Suits: A Lawyer Surviving TV Chaos

At Pearson & Hardman, efficiency was survival. 

"These are your upcoming cases. Plus seven clients requiring legal counsel. Meet them within a week and lock down retainer agreements." 

Fresh from lunch, Rachel Zane strode into Martin's office in a tailored suit, depositing a stack of folders on his desk. She perched across from him, arms crossed, legs crossed tighter. 

"Martin Scott? Congratulations on your first trial win. The transcript's being circulated firm-wide as a case study…" 

Martin flipped open the top file. "Thanks. Help yourself to a drink." 

Rachel stayed rooted. "I read the summary. You never considered settling. Why?" 

"Settling wouldn't serve my client's interests," Martin replied without looking up. 

"What if you'd lost?" 

"Then my Harvard JSD deserves shredding." His low, confident baritone left no room for doubt. 

Rachel's lashes flickered. After a beat, she pressed, "Jessica says you requested me as your secretary. Give me one reason not to refuse. I won't trade my private office for a cubicle." 

Martin finally met her gaze. "You're the best here. I need you to navigate this shark tank. As for you—wouldn't escaping those lecherous partners be a perk?" 

Rachel froze. As the firm's most sought-after paralegal, she'd endured endless "innocent" flirtations from lawyers who knew exactly how to skirt harassment lines. 

Her eyes trailed over Martin's crisp part, his fitted shirt hinting at gym-toned shoulders. For once, *she* felt the dangerous urge to cross professional boundaries. 

"I need three days to transition my workload," she blurted. 

Martin's brows lifted. "You'll manage my schedule—and yours." 

"Can I leave early when you work late?" 

He feigned sternness. "I'll cover your cab fare." 

"Deal." Rachel rose, hips swaying as her stilettos clicked toward the door. Martin watched the exit long after she'd left, muttering, "Future duchess indeed." 

--- 

By 9:30 PM, Martin had plowed through case files: three pro bono gigs (5% contingency fees), two retainers (one criminal defense for a second-degree murder charge), and seven milquetoast clients better suited to a neighborhood notary. 

Returning to his apartment, he found Sheldon scribbling equations, Leonard and Howard conspiring over takeout. No Raj—which explained his fatal assumption. 

Stripping off his constricting Savile Row suit, Martin padded toward the bathroom in Calvin Kleins. Curtains drawn, shower running. 

"Raj, since when do you—" 

He yanked the curtain. 

**"AAAAAAAAH!"** 

Penny, very naked & very *not* Raj—scrambled to cover herself. The guys stampeded in to find Martin backpedaling, hands raised. 

"I thought it was Raj!" 

Leonard glowered. "Why would Raj shower here?!" 

"Because Howard's here and—" 

"**You saw Penny first?!**" Howard wailed, clutching his heart. 

As chaos erupted, a flushed face peeked through the curtain and shouted. "Boys? Could you discuss my sleeping arrangements **outside**!" 

The herd stampeded out—but not before Howard tossed a line in french "Enjoy your shower!" which left Penny more baffled than ever. 

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