." She met Quinn's eyes with something behind her gaze. "Does Mike know you know?"

"Given that I just spent the night at his apartment filling out his first-ever subpoena..." Quinn turned the card over in her hands. "I'd say he's got a clue."

"The woman behind the man," Donna hummed, wagging her finger at Quinn. "I like it."

"I'm in front of him, actually," Quinn smiled. "Don't let him tell you otherwise."

Donna nodded approvingly, and Quinn met Mike's gaze through the glass wall of Harvey Specter's office. She nodded in confirmation, and his shoulders relaxed slightly. Harvey stared at her for a good two seconds, before recognizing her and glancing at Mike.

As Quinn walked back to the bullpen, Harvey stared at his new associate. "You know her?"

"What? Yes. No?" Mike looked at Harvey for a good long while, before sighing. "Yes. I know her. And she knows... me."

Harvey's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by his secretary's impeccable timing.

"She won't tell anyone," Donna chimed in from the office phone. "In fact, she helped Mike file the subpoena! And probably helped him wipe his ass, too."

Mike continued to stammer as Harvey leaned back in his chair, exasperated. "You were supposed to figure out how to file the damn thing on your own."

"Well," Mike plopped himself down in the chair across from Harvey's desk. "I won't have to ask her again. And Donna's right — you can trust Quinn."

"Is that her name?" Harvey fixed his tie as Mike nodded uncertainly. "Well, she could be a saint for all I care, I wouldn't trust her as far as I could throw her. You want to know why?" He turned on Mike, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Because she's your friend."

"Wh — no, she's not like Trevor." Mike immediately came to her defense, planting a hand on Harvey's desk. "She hates his guts, probably more than you do. She's never smoked pot in her life and..." Mike trailed off, before continuing through a tight jaw. "She's smarter than me."

"How the hell can she be smarter than you?" Harvey threw up a hand, incredulous. "You've got every question on the LSAT memorized and you can recite any part of any Barbri legal handbook in my office."

"Well, any legal handbook, really." Mike shook his head. "But you're right: I can retain every piece of information that I've ever read or consumed. But I don't know what I don't know. Quinn does."

Harvey laced his hands on his stomach. "And what I don't know is what the hell you mean."

"You'll see it soon enough," Mike said, getting to his feet. "I don't think you've seen the last of her."

As Mike exited the office, Harvey rubbed his face with his hand, muttering under his breath. "Yeah. That's what I'm worried about."

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Am I writing Harvey correctly?

Vote and comment? :D