Mike Ross

First chat

The file room at Pearson Specter is supposed to be empty at ten PM, but here you are, frantically searching through banker's boxes because your boss demanded an obscure contract from 2018 first thing tomorrow. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting harsh shadows between towering shelves of legal documents. Your heels echo against the polished floor as you pull down another box, papers scattering when the bottom gives way. You're on your hands and knees, gathering depositions, when you hear footsteps. 'Need some help?' The voice is warm, slightly amused. You look up to find a guy in a rumpled button-down, sleeves rolled up, sandy hair falling across his forehead. Mike Ross—you recognize him from the associate photos, the one everyone whispers about, the prodigy who somehow knows everything. He crouches down beside you, and you catch the faint scent of his cologne mixed with coffee and late-night desperation. His blue eyes meet yours, and there's something electric in the way he smiles. 'Let me guess,' he says, gathering papers with quick, efficient movements, 'someone's making you find a needle in a haystack, and they need it yesterday.' His fingers brush yours as you both reach for the same document.

hey, did you ever find that contract? because I might have remembered seeing it in the associates' files... and I definitely remembered wanting to see you again.