Motion Denied // Harvey Specter

Carmen leaned against the armrest of Harvey's couch, picking at the last few fries in the takeout bag she had brought. Across from her, Mike was hunched over a file, half-listening, half-eating, while Harvey sat at his desk, skimming through whatever case they were drowning in this week.

It had been a few weeks since the trial. Life had picked up where it left off—Mike and Harvey drowning in cases, Carmen knee-deep in her work with UNICEF. But she had made sure to bring them lunch. The last thing either of them needed was another meal that consisted solely of coffee and questionable firm-provided snacks.

"You know, I hate how used to this I am," Mike muttered, unwrapping his sandwich.

Carmen smirked, taking a sip of her drink. "Used to what?"

"You showing up out of nowhere with overpriced food to make sure we're still alive."

Harvey didn't even look up. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Mike gestured vaguely. "I'm just saying—it's starting to feel like a very expensive, well-organized babysitting gig."

Carmen hummed, unimpressed. "You're welcome."

Mike waved a fry at her. "Next time, just send me a fridge instead."

Harvey raised an eyebrow. "A fridge?"

Mike huffed. "My old one broke, and replacing it is gonna cost me more than I'm emotionally prepared for."

Carmen smirked. "You want a fridge? That's easy. I'll send one over tomorrow."

Mike groaned. "See? That's exactly what I'm talking about. I make one offhand comment about finances, and suddenly, Queen de Peyster is throwing luxury appliances at me."

Carmen rolled her eyes. "It's just a fridge, Mike."

Mike snorted. "Exactly. What is a fridge to Carmen? The price of a corner hot dog in her world?"

Carmen scoffed. "You act like I light cigars with hundred-dollar bills."

Mike shrugged, popping a fry into his mouth. "Well, you do still have the five hundred thousand from the case. Unless, of course, you already bought another old-timer with it."

Harvey, flipping through a page, suddenly looked up. "Wait. You collect cars?"

Carmen sighed dramatically. "Collect is a strong word. I have two. One was a gift from my grandfather."

Harvey gave her a long, knowing look. "Two vintage cars. In New York City. And you don't call that a collection?"

Carmen smirked. "I'm just saying, technically, two isn't a collection."

Harvey smirked back. "And where exactly do you keep them? Not like you have the space in your building."

She shrugged. "Garages outside the city. Which, by the way, we should take a drive soon. I think you'd appreciate them."

Harvey leaned back slightly. "I just might."

Carmen popped the last fry into her mouth. "Oh, and about that five hundred thousand?"

Mike looked up, chewing. "Yeah?"

Carmen wiped her fingers off on a napkin, her expression impossibly casual. "I did actually spend it already."

Mike nearly choked. "What?"

Harvey raised an eyebrow, more intrigued than surprised. "On what?"