“He’ll see me,” Trevor said, leaning on the polished granite counter. “Tell him it’s about the ‘Dumont file.’ He’ll know.”
Harvey stood up. He walked around the desk, picked up the suit, and held it against his own frame. The navy was a shade darker than his usual. He looked at Trevor—the nervous hands, the desperate eyes, the ghost of Mike Ross hanging between them. suits trevor
“Trevor Evans. I’m here to see Harvey Specter.” “He’ll see me,” Trevor said, leaning on the