It was quiet in the bar, despite the happy hour specials meant to draw people in on a Wednesday evening. Which was fine; as much as Chase loved a rowdy night out, he also missed just hanging out with his friend. He'd been pretty pissed when she'd started blowing him off back at the end of the year but once he found out what had been going on with her, it was hard to stay mad. She'd just been doing her best to survive in a really messed up situation. But then, as soon as they'd made up, she'd quit and he'd once again been left without his work-wife to help keep things interesting in the office. They'd talked a little since then, but she'd been pretty withdrawn. He couldn't imagine how hard it must be for her, but he was proud of her for standing up for herself and walking away—even though walking away from her abusive relationship meant walking away from the entire life she'd been building for herself.

"So anyway, I told Jen not to do it," he continued the story he'd been telling. "I mean, dogs need to be walked and fed, and you know, taken care of. She can barely keep herself alive. And Dan's dog is a beast. He runs five miles a day with him just to keep him from jumping out the window of his sixth-floor walk-up. But did Jen listen? No, of course not, because she wanted to impress Dan. And that monster wound up eating the molding right off the wall. Plus, her neighbor ratted her out to the super because of the barking and she nearly got evicted."

"Uh huh," Rory nodded absent-mindedly.

"Seriously, girl. Where is your head at?" She'd been very clearly distracted since she'd sat down. Not that it was a huge surprise, she'd been prone to spacing out ever since the incident at New Years. He was worried about her. She'd been through something hugely traumatic and it had clearly taken a toll on her. He'd thought maybe if he just kept talking, she'd eventually open up; he didn't want to push but it looked like he was going to have to.

"Sorry," she shook her head. "It's been a weird day…week…month…quarter…" she shrugged her shoulders with a sigh. "I don't know, it's been weird for a while."

"So, are we going to actually talk about it or am I just going to have to keep yammering on about my dysfunctional friends?"

"You mean I'm not your dysfunctional friend?" Rory asked, giving an only slightly forced teasing smile. He felt a touch of relief at the sight and, taking her cue, chose to banter back.

"Oh no," Chase laughed. "You're beyond dysfunctional. There isn't a word strong enough for your level of dysfunction. In fact, the word 'dysfunction' implies some level of function and I'm just not sure you're there yet."

"Hey!" Rory protested, dipping a chip in queso. "I had a job interview today. That's a precursor to function, at the very least." She popped the tortilla in her mouth.

"That's true," Chase acknowledged. "And how did that go?" He wasn't sure which answer he was hoping for. Rory needed to work—she was smart, and driven, and prone to a sense of neuroticism that didn't really pair well with being unemployed. But on the other hand, the job came with some pretty big baggage that could be setting her up for even more heart break.

Rory let out a breath, the force of which vibrated her lips audibly. "I don't know. Okay, I think. I mean, it's actually a pretty good publication. I think it has a lot of potential. And the culture there seems good; a big change from what it's like at The Voice. I need that. It's just…"

One side of Chase's mouth quirked up in a sort of sympathetic smile. "Just that you don't want to get your hopes up?" he asked.

"Yeah," she nodded.

"And which hopes are you most worried about being dashed?" he asked, cocking his head to the side to appraise her. "The hope of finding gainful employment, or the hope of getting to work with Logan?" His eyebrows arched up pointedly.

Rory glared at him. Chase's critical face melted into one of sympathy. "Look, I'm just saying," he reached across the table to grab her hand. "I was once a hardcore Rogan shipper myself, but with everything that's happened, I think you need to let it go." He'd known since the beginning that Rory had had feelings for Logan; their chemistry was off the charts. He just didn't know what was holding her back from acting on it. He'd assumed she was just afraid, or wanting to concentrate on work, or maybe still hung up on an ex—or one of a million other excuses she had to avoid putting herself out there. But it turned out her reasons were actually pretty damn solid. He didn't see any way there was romance in Rory and Logan's future, and her holding on to those feelings now, when she was hurt and vulnerable was not going to lead anywhere good.

"Don't you think I know that?" Rory asked, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Don't you think I'm trying? But then he shows up at my house unannounced with these crazy plans. And he's sending me burner phones and warnings and taking me to deserted rooms and freaking tucking my hair behind my ear while telling me his plans to basically sacrifice himself for the greater good. And it's a scary and overwhelming and also kind of thrilling and so goddamn sexy! So how the hell am I supposed to let it go?"

Chase stared at her for a moment, trying to take in her the entirety of her rant. "Oooooookay," he started. "That's um…a lot to unpack." Apparently he'd missed a lot more of the going-ons of her life in the past few weeks than he'd realized. Logan had gone to her house? What was this crazy James Bond-esque plot he was missing out on? He was torn between concern and intrigue.

He looked at her expectantly, waiting for further enlightenment on all things Huntzberger.

"Okay, umm," Rory sighed, looking around the bar suspiciously before leaning in close to her friend. "Logan showed up at my house a few weeks ago. He's working…" she looked around again. "He's working with…someone, to write an expose on Mitch."

Chase scrunched up his face. "Do you really have to call him that? It's creepy. Can't you refer to him as Mr. Huntzberger, or Mitchum, at least. Or…ooh, I know, we can come up with a nickname for him, like Abusive Scumbag DoucheCanoe."

"It's a little wordy, don't you think?"

"Okay Miss Editor, we'll shorten it to just DoucheCanoe. Or DC for short-short." Rory just rolled her eyes.

Chase ignored her frustrated reaction, scooting his stool a little closer to hers. "So, there's a plan?" he said, getting them back on topic. He needed the deets—and he needed the now. "And you're involved how?"

Rory brought her hand up to her mouth, chewing on her thumb nail nervously, her eyes darting around the room yet again as though she was expecting to find someone standing over her shoulder. This whole situation had her seriously paranoid. Not that he could entirely blame her for that.

Finally, with an uneasy huff of resignation she started talking; telling him about Logan's impromptu visit to her house, finding out about Mitchum spying, and ending with their clandestine meeting and the weird (and admittedly hot) moment they'd shared at the end.

"Damn!" Chase nodded, fanning himself dramatically. "I see what you're saying. I'm definitely feeling the sexy danger vibes." Apparently, their chemistry transcended her screwing his father. Which was equal parts romantic and creepy AF. It was like reading a V.C. Andrews novel. Maybe there was some hope for those crazy kids after all.

Rory took a sip of her martini. "I know, but I mean, that's all it is—right? When two people are in a risky situation together, it's normal for there to be…vibes. It doesn't mean anything, it's just the crazy stress hormones—right? Not that I don't care about him, I do. He's my friend and I'm worried about him. But that's all it is—right?" Apparently she was really looking for him to tell her she was right.

He gave his friend a skeptical look. He didn't doubt that the situation they were in was heightening their emotions, but Rory and Logan had never been friends, no matter how much they had tried to insist that they were. And he'd noticed a protective streak in Logan, especially when it came to Rory. If he saw her as his father's victim, it could explain the fact that his mega-crush on Rory hadn't immediately been mega-crushed itself. Chase had more than an inkling of suspicion that Logan wasn't just out to get vengeance for himself. Of course, Chase really wouldn't hate to see Mitchum Huntzberger brought to his knees; there would be some definite schadenfreude feelings associated with seeing the man fall; especially if it was his own son—the man who had been groomed to one day take his place—who brought him down. And it might be good for Rory to stand up against her abuser. But it was going to be a bumpy road, and Chase just wasn't sure Rory really knew what she was getting herself into.

"Are you sure you want to be doing this?" Chase asked.

"Doing what?"

"Involving yourself in this take-down plot? And just how, exactly, are you involved?"

Rory shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know," she admitted. "I'm scared, all the time, Chase. He could be spying on me, listening in on me. He could decide he's done trying to woo me back and he could get violent again. I can't live that way. Plus I don't want him hurting someone else. But I'm not sure what the alternative is. If I come forward—officially—it won't just be people who know me that look at me differently. The whole world will know. This will be in every major publication. It's going to be huge. And I want him to get what he deserves, I do, I just don't know if I can be associated with that. So, I don't know. I guess for now I just have to take it one step at a time. See what I can do without getting my name attached."

Chase nodded. "So, you're staying on background?" he asked for clarification.

"For now."

He nodded again, contemplating whether or not to say this. He wasn't against her coming forward, in fact, he kind of wanted her to—but it needed to be of her own accord, with full understanding of the consequences, as unfair as they may be. And he wanted to help; that's why he'd done what he did in the first place. Well, okay, if he was honest, it was like 70 percent wanting to help and 30 percent being a gossip whore. But there was a reason he hadn't told her about what he had. He'd just been holding on to it—in case she ever needed it. "If you change your mind, I might have something that you could use," he admitted.

"Use how?" Rory asked, narrowing her eyes inquisitively.

He kept his answer vague. "I have some…evidence. But only if you're committed to going public. This will 100 percent lead straight back to you."

"What evidence?" she asked, her voice low with suspicion.

He probably should tell her. But the very fact that he had this piece of evidence could land him in some seriously hot water with the girl in front of him. She was not going to be happy with what he'd done. Chase wasn't ready to confess until she was ready to use what he had. "Let's just say, it won't just impress a reporter, the district attorney would have a field day with it. So unless you're willing to go all the way with this, it's best we just keep in on the back burner for now."

Finn leaned casually against the limestone wall underneath the building's awning, surrounded by adornments of art deco. For a country as prude as America, there was no shortage of nude statues in one of its biggest city's biggest tourist attractions. Not that he was complaining; Finn was something of an art connoisseur. In fact, art dealing was one of the ventures that helped finance his escapades without completely burning through his trust fund.

The Christmas tree was long gone, but the lights and sounds of joyous laughter from the skating rink filled the air, blanketing him in an ambiance of cheerfulness. Finn was in a good mood. Despite Logan's…limitations, Finn was going to have fun with this.

The door to the building swung open and out walked just the person he was waiting for. "Ahh, if it isn't my favorite Jedi."

The blond head looked up from his phone, startled. "Finn!"

The Australian threw his hand over his heart in dismay, stalking towards the reporter. "You've found me out! First you know my name, soon you'll know everything about me." His lips curled up salaciously. To his credit, Jackson held his own as Finn pressed into his personal space.

"I'm a journalist," Jackson replied, his head tilting up to look Finn defiantly in the eyes. Yep, Finn was definitely going to have fun with this. "It's my job to get the details."

Finn nodded, one eyebrow arching up in a mischievous expression. "And are there any details you found particularly interesting?"

Jackson shrugged, strategically stepping around Finn and shoving his phone into his coat pocket. "I enjoyed the YouTube announcement of your 2008 presidential bid."

"What? You don't think I'd make a superb president?" Finn asked with fake outrage. Finn remembered that video—during his brief attempt at achieving YouTube stardom. He'd built up a fair following. People loved watching other people act like fools—just look at Johnny Knoxville's fame—and Finn was an expert at acting like a fool. But as with most things in life, Finn found himself boring of it quickly.

Jackson shook his head, his eyes alight with amusement. "I think you need to be 35. And born in America. And have some actual work experience."

Finn let his voice drop low. "Oh I assure you, I have lots and lots of experience."

Jackson's posture stiffened again, his shoulders squaring, his chin jutting out defiantly. "I'm sure you do," he snapped back shortly.

Finn just shook his head, chuckling slightly. He reached out and took Jackson's hand, tugging him back the way he'd just come from.

"What are you doing?" Jackson asked. "I'm done with work for the day."

"Perfect," Finn smirked roguishly. "Just in time for the dinner reservations I made us at the Rainbow Room."

"What?!" Jackson's eyes went wide with incredulity.

Finn stepped up close to the man, his gaze laser focused on those beautiful lips. His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Unless you have something better to do?" he whispered.

He watched Jackson swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, his pupils dilating with desire. "I umm…" he swallowed again, his eyes darting back and forth nervously, looking for some sort of out. "I was just going to umm…work on…"

"I thought you were done with work for the day," Finn replied, arching an eyebrow pointedly.

"Well, I uh, I meant I'm done with work there…" he pointed behind him at the building. "But I still have some groundwork to do for, umm, you know…" his voice turned to a whisper as he looked around the plaza, "Project Vader."

"You need to lay the groundwork, do you?" Finn smiled dangerously. Jackson forced a nod. "Well then," the Australian replied, taking a step back and holding his arms out, palms up generously, "I do believe I am the groundwork." Finn did always love a good double entendre.

Jackson's lips scrunched up into a deliciously dour pout as he rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I can't go to dinner with you, Finn." He was going to play hard to get. Finn didn't mind; easy was boring.

"Why not?"

"Well, for starters," he pointed up towards the sixty-fifth floor, "it's the Rainbow Room."

"So?" Finn knew a lot more than people gave him credit for; he might enjoy playing dumb, but he didn't just get into Yale by sleeping with the recruiter, and sure, there may have been a sizable donation to the school in his name, but all the money in Australia wouldn't have gotten him to graduation without at least a semi-functional brain. But despite his reasonably high IQ, he legitimately did not know what objection Jackson could have to the Rainbow Room; it was iconic. And the view was glorious.

"So?" Jackson repeated incredulously. "Their prix fix menu starts at $175. I couldn't afford the complementary breadbasket in that place."

Finn chuckled in amusement. "That's cute," he replied with a grin that may have been a little more placating than he'd been aiming for, but he just couldn't help himself. "You're cute."

A slight blush crept over Jackson's face. "It's not cute, it's reality. Not everyone can throw money around willy-nilly."

"Not everyone, no" Finn shrugged, "but I can. And since I do believe we're supposed to be pretending to date, this one's on me." He threw Jackson a playful wink. "I don't go Dutch on dates, I like to be the Sugar Daddy."

Jackson groaned. "We're supposed to pretend to date?" he asked, his annoyance at the idea evident. "Is that what Logan told you?"

"Well, he said we're supposed to 'see' each other," Finn air-quoted, "and make it not look suspicious. And after all, what's less suspicious than me dating a hot, young, up and coming, star reporter?"

Jackson's blush became more prominent. "So that's why you're here?" he asked defensively. "Because Logan sent you?"

Finn lifted his shoulder in a lazy shrug. "Why else would I be here?"

"Right," Jackson nodded, his face scrunching up in a scowl. "Well, this has been a blast," he replied glibly, "But I'm gonna go."

A moment of panic bubbled up in Finn's chest as Jackson stepped around him and headed into the plaza. Crap, he was losing him. It took a moment, but after a second, Finn's feet started rushing to catch up.

"Wait," he said, maneuvering himself in Jackson's pathway. Jackson stopped, glaring at Finn with his arms crossed over his chest as he waited for him to say something to convince him to stay.

Finn cocked his head to the side, looking at the other man with wanton eyes. He took a step closer. "Maybe it wasn't just because Logan sent me."

Jackson's posture relaxed slightly as he pulled his lower lip between his teeth. Dear lord, those lips were going to be the death of him. "Then why?" he asked.

Finn let his cocky façade drop, opting for a rare moment of sincerity instead. "Maybe I just wanted to see you again." Jackson's eyes flicked up to meet his in a nervous gaze. "And did I mention the part about you being hot?" he added for good measure.

The blond twiddled his thumbs nervously. "This is a bad idea."

"Probably," Finn agreed with a laissez-faire shrug.

Jackson looked back towards the entrance of 30 Rock, then back to Finn. "Fine," he said with a relenting sigh, "Let's get some dinner."

The room was dark, the glow of the computer screen providing the only flicker of light. Mitchum took another sip of scotch as he scrolled through the latest batch of photos Anatoly had sent him.

Mitchum preferred hard copies to these pixelized digital images that graced his screen. There was something to be said about the feel of the prints in his hands; the glossy finish; the intransience. Digital photos were there one second and gone the next. Looking at computer images was like being an infant, or an animal with no sense of object permanence. One minute they were there in front of your eyes—they existed; and the next—they were gone, lost to the ether until you chose to pull them up yet again.

The updates had been pretty boring lately anyway. Mitchum had almost been a little worried at first. He'd looked into the two women Anatoly had photographed his son with shortly after walking away from the Huntzberger Group; one had a non-disclosure agreement resulting from a complaint that Jeffery Peterson had invited her to his apartment to "discuss her writing" then tried to force himself on her. The other woman had filed a complaint with HR about Peterson making lewd comments and asking her out repeatedly. She had left of her own accord—no big payout, but also no contractual obligation to keep her trap shut.

It was clear that Logan had been up to something that involved Peterson. He was meeting with too many women that Peterson had pursued to just be coincidental. Even Rory had been propositioned by the man. Which was not by accident; Mitchum knew as soon as he let Peterson know she was no longer in his boss' favor, he would feel emboldened enough to make a move—and Rory needed to see what life was like without him there to protect her.

If Logan took Peterson down, it wouldn't only be a huge hit in terms of what the loss of their most prominent writer would do to their bottom line. Mitchum was no fool—the cover up was often worse than the crime. If people found out about Peterson's…extracurricular activities with employees, they'd find out about how HPG had managed the associated complaints. It would be a massive scandal. Which was obviously Logan's plan.

But fortunately, Logan seemed to have moved on—focusing on his new niece and his new job as a two-bit writer for some ridiculous blog. Blogs were a joke; nothing but a glorified journal. He may as well start all his articles out with the phrase "Dear Diary."

Only now, looking at the photo on the screen before him, it appeared that Rory might be headed down the same path. Mitchum had thought she'd be smart enough to realize she needed him by now, but instead, there she was, dressed smartly in a suit with her hair pulled neatly back, her shoulders squared with determination as she entered the building that housed the offices of Skribe Media.

On the one hand, if a dead-end job that barely counted as journalism was the only work she could get, he'd done his job. She had to be getting desperate. She was stubborn, but she was also smart and ambitious. Once she realized just how bleak her career prospects were, she'd make the right move and come crawling back to him. And once Mitchum had her back, he'd make sure to keep a tighter leash on her.

There was only one problem with his plan; the perpetual thorn in his side for the last 27 years. Just as he'd finally started to think his son was done interfering with his life, he had to worry about him and Rory again. The last thing Mitchum needed was those two working side by side. He wasn't sure how he could stop it though. Hugo Grey, the creator and Editor-in-chief of the site clearly didn't care about getting on Mitchum's bad side. And it was very unlikely he would trust a bad review from him. Mitchum would have to check with legal and see if there were any channels there to stop him from hiring her. Or maybe he could get someone else in the business to put in a bad word on Rory.

In the meantime, he was going to need Anatoly to step up his game. If Rory and Logan were going to be in close proximity, Mitchum wanted to know exactly what was going on.