Who: Jo Harvelle & Harvey Specter Where: The Roadhouse When: Backdated to after this conversation What: Hiring a lawyer Warnings: N/A Status: Closed | Complete
It wasn’t the first time Harvey used a bar as his office and it wouldn’t be the last. The atmosphere usually led to relaxed negotiations - on the other side. Harvey would nurse a whiskey, play being at ease, but in the end he was just as sharp as he would be at the firm. On the other hand, a client at ease was a client that didn’t hide as much or hedge when questions were asked. It was the best way to figure out what he was walking into without details being hidden away that might come back to bite him in the ass later.
This was the second meeting he’d gone to in a bar with the bar owner, however, and that wasn’t so typical but then again...nothing about Tumbleweed was.
Given his lack of bank account, he’d opted for jeans and button up shirts with sneakers until necessity dictated he get a suit, a laptop taking precedence once he joined forces with Matt Murdock. Strap of his laptop bag slung over his shoulder, he approached the front door of the Roadhouse, giving the place a once over before he headed inside. Immediately his sunglasses became unnecessary, the interior dim in comparison to outside.
Once his eyes adjusted, he caught sight of the blond behind the bar. “Afternoon.”
Jo had gotten used to those she cared about being taken back by the portal, so that when Damon was sent home, it almost didn’t phase her. In private, she toasted him with a shot of bourbon and drank it down, then went on to take care of business, the main part of which was removing his name from the papers regarding the Roadhouse and switching everything over to her. She knew there was a chance that she might be one day taken from Tumbleweed, but for now she’d just focus on what needed to be done in the moment, and this was the biggest part.
Turning when the door opened, Jo lifted her hand in reply at the greeting. Business was slow since most people were still at work, which was why she’d picked this time to meet with the lawyer. After setting down the pitcher she’d been drying, she dried her own hands on a paper towel and came out from behind the bar to shake Harvey’s hand. Jo wore short boots, jeans, and a tank top, with an open dark red plaid shirt over it, and had her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She may not have looked like the owner of a place like the Roadhouse, but the hand she used to shake his showed she had a certain strength despite outward appearances.
“Hey, thanks for coming by. I’ve got everything ready in my office, come on back,” she said after letting his hand go and turning to lead him behind the bar, into the kitchen, and into a neat office tucked back in a corner. As she stepped in, Jo nodded at the single chair on the other side of the desk and sat behind the desk herself, in front of a small pile of papers and folders.
“I think I’ve got everything you need here.”
Harvey returned the firm handshake with one of his own before he followed after her. The only surprise came when he saw the neat condition of the office, far too used to the haphazard organization system of harried restaurant owners who felt their time was better spent in the kitchen or out schmoozing customers. Then again, bars could be an entirely different beast altogether.
He dropped down in the chair she indicated, dropping his laptop bag next to it on the floor before he reached out to grab the pile of papers and folders. Harvey paged through, quickly scanning the documents, taking in what he had to work with.
“I have to say I appreciate it when a potential client is organized for our first meeting,” he said, glancing up at her before returning to perusing the contents of a file. “Some use the excuse of being a multinational corporation for a lack of organization when it’s the exact opposite of what should be expected of them.” He closed the file and leaned back in his chair.
“We spoke briefly on the network about what you’re looking for but now I’d like to go over exactly what you need. You mentioned a partner who was sent home, the one who handled the paperwork. Would I be correct in thinking that you’re looking for a backup to make sure the bar is taken care of in case the same happens to you?”
Reaching into a small fridge behind her desk, Jo pulled out two bottles of water, even though what she really wanted at the moment was some coffee. She’d have asked Harvey if he wanted anything, but didn’t want to distract him as he went through the files.
His words caused her to grin a little, before she shook her head. “Well, I think it’s pretty obvious that the Roadhouse isn’t multinational. And it probably helps that I grew up in a place like this - my parents owned a saloon, in Nebraska. After my dad died, my mom took over, so I learned a lot from her about running a bar and handling inventory, payroll, taxes - all of that. I worked there after I dropped out of college, too, and then I worked at other bars for a few years after we lost the place in a fire.” Jo paused to open her bottle and take a sip as he leaned back in the chair.
“Having a backup would be good, but I think instead of a person it might be better if ownership reverted to somewhere like the Resettlement Bureau, or something like that? I just think that putting another name down would run me the risk of having to go through this again, or having that person go through this if I’m ever sent...back.”
“It’d probably do decent business as a franchise though.” The Roadhouse reminded him of most small town bars, tucked away from main roads, full of regulars and the occasional weary traveler seeking refuge from another few hours of driving. Someone could make a killing on the brand but then they’d all lose their small town charm, become nothing more than a product littering the national landscape. The country had enough of those.
He glanced up at her. “I don’t usually do work for places like this but I’ve spent time in a similar place. My father was a musician, sat in with a lot of bands in small clubs. So I’ve got an idea of how they run,” he added in explanation. “I’m adaptable.” He was long before and he’d have to be to live in this place with no control over if he ever headed home.
“Obviously we’re going to have to talk with the Resettlement Bureau to make sure they’re all right with that. Mostly it’s a precaution to make sure all parties are aware so no one is surprised by a transfer of ownership should the situation arise,” he explained, “but I think that is your best option right now. We can certainly do that.”
“I’m not interested in franchising,” she replied. “Too much of a headache, and it wouldn’t feel right to have more than one place like this around.” For all intents and purposes, as different as the bar was from the one she’d grown up in, it was her home. Lucifer and Damon had both cared about the bar, sure, but she’d always been the one most connected to it.
“I figured, but I’m glad you agreed to meet with me anyway.” Jo smiled when he talked about his dad, and nodded at the fact that he was adaptable. She could appreciate that. Her eyes dropped to the papers as he went on, and Jo sipped some more of her water, a thoughtful look on her face.
“It’s the one that makes the most sense to me, at least,” she said. “In the meantime, I just want to make sure that everything gets moved to solely my name, just so I can cover my own ass right now, you know?” The blonde hesitated, then went on after a moment.
“So, how much will hiring you cost me?”
“While it would do decent, I wouldn’t recommend it either. Businesses like that, they start sacrificing genuine charm to manufactured charm in the name of the almighty dollar.” Strange coming from him when he’d been pulling in a hefty paycheck before but the firm, it was never just about the money. He spent most of his time there, working, deeply invested. That was what made a business, not the cash flow.
Harvey chuckled quietly. “Well, I have to revamp my clientele somewhat to fit in town,” he added dryly. He could just hear Jessica stating that maybe it would be good for taking his ego down a few notches but Harvey just saw a challenge.
Reaching into his bag, he grabbed out a legal pad, scribbling down some notes as they spoke. “That I can do easily. File a few forms, redo a few pieces of paperwork, you’ll be sole owner in no time.” He stopped writing and tilted his head back, gaze rolling towards the ceiling in a thoughtful gesture. “We’ll go with $200 for the consultation,” he said finally.
“I never got into this to make money. If I had, I’d probably be doing something different,” she said as she shrugged. From what he’d said so far, Jo had a feeling that Harvey understood, and didn’t need to hear an explanation on why she’d opened the Roadhouse or why she felt the way she did about it.
“Unless you went back to New York and set up shop there. Or even one of the closer large cities.” There was another shrug, because Jo figured he’d stick around. After all, it seemed everyone stayed close to the portal in the long term at the very least.
Jo put the cap back on her water bottle as she leaned back in her chair, one eyebrow climbing slightly at the number he named. If there was one thing she’d learned from her parents, it was to never take the first offer, and she wasn’t about to start now. “How about $125?” She countered easily.
He had to give her that one. No one got into the restaurant or bar game with the primary goal of making money. If anything, the two were more likely to suck money and life out of a person at first than create a profit. He’d watched it happen with his brother before his restaurant finally found its footing as a success. His brother had been one of the lucky ones.
“Even if I did, you still have to pay your dues. I’ve already done that once and I can do it again but doing so, making that move, is a series of calculations.” Harvey did well adapting on the fly but he damn well knew how it worked too. No one would allow him to just slide into the partner position that he’d worked for, especially not at a high tier law firm. “I’m working for myself for a while. It’s a new venture.”
Harvey arched an eyebrow at her counterproposal. “$180,” he replied, easily moving the pen between his fingers as he regarded her seriously.
“I can understand that, she replied with a nod. “Before I ended up with the Displaced, I’d been traveling around for a few years, but actually settling down somewhere takes a lot more than cash and an ID.” Jo had to give a smile when he said he was working for himself.
“How’s it feel?” She asked lightly, still studying him. When he offered up a different number a moment later, Jo’s smile shifted to a grin. “$140 and the best damn bacon cheeseburger you’ve ever had in your life, guaranteed. You’re welcome to eat it here, or take it with you - or even catch a raincheck, if you’re not hungry right now.”
“You can settle down but an already built reputation? You’re not coming up with that overnight.” Days, weeks, not even months. It took years for him to climb to where he’d ended up and that was gone in the blink of an eye and portal interference. He mentally shrugged it off, shaking his head. “You either complain about it or you get yourself back on your feet. There is no inbetween.”
Harvey watched her, deadpan. “Feels like it did when I worked in a Manhattan law firm, including someone trying to negotiate down my prices,” he replied dryly. “I’ll take the cheeseburger and $175. It may be the best damn cheeseburger I’ve ever had and I may be easy where food is concerned, but no cheeseburger is worth the difference.”
“You definitely have a point there. For the Roadhouse...it had a reputation back home, among friends of my parents, and their friends. Kind of a word-of-mouth reputation as a safe place, and it was. Here, when we first showed up in Tumbleweed, there weren’t too many bars that were comfortable for those of us who’d been displaced, and like I said - three of us went in on it together to get things started. Now, I do what I can to keep the atmosphere comfortable, and as close to home as I can, and it’s built its own reputation.” Jo reopened her water and took another long sip, then set it back down and gave him a shrug, smiling.
“Hey, can’t blame me for trying, can you?” This offer was a little more doable according to her mental calculations, and Jo sat forward. “You have a deal. Do you want that burger now or another time?”
“Your bar caters to a group that you can find just about anywhere,” Harvey stated thoughtfully, tilting his head. “It doesn’t matter where you go, you’re going to find outsiders looking for a place where they won’t be judged on being an outsider. A place like this where people have no choice but to be outsiders, it’s a service that’s needed.” More than likely, a place where the stranger of the Displaced could be themselves as well.
He snorted. “I can’t blame you for trying but I could find some blame to place if you kept trying,” he shot back, bending forward to slide his notepad back into his bag. “I’ll get the paperwork typed up and have you sign it then, both relating to the bar and my services.” Harvey glanced up at Jo. “I’ll take that burger now, of course. You can’t just promise something like that then ask when.”
She was glad he understood , and gave a nod. “That’s it exactly,” Jo replied, and when he went on to say he’d take the food now, the blonde smiled again. “Coming right up. You can hang here or in the kitchen with me, or out front.”
Sliding to her feet, Jo headed out of the office and into the kitchen to start his food. “It shouldn’t be too long, but a good burger takes a little time,” she said over her shoulder as she fired up the grill and began to get things ready. The meat she’d wait on pulling out until the grill was hot enough to put it on.
“That’s what they all say.” Harvey slung the strap of his bag over his shoulder and meandered after her, hands sliding into his pockets. He gazed around at the place as he walked, taking in the details he’d missed on arrival, focused on the job ahead. Not much to write home about but just the kind of place that a stranger out of place could feel at home in.
“I’ll seat myself out front, get started on some work,” he added after a moment, tilting his head towards the kitchen’s exit. Jo didn’t need him hanging around the kitchen and Harvey didn’t do the feeling useless or cooling his heels.
Flashing him a smile, Jo nodded again and turned back to the grill. “I’ll bring it out when it’s ready, then. If you want a drink, feel free to start a tab.” She appreciated the fact that he wanted to get started on things, because it meant that he was committed, and Jo felt confident in her decision to hire him for his help on the paperwork.
Motioning for him to head out, she reached out with one hand to turn on a small radio on a nearby counter, then got to work heating the oil for some fries, too. In her mind, a burger just wasn’t right without a side of fries.