𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄. || 𝘴𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘹 𝘰𝘤

𝟏𝟑 ➻ dirty laundry

♛ ┇ ▒ ⋅⋅⋅ WALKER ENT. V. GREENFIELD CORP. ⋅⋅⋅ ▒ ┇♛

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄, Quinn had been convinced that she'd never be able to achieve her dreams.

It wasn't to say she didn't know her own worth – she knew better than anyone that she was a special kind of person: intelligent, well-humored, amicable and built almost perfectly for the job she'd spent her life trying to attain. And that, she believed, was the worst part.

Because she knew she could make waves if she just stuck it out. But in her worst moments, all she could think about was how many waves she'd make if she just gave up.

Looking back, she was grateful she hadn't succeeded. She had everything she could ever want now – a nice apartment with a landlord who didn't try to suck the money out of her pocket; a friend in a workplace she'd expected to be entirely unfriendly; and now, a chance to make two-hundred and fifty million waves and then some.

If only she could find Louis Litt.

She'd been waiting in his office since seven in the morning, approximately forty-five minutes ago. There was only so much she could do while sitting in one of the chairs before his desk. She'd already perused all of the photos he had scattered around the office and determined they were not photoshopped. She wasn't sure if that was better or worse.

Litt was a cat person. That much was clear from the short orange hairs that littered his office seat and the lint roller he kept in the top drawer of his desk. He also enjoyed the ballet, telling by the tickets hidden beneath his office phone, and was an avid mudder. She found his membership brochure piled underneath a few settlement drafts.

She shouldn't have been looking. But he shouldn't have been late.

He technically wasn't late, but Rachel told her that he was always in his office by at least seven-fifteen. Sometimes it took a little longer if he had a particular associate that he wanted to harass and lecture, but he was always absurdly early.

As Quinn considered it, she realized Louis was the one early bird who somehow never got the worm. People talked – she knew Harvey got the senior partner promotion before him. She also knew that Harvey was far more popular – and wealthy – even if he had less billables.

Not that she'd ever say it aloud, but Quinn hoped that she'd soon have a career like that. Maybe not at Pearson Hardman, but certainly somewhere. She just had to get back on her feet.

So she got to her feet and blew out of Louis' office. She wasn't entirely sure where to find Norma. Donna Paulsen had a desk right outside Harvey's office, but Quinn had no recollection of Norma having her own area to sit.

She wasn't so concerned about the old lady's knees and treatment as she was about the lessening chances of finding Litt before he handed the case off to someone else. With a jolt of fear, she wondered if he'd already passed it on, and he was in one of the conference rooms, half-way through a settlement meeting for ten cents on the dollar she could wring them out for.

Swerving right, she power-walked through the bullpen, her knuckles white on her brown file folder. She was so dialed in on finding a short, pudgy, beaverish man that she almost didn't notice Harvey Specter standing in front of Mike's cubicle with a puzzled expression.

She walked right past him, stopped, and backtracked. "Mr. Specter?"

He turned to face her. "Whitaker. Have you seen Mike?"

"Not since I got here," Quinn dropped her purse off at her cubicle, which was just to the left of Mike's. "Have you seen Mr. Litt?"

"You think I keep tabs on Louis, of all people?" Harvey scoffed, leaning on the cubicle wall. "Listen, has Mike completed the Kendrick filing?"