Trevor turned.
“You’re Mike’s friend,” Harvey said. It wasn’t a question. suits trevor
“Let’s go,” Harvey said, adjusting the collar. “You walk on my left. Don’t speak. And if you ever come near my building again, I will personally make sure you spend the next decade in a cell so small you’ll have to go outside to change your mind.” Trevor turned
He was here to sell a story.
Trevor continued. “I don’t want money. I don’t want a job. I want you to put this on. I want you to walk me out of this building, past the security desk, past the partners, and get into the elevator with me. I want them to see Harvey Specter and a guy in his suit. That’s it. That’s the price.” “Let’s go,” Harvey said, adjusting the collar
Harvey stood up. He walked around the desk, picked up the suit, and held it against his own frame. The navy was a shade darker than his usual. He looked at Trevor—the nervous hands, the desperate eyes, the ghost of Mike Ross hanging between them.