Chapter 7 - Match Points and Louboutins

Ace

noun \ˈās\

a point scored especially on a service (as in tennis or handball) that an opponent fails to touch

.x.

A weird kind of tension lingered in the air when Rory walked into the newsroom on Tuesday morning - or maybe she was just imagining things, prompted by a wave of guilt-induced paranoia.

Logan had more than delivered on his promise of 'a very sexy night of contract signing', and hours passed before he sent her home with a huge pile of papers, including a copy of all the documents he'd made her sign (but not before reading and discussing everything in excruciating detail), her resignation letter (writing it together seemed like such a great idea at the time), and an envelope containing what Logan had dubbed her Get Out of Jail Free card (the word 'affidavit' had been thrown around, but she doubted it meant what he thought it meant).

She'd filed the contracts in her 'important documents' binder, and everything she'd need to take to work the next morning found a temporary home in a folder neatly packed in her messenger bag - which had subsequently grown a tonne heavier overnight, or so it had seemed when she left the apartment.

So, maybe she was feeling guilty. Maybe the nervous silence that filled the room when she arrived wasn't all that nervous.

Or all that silent.

Which didn't seem to be the case at all, because when her phone chimed just as she was dropping her bag on the floor by her chair, she could have sworn that it had never sounded so loud.

Still, despite all the guilt and anxiety, she found herself smiling at the message that appeared on her screen.

You still in, Ace?

She didn't even have the time to think of a reply before the elevator doors opened and Dave walked into the newsroom. Normally, the mere presence of their editor would be enough to send all the journalists on the floor into a frenzy of faked productivity, with lots of aimless typing and phone calls that suddenly sounded business-related, instead of purely personal. But today, their daze seemed impervious even to the sight of him storming through the room towards the Aquarium - the large square of glass in the middle of the room, which he called his office.

He'd just reached the door when he turned around, his eyes scanning his underlings before settling on Rory.

"Gilmore!" he called, his voice booming with even more authority than usual. "Get your ass in here! Now!"

Rory could feel all eyes on her as she got up, fixing her skirt and searching her bag for the folder with all the documents she felt like she'd need sooner, rather than later. As she walked over to the Aquarium, it seemed that the whole office erupted in hushed whispers and Skype messages.

Stop the presses - the Teacher's Pet had been called into the Principal's office.

She closed the door behind herself, knowing full well that at least one of her coworkers would be desperately trying to read their lips to find out what they were talking about. Dave looked at Rory, his beady eyes showing no sign of warmth towards her.

"I've just spent the past hour talking to AG Sulzberger," he said, as she sat down on one of the chairs facing his desk. "I'd never even talked to the man before, so you can imagine my surprise when I found out that he called me over to discuss your future at the Times."

He looked at her like he expected her to say something - any kind of acknowledgement would have been appropriate, really - but Rory felt like she'd lost the ability to form a coherent thought. There was a slim possibility that she'd been fired by the Boss himself (ironically enough, after she'd quit the job), but she knew that it was far more likely that he wanted to make sure Logan knew he'd heard his message, loud and clear.

"Now," he continued, once he realized she wasn't going to say anything, "I don't know what you did, but I'm supposed to ship you off to Politics or something, so you can get a real byline in by the end of the week." He scoffed, insulted at the implication that his own publisher didn't see his section as real journalism. "But I can't do it, now, can I? So, that puts me in a very difficult position, because I've had to tell the boss's son that the journalist he's taken such a sudden interest on quit her fucking job less than 24 hours ago. Needless to say, he wasn't happy to hear that."

"I understand," she replied, trying her best to keep her voice level. She knew that the proper response would be to act thrilled by the perspective of having piqued the interest of the Boss to Rule Them All, but she found it hard to pretend that she was delighted, when in reality she felt more annoyed than flattered.

She'd spent two years working her ass off in the hopes that one day she'd be noticed - that one day someone would realise that she could do much more, and that she'd be offered a 'real byline' because someone thought she deserved it. And when that opportunity finally came knocking on her door, it was as a desperate attempt to get her to stay, just so someone in charge could prove to someone else that they had the upper hand.

It was all she could do not to tell Dave to shove that offer up his ass.

"Look, Rory. I don't know why you're leaving or what you've been promised, but I'd suggest that you keep in mind that this is not the kind of man that you just say no to."

"Oh, I know." She smiled sweetly at him. "But neither is this one."

She placed the envelope on the desk, praying that Logan had the forethought to sign whatever document it was that he'd given her - or, at the very least, that he'd made sure it was unquestionably connected to him.

The logo for HER Media on the top left corner of the paper almost elicited a relieved sigh from her, but it was nothing compared to the signature at the end of the block of text.

Rory would have recognised his handwriting anywhere, but Dave didn't need to be familiar with the loops and curves of Logan's penmanship, because the words typed under it spoke for themselves.

Logan Huntzberger, CEO.

"As you can see," she said, with a saccharine tone that did nothing to hide her cynicism, "my decision is final."

.x.

With the realization that he, a lowly editor, couldn't compete with an offer from Logan Huntzberger himself, Dave dismissed Rory, telling her to clear out her desk while he prepared the paperwork needed to terminate her contract - an assignment she'd be more than happy to do, for a change.

She was far from surprised to reach her cubicle to find Alice (her work BFF and the reigning Gossip Girl of the A&L floor) sitting on her chair. "What did he want?" she asked, unceremoniously, jumping to her feet and handing Rory a mug full of coffee. "Are you in trouble?"

"Not in trouble," Rory replied, sitting on her chair and taking a sip from the coffee while she tried to decide how much to tell her friend, when she knew that everyone is the cubicles around them would be listening in. Not that she could give too many details anyway, because the NDA Logan had made her sign barely allowed her to say that she'd be moving to Hartford in the very near future. "I am leaving, though."

"Leaving as in...-" she made a slashing motion across her throat, and Rory laughed at the dramatic expression on her face.

"I quit, actually." She hesitated, trying to tell herself that there was no reason to feel guilty for not having kept her friend up to date with the happenings of her life.

She and Alice were close, yes, but in a strictly office-related manner - having coffee together in the break room, talking trash about their boss, going out for the occasional happy hour. They weren't, however, close in the real world, so there was no way Rory would have called her over the weekend just to announce that her long-lost ex-boyfriend had offered her a job.

Still, it was hard not to remember what Logan had said, about Rory not having a life she wouldn't leave behind in a heartbeat - and as harsh as it might be to think that Alice wasn't close to her enough to warrant a call, it still wasn't as awful as the fact that she was still the closest friend she had in New York. At least, after the breakup with Nick.

"I got a new job," she explained, with a proud smile. It was the first time she'd been able to say that whole sentence out loud, and it felt just as good as she'd imagined. "Better pay, better hours, better books. How could I ever say no?"

.x.

As Rory soon found out, clearing her desk was a deceptively easy, almost mindless task. Stick-figure diagrams illustrating badly-described sexual acts? Trash. Her massive collection of pens? Keep. Untouched legal pads, with the wrong line width? Return to office supply closet. Lily, the succulent? Ask the Office Mom to be its new mommy. Custom-made 'Life's short, talk fast' mug, which she'd gotten for last year's Secret Santa? Protect from harm at any cost.

But once the past two years of her life were nearly stacked in a cardboard box (or in the bottom of a trashcan), it was time for the truly difficult part of her day.

When she walked into the Aquarium again, Dave was waiting for her with yet another huge pile of documents that she needed to sign (frankly, she wished someone would have warned her of how much of her adult life would be spent signing things), and after she was done with that, the time came to hand in her ID badge and her most prized, yet least used, possession: her press ID.

In the whole time she'd worked for the Times, she'd never had a reason to announce to the world that she was a reporter, but more than an symbol for other people, her press ID was a shiny, laminated reminder to herself - a physical memento of her journey thus far, reminding her of how far she'd come and all that was yet to accomplish.

But the moment she signed the first of the many contracts Logan gave her last night, she'd sold her hopes and dreams for a top-floor office with her name on the door, and the price to pay for it also included giving up on what felt like a huge chunk of her identity.

That, and the 100 thousand dollars she'd spent on the buy-in for the partnership at HER Media.

Once it was all said and done, and before she picked up her things and left, she reached for her phone, finally getting around to answering Logan's text.

I'm all in.

Three words.

Endless possibilities.

And a wide open future, staring straight at her.

.x.

Rory spent the rest of the morning in her apartment, preparing for the 'bare minimum' version of moving across states, as suggested by the precious pointers that Logan had given her, in the form of a checklist that she'd stuck to her now-empty fridge.

Pack all your winter clothes. You won't be needing sundresses anytime soon. Take your favourite books. No one needs that many shoes. Yes, that book looks lonely; add it to the pile. Don't leave that armchair outside. Make sure all windows are closed. You can survive another week without War and Peace. Take out the trash.

The final result barely changed the overall look of the apartment - in fact, as she stood at the door with the two biggest suitcases she owned at her side, it was hard not to feel like she'd been just tidying up the place before going out for a long weekend in Stars Hollow or a summer in Europe. It felt nothing like the emotionally draining event of leaving Nick's home after he broke up with her, nor did it resemble in any way the slightly more enjoyable process of packing up a whole apartment because her college days were over.

It was almost like when she moved out of her mom's house to go to Yale, or from her dad's for Harvard - a pretend-leaving that left her with a door wide open, in case she ever wanted to (or needed to) come back.

The only difference was, this time she'd have nothing to come back to, except for a few pieces of IKEA furniture.

With a sigh and a silent promise that she'd come back for the rest of her books when she had a permanent residence in Hartford, she locked the door and headed for the elevator, the last item on Logan's to-do list hanging menacingly over her head.

New job, new clothes.

If only Pinterest could help her figure out what a COO was supposed to wear.

.x.

It was only 7 when Rory parked her car behind Lorelai's Jeep, but after a day of packing and shopping, she was so exhausted that she was glad she'd decided to spend the night at her mom's, instead of her grandma's. Sure, she'd have to wake up an hour earlier just so she could get to work on time, but even that seemed to be worth it, when the other option was to drive to Hartford and face the Spanish Inquisition.

She picked up the suitcase with all the stuff that she was going to leave in Stars Hollow for the time being, plus the Bloomingdales bags filled with her First Day Favourites, hoping that a few hours with her mom would help her narrow down that list to a single outfit, instead of ten.

Lorelai had promised she'd be waiting for her ('eagerly, on the porch'), but when Rory unlocked the door, the living room was empty.

"Mom?" she called, dropping her bags on the floor, and the next thing she knew, she was being greeted by all the tackling power of a six-year-old, as Vicky latched herself onto her legs.

"Rory!" she squealed in delight, and Rory crouched down to look into her sister's big, blue eyes.

Lorelai had found out that she was pregnant a couple of months after Rory left for the campaign trail, and once she got past the 'mocking Mom for getting pregnant by accident, again' part, Rory was thrilled by the perspective of having a new sibling - if anything, because it meant that Lorelai would have a new Gilmore girl to keep her company while her first-born was out conquering the world, one small town at a time.

Over the years, Rory had done her best to be present in her sister's life, in spite of the geographical distance. She'd attended every single birthday party (including the Five Days of Birthdays, from last year), and she'd bought age-appropriate Christmas gifts (someone had to shower that girl with Fisher-Price toys, after all). She'd even taken Vicky on road trips to New Haven and Cambridge and whole weekends in New York, but it wasn't even close to enough - at least not in her opinion.

Vicky, however, seemed to disagree: she adored her big sister, to the point of attending Friday night dinners just because she'd be there.

"Hey, Princess!" she cooed, pulling her into a tight hug. "How have you been?"

"I learned a new word!" she announced, with a proud smile. Much to Lorelai's chagrin, Rory had bought her sister a copy of the Oxford Children's Dictionary, and ever since she'd started learning how to read, Vicky had been obsessed with it, looking up random words as if she wanted to learn them all.

"Really?" Rory asked, with the genuine, eager interest that only she could feel. "What word was it?"

Vicky looked at her, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as she tried to remember the word she'd heard her mom say just a few hours earlier.

Before she could remember, Lorelai joined them, interrupting their sisterly bonding moment with a playful, "So, the prodigal daughter returns."

"Indeed, she does." Rory smiled, getting back up. "At least for the night."

"Well, we take what we can get." Lorelai shrugged, as the three of them made their way to the kitchen. "Right, Vicky?"

Vicky nodded excitedly, although she had no clue what her mom was talking about. Rory sat at the table, opening the pink Weston's box that was on it, while Lorelai set up the coffee maker.

"Cherry pie from Weston's?" Rory teased. "How decadent."

"Hm, about that...-" Lorelai looked at her daughters. "Vicky, sweetie, can you go get Rory's gifts for Mommy?"

Vicky skipped out of the room, leaving the grown-ups alone, and Rory didn't need any more hints to know that it was Serious Conversation time.

"Logan stopped by," Lorelai said, sitting on one of the empty chairs. "We talked, we had pie, I reminded him that I'll hunt him down with a crossbow if he hurts you again, and now we're cool." She smiled, although her rundown of Logan's visit was so superficial that it almost felt like a lie.

She hated lying to her daughter, but Logan was entitled to at least some resemblance of privacy, and that meant giving him the right to decide if and when he'd tell Rory what he and her mom had talked about.

"He also left you a gift," she added. "And it looks really fancy. Like, 'you're totally sharing it with me'-fancy."

Rory laughed, and right on cue, Vicky walked into the kitchen again, carrying a big box wrapped in marble paper and a much smaller parcel, covered in Disney Princess gift wrap.

"This one's from us." Lorelai said, handing her the smaller package. "Vicky picked the paper herself."

"Oh, that's very tasteful choice." Rory smiled at her sister, carefully tearing at the tape, so as not to ruin the paper - she didn't want to risk offending her sister by destroying it.

The nondescript black box hidden underneath the faces of Cinderella and Belle wasn't much bigger than the ones that usually held those really fancy pens that her grandparents liked to give her on special occasions, but knowing her mom, she knew better than to expect such a practical gift, and the content of the box didn't disappoint: under the layers and layers of tissue paper, she found a rose gold desk nameplate, engraved with the words, I'm not bossy, I'm the boss.

She couldn't help laughing at it, thinking that it would be one hell of a statement to use it as part of the decoration of her new office (she couldn't believe she'd have an office of her own, for that matter). Rory thanked them profusely, hugging them both before placing the nameplate back into its box (minus the tissue paper) and turning her attention to Logan's gift.

With no reason to curb her curiosity this time, she teared at the paper, and both her jaw and Lorelai's dropped when they saw the words Christian Louboutin printed on the beige cardboard.

Rory's hands were shaking as she opened the box, even Vicky was holding her breath - undoubtedly sensing that this was a Very Important Pair of Shoes - as Rory pulled apart the tissue paper to reveal a stunning pair of black patent leather So Kate stilettos.

Beneath them, in a plain white cardboard that created an almost comical contrast with the shoes, Logan's neat handwriting read, Welcome to HPG, Ace.

.x.

It was almost 9 when Logan finally parked his car in the garage at his parents' house. His first official afternoon as the CEO of the Huntzberger Publishing Group had been full, just like he'd expected, after a week of abeyance - but this time, he had no complaints about the ungodly hours he'd spent at work.

He'd always more or less subscribed to the idea of 'work hard, play harder', but when the only thing waiting for him when he left the office was an empty, hostile palace, he was more than happy to forego the 'play' part and drown himself in sixteen-hour workdays.

He wondered if his dad had also felt like that for his whole life.

Or maybe Mitchum was just an asshole.

Either explanation sounded true enough.

He headed straight to his old bedroom, which still looked exactly like it did when he left for Yale, thirteen years ago. Maybe, some sense of nostalgia could be garnered from sleeping in a time capsule straight from the simpler, easier times of 2001, and maybe he'd have appreciated that, in a different setting. But now, when even his cufflinks came from Daddy's closet, being in his old room just added to the feeling that he was living a borrowed life, and he wanted, more than anything, to go back to having a life of his own.

He stripped down to his underwear, throwing all of his clothes on the chair by the desk, and picked up his pyjamas - an old pair of Yale sweatpants that he was sure he'd never bought for himself. He'd just sat on the bed, ready to cozy up with his laptop for the rest of the night, when his phone started ringing, and he didn't even need to check the caller ID to know who it was.

He had, after all, been waiting all night for her call.

He pressed the 'accept call' button, and before he could even say anything, Rory's voice drowned out his attempted greeting as she said, "Tell me you didn't get me a 700-dollar pair of shoes."

"Good, evening, Ace," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "How was your day?"

"Logan." She said his name in such an impatient tone that he could almost picture the unamused look on her face, her blue eyes staring at him in a mix of sternness and annoyance - an expression that he found more endearing (and far sexier) than she probably intended.

"Seven hundred dollars, Logan," she repeated, and he felt like reminding her that their bottle of champagne from last night had cost as much as those shoes, and yet, she hadn't said a single word in protest.

"A small price to pay to thank you for the whole 'selling me your soul' thing, don't you think?"

"What, were all the 'thank you' cards in Connecticut sold out?"

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that Hallmark now sold 'thank you for quitting your job at that place where you've always wanted to work, just so we could work together in that company we both despise' cards. I'll make sure to look for them next time I'm at Target, in case I ever need one again."

Rory met his reply with a stunned silence. His annoyance was tangible beneath the layers of polite words said with a huge amount of cynicism, and it was only then, as she contemplated the possibility of having offended him, that she realized that she'd never even thanked him for his gift.

It was no wonder that he'd gone from playful to pissed in the short space of a sentence.

"They're beautiful, Logan," she said, in a conciliatory tone that made him feel better almost instantly. "Crazy expensive, but beautiful."

"They're nothing you don't deserve." He smiled, closing the lid on his laptop and lying back against the pillows. "You've made a huge sacrifice by leaving the Times and moving out of New York in less than 24 hours, and I wanted something to show you how much I appreciate that."

"Seven hundred dollars' worth of appreciation?" she teased, and something in the lightness of her tone made him picture her lying on the bed, curled up under the comforter, the phone lodged between her ear and the pillow.

"Something like that." He looked at the ceiling, his eyes following the patterns of light that filtered through the trees in the backyard, as he reminisced about how reasonable and logical everything had seemed last night, when he and Rory walked past the Christian Louboutin store on Madison.

He hadn't even noticed the store at first, but when Rory literally froze in place to stare at it, it was hard not to give at least some of his attention to the shiny shoes on the other side of the glass - and when the red leather soles caught his eye, his mind went straight to the many, many times he'd heard Chloe rant about them.

'Nothing says power like a pair of Louboutins clacking on marble,' she used to say. And as many reasons to be resentful towards her as he had, he knew better than to ignore the fashion advice from the person who'd introduced him to True Religion.

So, when morning rolled around, he'd marched into the store, emerging a few minutes later with a pair of So Kate pumps and the promise that his girlfriend would love them to pieces.

Clearly, the sales girl missed the mark on more than just his relationship status.

"Well, thank you," she said, the honesty in her voice sounding much more believable now. "I don't think anyone has ever appreciated me this much before."

"All these years later, Ace, and you still have no idea how much a Birkin bag costs?" He clicked his tongue, in mock disapproval. "Frankly, I'm offended."

"And to think that back in the day you used to love me because I'm have put my laptop in it if you'd let me."

"Oh, to be that young and naïve again." He chuckled, his mind promptly providing him of memories of that night. The sales woman telling him that his girlfriend was lucky to have a boyfriend who loved her enough to buy her a Birkin bag. Rory's reaction, ranging from the predicted excitement over a new, shiny bag, to the adorable obliviousness regarding what the word 'Hermès' was supposed to mean, to the first time she told him she loved him.

She was right, though: her lack of materialism had been one of the things that made him fall for her. He'd spent his whole life being a fancy last name, a hefty bank account, a well-deserved reputation, and his infamous line of suitors was comprised of girls who were only interested in those aspects.

But not Rory. No, Rory had hated him at first sight, and kept on despising him even after she found out he was a Huntzberger. And when her hatred finally became tolerance, she turned out to be the exact type of girl that Logan had never thought he'd find: the one who was more interested in his heart than in his last name.

Such a despicably cheesy thing to think, if he said so himself.

Cheesy. But as his young and naïve self would have it, absolutely true.

"Oh, I don't know," she said, laughing. "I think I can like this 'old and bitter' thing."

"Oh, really?"

"Really. I mean, if Louboutins mean 'thank you', I can only imagine what says 'I love you'."

Rory blurted out those last words without realizing that they could mean something completely different from what she'd intended. She'd been referring to the whole Birkin bag thing and to how Logan had used it to manifest his feelings when he still wasn't ready to talk about them, but as soon as she said those words, she realised that there was a second, much more dangerous and uncomfortable interpretation: she could be musing about future gestures.

Ones directed at her.

It took Logan only a second or so to reply, but it was enough time to have her freaking out over the possibility that he would misinterpret her, and it was almost with relief that she noticed his bitter tone as he said, "Harry Winston engagement rings."

Much like Rory, Logan hadn't been fully aware of what he was saying until after the words were lingering in the air. He was sure that she knew he wasn't referring to her and the family heirloom that she'd rejected, but he found it hard to see it as a good thing, when he knew she'd jump to the obvious conclusion.

Which was that the 13-carat sapphire ring from the most pretentious jeweller he could find (and which looked remarkably similar to Kate Middleton's, although that had just been a happy coincidence) had belonged to Chloe – the girl he insisted he'd never loved, although he'd just implied that he did.

"Crap," Rory said, and that word alone was enough to dissipate most of the tension - and her playful tone took care of the rest. "I might have to stick with young and naïve, then, because I totally prefer Tiffany's."

Logan laughed, because it was all he could do when faced with the absurdity of discussing engagement rings with his ex-girlfriend - or the fact that he'd just realized that they'd never had that conversation, even when he was thinking about proposing to her.

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied. "In case some lucky bastard ever asks."

Rory fell silent again, this time managing to stop herself short from asking him why he'd automatically assumed that he wouldn't be the one to propose to her - which was great, given that the answer would be just as painful as it was obvious.

Because he'd been there and done that, and she'd said no.

And because they were not together. Not anymore, not yet.

The adverb didn't really matter.

"Now," he said, as desperate to change the subject as she undoubtedly was. "Speaking of overpriced shit, how was your shopping spree today?"

"Long. Hard."

"And a hundred other adjectives that could be used to describe a penis?"

She giggled - honestly, he couldn't think of a better verb to describe her nervous laughter. "I don't know; would you use the word 'painful' to describe a penis?"

"If you're talking about a cat..."

"Oh, dear God," she groaned, her voice slightly muffled, and he knew that she'd buried her face in the pillow, as if that would save her from the mental image.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost see the mortified look on her face.

"So, painful," he said, trying to save the conversation from a lull. He didn't want to hang up just yet, and he knew that the only way to keep the call going was to keep her talking - even if it was about something as meaningless as Hugo Boss suits. "Where did you go? Nordstrom? Saks?"

"Bloomingdales. Then Saks."

"Ouch. Your poor credit card."

"Tell me about it."

He laughed. Truth be told, they were in similar situations, because while he did have a closet full of suits in LA, he'd flown to Hartford in a hurry, and that meant barely packing the one suit he knew for sure he'd need to wear - the one for his dad's funeral.

The amount of shopping he'd been doing lately would put a Hollywood-bred, new money socialite to shame.

"But, have you found something to wear tomorrow?"

"I hope so. It's got Mom's seal of approval and all. Now, I'm just awaiting the verdict on the shoes. Do I dare pairing an Armani suit with Forever 21 shoes, or would I rather endure the pain of brand-new Louboutins?"

"You didn't buy shoes?" he asked, slightly shocked. Rory was so good at overthinking that he found it hard to believe that she hadn't spent the night awake, listing every single thing she'd need to do to prepare for the move.

Then again, he'd written that list for her, in an effort to make the transition a little easier. The only problem was, while Rory loved listing everything in excruciating detail, he usually erred more on the side of straightforwardness.

And if he remembered correctly, he'd specifically used the word 'clothes' to mean that she'd need to go shopping.

"Nor did I pack heels," she replied, with a defeated tone. "Because 'no one needs that many shoes'. I only have the ones I forgot here after Grandma's Christmas party, last year."

"Boy, do we have to work on that 'communication' thing." He laughed. "Arrive with Louboutins. Leave with Forever 21. No one cares what you're wearing when you leave, anyway."

"That's just genius," she marvelled. "How do you do that?"

"Three decades' worth of practice." He shrugged. "Now, enough with the boring stuff. How was the rest of your day? How many shades of purple did Dave turn when you handed in the resignation letter?"

She laughed, and before they noticed it, she was telling him all about her day, starting from Dave's belated offer of a position that required real journalistic abilities. He shared her annoyance at that, although he did admit that it was the exact outcome he'd expected, and it was impossible for him to contain his surprise when she told him about the casual name-dropping and the triumphant exit that followed.

Then, as she got all emotional over the loss of her press ID and leaving her 800 square feet of life behind, he did his best to give her all the support she needed. But there were no gently whispered words that could replace wrapping his arms around her shoulders and holding her against his chest, until she stopped crying about how scared she was of what the future held for her.

"What if I fail at that, too, Logan?" she asked, between sobs. It was a question similar to the ones she'd asked him dozens of times, back when she was still looking for excuses to reject his offer, but this time, he could tell that it was loaded with much more self-doubt than before.

It wasn't just about feeling like she lacked the experience required for that position, but about feeling that her career-related frustrations were a direct reflection of her worth as a professional. As if she'd been stuck with a stupid column for two years because, in the plot twist of the century, Mitchum had been right all along, and she just wasn't cut out to be a journalist.

Once again, he found himself contemplating how different life had become for them. Long gone were the days of sleepless nights during finals weeks and grievance over Henry's lost helm; now, they mourned family members and worried about leading a centennial company into bankruptcy.

"Ace," he said, wishing more than anything that he could look in her eyes right now. "You jump, I jump."

The one thing that hadn't changed, in all these years: they were still in this together.

Standing on top of a seven-story scaffolding. Lost in a hay bale maze.

Together.


A/N: With a one-day delay, I present you the new chapter! I'm sorry I didn't post yesterday; I got super super sick this week (like, spending two afternoons in the ER in three days), and that threw me off my schedule.

Anyway, so many things happened in this chapter, I don't even know where to begin! So I hope you liked it, and if you did, let me know! If you didn't, let me know, too! I love your feedback!

And just a heads up: I'm predicting a lot of life getting in the way of the next chapter, so we might have to skip a Saturday. But I hope to get back to the normal schedule soon!