The Portrait of Gamophobia (2) Harvey Spector

Lassie

If Donna would allow anyone to surpass her greatness, it would be no one other the Ezra Portwood. The man had the ears of an elephant. He could hear everything about everyone; the way they breathed, the way they moved, and the way they walked. He trained himself to catalogue every step belonging to every person that stepped foot in the building. After the Klades fiasco, Ezra made it his personal job to never let anyone in Max's office without him knowing for sure that there was no threat. So if he heard them walking towards her office, he could stop them before they were even able to see her through the window.

So when Ezra heard the footsteps of Mister Fredrick "Freddy" van Greten, a celebrity blogger most known for exposing the story of Maxine Harris and Harvey Specter, he knew shit was about to go down.

His head whipped up, over the cubicle wall, just in time to see the grotesque man veering his way towards the Junior Partner's office, where Max was comfortably going over a multimillion dollar deal. Before Ezra could stand up, he saw the navy-blue suit in front of him, the white collared shirt open a few buttons, with the white napkin contrasting the blue, yet the tie missing. The redhead rolled his eyes. Didn't men realize dressing like a slob wasn't fashion? Dressing impeccably, with expensive suits, vests and ties, was the only way for people to notice the seriousness and dedication a man had. Well, it was no wonder that no one took van Greten seriously.

"Hey, Eric, right?" Freddy asked, placing a file on the wall of the cubicle.

"Ezra," the man deadpanned, eyeing the papers with annoyance. He liked a clean working area.

"Yeah, Ethan," the blogger said nonchalantly, resting his forearms on the cubicle wall while clasping his hands, which only irritated Ezra more, "I just need to ask you a question-"

"No."

Freddy raised an eyebrow, "You don't even know what the question is."

"Yes, I do," Ezra said, going back to typing, "You were going to ask me if I thought that working for a woman so powerful would be embarrassing for me, which is not."

Before Freddy could open his mouth, Ezra looked at him.

"And no, I fully believe Maxine Harris is capable of maintaining her position, if not exceeding it. There is no way she doesn't deserve what she has."

Freddy shifted his position, "Yeah, but she must treat you like an underling, right?"

Now Ezra wasn't annoyed. He was pissed.

The redhead stood up from his seat, and Freddy's eyes widened. He never noticed this, but Max's secretary was actually... quite huge. The man stood at six-two, six-three at the most. But Ezra wasn't just tall, he was buff and bulky. His shoulders seem to fill the suit perfectly, and it was a rather large suit. His biceps could easily be traced if he flexed his muscles underneath his suit. His chest was puffed out in anger, and his rather large hands were placed on either side of Freddy, ultimately trapping him. The celebrity blogger had never feared for his life more than he did at the moment. All he wanted was dirt on Max, and his tip told him to go through her secretary, a passive man, he was told. But Freddy knew he was going to kick his tip's ass for being the stupidest man in the world.

"Max treats me better than any other human being would. Don't assume anything other than that."

The blonde man swallowed as he nodded.

"Thank you... for your time, Mister Portwood."

Freddy van Greten collected the files he had placed on the wall of the cubicle before swiftly escaping the clutches of Ezra Portwood. The big redheaded man allowed himself to smile at that moment, appreciating the fact that he could intimidate anyone he so pleased. He stood straight, fixing his jacket as well as his tie.