It's 2008 and Logan doesn't care. It's been a year and a half since Rory rejected his proposal and slummed her way across America chanting "yes we can" with the rest of the political press. So he doesn't care when she shows up to the Waldorf Astoria with Stephanie of all people, who has that glint in her eye that Logan doesn't care for, drunk with everyone else on the night of (soon to be President) Obama's win.
Stephanie glides over, Rory behind her, and hands him a shot of something brown. "Pappy," she slurs. "We're celebrating Rory's sudden unemployment."
"I have things in the works," Rory defends, the first words she's said to Logan since she returned his ring (he doesn't care).
"Do you need me to make a call?" he asks her.
"I have things in the works," she repeats. "Some pieces I've written that have been picked up."
"To big time," Stephanie giggles and raises her class to cheers the two people next to her. "Logan, want to go to PDT with us?"
"I'm waiting for Finn," he replies. "You know how he feels about mixologists."
Stephanie rolls her eyes. "He's going to get his ass kicked if he keeps calling those sweet bartenders that."
Rory slips something in his hand that he immediately throws away when she walks out the door. He definitely didn't watch her cute little drunk sway out the door and he most certainly doesn't care.
It's 2012 and Rory doesn't care. Her trust fund kicked in a year ago and it's been pretty helpful with her rent in France. She took a job here writing about the French presidential election, which is thankfully shorter than the American one. She spends her days writing and traveling and her nights – well, those are a little different. She feels different in France. She does different things.
"Are you almost ready to go, love?" Finn calls from the kitchen. "I made you an Americano, because though your blood runs Columbian, you won't embrace a proper espresso."
"If you would install an all American coffee pot like I've begged and sacrificed virgins for, you wouldn't have to share your free trade Nicaraguan beans that you haggle for every week," she replies from the bathroom. "Can you bring me my coffee?"
"Not until you actually come through on those virgin sacrifices."
"Finn," she whines.
He pops up and hands her a coffee cup and a shot glass. "Apertivo, love. To get us in the mood." He waggles his eyebrows at her and she giggles as they take their shots together.
"So are you ready to go get cray?"
"Hashtag winning!" she yells back.
They're at the point where they've lost count of the drinks they've had, dancing their faces off to electro swing, and Finn may or may not have slipped half an ecstasy pill in her mouth when they were making out on the dance floor, and Rory just doesn't care. She's having the time of her life. Finn has been her best friend in Paris (even if they occasionally make out while they're rolling) and this is what living feels like, she realizes.
They flee out the back when the lights flip up and a voice on stage announces that the dance club is now a cigar and bourbon lounge. Rory giggles as Finn pushes her up against the wall of the alley and disappears under her dress, doing the second best thing with his tongue thus far tonight.
It's 2013 and Logan doesn't care. Though Finn is a traitor for bringing Rory as his date to Colin's divorce party. He most definitely doesn't care when Finn tells him over and over that him and Rory are just friends. Logan is the fucking media, he saw the photos of them gallivanting around Europe for the past two years while Rory told everyone she was freelancing. The two were friends like Drake and Rhianna.
They're flitting around each other, around the room. She's laughing and drinking with Robert and Colin and Finn is flirting with Colin's soon to be ex, and Logan could not care any less than he already does.
"You look forlorn," a voice says from behind him.
Logan turns slowly from his inner monologue to face a stunning blonde standing next to him. "I'm just contemplating what happened to sweet Miley Cyrus. And I thought I had daddy issues."
"At a party celebrating the demise of a marriage that lasted less time than a Kardashian wedding? You Americans are so obsessed with pop culture."
"No less than you French girls," he shoots back with a smile.
Mystery girl giggles and pulls a small baggie out of her cleavage. "Care to indulge in the bathroom, get to know each other a little better?"
There's a loud yell from across the room and the couple turns to see Rory, surrounded by Logan's so called friends, sitting on the bar and pouring shots of Fernet in the boys' open mouths.
"Speaking of daddy issues," mystery girl says with distain, eying up the scene.
Logan thinks he might be in love.
It's 2014 and Rory doesn't care. Her freelance articles are going okay and she has been splitting her time between New York and London. Her partying days are behind her and she has a fantastic feeling on the piece she's been working on for the New Yorker. Sure, the subject can be a little eccentric, but Naomi Shropshire is a legend. It's been intense, to say the least.
It's after one of those booze soaked meetings at the newly opened Dandelyan that she runs into none other than the party emcee himself.
"As I live and breathe, Ace reporter herself in merry ol' London," he greets her, no mirth behind his words.
"King of England, rubbing elbows with his lowly subjects," she replies as she swirls the ice around in her drink. "What do we owe the pleasure?"
"Drinking with the common man keeps you humble." He eyes her drink. "Care for a refill?"
Rory raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Logan, you don't have to have a drink with me to keep up appearances. I'm almost done anyway, I have an early flight tomorrow."
"Indulge me, for old time sake. I remember a girl who was the life of the party two years ago in Venice."
"I see you're talking to Finn again."
"I was never not talking to Finn." Logan gets the attention of the bartender. "Two Campari and soda, please." He turns back to Rory. "It's a palate cleanser."
Rory quickly finishes the last of her drink and stands up. "I'm not going to be your punching bag tonight, Logan. It was nice seeing you."
He grabs her arm as she turns around. "No more snide remarks, I promise. I just want to catch up with an old friend."
"No calling me a Kardashian or a Hilton."
Logan smiles and hands her a drink. "No unfavorable comparisons and I'll even throw light hearted banter in a two for one deal."
"Just one amicable drink," she relents as she accepts the drink.
It's 2014 and Logan doesn't care as Rory quietly gets dressed and won't look at him.
"This is just a one-time thing," she mutters as she struggles with her top.
He laughs. "Okay."
"I mean, we never got closure and you live here and I live in New York. It would be very An Affair to Remember."
"And I'm no Cary Grant."
"I could never be Deborah Kerr. So we'll leave this in London."
"Until you come back next." Logan sits up in bed, smirking up at her. "How's the New Yorker piece coming along?"
"I'll be back in a month," Rory finally tells him. "But it's not going to happen again."
"Okay."
"Logan."
"I said okay. See you next month."
"One time thing," she replies as she strides out the door.
"I don't believe you," he calls back.
She can hear the chuckle in his voice. "I don't care."
But it was a lie.
A/N: Raise your hand if you feel personally victimized by ASP. But for once, I actually related to Rory's story. But there's no way she didn't party her fucking trust fund away and that's why she clearly has no actual experience, amirite?