Suits: A Lawyer Surviving TV Chaos

"Impressive!" 

In the workplace, this was the highest praise a boss could give to a subordinate. 

Jessica Pearson, the founding partner of Pearson Hardman Law Firm, flipped through the documents in her hand, murmuring words of admiration. A week earlier, to test the new hire Jessica had handed Martin Scott several legal referrals transferred from other lawyers. She hadn't expected him to make progress so quickly. 

"You secured *all seven* consultancy contracts?" Jessica's tone held a mix of surprise and curiosity. "Tell me, how did you convince those picky middle-class clients to overlook your age?" 

"Age is both a weakness and a strength" Martin replied casually from the sofa across her desk. "Lawyers here which are over thirty only chase clients with million-dollar retainers. Who'd bother grinding for $30,000 cases? Besides, this *is* Pearson Hardman. Even as a rookie, I've got the world's best team backing me. It's like Spider-Man having Iron Man and Captain America on speed dial." 

Jessica chuckled shaking her head. "I thought you'd be another Harvey. Turns out you're more like… a younger version of me." 

"Because of the 'team spirit'?" Martin smirked. "Harvey Specter and I share nothing but good looks." 

"And exceptional legal skills," Jessica added, never shy about praising her star lawyers. 

At Pearson Hardman, attorneys were ranked as associates, junior lawyers, senior lawyers, and partners, with senior and managing partners eligible for profit-sharing. Among the firm's eighty-plus lawyers, only the charismatic Harvey Specter and the scheming Louis Litt had clawed their way to junior partner status, now locked in a bitter rivalry for the sole senior partner slot. 

Jessica, as founding partner and de facto CEO, held ultimate authority. For her to compare a junior lawyer like Martin to senior partners spoke volumes about her expectations. 

--- 

Rachel had officially become Martin's dedicated secretary days earlier. Though downgraded from her modest private office to a cramped cubicle outside his door, her workload had lightened. Still, her new boss seemed… eccentric. 

Like now, as Martin sauntered toward her desk, hands in pockets, mimicking Jim Carrey's absurdist swagger. 

"Care for dinner tonight, my duchess?" He leaned against her cubicle, eyebrows dancing theatrically. 

Rachel didn't look up from her computer. "Let me guess—Jessica called you 'impressive'?" 

"How'd you know?" 

"Every new hire gets tested with those referrals. Only two people aced them before you: Harvey and Louis. Of course Jessica would praise her third prodigy." 

"They've been here over a decade! How do *you* know their rookie stats?" 

Rachel finally turned to him. "Trust me, nothing stays secret here." 

"Hiring you was master stroke " Martin mused. "Top-tier secretary *and* corporate spy." 

"Neither job includes dinner with the boss." 

His phone buzzed. After a brief call, he grinned. "Dinner's incidental. As my secretary, you're obligated to advise me. Let's go." 

"Go where?" 

"A dealership." 

"…A *car* dealership?" 

Rachel stared, utterly lost. 

--- 

Expecting a cliché rich-boy flex, Rachel was surprised when they arrived at a grungy used-car lot. Martin exchanged a bear hug with a grease-stained, bearded owner before leading her to a garage. Inside sat a gleaming vintage Chevrolet. 

The car's retro design and minimalist interior screamed mid-20th century, though its matte finish and engine gleamed like new. 

"Second-gen Camaro, 1973," Martin breathed, caressing the hood. "Fresh ABE V8 engine, manual transmission…" 

"You're buying *this* to meet clients?" Rachel scoffed. As a lawyer from old money, she'd seen countless luxury cars. But a restored relic? Unheard of. 

Martin gaped. "You've never seen *Transformers*?" 

"The summer blockbuster? Sure. Megan Fox's lips were iconic, but her figure's all camera angles—" 

"Of course women fixate on other women," Martin groaned. "This car's worth $173,400 on eBay. It'll gain another $50k in three years." 

"*What?* That's Ferrari money!" 

Martin turned to the bearded owner. "Hey, Sancos—steal Megan Fox's underwear tonight, and this baby's yours." 

The man laughed. "Keep dreaming. By tonight, Angelina Jolie'll be in your bed wearing lace!" 

Rachel blinked, baffled by their banter. 

"How much did you pay?" she asked. 

"$3,420 for the car, $10k in restorations. Bought it before *Transformers* blew up." 

Rachel's eyes widened. "You should've been a businessman. What sector offers 1,000% returns?" 

Martin shook his head. "Harvard's golden rule: 'Never mess with doctors or lawyers. They'll bury you without a trace.'" 

"Notice how they never mention *businessmen*?"