The maid set the main course down in front of them. It was a perfectly appropriate herbed chicken breast with a side of roasted potatoes and asparagus. And yet Rory found herself scrutinizing the dish with an unusual amount of interest. Her grandmother had served chicken. Not quail or game hen or duck…just chicken. And while Rory was not exactly a sommelier, she had the distinct impression that the Chardonnay she was drinking was far from a 300 bottle from some fancy, obscure vineyard in the south of France.

"Thank you," Rory smiled at the maid as she turned back towards the kitchen. At least there was a maid again…that had to be a good sign, right? And there was some new art on the walls. Rory was pretty sure it wasn't a personally curated collection from some famous artist, but the fact that they were spending the time and money to put anything new up had to be a sign that they weren't planning to sell the house any time soon—didn't it?

"So, Rory," her grandfather said as he cut into his chicken. "How's work been? I imagine the office must be all out of sorts after Mitchum's passing. It was such a shock to hear about his stroke. I saw him out on the golf course just a few weeks ago. He seemed like he was in such good health."

Rory swallowed the bite of potato in her mouth and set her fork down, brushing her hands against the napkin in her lap, partly to clear it of any crumbs, and partly as a nervous reaction. She'd been on edge all day in anticipation of coming here. She hated knowing this thing about her grandparents she wasn't supposed to know. What if she said the wrong thing and let it slip that she knew about their money problems? They would be humiliated. She didn't want to do that to them.

But at least work was a safe topic; and while nothing had really changed about the normal day to day stuff, there was plenty of upheaval at the company this past week with the unexpected news of Mitchum Huntzberger's death.

"Oh, umm, yes, it was a huge shock to everyone," Rory nodded her head in agreement. "It's been…" she searched for the right word. "Weird," she settled on. "It's like, in a way everything is different now, but at the same time, everyone still has to go to work and do their job exactly the same as always and so also, nothing has really changed."

"Losing a figure head like that can be difficult for a company," Richard acknowledged. "The CEO sets the tone for the whole business—their objectives, their values, their culture. And Mitchum was very involved in the business; he even did his fair share of writing. I know so many journalists looked up to him."

Rory nodded in agreement. "Yes. He was an inspiration. I mean, his work on the Iranian Hostage Crisis, of course. But what always impressed me was the sheer breadth of this work. The man could write about almost any topic like he'd been studying it for years. And stylistically his writing was so influential to my own. It's a loss for sure."

"I wonder how Logan is taking it," Richard mused. "He's got some big shoes to fill." Rory's stomach clenched at the mention of Logan Huntzberger, remembering her humiliating run in with man only a few hours earlier.

"It's got to be tough having to step up so unexpectedly and deal with the grief of losing his father," Emily chimed in.

"Logan?" Lorelai asked.

"Mitchum's son," Richard clarified. "He's about Rory's age…a few years older. A Yale man." Richard puffed up his chest at the mention of his alma matter. He had wanted Rory to follow in his footsteps and become an Eli herself, but Rory had chosen Princeton instead. She'd thought it was a better fit for her and her journalistic aspirations. Plus, her mother had always pushed her towards Harvard and Rory thought it would be best for the family dynamics if she didn't choose to attend either's preferred institution.

"Ahh, well, if he's a Yale man," Lorelai said in her mocking voice. "I'm sure he's quite capable."

Emily Gilmore shot her daughter an annoyed glare. "Yes, Lorelai, I'm sure he is."

"I always did like that boy," Richard pointed out. "A little mischievous in his youth, but then again, weren't we all." Richard winked, which made Rory feel more than a little icky. She didn't need to be thinking about her grandfather's college exploits. Richard Gilmore was…well, he was serious, and tall and had a voice like James Earl Jones. He was everything stalwart and responsible and adult. He was the opposite of a mischievous kid. And Rory preferred to think that it had always been that way. Richard Gilmore had clearly been born a 6 foot 5 insurance executive.

"Eeww, Dad," Lorelai so succinctly articulated Rory's thoughts.

"What?" Richard asked. "You think your parents didn't have a life before you were born. It just so happens, I was quite adventurous in my youth, I…"

"Richard," Emily scolded. Rory was grateful for her grandmother's reprimand. She did not want to hear whatever story her grandfather was about to tell.

Richard rolled his eyes but did not continue. "Well, anyway," he stated instead. "I'm sure Logan is up to the task. But it must be a lot for him to be dealing with right now.

"He seems to be handling it alright," Rory replied with a shrug. It was true; the man been unflinchingly cool and composed during their run in. He was mourning his father, taking over a company, and dealing with clutzy reporters running him over and still, he had not lost his composure for a second. And he'd been nice. He'd stopped to help her even though he probably had a bazillion other things to do. Plus, he was cute. Not that she'd been paying attention to his cuteness. He was the head of the entire company…he was her employer. So what if he could fill out a suit like it was made just for him—it most likely was made just for him. He probably had a personal chef and a personal trainer. So, looking good was hardly a monumental feat for him—again, not that she'd noticed how good he looked…or didn't look. Meanwhile, Rory had been a hot mess who could barely remain standing on her own two feet, was crying at work over something that might not even been happening, and had accidentally let her boss see her bra. At least it hadn't been the one she was wearing, but a part of her was still worried she was going to get called into HR for sexual harassment.

"You know him?" Richard asked, perking up at the idea. She could see her grandmother's expression shift as well. She knew exactly what was going through their minds and she didn't like it…at all. Actually, come to think of it, it was a miracle her grandparents hadn't attempted some sort of set up before. Mitchum Huntzberger had come to their parties; the families ran in similar social circles. And sure, Rory wasn't a big part of their social circle…not since her mother had taken her away as a kid to raise her on her own. But she attended her grandparent's events from time to time. They'd even introduced her to Mitchum once back when she was in school. But she supposed getting a college aged boy to attend his parent's friend's get togethers was an entirely different story. For all Rory knew, they'd tried.

"Oh, umm, well, he was at the Gazette today," Rory replied as nonchalantly as she should manage. "He seemed to be pretty nonplused." She shrugged indifferently, hoping that would be enough to get them to move on. She didn't want to talk about it anymore, partly because she didn't want to relieve her humiliation from earlier, and partly because she didn't want to put any funny ideas in their heads—more so than they already were.

"So you saw him?"

"Oh, I…" Rory shifted uncomfortably in her seat and took a sip of wine. "I…bumped into him on my way out of the office. He said to say 'hi.'"

"Ahh, good man," Richard beamed. "What did I tell you. Well, if you see him again, please pass along my condolences. It was a shame I had to miss the funeral but I just couldn't get back from my meetings in Tucson in time. Such a dreadful city," he added. "It's so dry. And brown. Although they do serve an excellent taco."

"Tacos, Richard?' Emily gasped with horror. "Really? What's next? Sushi? McDonalds? Frozen pizza? Please tell me this is not how you eat when you're travelling."

And just like that, the topic was off of Logan Huntzberger. Rory breathed a sigh of relief…thank god.

The scent of tobacco and musk permeated the air. Muted lighting illuminated expanses of mahogany wood and leather. Built in bookshelves towered high, brimming with thick tomes that looked as though their bindings had never once been cracked open. It was as clichéd an imagine of a high-powered attorney's office as had ever been seen.

Logan sat in a tufted leather armchair, his mother and sister situated on a matching sofa.

"Ahem," Fred, his father's personal attorney and executer of the will cleared his throat as he stood from the swivel chair behind his desk, making his way around the furniture clutching a bound document. "This is the official copy of Mitchum's most recent will," he stated the obvious—it was what they were there for, after all. It wasn't an official 'reading of the will' ceremony, which was more of a dramatic plot device for the movies than actual formality, but it was a part of the standard probate process for the executor to alert the next of kin and share with them a copy of the will. "We actually had an appointment next month to update it, but unfortunately, what was planned doesn't matter. This document is a few years old, but it's the most recent document we have, and as such, is legally binding."

It seemed like an odd caveat to start with. Apparently, Logan wasn't the only one to notice. "Is there a problem with it?" Honor asked.

Shira let out a strangled sob, blowing her nose dramatically into a formal handkerchief like she was Scarlett O'Hara grieving over the loss of her beloved Tara.

"Well," Fred locked eyes with Logan for a moment before quickly looking away. "I suppose that depends. I know Mitchum had put some…" the lawyer licked his lips nervously, "contingencies in the will based on some…" he looked at Logan again, "concerns he had at the time. I suspect he had planned to have those removed as circumstances have changed, but as I stated, we never quite got around to it."

Logan narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What kind of contingencies?"

"Let's just start with the simple stuff, okay? The division of personal assets is straightforward. He made sure you were all well taken care of."

Logan felt a queasy, discomfort in his gut. Something here just wasn't sitting right with him. Why would the business stuff not be simple? His mind was buzzing with all the possible hoops his father could have set up to make him jump through. But it didn't make any sense. The succession plan was well documented. Everyone in the company knew it. It hadn't changed since he'd been born as far as he knew; his father and grandfather had made sure that, from the time he was old enough to understand the definition of capitalism (which was disturbingly early in his household), he knew he would be taking over the company. He looked over his shoulder at his mother and sister. Shira was dressed in all back, a patently distraught look on her face. Her acting abilities were on point today. But still, even if she was playing this up, he didn't want to make the process more difficult than it had to be, so he decided to let it go. He turned back to Fred and nodded at him to go on.

"The checking and saving's accounts were all joint custody, so Shira will remain in control of them. She's also on the title of the Hartford house, the ski chalet in the French Alps, and the home in the Vineyard. The London home and the Manhattan penthouse go to Logan and the property in Maine and the house in Keys go to Honor. Mitchum had a life insurance policy for forty million dollars with Shira as the main beneficiary, so she's got that as well, along with his retirement accounts which are worth just shy of seventy-five million. He had additional stocks valued at 154 million, with Shira getting half, and the other half being split evenly between Logan and Honor. There are a few miscellaneous items—cars, yachts, sentimental items. I'll provide you each with a detailed list before you leave."

"Okay." Logan nodded. Fred was right; that was simple enough. It made Logan all the more nervous about what was to come.

"This is where things get a little…convoluted."

Logan was tired of the cryptic. Weren't lawyers supposed to be no-nonsense people. They didn't beat around the bush to spare feelings, they told it like it was. So why was Fred acting as squirrelly as a 14-year-old trying to break up with his first girlfriend?

"Can you just get to the point," Logan replied, a little more brusquely than perhaps was considerate. Shira let out another sob and Honor glared at him.

Fred took the rebuff in stride, responding with a resolute nod of his head. "Fine. As of now, the company shares are set to go into a trust."

"A Trust…?" Honor questioned.

"Yes. To ensure those contingencies I mentioned before are met."

"The contingencies you have yet to actually tell us about?" Logan pointed out. What was so bad about these 'contingencies?' Was he going to have to perform a death-defying stunt? Move to Abu Dhabi and adopt Nermal that cat? What didn't Fred want to tell him?

Fred sighed, pushing up from his spot against the desk and beginning to pace. "Let me just start by stating that, the intention is for Logan to become majority stockholder and retain full control of the business."

"The intention?"

"Right now, you and Honor each own five percent of the company. Your father owned 65 percent with the other 25 precent split between your aunts, uncles, and cousins. The will stimulates that Logan get 75 percent of Mitchum's remaining ownership in the company which would ensure you retain majority control. Honor gets the rest. Mitchum also passes his board seat down to you, Logan, and states his intent for you take over as CEO…subject to board approval, of course."

"Of course." Logan felt the gripping sensation in his lungs lessen slightly. This was right on par with what he had been expecting. Except for the trust part…and these illusive contingencies that Fred kept mentioning.

"So, what's the catch?" Honor asked, looking at Logan pityingly. She knew as well as anyone that if Mitchum had left a catch, it was a doozy, and it would not bode well for Logan.

"Well, like I said, this version was drafted about five years ago." He turned to address Logan directly. "You'd just broken up with that college girlfriend of yours and you had that disastrous business deal that cost you your trust fund.

"I remember," Logan ground out. He didn't need reminding of that less than stellar time in his life. And he didn't care for the fact that this man seemed to know all about it.

"Your father was concerned. It seemed like you were finally getting your act together and settling down in that relationship and when it ended, you went right back to your…epicurean ways. He was worried that without a…grounding influence, you might not have the maturity to handle the business on your own."

The clenching feeling was back; a well of anxiety with a side serving of thinly veiled anger. His teeth gnashed together vigorously as he fought the urge to say some rather inappropriate things.

"Like I said, it was a while ago. He was proud of the work you've been doing lately. He told me so. I know he intended to take this clause out."

"What clause?" Logan ground out for the final time.

Fred sighed, his shoulders dropping in relent. "The above allocation of business assets is dependent on you meeting a certain condition…that you be married."

Logan blinked in disbelief. Of all the hoops he'd imagined his father making for him jump through, this wasn't one of them. "I'm sorry, what?"

"The shares are to be held in trust until your thirtieth birthday. If, at that time, you are not legally married, the board seat goes to a vote and Mitchum's shares in the company are to be equally divided amongst the two of you and each of your cousins."

"We have 11 cousins," Honor pointed out. Eleven cousins, plus the two of them, meant they'd each get 5% of the company. He and Honor with the 5% percent they owned already would still have more shares than anyone else but even combined, they wouldn't come anywhere near a majority. The cousins could easily band together to oust him from control. And there was another problem.

"My thirtieth birthday?"

His mother let out another sob. It seemed to be all she was able to do during this meeting.

"Yes."

"My thirtieth birthday?" Logan repeated.

Fred gave him a sympathetic look. "That's what it says."

"Okay, well…" Honor said, turning to him with a thoughtful look on her face "…marry a friend and then get it annulled. Hell, same sex marriage is legal," she shrugged. "You could marry Finn for two days."

Fred cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I'm afraid it's not that easy," he indicated.

"Why not?"

"The trust dissolves on this thirtieth birthday if he's not married. If he is, the trust remains intact until his second wedding anniversary. He would remain executor of the trust for that period, allowing him to act as majority shareholder, but the shares wouldn't divest until he'd been married for two years. If the marriage ends before then, the trust once again dissolves and the shares are once again divided equally."

Logan blinked in disbelief as he took in the words of his father's lawyer. "So you're telling me I have to get married in less than four months and I need to remain married for two years, otherwise I essentially lose the entire company?"

"Basically," Fred shrugged sympathetically, "that's precisely what I'm telling you."

AN: Alrighty folks. Now I for real think most of you can tell where I'm taking this story. This is one of my favorite romance novel tropes, so I'm excited about it. I know we're starting out a little rocky for our favorite couple but this story is actually going to be much more light hearted and fluffy than my usual once we get started. Not too fluffy of course, because I'm still me, lol. But yeah, we'll see if I can pull it off. I hope you're as excited as I am.