𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄. || 𝘴𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘹 𝘰𝘤

𝟏𝟎 ➻ twenty-five straight

♛ ┇ ▒ ⋅⋅⋅ Q. WHITAKER v. L. LITT'S TYRANNY ⋅⋅⋅ ▒ ┇♛

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐆𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 for Quinn. In the past, she'd been able to escape Louis' wrath by throwing herself into the Greenfield case, but now that she was officially off of that, and Harold was officially hidden in the file room, it was her turn to be his punching bag.

He'd started the morning by arriving earlier than her and making a snide remark about the messy state of her desk. She spared herself the breath trying to explain herself, rolled with the punches, and kept her responses respectful and brief until he got out of her chair and let her get to work.

And don't get it twisted. She still had work. In fact, she had more than she should have, and she was beginning to regret not taking Mike up on that offer to just read through files.

She'd been buzzing about the firm for the whole day, delivering files, reading up on precedents for at least six separate cases, drafting out five settlement offers and four different contracts – one NDA, two tech transfers, and a licensing agreement that had to be rewritten three times due to information that "got lost."

She was sure Louis was screwing with her, but she got the finalized contract to him before three-thirty. It was around that time that everything seemed to slow down. Associates were tuckered out from the workload, Mike had disappeared to complete some cryptic task for Harvey, and Harold was nowhere to be found.

Quinn knew where he was, she just didn't have the necessary biological organs to go into the men's bathroom, where she was sure he was having a couple panic attacks.

By six in the evening, Quinn raided the break room and had an internal debate with her inner angel and demon about tossing several raspberry bran bars -- Louis' favorite -- into the trash. She decided against it, took a bottle of coffee from the fridge, and returned to her desk.

She still had a lot of paperwork to get through. Documents to organize, mainly, which she had been putting off all day because it was just so boring. It was clear to Louis, given the kind of work he'd assigned her, that she abhorred not being able to invest herself into any one case.

And she hated it, but she valued it at the same time. For a day, or a week, or however long this grudge stood, she would be able to target her weak point and overcome it. It would be painstaking, but surely she'd get over it.

Quinn suppressed a groan as she eyed the hefty stack of papers. Maybe I'll do it tomorrow.

Her procrastinating thoughts were supported by her phone ringing. She instantly picked up, willing to engage in a lengthy conversation with whoever was on the other end, even if it was a scammer or a telemarketer.

"Whitaker."

"Luderman," she replied, checking her watch. "You're ten minutes earl– wait, no you're not. Nevermind. My watch is... oh, it's nothing."

Jeez, I sound like Harold.

"Someone's tired," he noted. "Listen, kid, I got what you need. I got word from a certain redheaded secretary that you're in trouble with Louis, so... I'll be at The Back Room in the Lower East Side until one in the morning."

Quinn leaned onto her desk with a distressed face. "You think I'll be here until one in the morning?"

"Did I say that?" Quinn exhaled as Luderman chuckled over the line. Glasses clinked on his end, and Quinn forced herself to straighten out and calm down. "He's getting to ya, isn't he? Have you taken a piss in his office yet?"

"I'm tempted."

"You wouldn't be the only one," replied Luderman. "Just get here as soon as you can. And bring twenty-thousand."

"Holy shit!" Quinn exploded, before covering her mouth and shielding her face from the associates who turned her way. "Twenty-thousand? Donna didn't say–"

"Whitaker, I looked into you." The sudden edge to his tone made Quinn stiffen. "You've got enough money to pay me and then some."

She rubbed her face and thought about it. "Twenty thousand for a blueprint?"

"Twenty thousand for winning a case worth two hundred million, if you manage to settle. Which you will."

Quinn's hand dragged down her nose, mouth, and chin as she looked up at the fluorescent lights overhead. "Alright. Fine. Yeah. I'll be there in a few hours."

"Don't take too long, or I'll tack on another 5K for my troubles."

Quinn stared at her phone, imagining that Luderman could feel her incensed gaze through the little pixelated screen. "You said you looked into me. Why?"

"It pays dividends to know your client, inside and out." Ben's voice was still stoic and brooding, bordering sinister in such a way that made her mildly unnerved.

Quinn got to her feet and slid her black windbreaker over her silk blue blouse, lifting her shoulder to hold her phone as she zipped it up. "And what do you know?"

Her question was friendly, if guarded. She didn't have anything to hide. She'd lived a clean twenty-six years of her life on this planet. But it wasn't her that she was worried about.

"I know that you're clean, spick-and-span." She listened to the man as she took the long way to the elevator in order to avoid Louis' office. "I know that you don't keep in touch with your family. I know that you haven't had a relationship since your sophomore year of high school, that you're a straight arrow and a straight shooter." He paused to take a sip of his drink. "And I know that you're the kind of person I want to work with."

"Well, that's all well and good, but..." Quinn stepped inside the elevator and did a peek out to the fiftieth floor lobby to make sure no one was heading her way. "I don't know a thing about you."

"You know I've got dogs. And that we share a hobby or two."

"I could get that from your OkCupid dating account," Quinn replied with a sneer.

"You can't find my OkCupid dating account."

"Because it doesn't exist?"

The lack of response made a laugh bubble out of her mouth. "Oh, wow. I didn't think—"

"Get here," Ben grunted. "It's definitely twenty-five thousand now."

"You piece of – don't hang up on me!" Quinn shouted into the phone.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the lobby and Mike Ross. Mike leaned into the elevator door to see Quinn glowering at her phone, before snapping it shut and walking past him.

He opened his mouth to say something, and Quinn spun around. "Not now."

And then she left. Mike threw up his hands in disbelief, before dropping them, sighing, and stepping inside the elevator. He had good news to tell Harvey, and he wasn't going to let Quinn the Party Pooper ruin his good mood.

▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

The chapter name is a reference
to trap shooting -- Quinn and
Luderman's shared hobby.

Twenty-five straight is a perfect
round. No misses.

Twenty-five grand is Luderman's
price.