Suits: A Lawyer Surviving TV Chaos

Martin ultimately avoided the seemingly normal burger—who knew if the cook Oleg had washed his hands after handling… *other fluids*? 

After closing, Max and Caroline split their tips and brought Martin back to their rundown apartment. 

"Sorry for the mess—we're trying to start a business! Max's cupcakes are genius!" Caroline scrambled to clear lingerie off the couch. 

Martin smirked, glancing around. "Trust me, this is paradise compared to what I imagined." 

"I'm starting to like you," Max hip-checked him. "You're nothing like those polished Wall Street pricks." 

"I like *you* too, Max—and your 'assets'." Martin winked at her chest. 

Unfazed, Max shrugged. "Since Caroline's perky ass ruined your dinner, I'll compensate with fresh cupcakes. Two dozen? On the house." 

"Deal. I'll share them—and pay." 

"Keep your cash." Max began mixing batter while Martin toured the apartment. 

"I worried when Caroline left her hotel," he admitted. "But I'm glad she found you." 

"She's high-maintenance—needs hot water, talks in her sleep—but at least she's female." Max nodded toward the bedroom where Caroline changed. 

"She's resilient," Martin said. "Not everyone handles ruin with grace." 

"Cinderella needs a prince. You volunteering?" Max raised an eyebrow. 

"I offered help. She refused." 

"Pride's a luxury she can't afford," Max muttered. "Take her out of this dump." 

"She *could* trade her body for comfort," Martin countered. "But her pride's all she has left. I won't crush that." 

Caroline emerged in a white Chanel dress. "What're you discussing?" 

"Free legal advice for cupcake empires." Martin kissed her cheek. "You outshine the night." 

"Yet your heart's elsewhere," Caroline pouted playfully. 

"It's racing *for you* right now." 

Max fake-gagged. "Must you ooze rich-people schmaltz in my $300/month hellhole?" 

The two shared a theatrical makeout session before Caroline left to feed her horse, Chestnut. 

Alone with Martin, Max sprawled on the couch. "You and Caroline—perfect match. Why not date?" 

Martin glanced at her exposed thighs. "You want to hear truth or lie?, Dating her would ruin my chances with *you*." 

"And the truth?" 

"Wedding vows are beautiful… until divorce." His tone turned cynical. "I've seen couples shred each other over money. Why start what'll end in hate? Friends with benefits is safer." 

"You're a *pig*," Max declared. 

"Thank you." He grinned. 

--- 

Days later, Martin and senior partner Harvey Specter interviewed Harvard Law graduates for junior associates. 

"Why should we hire these bookworms?" Harvey groaned as another candidate left. 

"You were also one once," Martin reminded him, flipping through résumés. "Just hire a woman. Rachel's too hot to work with horny male interns." 

Harvey glanced at their secretary Rachel's curves. "No office romances. And you're 25—barely better than them." 

"I'm a *senior attorney*," Martin countered. "Next!" 

A disheveled man burst in, dodging police. 

"Mike Ross," he introduced himself, shaking Harvey's hand. When his briefcase hit the desk, bags of marijuana spilled out. 

Harvey stared. Martin whistled.