It starts with an email.

Subject: URGENT: New Opposing Counsel Deposition From: Donna Paulsen To: You & Harvey Specter Time: 7:00 PM Room: Conference B (glass one)

You furrow your brow. The name on the case isn’t familiar, and the time — after-hours — is weird even for Pearson Hardman. But Donna’s never wrong, so you go.

You wear black. Blouse tucked in. Heels. Clean makeup. You look intimidating but effortless — because he might be there. And you’ll be damned if Harvey Specter ever sees you sweat.

You arrive first.

The conference room is dim. Soft music plays through the walls. And on the table — candles.

You freeze.

Then the door opens behind you.

Harvey walks in. Black suit, shirt unbuttoned at the top, hair slightly tousled from a long day. He stops when he sees you.

“Where’s opposing counsel?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“I thought you were opposing counsel.”

You both pause.

Then you notice the small piece of paper under one of the candles.

In Donna’s handwriting:

“Surprise deposition: for your feelings. No objections allowed. — D.”

From the other side of the glass, Donna leans against the hallway wall, eating popcorn. Smiling like a mastermind.

You run a hand over your face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Harvey chuckles under his breath. “She’s insane.”

You glance at him. “You gonna leave?”

He shrugs. “You?”

Neither of you move.

The air shifts.

The candlelight makes his features softer, more dangerous. You sit down at the table, arms crossed, daring him with your eyes. He takes the seat across from you, leans in, forearms on the table.

“You first,” he says. “Swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

You smirk. “Depends on the question.”

His eyes drag across your face — slow, deliberate. “Have you been avoiding me?”

You lean back in your chair, nonchalant. “You’ve been looking?”

He smiles at that. And suddenly, the room feels too quiet.

“You know, we could give her what she wants,” Harvey says, voice low.

“Oh?” you reply. “And what does she want?”

He tilts his head. “The drama. The pining. The kiss.”

You raise a brow. “Tempted?”

He doesn’t answer. Just watches you.

The candles flicker.

The tension simmers.

But no one moves. Not yet.

You finally stand, smoothing your skirt. “Deposition’s over,” you say, brushing past him toward the door.