𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄. || 𝘴𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘹 𝘰𝘤

𝟎𝟗 ➻ oh, phở-ck

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

𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐒 surprisingly pleasant. Quinn was very sure that the majority of Harvard graduates were wealthy, arrogant asshats, but Gunderson was an exception. Besides Quinn, he was the only associate she knew who wasn't a dickwad.

Mike didn't count. He wasn't a real associate. And he could be a dickwad in his own right.

And once he'd come out of his terrified shell, he was an incredibly interesting person. They'd gotten into a long conversation about tattoos. Harold was determined to get a shark done somewhere on his body, and Quinn was happy to refer him to the guy who had done work on her stepfather.

They'd started cracking inappropriate jokes about halfway through their dinner behind the red and white plastic curtains of the restaurant. By the end of it all, they were both bent over the table, laughing so hard that they went silent.

And, what's better is that the two of them tore through the emails like starving animals. When paired with warm, comforting pho and sticky orange chicken, they became absolute demons at the legal game.

They had a taxi take them back to Pearson Hardman, the city outside glimmering with electricity and stars. Harold had a laugh that was sort of a guffaw, and it could be heard by anyone their cab passed as they returned to their law firm.

"Oh my God," gasped Quinn as they staggered through the revolving doors, completely sober but more than high on laughter. "You're vile."

Six hours ago, Harold would've thought she was being serious. But now, he understood what kind of person Quinn was outside of the workplace – coarse but candid, and humorously arrogant. Her jokes were right on the line between hilarious and questionable, self-deprecating and yet not self-pitying.

"I'm sorry," Harold giggled, quickly pulling her up as she nearly tripped over her own feet. "I couldn't... I couldn't help myself."

The security guard gave them a scrutinizing look, and the two of them immediately returned to form, squaring their shoulders and tightening their jaws. They showed him their ID cards and they were granted permission to use the elevators.

"Okay, okay," Quinn pressed the button, her expression calm but her eyes alight with an untold joke. "Abraham Lincoln."

Harold managed to stifle his laugh, tears springing at his eyes as he did. "Definitely an eight."

"That's your first bad take," Quinn leaned her forehead against the wall, her body shaking as she laughed soundlessly.

"What?" Incredulity punctured Harold's voice as the elevator doors opened, and Quinn lumbered inside after him. "What do you mean? He's got the beard... and he was really tall."

As soon as the doors closed, Quinn shook her head. "I know. That's why he deserves a ten."

"Out of ten?"

"Yes. He gets two extra points for successfully maneuvering about in a world of people who either underestimated him, hated him, or were trying to use him to their advantage."

"Do you dock points for him being racist?" Harold looked down at her.

Quinn let out a little hum, considering the notion, before shaking her head. "We're rating them based on appearance. And he's definitely more attractive because I can see the badassery in his eyes." She pointed to her own, and Harold laughed again. Then, she got to her feet and looked at him. "Not to get all mushy on you, Gunderson, but... he's got an important lesson for you to learn."