Chapter Text
There was a long queue of students sitting outside the wooden benches in the hall. For a moment, Mike doubted his directional skills. He normally didn't go inside this building. Sure, he's passed in on a couple of times when he walked to the Quad but never inside. Primarily because he did not have a reason to be loitering around the Finance Building. It wasn't even his major!
"You must be Mike" the woman says without looking up when he enters. Mike opens his mouth to speak but she holds up her hand with her eyes still glued to her computer screen. "Shh. No." she says, double-clicking something with her mouth. "Harvey will be with you in a minute. Just..." She makes an ah-ha face and the printer beside her noisily gets into action. He stands there, awkwardly, baseball cap in hand across his stomach, while she prints her documents. He eyes her desk, reading her bass nameplate: Donna Paulsen, Secretary.
Donna, as her plate states, finishes her printing. She stuffs the fresh print-outs into a plain pale yellow folder, fastening it with a small black bull clip. She finally looks up, catching his eyes the moment she does. It makes Mike slink further into his seat. "You" she says, pointing an accusatory finger at him and motions him closer. "Takes these inside but don't look. I'll ring you in." Mike follows. There's a second door against an opaque frosted glass wall. It's slightly ajar and he hesitates if he should tap on it.
He looks back. Donna is shooing him away, already immersed in a new task.
"Excuse me, sir?" he voices softly, nudging the door with his finger until it gives. He spots the man inside, sitting behind an intimidating wooden desk, back turned to him. "Professor Specter?" he tries a second time, slipping inside and closing the door behind him. A hand shoots out into the air, pointer raised to shush him. The man speaks, hushed and low, inaudible from Mike's distance. Mike waits it out until the phone clicks-off.
"I see that you came." the older man orders. He spins his chair around and folds his fingers over his crossed knee, leaning back against his chair slightly. He is without a doubt the same man from this morning. He has lost his jacket, which now hangs on the back of his leather chair, but it no less intimidating in a waistcoat and time. "Take a seat, Mr. Ross"
Mike complies. He trudges over to the chair across the desk and sits down in faux-nonchalance. "You have my Student ID. I can't enter buildings without it." He says with as much calmness as he can muster. He knows that the man can see right through his false bravado and it only makes him want to mask it further. "Here" he says, sliding the folder over the desk like a barkeep would a pint of beer.
The man traps it with a large palm before it eases off the table. "Did you look?" he asks. There's no taunt or malice behind his words, at least none that Mike can hear. He opens the folder, licking his thumb, and makes a show of going through its contents.
"No" Mikes shakes his head.
A thick eyebrow goes up. "Not the least bit curious, Mr. Ross?"
"It's Mike" Mike says and shakes his head again. "Your secretary told me not to."
Something like a smile or a smirk paints the man's lips. He is obviously finding this entertaining. "You choose to follow instructions now..." there's a pause "Mike?" This time, the taunt is obvious. The sheer smugness of it is irritating. Mike knows he is in the wrong but having his mistake being rubbed in his face is like being punched in the gut while being tied to a tree--it leaves him wide open with no opportunity to defend himself.
"You don't get to judge me. And don't act all high and mighty." Mike bites out, hands clenching. "Look. We made a bet and I won. You said that you would turn the other way and file Trevor's exam. So give me back my ID and I can go in peace." His outburst seems to spark something in the other man. But it's not what he wants. "Fuck off, dude. I don't need your pity!"
"Dude?" Harvey spits out the word like it was abhorrent on his taste buds. "Who I am is the man who can make or break your college career. I caught you cheating on a final exams test because you weren't supposed to take the damn test in the first place. You have no right to speak to me that way because I just saved your ass. So you better give me a good goddamn reason why you did it."
Mike jumps back in his seat and pales. He grips the side of the chair so hard that he knows his baseball cap is already a crumpled mess in his fingers. The man's chocolate brown eyes are burning with unleashed fury. It drives fear into Mike without the man even lifting off his stupid seat. "I--I need the money for this Semester. I need to pay my overdoes balances from last time or I won't be able to take my classes."
"Bull-shit." Harvey grits out, baring his teeth. "I want the whole fucking truth or I swear to god that I will have you expelled by tomorrow. Don't test me, Mike."
"Okay. Okay!"Mike cannot take the intensity of the man's gaze. He averts his eyes. "I used last term's tuition to get my Grammy into a home. Since I started out school, in the dorms, there isn't anyone else to take care of her. So I put her in a home. I blew the tuition money on the down payment and I got a loan to pay the two-months advance. I need to pay or I'll blow my scholarship too." He says but even to him, his reason sounds weak. He shrinks because he's going to lose his scholarship, he's going to lose his degree, and he's lose any fighting chance that he has to sustain Grammy's home. He's screwed.
"How much money did you need?"
"Twenty-five thousand dollars."
Harvey flops the folder on his the desk and pushes it aside. He leans over. "Here's the deal. I'll lend you the money. Up front, 2% simple-interest based on the current principal per annum. 18 month grace period from the time of your graduation. But in exchange you'll work for me as my teaching assistant. You will work for me three-days in a week, negotiable once you've submitted your class schedule along with your other documents. You'll take notes of my lectures, prepare for my lectures, and make sure that my lectures are in conducted properly. Capiche?"
Mike's lips twitch. "The Godfather, seriously?"
"It's Italian but not necessarily from the movie." Harvey throws his head back and honest-to-god laughs. "It's an offer you can't refuse. What do you say, Mike?"
Mike answers back with his own version of embarrassed-but-thankful-yet-disbelieving chuckle. "I won't break your heart, Professor. I promise."
Harvey just smirks before shooting him away. "Now go. Donna will give you a list of what you'll need to bring in tomorrow. I'll see you at three." He watches, in feign disinterest as the kid scampers of the chairs and darts out of his office. He takes the folder from the side of his desk, scanning it again. Micheal James Ross, it read in the top left corner with a 2x2 picture of the boy who just left. Curiosity had gotten the best of him. But who cares? Jessica was egging him to take a TA and all his interview have been boring.
"Harvey" Donna's voice crackles from the intercom. It a mix between teasing and cautious.
"I just removed a stone from my shoe. Tell the others to scram. I'll email Jessica that I found my new teaching assistant." Harvey says, firing up his laptop and opening his email.