He was here. Lucille had seen him slip into his office just before 9AM. Rory had been starting to wonder if he was coming back at all. It had been a month since his father died so most loose ends were probably already tied up. Except that one. Or maybe it had been…tied up…like a knot. Could he already have tied the knot? Or at least found someone to tie it with? But she hadn't read any big announcements in the paper yet, so there was still hope. Of course, for her to know, she needed to talk to him and that was proving to be a problem. His days spent working from the Stamford office were dwindling, having come in only twice last week and not at all since the dinner at her Grandparents. And tomorrow was Thanksgiving, so this week was short to begin with. She thought for sure he was done using the Gazette as his makeshift office. And it wasn't like she had his number to just call him up. She couldn't ask her grandparents for it or they would obviously know something was up when she announced her engagement to a man who's phone number she hadn't even known a week before. She doubted she could walk into the main Manhattan offices without an appointment. She was starting to think she'd passed on her one and only opportunity to save her grandparents and could never get it back. But he was here. Maybe all hope wasn't gone.
She slid open the top right drawer of her desk, removing a green folder with a pop art cartoon of a retro woman with a word bubble stating "THINK ABOUT IT?" She'd been doing nothing but thinking about it since last Friday. She'd gone back and forth several times until there was only one solution left...one of her tried and true pro-con lists. She knew it was necessary; there was no way she could make a decision this big without one. The pro-con list never lied.
She opened the folder and looked at the piece of standard, white, computer paper, neatly divided into two rows with block letters at the top left saying GOLD DIGGER and on the top right, BAD GRANDDAUGHTER. She sighed as she scanned the items in the column below them, knowing that the results of the pro-con list were irrefutable. She had to do this, it was the only way; if she had the ability to save her grandparents and didn't, she would never forgive herself. And besides, it wouldn't be so bad—the pro-con list said so.
Steeling her shoulders with resolve, she pushed back her chair and stood up, making her way across the newsroom, down the hall past the conference room, and to the empty office Logan had been commandeering while he was here. There was no anteroom, no secretary waiting outside to tell her she needed an appointment or to page him and tell him in a condescending tone that some lowly staff writer was here to see him and she could send her away if he wanted. No; all that stood between her and Logan—her and her family's future, was this door. And all she had to do was knock on it.
Logan rubbed his eyes, trying to focus on the screen in front of him and concentrate. But after the evening he'd had last night, his attention span was hanging by a thread. He normally tried to spend as little time with his family as possible on holidays, but this was his mother's first Thanksgiving without his father. Not that his parents had had any particular fondness for one another left at this point in their marriage. And his father barely made an appearance at Thanksgiving most years as it was. Still, the guilt trip he'd gotten had covered more distance than his last visit to Finn's Australian beach house. So, he'd agreed to spend a couple of extra days in Hartford with his mother leading up to the holiday. He'd arrived last night, figuring he could get most of his work done today remotely. But after one evening with her, it suddenly became imperative that he work out of the Stamford office for the day today. He was sure his excuses were as flimsy as his mother's reasons for insisting he be there, but that was the way of the world—at least his world. Flimsy excuses that were countered with even flimsier ones that no one ever called out because it would be "rude." At least tomorrow Honor and Josh and the kids would be there for the actual holiday, which would mean at least a portion of his mother's energy would be focused on her. But being alone with Shira Huntzberger had been a nightmare and he still had one more night of it too look forward to.
It would an whole extra night of her trying to fix him up with eligible women who would be happy to marry him on a whim. Laura Fallon. Bridget Dubois. Savannah Thompson. Each woman more mind-numbingly boring than the last. And he knew because this wasn't the first time his mother had tried to set him up with any of these women. Savannah had an ungodly obsession with the Real Housewives of Atlanta, Laura's only aspiration in life was to be an Instagram influencer, and the last time he'd been forced to socialize with Bridget, just after the presidential election, she'd genuinely had to ask him what the electoral college was.
But his mother knew he was desperate, and she saw this as the ultimate opportunity to get him married off to the woman of her dreams. What his mother failed to realize was that he would marry the slutty shot girl from 1 Oak before he married Laura Fallon.
Alas, it didn't change the fact that he was desperate. For as insane as it seemed, he'd really been counting on Rory. He was so sure she was the answer. But she'd said 'no.'
He wondered if he'd run into her today. Could he find a way to initiate a conversation…something casual? Just something to get him an in? But no, he promised to respect her answer and not bother her anymore. Using a seemingly friendly conversation as a way to try to ingratiate himself to her and get her to change her mind went against everything he had said. And Logan Huntzberger was a lot of things—not all of them good—but one thing he wasn't, was a liar.
So, he'd just have to focus on work for now. And later he could work on narrowing down his potential wife candidates. God, that sounded beyond sleazy. But this is what he'd been driven to. He'd made a list of his female friends as well as exes he'd ended on good terms with. And he had it down to the top five. He was leaning towards Anne Marie Byrne. They'd had a friends with benefits thing going for a while a couple years ago. She was originally from Ireland and he figured she might be in need of a green card at some point. The only issue was, she swore like a sailor, didn't know a dinner fork from a salad fork, and had a tendency to ask inappropriately personal questions at inopportune times. As far as Logan was concerned, that just made her all the more entertaining, but he could really use someone who knew how to handle themselves at important business functions and fancy dinners. Still, if he had to choose, he'd pick an unsophisticated but entertaining, fiery redhead over a simp of a girl who bored him to tears but didn't make a scene. Maybe he should take Colin up on that app idea of his after all; let some random algorithm pick his wife. It would probably do a better job than he would.
The knock on his door broke him from his self-pitying internal monologue. He still wasn't used to the fact that anybody could just come up and knock on his door when he was here in Stamford. He knew accessibility was probably a good attribute for a leader, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss having Anna around to screen his calls and act as a buffer against random office intruders looking to score a little one on one time with the boss. Whatever, it wasn't like he was getting any work done anyway. He was too distracted with his personal problems.
"Come in," he called out to his visitor. The door swung open revealing none other than Rory Gilmore herself. His heart beat faster in his chest but he tried not to get his hopes up. She worked here, there were a million reasons she could be looking for him. Maybe she was here to inform him someone had used the tap water she'd so adamantly railed against a few weeks ago to make coffee and now there was an office outbreak of cholera.
"Is this a bad time?" she asked, her eyes shifting around the room, looking for some indication he was too busy to talk to her—another person, a flashing hold button on the phone, an annoyed scowl on his face—but she found nothing.
Logan exhaled silently, loosening his shoulders and sitting up into a relaxed but attentive position, trying not to let his eagerness show through. "Umm, well, I was working on this proposal for a new advertiser, but I could spare a few minutes." Her blue eyes darted away from him and she pulled her lower lip between her teeth before hesitantly taking a step into the office and closing the door behind her. "Have a seat." He motioned to the chair across from him.
"Actually, umm, I think standing is better," she replied, her fingers anxiously bunching up the sleeves of her sweater as she continued to look everywhere but at him. She wasn't here about the crappy plumbing; she'd had no problem reaming him out about that the other week. He felt his chest tighten with anticipation against his better instincts. It was too soon to get excited. There were still a million things it could be.
"Okay," he shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. Rory brought her hand, still hidden beneath her stretched out sleeve, up to her face and began to gnaw at her cuticle.
God, she felt so nervous. But that made sense. It would be weird if she wasn't nervous, right? She was about to make a life altering decision, after all. She was putting her future and her grandparent's future in the hands of a man she barely knew. All she knew was she was desperate…and the pro-con list had turned out in his favor. And she had a good feeling about Logan. Was that naïve? She knew she tended to see the best in everyone, so having a good feeling about Logan didn't necessarily mean much.
"Right," she nodded, trying to get any words to come out of her mouth. She glanced at Logan and immediately began to pace in the tiny space in front of his desk. "Umm, well…you see…the thing is…I, uh…I was just wondering…"
"Yes?" his eyebrows raised with an appearance of unruffled curiosity. Goddamn him for being so cool and collected. She was supposed to be the cool and collected one. She'd grown up being the person who always had her shit together. But in front of this man, she was a total mess. What was up with that?
"Well, just…hypothetically speaking…" She continued to ramble. Those doubts he'd been forcing himself to maintain since she'd walked into his office were suddenly looking more and more unnecessary. This was it. She was really reconsidering. It looked like he might have something to be thankful for this Thanksgiving after all.
"Hypothetically, huh?" His lips curved up into a smirk that made her simultaneously want to relax and smack him. How was that even possible?
"Hypothetically," she reiterated, squaring her shoulders with renewed resolve and turning to face him, "If one was looking to…negotiate, would the offer you made a couple weeks ago even still be on the table?"
Logan wanted to throw his hands up in the air and spin around in his chair. He wanted to open the window and sing from the rooftop. He wanted to dance a fucking jig. He fought the urge and instead, shrugged non-commitally.
"Well, I don't know," he said. "I mean, nothing has been finalized yet, but there are a number of…applicants who are actually excited for the opportunity, so…"
"Right, I see." She crossed her arms over her chest, her lips contorting into a scowl. The asshole was toying with her. Apparently it was naïve of her to trust her gut on him. But two could play that game. "Well in that case, maybe you should pick one of them after all. I wouldn't want to deprive some gold digger from the sticks of a chance to sit next to Elizabeth Warren at the White House Correspondent's dinner. I'm sure the two of them will have plenty to talk about."
"Ouch." Logan chuckled. "The claws are out." This was the side of her he liked to see; strong, sassy, tenacious. But also a little vulnerable. After all, she hadn't just changed her mind because she really wanted that trip to Fez. Something had happened, and she was putting herself out there for the chance to fix it.
"No claws," she shrugged. "You came to me. You asked for my help. If you don't need it anymore that's fine by me. I can stop feeling bad for rejecting you."
"Yes, I'm sure you were eaten up with guilt over the fact that I might be only moderately wealthy instead of rich as fuck."
"This is your company, Logan. It's got your name right there in it. Huntzberger Publishing Group. You're not doing this for the money any more than I am."
"But you are?" he asked for confirmation, jiggling a Mont Blonc pen between his index and middle finger as he gazed at her expectantly. "Doing this?"
"Maybe," she shrugged. "It depends how negotiations go."
"Advocating for yourself. I like that.," Logan nodded with a smirk, setting the pen down on a legal pad next to his laptop. She wasn't going to make this easy for him. He'd have been disappointed if she had. But the fact that she was here at all meant that things with her grandparents have gone from bad to worse. She'd be motivated to strike a deal. "Do you mind if I ask what made you reconsider?"
Rory bit her lip, looking hesitant for a moment. "They're losing the house," she finally admitted.
"I'm sorry to hear that." He wasn't, really. Not if that's what it took to get her to this point. To his credit though, he would be sorry if they actually lost the house. But he would make sure that didn't happen. And in return, she would make sure he didn't lose his company. It was a win-win for everyone.
"They're planning to move to some retirement community." Rory's face scrunched up in revulsion at the thought.
"A retirement community?" Logan repeated, holding back a chuckle at the image. "As in condos and public pools and bus trips to Atlantic City?" He pitied the poor person who had to sit next to Emily Gilmore on a bus.
"That's basically the gist of it."
"I can totally see your grandma organizing block parties, chilling at the community pool, playing mah jongg with Sue who retired from her job as a bank teller last year."
"Driving to the club house in one of those little golf carts." Rory chuckled, miming a steering wheel.
"Snacking on chips and dip at the HOA's annual Vegas night."
"Chatting with her neighbor over the hedges about the weather."
"It's a perfect fit for them, I don't see the problem at all." Logan cocked his head and gave her a playful smile.
"You're right. Of course. They'll be fine. I guess I don't have to marry you after all." Rory shrugged and turned, pretending to leave.
"On the other hand…" Logan replied. Rory stopped, a small smile playing on her lips at their easy banter. She said nothing, just remained standing, facing the door and waiting for him to go on.
"We should probably think of poor Sue. At the bank at least she got paid to put up with the Emily Gilmore's of the word. It wouldn't really be fair to sic her on unsuspecting retirees who are just trying to live out the rest of their lives in peace."
Rory shrugged a single shoulder and he watched the back of her head bobble back and forth in faux contemplation. "I suppose you have a point there; we would be doing a public service."
"Sure," Logan agreed with a chuckle. "A public service. That's what this whole arrangement is about…helping poor, unfortunate, senior citizen souls in Danbury."
"Bristol," Rory corrected, finally turning back around again.
"Even better," Logan replied, smiling jestingly. "I never really cared much for Danbury."
"Well, you and John Oliver have that in common."
"So," Logan held a hand out towards the unoccupied chair across the desk from him. "You ready to sit down and start these negotiations. Or are we going to have to get Jared Kushner in here to facilitate."
"Oh god, please tell me you're not friends with Jared Kushner." Rory's eyes went wide with panic. What if he was friends with Jared Kushner? It wasn't totally out the question…they were both rich, white, socialites from ivy league schools with businessmen fathers—didn't Kushner even own a newspaper? The point was, she knew nothing about this man she was about to agree to marry. Nothing about his friends or his politics or his values. And she was going to get into bed with him—figuratively of course, her inner monologue for some reason felt the need to clarify. Because she certainly wasn't about to agree to share a real bed with him as any part of this agreement.
"Relax," Logan mollified. "It was a joke. You know, because the man isn't qualified to negotiate anything let alone peace in the Middle East."
"Phew," Rory let out in relief. "Because you hanging out with that crowd might be a deal breaker. "
"Well, to be fair, my friends are not really any less obnoxious. But they also didn't accelerate the demise of our Democracy. Although if Finn doesn't get deported back to Australia soon, there's no guarantees. And just to ease your mind…I voted third party."
Rory could feel her face scrunch up in disapproval. She always was bad at hiding her emotions. It was better than the alternative though; she supposed she could work with it. She pulled out the chair and took a seat. "Fine." She replied, maybe with a bit more annoyance than she intended.
"Gee. Tell me how you really feel."
"I think it's best if I don't."
"No really, go ahead."
She hesitated briefly. She knew she should just shut up and let it go. She knew how she could get about these matters. Logan seemed to be pretty unperturbed by her speaking her mind to him so far, but what if she pissed him off? It could derail the whole deal. Plus, he was still her boss. And yet, she just couldn't seem to help it. Despite herself, she spoke. "It's just pretty privileged is all."
"Voting third party?" There were a lot of reasons for people to call Logan privileged in his life, most of which he would have to be completely oblivious to deny. But his voting record was a new one.
"Well, you know they have no chance of winning." She shrugged.
"So?"
"So…" she emphasized. "It means you don't care who actually wins. You're free to throw your vote away because the results won't affect you."
"I'm sorry," he looked at her with a combination of fascination, amusement, and defensiveness. "Throwing my vote away?"
"Yes," Rory huffed, straightening up assuredly. "Throwing it away."
"You're saying that my legitimately cast vote is garbage? That the votes of millions of Americans are meaningless?"
"Yes. I am. Your so-called 'protest vote' is meaningless garbage. It changes nothing."
"No, nothing changes if we continue to just abide by a broken system. The two-party voting system is broken."
"I didn't say it wasn't."
"And yet, you're advocating for it."
"I just think there are better ways to fix things. You're never going to get a large enough critical mass of third-party voters to shift the tide as things stand. We need to implement rank choice voting, then you can vote third party."
"And who's going to implement rank choice voting if the people in charge of running the voting system are the same people benefiting from our current dysfunctional voting system?"
"You start locally. Once people get comfortable with it, there will be greater pressure to change. There are over 20 US cities that use it currently, and Alaska and Maine are already using it on the state level."
Man, he was enjoying this. This is why he'd picked her. He just knew she'd keep him on his toes. And she could hold her own with the best of them. He could absolutely see her having this debate with Ezra Klein at his next book launch, or hell, even with Seymore Hersch at their upcoming HPG Christmas Party. She'd make him look good, and he wouldn't get bored. "We do have a house in Maine. If I make that my primary residence, am I allowed to vote third party?"
"I didn't say you weren't allowed to vote third party," she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. She was cute when she was indignant. Not that it mattered, that wasn't the point of any of this. Although, he did need someone attractive enough to be believable as his significant other and Rory definitely fit the bill. Plus, it wouldn't completely suck when they had to put on public displays of affection for the masses. Anyway, the point was, if he'd had any doubts that she was the right person for this before, she was quickly dispelling them.
"Just that you think it's akin to me taking my ballot and throwing it in the trash."
"Exactly."
"I think we have a serious debater in our midst," he teased with a haughty smile.
She groaned and tried hard not to role her eyes. "Look, we have two years to debate the finer points of the American political system. Right now we're supposed to be debating the finer points of our marriage agreement."
"Fine, but tell me that wasn't fun," his eyes narrowed mischievously, his voice dropping low. She hated herself just a little bit for agreeing with his smug ass; she had been having fun. So, instead of answering she just glared at him in annoyance.
After a few seconds he blinked, shrugging his shoulders in a blithe surrender. "Is it on the market yet?" He asked.
"Huh?"
"You're grandparent's house?
"Oh, umm, no. I think they plan on officially listing it after the holiday weekend." Her face turned sad, her eyes drifting down to the desk and her shoulders caving in on themselves. "At least I get one more Thanksgiving there."
"Hey," he said, his voice taking on a warm and comforting tone like it had that day she'd bumped into him outside the bathroom when she'd been crying. "You've got tons of Thanksgivings left there. If it's not on the market yet, we've got time to save it. Do you know the realtor they're using?"
She shook her head. "I know they said her name was Heather, but I don't know which agency."
"I have a friend at Christie's International, I'll see if he knows anything. It's got to be them or Sotheby's. In the meantime, if you can try to ferret the information out of them, that would be helpful. If I can make a preemptive offer at or near market value, they'll probably snap it up. Once it's listed the deal could get dicier."
She blinked, staring at him in confusion. "What?" he asked.
"That's it? Just like that you're making plans to buy my grandparents multimillion dollar home?"
"Well, I assume that the house is a non-starter in the negotiations, or you wouldn't be here."
"Well, yeah, but how do you know I'll keep up my end of the bargain? We haven't even decided what my end is, other than signing a marriage license. What? Are we just going to go elope tonight so you can buy their house tomorrow?"
"Look, I think we're both at the point where we're motivated to make this happen. We'll work out the details but in the meantime, real estate's never a bad investment. I'll buy the house in my name and we'll stipulate in the prenup that you get it when we divorce. If you don't marry me, you don't get the house so my ass is still covered. I'll have the realtor tell your grandparents it's an anonymous buyer while we get the legal stuff taken care of, and then, once we announce that we've been secretly dating and plan to get married, we can tell your grandparents I'm the one who bought it as an engagement present to you."
"Hell of an engagement present," Rory marveled. It's not like she didn't know this was the plan all along, the whole point of this, but everything was suddenly feeling very real. It was one thing to look at a pro-con list and make the decision logically, but it was a whole other for it to really be happening. She was getting married.
"Tell you what, I'll take back the ugly engagement ring and get you something cheap if that will make you feel better?" he teased.
"Hey, I never said it was ugly."
"You didn't?" He raised his eyebrows in question. He was pretty sure he didn't make up the fact that she had been less than impressed with his taste in jewelry.
"No, I said it was garish."
"There's a difference?"
"Of course there is. Garish just means excessively ornate. Versailles is excessively ornate but no one in their right minds would call it ugly."
"Well, I stand corrected," he replied with a chuckle. "Oh crap!" His eyes had caught the tiny numbers in the upper right-hand corner of his laptop. It was 10:57.
"What?" she asked. Her heart accelerated nervously. Was there a problem? Was he going to retract the offer after all?
"I didn't realize the time. I have a Zoom meeting with the VP of marketing in three minutes."
"Oh, right, well, I should probably get back to the job I'm actually supposed to be doing anyway. I'm not married to a rich CEO yet." She let out an awkward chuckle as an inexplicable wave of disappointment washed over her. She was probably just anxious to figure out exactly what this was all going to mean for her. She was a planner...she wanted to know the plan.
"Are you free for dinner tonight?" he asked. He knew he should go back to the Hartford house and spend time with his mother. But he really didn't want to.
"You mean skip my microwave chicken pot pie in front of a re-run of Golden Girls? I don't know…"
"I understand, a table at Ciro's couldn't compare to that."
Rory let out a dramatic sigh. "I suppose, just this once…"
"Great. We can hammer out the rest of the details then. How's seven?"
"Seven works."
"Good. I'll make the reservation. I'd offer to drive you, but we probably shouldn't be seen leaving together until we officially go public."
"Probably not," she agreed. "I'll see you at seven." She pushed her chair back and started to head for the door.
"Master and Commander," he called out after her.
She turned around to look at him, her face drawn with confusion. "Like the movie?"
"No, that's what I want you to call me from now on," he replied with a smirk. "We'll call it one of my non-starters." Rory rolled her eyes and tried to keep from gagging.
"Yeah," she scoffed, "We'll just see about that," she shot back as she disappeared through the office door.
AN: I just love writing all this Rory-Logan banter. I don't get enough of it in MP. There was supposed to be more actual discussion and planning int his chapter but their witty reparte just kept coming, so we'll get to the nitty-gritty at dinner. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it.