Disclaimer: Suits and all characters are owned by Aaron Korsch and USA network.
She stared out the window of the little French bistro as he droned on and on about tax deductions, which in reality was a notch better than his previous topic: the importance of balancing your checkbook every day.
Worst. Date. Ever, she thought to herself.
She glanced back at her date and smiled politely. He was gorgeous; tall, dark hair, deep green eyes, and a great body to boot. He had that brooding look as though he was the hero of a modern-day Bronte story. But what he had in looks, he completely lacked in personality. He suffered from TPD—total personality deficiency, as she liked to call it and as gorgeous as he was, there was no way she was making it out of this restaurant with him. If his company was any indication of what sex with him would be like, she was better off going home alone.
Donna had been on a series of one bad date after another. There was Oliver (the momma's boy), Jonathan (the sexist pig), and now Paul (the ultimate bore) to complete the trifecta. She had been on a dry spell since Stephen and these "dates" were only adding insult to injury. Things in her love life were as dry as the central Sahara. She almost considered sticking through the night with Paul when he gave her an offer she just couldn't accept.
"So I was thinking, after dinner, if you'd like we could go back to your place and I can take a look at your books?"
And no, there were no innuendos attached to 'books', she was absolutely certain. She wasn't sure if she had ever been stunned into silence before but it was definitely a phenomenon she was experiencing now. Her brain processed dozens of thoughts all at the same time but only one was able to form into a coherent statement as she smiled tightly and said, "Would you excuse me for a sec? I just need to run to the ladies room, I'll be right back!"
"Oh ok, yeah sure," he replied absent-mindedly as he read prices off the menu and commented on the astronomical margins to no one but himself.
Donna rolled her eyes and stormed off to her sanctuary, the bar, where she had taken refuge every time she needed to excuse herself to go to the bathroom.
"Another shot?" the bartender asked with a knowing smile as she pulled her phone from her purse.
"Ugh! STAT! George, my friend, you are a saint among men right now!" she replied as he set down a shot glass in front of her. She had been on this miserable date for 2 hours now and she needed some way to keep it interesting. She had opened a tab about 30 minutes into the date and told George, her latest and greatest BFF at the moment, to keep the shots coming every time she passed by. And like a good bartender, he delivered every time.
She looked down at her phone and considered. She didn't want to text him but she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She was sure she'd hit the mark if she had to spend another 15 minutes in Snoozeville with good-old Paul. Scrolling through her contacts, she stopped at the letter H and opened up a new message and hesitated.
When he had heard earlier that afternoon from Rachel that Donna had a date, he went about in his usual prying mode until he'd been given the information he wanted. Once he found out that her date was with an accountant, he had fallen onto the couch in his office in a fit of laughter.
"Do you know how terrible of a match that this is going to be for you!? Who would set you up with an accountant anyway?" he asked her through labored breath.
She had wanted to slap that smug grin off his face but refrained and offered instead a quick retort of her own to set him in his place, which obviously had no effect on him when he in turn replied with:
"Whatever you say, Donna. Just remember the code if you want out. Actually, I meant to say WHEN you want out."
She did not want to use the code. She wanted to prove him wrong with every fiber of her being but every fiber of her being wanted to get away from Paul even more. So she succumbed to the lesser of two evils, or so she thought. She typed quickly, albeit begrudgingly:
His response followed shortly after:
[GAME. SET. MATCH. Point Specter – H]
Shaking her head with a heavy sigh, she easily downed the shot glass that George had set on the bar top before her.
"Ass," she muttered under her breath before typing back a response.
[JUST DO YOUR DAMN PART. 10 MINUTES.]
Shoving her phone back into her purse, she closed out her tab at the bar and made her way back to her date.
"Hey!" he said as she sat down in front of him.
"Hi, sorry that took a little bit longer than usual," she replied with a tight smile.
"What have you got going there?" she asked as she watched him scribbling on a drink napkin, though she should have known better than to ever have asked.
"I was just doing some quick math while you were gone," he began excitedly; "You won't believe how much you can save toward retirement if you start cutting back on some of your shopping. For example, if you purchase less of those fancy Jimmy Shoes you said you've got on there…"
"Jimmy CHOOs," she correctly him sharply.
"Yeah, those. And take out all those Marine bags, to maybe one bag every two or three years…" he continued animatedly.
"MARNI!" she nearly yelled at him. How dare this bastard blasphemy the holy name of Marni! she thought.
"…Well if you made reductions starting there, your savings would increase greatly, especially if you throw that money into a high-yielding CD…"
"ARE YOU SHITTING ME!?" she blurted, unable to restrain herself, drawing attention of some nearby tables.
"I…umm…what?" he asked, genuinely confused as to why she was so upset.
Just then her phone rang; she looked down at the screen that read HARVEY.
"Saved by the bell!" she snapped back at Paul, picking up her phone and answering, "What!?"
"That bad, huh?" came the voice on the other end, she could nearly hear the smirk through the phone.
"Ohh you have no idea!" she responded fervently, "but your call came about 10 seconds too late."
"You said 10 minutes!" he exclaimed.
"Yeah, well, there was a change of circumstances," she said picking up her purse and giving Paul an icy glare as she turned to walk away.
"Hey…wait up!" she heard Paul call after her and she turned around once more to see what he had to say.
"Aren't you going to pay your half of the bill?" he asked.
"Harvey, I'll get back to you" she said frostily as she disconnected the call and walked back to the table.
She stopped at the table and brought herself at face level with Paul and whispered menacingly.
"I'm sorry, maybe you didn't hear but apparently I've spent all my savings on Jimmy Choos and Marni bags. I'm sure you've got more than enough to pay for dinner with everything you've saved up in your high-yielding CD, which you can shove up your ass by the way!"
And with that she turned around and left.
She was still fuming as she walked out of the restaurant and decided the she'd take a walk to burn it off. She was a long way from home but she figured she could always hail a cab whenever she decided she had calmed down and sobered up enough. However, as fate would have it, as she turned a corner a few blocks away from the restaurant she found herself face-to-face with his building. She doesn't know why she did it, whether it was the string of terrible dates, the drought she'd been experiencing for months now, or something deeply buried in her subconscious but she found herself marching through the glass doors without second thought as though this had been her intention all along. The doorman recognized her immediately and let her right on through. She knew he wouldn't be "entertaining" anyone otherwise his response to her text would not have come so quickly.
Donna didn't come to his apartment often. In fact, she only ever came to pick up a spare suit for him if he was running low at the office. But she had made it a point to not allow herself here unless it was absolutely necessary. How necessary was her visit now? Well that would depend on who you asked she supposed.
Arriving at his door, she hesitated for a fraction of a second before knocking. She had a key but this wasn't the time to use it, just in case he did happen to have the latest bimbo of the month in there. She considered turning around and leaving but she had enough alcohol in her system now to keep her from using her best judgment. After what seemed to be an eternity but was more likely only 30 seconds, she heard the door unlock and Donna soon found herself face-to-face with him.
"Donna?" he greeted, his tone slightly surprised but his features indicated he was rather amused to see her standing there.
She stared him down for a moment, leaning against the door, glass of scotch in his hands, barefoot with a white t-shirt and a pair of jeans on.
"Busy?" she asked, her tone indicating the real question: do you have any guests?
He responded by pulling the door open a bit wider so that she could pass through.
"Need a dr—?" he began asking but before he could finish his question she had already snatched his tumbler of whiskey from his hand and was drinking it easily.
"—drink," she heard him finish as he shut the door and followed her down the hall towards his kitchen.
She was already plowing through his fridge by the time he caught up with her, he stood on the other side of the door.
"So, when are you and Mr. Spreadsheet getting married?" he asked.
She heard the smile that came with the question before she even poked her head around the door to glare at him.
"Hmm…that bad? I guess it must have been for you to have called me," he gloated.
"There's the understatement of the year," she muttered as she continued searching through the fridge, "That little shit wanted to go back to my place so he could assess if I was properly saving enough for retirement! Apparently I have too many Marni bags and shoes!"
"I told you that date was headed for disaster," he chirped.
Spotting the item she was looking for, Donna downed the remaining whiskey and felt the burn work its way down her throat.
"Yeah, well I didn't come over here for an I-told-you-so. Now I'm only going to say this once," she responded, grabbing the item from the fridge and shutting the door.
She noticed him straighten a little as he spotted the can in her hand.
"What's that for?" he asked, indicating the can.
"You know what it's for," she replied, her eyes locked on his.
He stared her down for a brief moment, presumably checking how serious she was. She watched as he scratched the back of his head in thought. She could see that for a split second she had thrown him off his game. He expected her to walk through his door that night as much as she expected to be the future mother of "Mr. Spreadsheet's" children. So she took a step closer, challenging him.
"We do this…" he said slowly, pointing between the two of them, "…and it can't be undone."
"It's just one night, Harvey," she replied with another step, their bodies merely inches away from one another.
"Donna, you're drunk," he said, trying to reason with her.
"Only just enough. But since when has that ever been a problem for you?" she countered.
"Since we're talking about you," he responded honestly.
His response caught her off guard. There was something so tender in his words that it made her take a step back.
"Fine," she said, finding composure as she set the can of whipped cream down on his kitchen counter, and turned away from him and back towards the door, leaving him standing in the kitchen. She felt slightly ridiculous now but she was sure she could drink this away tonight and he'd be a gentleman enough to not bring it up again. She was about to slip out of the door when she felt his weight slam it shut as he turned her around, pinning her body against the door.
He brought his lips to hers and she responded eagerly, desperate to satiate the hunger that had been building up inside her over the past months. She tugged at his shirt and pulled him closer, his hands squeezing her waist as he deepened the kiss further. He seemed as voracious as she was until he pulled away suddenly, taking a step back.
"Not like this," he said so softly, she almost didn't hear him.
"What?" she asked breathlessly, confused by what that meant.
He locked eyes with her and his stare made her feel slightly self-conscious, as though he was looking beyond the surface.
He took a step towards her again, slowly, this time taking her face in his hands. She closed her eyes and felt him kiss her every so softly. It was stripped down but no less powerful. In fact, it was quite the opposite. It was slow and steady, and she could hear her heart beating and was sure he could too. It was as though time slowed down and she was able to take it all in. This was different, she thought, much different from nearly a decade ago. She gasped as he suddenly hoisted her up, her legs wrapping around him as he carried her back into his loft. His kisses remained steady as he worked them around her jaw and down her neck. She could feel the chills rising up her spine. Something told her to get out. Something told her she shouldn't have come. But she couldn't walk away, not now. His lips on her were like a drug that she couldn't refuse.
And so she decided to let it happen…it was just one night after all.
To Be Continued…