"This book sucks," Rory said slamming the 120 spiral-bound pages onto the dinner table, where Logan was eating his breakfast. She'd stayed up late that night, feeling too excited to sleep, so she'd peeked what her first assignment was going to be. She'd read it in one sitting. However, it was nothing she'd anticipated.
"Really that bad?" he inquired, biting on a fresh croissant.
"The guy basically tries to convince the reader that his life was somehow meant to turn out exactly like it did thanks to his willful thinking and concentration skills - his choise of words. He is speaking like he's some super-human. There is no conflict. Everything just magically works out. And the writing is just bland. Honestly I have no idea how this book got this far," she blurted.
"You sure sound like an editor already," Logan laughed.
"Sure, I know how to critique, it's not like it's my first review. But this is not a review. The book has already been accepted, the author's contract has been signed and I am expected to shape this book into something readable." she said hopelessly.
"What's his name?" Logan inquired curiously.
"Owen Mars, you know him?" she asked.
"Wasn't he some famous soccer player?" he recalled.
"I haven't googled him, so I wouldn't know," she replied.
"I bet it's just a PR thing, someone offered him a book-deal, his manager made him write it basically, saying that I'd be a way for him to stretch his income a little further if he isn't playing anymore," Logan explained insightfully.
"So I am just supposed to rewrite it for him?" she asked.
"Ideally nudge him in the right direction, but if that doesn't work, yes," Logan replied.
This was certainly not how she'd imagined her work. She'd read hundreds of books, very few of them this bad, and now she was supposed to rewrite something she didn't agree with and make it sound believable.
"Rory Gilmore to see Alex Harper," she announced herself to the receptionist on the fourth floor of the HPG. She'd driven to the office with Logan that day, commuting together was an interesting experience on it's own. The conversation had flowed and she'd almost forgotten she had ever been nervous.
"He'll be right with you," the elderly but perky receptionist said, adding, "please take a seat."
She had barely sat down on the minimalistic white leather couch as a tall bald man approached. "Rory?" he asked.
"That's me," she said, standing up.
"Nice to finally meet you, I'm Alex," he introduced himself. "Let's just go take a seat at the conference room and chat," he added.
"So, I know you are fairly new at this, but I'm familiar with your background and well your references really left no question to why you are here," he began as they'd both taken their seats.
"I read the manuscript you sent me," she said.
"What did you think?" Alex asked, tapping his pen on the table quietly.
"Do you want my honest opinion or the official one?" Rory asked.
"You choose," he said smilingly.
"Honestly, I think it needs a complete rewrite," she said, not wanting to go into too much detail.
"Can you do it?" Alex asked.
"Isn't it supposed to be the author who does that?" Rory asked, raising her eyebrow slightly.
"Ideally yes, and I suppose there is no harm in giving him your comments, but I doubt he is able to analyze the text fully and be able to really fix anything other than the grammar mistakes pointed out to him," he explained.
"Can I at least meet with him and pick his brain a little? I know too little about the soccer world to really build it from scratch," she asked.
"Sure, Maggie at the reception can set you up a meeting with him," Alex suggested.
"Right," she sighed.
"Otherwize any other questions?" he asked.
"I think I'm good, I can always ask L…," she began, stopping herself. Mentioning he lived, even if just part time, with the marketing CEO, would've messed with the hierarchy. "What was her name again?" she inquired, excusing her stutter. She wasn't going to hide her relationship as such, if people read the society pages they already probably knew about it, but she wasn't going to intentionally rub it in, trying to keep her work and private life separate.
"We have staff meetings on Mondays at 10, but you can participate via Skype, and every once in a while there are other meetings you are expected to join, but Maggie will let you know about those," Alex said.
Rory worked at Logan's apartment that day because they'd driven in together and as she didn't really have an office space as such working only part time and mostly long distance. Logan had just a couple of meetings before he could return to his home-office regime. When he was done, she drove to pick Logan up at the office again.
"Why the sour face?" she asked, noticing he wasn't looking too cheery.
"Shira wants to have dinner on Saturday," Logan replied, adding "she's staying in Hartford for a couple of weeks."
"It's not my idea of fun, but we probably can't avoid it forever," Rory said.
"Are you sure? The last time didn't go exactly well." he asked.
"That was, what, 13 years ago, she doesn't scare me anymore," she replied bravely thinking back how Emily had put her in her place and they'd later laughed about it.
"Don't break anything!" Paris yelled after Gabriela and Timoteo, who ran through the living room, kitchen and sunroom towards the swing set recently installed in the backyard just as Rory had pointed it out to them a few seconds earlier.
"So this is the new place," Paris stated standing her hands on her hips in Rory's living room inspecting the place.
"It is. Way too much space for just me, but just enough for the books," she said pointing at the slightly diminishing wall of books still waiting in boxes to be sorted.
Paris opened one of the boxes and browsed, "Wolf, Peacock, Flaubert, Kafka, oh and Richardson. Not bad," she stated approvingly.
"There's more in the study," Rory added.
"So how's the new gig?" Paris asked after peeking into the study.
"I don't mind the salary but the first book I got is worse than some of the writing we got from the freshmen at the Daily News," she replied. "I think they pretty much want me to rewrite it," she added.
"So what's the hold up, just do it. You can probably rewrite anything, I could too," she inquired.
"But this is non-fiction and the guy is a former soccer-player," she said.
"Do your research, fake it, I doubt the people buying a soccer-player's memoir are expecting him to be a real wordsmith," Paris said, looking at her kids through the kitchen window.
"I'll probably have to," she replied regretfully.
"Anything new with you?" Rory asked.
"Doyle got engaged to some actress," she said dissapointedly.
"Wow, that's big news," Rory gasped.
"I still can't understand how a person can change that much in what two-three years?" she asked hypothetically.
"Maybe it's just a mid-life crisis?" Rory suggested.
"Oh that it is, but it doesn't make it better unfortunately. Don't get me wrong, I have no intention in getting back together with him but this is not the role model I want around my kids if that's the way he is going to behave," Paris said angrily.
"I am sure he'll continue to be a responsible father as he has been until now," Rory said.
"Sure, but I have no control over what Jessica or Jennifer or whatever her name was, is going to be like," she replied, pacing around the living room.
Hearing that made Rory realize she too would have no control over the woman Finn decided to date or move in with or marry. And that women would be around Leah. On her side this had been easy, on his side it was roulette.
Three days later Rory and Logan stepped into the Huntzberger mansion, feeling the chilling marble under their soles. They'd been there once before together, and it had not gone well. She realized that Shira was probably never going to like her, and she probably wasn't going to like her. But she was Logan's mother. Even if not the most exemplary, that still mattered.
"Hi Rory, Logan," she greeted with a strained smile.
"Mom," he stated.
"Shira, nice to see you," Rory replied politely. She'd learned by now how to play nice.
"What a wonderful dress, Rory," she complimented her knee-length teal wrap-dress.
"Thank you, Shira," she replied, taking a seat on the couch. The evening felt forced, unnatural, and Rory was thankful for the strong drink Logan had handed her without her asking.
"So how have you guys been doing? Haven't seen you in a while Rory," she said.
"I'm good, work's the same," Logan replied briefly, knowing Shira hated work talk at home.
"Can't complain, working, I will soon start my studies at Yale," Rory added.
"You always were very diligent, I recall," Shira commented.
"I'm very proud of her," Logan said.
Rory was fairly certain she wasn't the least bit interested in her work or studies. If she had to guess this was her modest attempt at finding out how serious they were and she didn't have to be disappointed as fifteen minutes of pleasantries later, during dinner, Shira asked, "And I recall you have a daughter, Rory?" she inquired further.
"I do, her name is Leah," Rory replied, placing down utensils.
"What a lovely name!" she said charmingly. "You're going to probably hate me for this question, but do you have any plans to have children of your own?" she asked, gesturing at the two of them, as if adding the first part of that sentence would actually change the meaning of her question.
"Mom!" Logan scolded.
"Logan, I think it is a perfectly reasonable question. I want to know whether my son has a chance at having a family of his own or does he have to raise another man's child," she explained.
Logan's fists clenched, and Rory could see his face turn rigid, holding back what he wanted to say. He knew that whatever he said, it wouldn't have made any difference.
"We haven't discussed it," Rory sain plainly, jumping in.
"Are you at least going to have a wedding?" she continued.
"What is this - an interrogation?" Logan huffed.
"Logan, I understand that you've had a share of negative experiences related to marriage…" she began.
"Mom, we are adults! Whatever me and Rory decide or don't decide to do is our business. God, you are no better than the reporters. If we do decide on anything we'll tell you on our own time, okay?" he barked.
"Fine, fine," she began, "I'm sorry I asked," she apologized, sounding completely insincere.
The rest of the evening passed painfully slowly discussing mostly what Honor had been up to and the holidays Shira had taken recently. They left as soon as it felt remotely appropriate, hurrying out of the driveway as if they'd been chased by a pack of reporters. Neither of them was completely sure why asking them those questions had felt like such an invasion of privacy that it made them put up their defences like that. And for now neither of them spoke about it.
Finn sat across the table from Sarah, a blond haired and green eyed office administrator dressed in a dark plum sheath dress, in a dimly lit French restaurant in Hartford.
"Sarah, tell me, what's the most amazing adventure you have ever been on?" Finn asked, having googled 'questions for a meaningful first date' half an hour earlier.
"I've been to France once," she replied, waiting expectantly for his reply without elaborating.
"I once base jumped off a cliff in Costa Rica with my mates, one of them got hurt pretty bad, but the experience itself was bloody incredible," he said, correcting himself, "though that was ages ago, I've become a much more sensible human being since then."
"So what changed?" she asked.
"I had a daughter, she's almost 14 months," Finn replied.
"How cute," she replied, but Finn could see her face turn dull.
This was his third date, each with a different woman, all perfectly beautiful, intelligent, two of them even relatively funny. However the problem was that most women dating in their late twenties or thirties all wanted to start a family. And while this wouldn't have been a problem from Finn's side, to the women a guy with such a young child raised a red flag, or at the very least shouted 'complicated'. He wasn't sad about it as such, as none of those women had really been what he'd been looking for, but he hadn't expected it to be this difficult. So far in his life, he'd gotten very lucky, literally and figuratively.