He swirled the clear liquid in his glass, eyeing it with suspicion. "What is this again?" he asked his friend who was recorking the bottle etched in Chinese characters.

"Baijiu," Finn replied.

"Which is…?"

"Alcohol." Well, Logan supposed that was a start; he was here to get drunk, after all. The way the last two weeks had gone, he really needed it. He raised the glass to his lips and took a swig. The liquor tasted like sweaty socks, and his face contorted grotesquely as he fought to keep from spitting it out all over the place.

"That bad, huh?" Colin asked.

"It's like drinking a pear that was left to liquify in the bottom of Finn's hamper." Logan wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. He shifted uncomfortably on the stiff silk cushion upon which he sat. "You could have warned us you were in the middle of a Buddhist Zen phase before we agreed to meet at your place, you know." To be fair, Logan probably should have known. Finn had just recently returned from a month-long trip to China and Tibet. And he had a well-known habit of constantly redecorating his entire 5000 square foot loft on a whim. Logan would remind him that cultural appropriation was bad, but why bother when a month from now the place would be decorated in turquois lizards and clay pots with a giant cactus in the corner.

"Welp," Colin stood up and made his way across the loft apartment, past a bonsai tree and a zen sandbox built right into the floor. "He's got to have some real liquor here."

"Hey! That is real liquor. Baijiu is the best-selling liquor in the world. That bottle cost me 1300 Yuan."

Colin pulled open the bamboo screen doors of a large cabinet, ignoring Finn's pout. "Bingo!" He turned around wielding a bottle of Wild Turkey. He grabbed some clean tumblers as well. "So," he said as he sat back down, cross-legged and started to dole out the bourbon. Logan picked his glass up and chugged the contents, hoping to wash away the acrid after taste of the baijiu. Colin eyed him suspiciously as he poured himself another glass of liquor. "What exactly brought about this sudden need for binge drinking. Not that I'm anti-binge drinking, but I have a deposition tomorrow and I, for one, don't bounce back like I did when we were in college."

"Did you find out that your father was secretly covering up heinous crimes within the company? You know…like sexual assault and murders in international waters?" Finn asked, leaning forward eagerly, his bony elbows digging into his thighs as he propped his head up in his hands.

"Dude, this isn't Succession. And besides, everyone knows that it's the Pierces that are based on us, not the Roys."

"Well, it's been a hot minute since you've been arrested, but if this is legal, you know the drill—say nothing without counsel present. Just do me a favor and try not to get questioned by the cops on Friday night; I've got a date with a lingerie model and if I don't get laid because I've got to go represent your sorry ass, I'll be pissed."

"It's not legal," Logan assured them. "Or, well, not criminal. I guess it is technically a legal issue."

"You're getting exported?" Finn piped up with his next inane guess.

"He's a naturalized citizen, you dolt. He was born here, he can't get exported."

"Exiled then." Finn pointed his finger up and to the right as though he himself were sending Logan away. "To Elba with you. Then we can party on Elba. Elba is the new Ibiza."

"I'm not going anywhere," Logan rolled his eyes. "It's about the will."

"What, did you not get the Manhattan penthouse? Because, honestly, I never really saw you in that place to begin with. It's not your style…it's so…" Colin struggled to find a word to describe the place that would make Logan feel less bad about not getting it.

"Relax, I got the penthouse, it's not about that." Logan put him out of his misery.

"Oh, thank god." Colin visibly relaxed. "That place is a major chick magnet. And it has the perfect layout for killer parties."

"The company on the other hand…" Logan hedged.

His friends' spirited…if not a little drunk…exuberance melted and their eyes got serious. It was an uncommon sight. "What about the company?" Colin asked solemnly.

"There are some…complications." Great, now he was turning into his father's lawyer, doing the same thing he wanted to strangle the man for just a few hours ago. It was just that the idea of saying it out loud made it feel so real. "Turns out, even from beyond the grave, Mitchum is making me jump through hoops."

"Are they hula hoops?" Finn asked, but the usual jauntiness was missing from the Australian's attempt at lightening the mood.

"They are not."

"So, what's the catch? I mean, it's doable, right? Or you know, there's a loophole? I'm sure there's a loophole. I'm a lawyer, it's my job to find loopholes so I know that there's always a loophole." Despite Colin's forced protestations, his words were not particularly reassuring. Of course Logan would give him the will to look over, but they both knew it was futile. Yes, Colin was great at finding legal loopholes and he almost always succeeded, but he wasn't usually dealing with Mitchum Huntzberger. Mitchum didn't leave anything to chance; If he did this, he made damn sure it was loophole free.

Logan sighed and took another sip of his drink. "How'd you like to attend a wedding?"

"Excuse me?"

"In order to get my shares of the company and my seat on the board, I have to be married."

"Married?"

"Married."

"To a Sheila?"

"That part wasn't technically specified, but it would be my own personal preference."

"I mean," Colin shrugged and pointed a thumb at their Australian friend. "Finn could use a permanent Green Card. We all know his…" Colin held up his hands to make air quotes, "'work' Visa is crap."

Finn nodded in vigorous agreement. "I haven't worked a single day in over five years."

"No offense, man, but you're not my type."

"None taken," Finn shrugged. "You're not exactly a curvaceous redhead yourself."

"Okay," Colin rubbed his face, getting serious. "So, what are the exact parameters of this marriage clause? Like, you're not married now, so obviously there's a grace period for you to find yourself a bride. And then what?"

Logan gritted his teeth. "I have until my birthday to get hitched. And I need to stay married for two years."

Colin groaned. "That's not a lot of time to work with."

"Yeah, but he's a dashingly handsome billionaire, so there's that."

"I thought he wasn't your type," Colin ribbed.

"And I'm not a billionaire." Logan's personal assets, even with the inheritance were only just over a hundred million. And yes, the company was worth a billion dollars but even once he got his shares, he wouldn't own all of that."

"Close enough. The point is, women would be falling all over you to be your wife. Just pick the hottest, least annoying one and deal with it for a couple of years."

"I guess," Logan shrugged. But he knew it was more complicated than that. There would be expectations for anyone he married. He couldn't just get married on paper and keep living separate lives; it would have to look real. If people figured out it was a sham marriage just to keep the company, they'd lose faith in him. If his own father didn't trust him enough to give him HPG straight out, why should the board or the public? That meant whoever he married was someone he was going to have to spend actual time with. And not just in the bedroom, or at a club where copious amounts of drugs and alcohol made their presence tolerable. They'd have to live with him, attend public events, go to family dinners, maybe even go on purportedly romantic vacations with him. How was he supposed to find someone who he could actually stand spending that much time with?

"What about a friend?" Colin suggested, seeming to sense Logan's concerns.

"Not Rosemary!" Finn piped in. The Australian had been lusting after their ginger friend since college.

Colin rolled his eyes. "Juliet?" he suggested.

Logan shook his head. "I think she's been dating a plumber from Queens. Last time I saw her, she even ate a piece of bread so you know it's getting serious." Juliet hadn't had a carb since before her sweet sixteen.

"Okay, so…" Colin looked as completely mystified about what the solution to this dilemma was as Logan. "What are you going to do?"

"So what are you going to do?" Lane pulled her legs up onto the sofa and crossed them underneath her, settling in with her cup of tea.

"What am I going to do?" Rory asked. She'd just finished filling her friend in on the latest details of her grandparents' legal and financial troubles after having gotten off the phone with her mother. According to Jason, her mother's boyfriend and grandfather's business partner, they'd managed to shut down Floyd's latest legal maneuver but he'd just gone ahead and filed yet another injunction. Jason said their lawyer was pretty sure it, like the others, was unlikely to succeed. But it didn't matter, because winning in court wasn't Floyd's objective; he was just trying to bankrupt them with legal fees, and he was apparently very close to fulfilling his goal. Not to mention that the company's client base was dwindling, and her grandfather and Jason were spending most of their time in court or at the lawyers instead of conducting business.

"Sure. I mean, there's got to be something you could do to help, right?" Lane replied optimistically.

"Like what? Buy their fifteen-million-dollar mansion myself? Get one of my non-existant legal contacts to represent them pro-bono?"

"What about Paris?" Lane asked of Rory's friend from high school. She was currently in law school, sure, but she was hardly a practicing lawyer. She'd actually gone to med school first, so she was more prepared to save a life than a house.

"As cutthroat as Paris is, I don't think she's got the qualifications for something like this just yet."

"True." Lane got silent for a minute before piping in with her next idea. "Maybe you could write an article on it."

"Unfortunately, the rules of journalistic ethics look down upon such a blatant conflict of interest."

"Okay, well, maybe you could pitch the story idea to a colleague. Heck, show that cute boss of yours your bra again and maybe he'll write it himself." Lane smirked at the suggestion. Rory felt her face flush with mortification at the memory. She knew she never should have told her friend about that run in by the bathroom; she'd never live it down.

"Unfortunately, the rules of workplace ethics—as well as my own tolerance for humiliation—look down upon such a blatant display of sexual harassment."

"Okay, granted," Lane acquiesced. "But it's fun to fantasize about. My boss is a short, pale fifty-three-year-old with two kids in college and a freaky obsession with The Beach Boys. The only fantasies I have about him involve him selling the music store to me for almost nothing."

"Yeah, he's like a really unsexy version of Uncle Jesse." Rory agreed with a grimace. "But at least you have Dave to daydream about." If Lane could tease her about her humiliating herself in front of her hot, rich boss, Rory could tease Lane about the guy she was actually dating.

"Yeah, well," Lane took a sip of her tea looking visibly uncomfortable. She'd been hesitant to talk about Dave so far even though they'd seen each other twice since their date last Friday…and it was only Tuesday. "Okay, so maybe not an article, but what's going to happen to your grandparents if they lose the house? Where will they go?" she said, getting back on track and avoiding the attempted change of subject. Rory hoped her friend would talk to her about Dave soon. She'd always like Dave; he was a good guy, and he'd been good for Lane back in high school. But she also knew that it could be awkward trying to date an ex. Back in college, she'd reconnected with her old high school boyfriend Jess, and they'd tried to date but it had gone nowhere quick. Then again, Jess and her hadn't ended on good terms and Lane and Dave had.

Rory let out a defeated sigh. "I don't know. It's not like we have room for them here. And they're certainly not moving into my old room in Stars Hollow with Mom."

Lane grimaced. "Can you imagine? Your Mom would go crazy and kill them in a matter of days."

"Well, then at least they'd have the house to themselves while she was in jail." A part of Rory hated to make jokes about this, but then again, she'd been raised by Lorelai Gilmore, so inappropriate jokes were one of her go-to coping mechanisms.

"It'll probably be fine," Lane tried to assure her. "Jason said the lawyer said this latest suit was a real hail Mary right? Jason's dad has got to be running out of legal strategies. And you said at dinner on Friday there was a maid and some new artwork. That's got to mean that their personal finances are a little more stable…right?"

"Yeah," Rory nodded, trying to make herself believe her friends words. "This whole mess is probably almost over. Floyd has got to be out of moves if he's getting this desperate. And the courts won't let him keep filing frivolous lawsuits forever—right?"

"Right," Lane assured her…as though she actually had any idea what the courts would or wouldn't do…as though either of them did. But Rory had to believe. She had to believe they would be okay, because what else could she do? She had no power to help them, and even if she did, her grandparents were too proud to ever take it. They still hadn't told her they were in trouble to begin with. Everything she knew, she knew through what Jason had told her Mom. And after all, Lorelai always was over dramatic. And on top of that, she wasn't even a particularly reliable narrator when it came to Richard and Emily Gilmore. Lorelai hated society and all the trappings of wealth so her judgement was clouded when it came to them. A part of her was probably getting off on the schandenfreude of this whole thing—the part that wasn't freaking out that she actually was going to have to put them up in Rory's old room. So maybe it wasn't as bad as it even seemed. It probably wasn't. So, everything was going to be fine. There was no use getting herself all worked up about something that probably would never happen. Her grandparents were going to be fine. And if she kept saying it enough, maybe she would start to believe it.

Logan groaned, dropping his head to the desk with a bang. Damn Colin for being right about not bouncing back like they did in college. His brain was throbbing to the beat of Down Under, which had been stuck in his head since he'd woken up that morning. He had a vague recollection of Finn dragging them to karaoke, and it was the Australian's signature song, so it wasn't a huge surprise, though it was unpleasant nonetheless, especially considering his current state of being. His mouth felt like he'd passed out face first in Finn's zen sandbox and swallowed every grain in there. Add in the fact that he'd crashed at his Manhattan apartment instead of coming back to Connecticut last night meant he'd needed to get up at the ass crack of dawn. All of this added up to Logan not having a good morning. He probably should have just stayed in Manhattan for the day, but he'd stupidly set up meetings here thinking he would need to do the good son thing and go back to the Hartford house with his Mom after the will reading yesterday. Luckily, Honor had stepped up to handle the family stuff knowing that Logan would need time to process the information that had been meted out by the lawyer. Of course, not everyone had to come to Connecticut today. And by 'not everyone' he meant his executive assistant. She lived in Queens; it was too much to ask her to travel to Connecticut for work every day for weeks. And besides, she had actual administrative work to do that went far beyond fetching him coffee. But man, how he needed some coffee right now. If only he had the energy to stand up and go get it himself.

After a few minutes of staring blankly at the dull brown wood of the desk in his temporary office, he managed to push back his chair and force himself up. He tried to square his shoulders and put on his best face before walking out into the newsroom. He was always the recipient of intense stares whenever he went out there; to the good people at the Gazette, he was a novelty. Not only his mere presence, but his new status as CEO…though who knew how long that would last if he didn't find a wife—fast. God, this whole situation was messed up.

He tried to ignore the stares and whispers as he made his way to the employee break room, which, blissfully, was empty. At 9:30 it was late enough that everyone had settled in at their desks, but early enough that it was too soon for a midmorning break. The bad news was the coffee pot was nearly empty but for a shallow layer of brown sludge. God, when was the last time he'd had to brew his own pot of fresh coffee? He had a Keurigg at home, along with an espresso machine, and Anna always got him his coffee at work. He hoped he remembered how to use one of these things.

He pulled the pot out and headed over to the sink, dumping out the remnants of the old pot and rinsing it a couple times before starting to fill it with fresh water.

"Woah, woah, woah, what are you doing?"

He turned to face his interrupter and smiled, his first genuine smile of the day. "Rory Gilmore, as I live and breathe." Her face flushed red, most likely at the memory of their last encounter. She shook her head as though shaking the remembrance away, then stalked over to him, pulling the coffee pot from his hand.

"Is there a problem?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her in mild amusement. He wasn't used to people treating him with less than sycophantic adulation; it was a refreshing change. And he was glad to see she hadn't lost her moxie since the last time they'd run into each other…literally.

"Have you tasted the water in this building?" she asked. "Because if you have, you might be entitled to financial compensation." Rory emptied the water out of the pot and started back across the break room. "Use the water from the water cooler." She wasn't sure why she was so snappy around him. He'd done nothing to deserve it, other than get run over by her, help her pick up her dropped things, inadvertently seen her undergarments, and politely asked about her grandfather.

"Ouch." Logan fake grimaced at the jab. "You know, technically that's my water you're talking about. Also, if I'm financially compensating myself, does it really count for anything?"

"Don't be silly," Rory waved her hand. "You wouldn't be paying out…insurance would."

"Speaking of insurance," Logan leaned back against the counter and Rory used the coffee pot to fill the tank of the coffee maker. "How's Richard, did you tell him I said 'hi'?"

"Oh, um…" she glanced at him over her shoulder, her face once again taking on a charmingly pinkish hue. "I did. He said to give you his condolences and his apologies for missing the funeral."

"It's fine," Logan waved dismissively. "Believe me, he didn't miss much other than a bunch of toadying minions trying to strike business deals under the guise of paying their respects."

"Still, I know he wishes he could have been there. He really respected your father…And you."

"Me?" Logan repeated, his face scrunching up in surprise. "He barely knew me."

Rory felt the sudden need to turn back to the coffee maker, opening the bag of grounds and starting to scoop them into the filter. "Well…" she faltered as she remembered the conversation at her grandparents and their effusive gushing over Logan, along with the all too familiar look in their eyes. She knew the fantasies that had been happening in their brains. She could almost see the Cape Cod wedding scene playing in their heads like they were watching a movie. "You are a Yale man." She emphasized the name of her grandfather's alma matter as she turned on the coffee maker. "He likes anyone who went to Yale. In fact, I'm still a disappointment for my traitorous school choice."

"I highly doubt that." Logan didn't know much about the woman standing in front of him, but he had the distinct impression that she was far from a disappointment to anyone who did. And he'd heard the gossip about how Richard was always talking her up to Mitchum.

"Well, okay maybe not." She turned to look at him once again as the coffee percolated. She was so confused about the way she felt around him. On the one hand he was her boss and the son of one her biggest professional idols. On the other, he was the son of one of her grandparent's society friends, which rarely was a compliment. And still, on the other, there was something about him that felt familiar, like a friend she could playfully poke fun at. Which was a terrible idea, because again…he was her boss. And doing things like teasing him about the water quality in the building was verging on career suicide. "But he definitely takes every opportunity he can find to slip in a mention of which school he thinks is the best. And it's seriously suspicious how often I find myself being somehow seated next to a Yale man at every one of their events I get roped into going to. I think his dreams of me marrying a Yale man are second only to his dreams of seeing me win a Pulitzer one day."

Something shifted in Logan's gut at the words she'd just said. He stared blankly at her as the idea bubbled up inside of him. He tried to push it away. It was insane. He'd spoken to her twice in his entire life. And yeah, they'd been enjoyable conversations. And okay, he knew her grandparents, so they weren't complete strangers to one another. And sure, she was nice on the eyes—very, very nice. But still, it was insane. For starters, she was hardly the kind of girl to marry a man for money. Not that he knew that for sure, but if he had to hazard a guess, she didn't really seem the type. Then again…

She started to shift uncomfortably under his gaze. "Is everything alright? Do I have something on my face or something?"

"What?" Logan shook himself out of his daze. "Oh, umm, no. Sorry. It's just, I had a bit of a rough night last night," he told her. It wasn't entirely a lie. "Hence the need for coffee. I'm sorry if I zoned out there for a minute."

"Oh, yeah," Rory nodded sympathetically. "I'm sure you've been under a lot of pressure lately. I understand.

"Hey, umm, speaking of your grandfather…how are things going with…you know, the legal stuff?"

"Oh, umm…" Rory got visibly uncomfortable. He imagined that wasn't a good sign, so why did it feel like it was? Why couldn't he help the little morsel of excitement in his gut from radiating outward. "I'm not…entirely sure. He doesn't like to talk about it much."

"Right," Logan nodded his head, trying to keep this runaway train in his brain from running any faster away from him. At best this plan that was developing in his head unprompted was a long shot. At worst it was a recipe for sexual harassment lawsuits, public humiliation, and basically losing his entire birthright. Also, it all hinged on him hoping Richard Gilmore was on the cusp of losing everything. And hoping for that would make him a terrible person. So clearly, that's not what he was hoping for. And thus, the whole idea was moot. Really, he should just forget about it. "Well, I hope everything works out for him." He could hear the insincerity in his own words. Crap, he was going to hell…but maybe, just maybe if this idea panned out, he'd be going to hell with the company's future secured.