The aroma of garlic, roasted tomato, and freshly baked bread assaulted Rory's nose, making her stomach grumble with anticipation. She'd always wanted to eat at Ciro's, but she'd never had an occasion that warranted the hefty price tag that came along with such a meal. She supposed she was going to need to get accustomed to the idea that from here on out Wednesday might be all the occasion she needed. It was definitely one of the less distressing adjustments she would have to make as part of this deal.

Still, for as much as she'd always dreamed of dining at a place like this, she couldn't help but be surprised as the maître 'd led her through the main dining room, that Logan had picked it. She wouldn't have chalked it up to his style with the exposed brick and antique wood furniture and copper pots hanging from the ceiling. She'd figured him as more of a sleek, clean, minimalist kind of guy.

The host opened a door to a private room, the glass paned entrance covered with deep maroon curtains, and ushered her in. Logan was already seated, staring at his phone as his thumbs slid over the surface of the screen with superhuman speed. He stopped what he was doing and looked up at her with a smile. "You're here." He set his phone on the table face down, abandoning his prior endeavor without a second thought as he pushed his chair back and stood to greet her, retaking his seat only once the maître 'd had pulled out her chair and she had made herself comfortable.

"Would you like anything to drink, Miss?" The maître 'd had his white gloved hands folded properly behind his back.

"Oh, water's fine," Rory answered, motioning to the glass in front of her. Not that she wouldn't love a drink, but she had no idea where to even begin in ordering one. Would a martini be tacky? It was the drink of James Bond, and who could be classier than James Bond? And she had pre-drink cocktails at her grandparents all the time. And at the fancy fundraisers they sometimes dragged her to. But this felt different…ordering it at the table. The table was where you drank wine. There would probably be wine with the meal. Or champagne…a toast to solidify their deal, perhaps? Either way, it was probably best to leave it up to Logan to order it. She could barely tell the difference between a merlot and a pinot noir despite the vast number of times she and her mother had watched Sideways. Regions and vintages were entirely beyond her scope.

"Your waiter will be with you shortly." The host dipped his head in a polite bow and silently made his way out of the room.

"Thanks for coming," Logan said. "You saved me from my having to have dinner with my mother three nights in a row. I mean, that alone is probably worth a house." He was only half joking. He'd have paid good money for a reason not to go back to his mother's tonight. Maybe not twelve million dollars, but a lot.

"Well, you just better hope this chef is as good a cook as Marie Calendar, because that chicken pot pie was calling my name."

Logan laughed. "Well, I'll let the man know he has competition and better be on his A game."

"Have you eaten here before?"

Logan nodded. "It's one of my favorite places outside the city," he informed her.

"What's good?" she asked, picking up the menu.

He shrugged. "It depends. The menu changes daily. All the ingredients are locally sourced, so it's all based on season and availability."

"My mom owns an Inn with her best friend, Sookie, who's a chef," she said, placing her menu back down to look at him, "and the menu there works that way too. Sookie is also married to her produce guy, so she gets top billing on those locally sourced ingredients."

"I see, and is this Sookie a better chef than Marie Calendar?" Logan teased.

"Well, she does use far fresher peas in her pot pies."

"Well of course, she's married to the produce guy," Logan pointed out.

"Exactly," Rory smiled at him, warm and earnest, before turning her eyes back to the menu. There was something comforting about it; about her. Like he could just be himself around her. He supposed there was a certain simplicity in being here with her on this non-date date. Which was strange because this whole situation was complicated—a combination of all things both business and pleasure. Well, okay, not all things. He'd most certainly be going home alone tonight. But the fact that he wasn't trying to get laid by the beautiful woman sitting across from him in the dimly lit Italian restaurant didn't mean he didn't still need to try to woo her.

He was pretty certain her mind was made up about moving forward with this deal, but he knew from experience that no deal was sealed until all the "t"s were crossed and the "i"s dotted, both figuratively and legally. He had a lot to lose here. He should be nervous. But he wasn't. He was looking forward to tonight more than he'd been looking forward to anything in a good long while.

Rory let out a satisfied sigh, leaning back in her seat and letting her fork clatter onto the cleaned off plate. Well, okay, it wasn't completely cleaned off. There were still a bunch of little curlicue green things that she assumed, based on the menu description, were fiddlehead ferns. And she was sorry, but no matter how cute they looked or how funny a name they had, there wasn't a chef alive with any number of Michelin stars that could make her eat them. She'd sooner eat one of Jackson's zucchini tushes.

"Good?" Logan asked, although it was clear from the satisfied look on her face and the way she patted her stomach in satisfaction, that she had, in fact, enjoyed her meal.

"Delicious," she confirmed.

"I figured," he nodded. "It's been a good long while since I've seen someone polish off a 20-oz steak in one sitting. Not to mention the bread, and the burrata. I'm impressed."

Rory looked down at her plate and shrugged. "I guess it was a lot. I almost don't have any room left for dessert."

"Almost?" He let out a laugh, thinking she was joking.

"Well, there's always room for dessert. That doesn't just apply to Jello, you know. It's all desserts; ice cream, and pie, and tarts, and tiramisu…" Her face was flushed with the two and a half glasses of wine she'd had with dinner, and her hands were gesturing with a sort of careless abandon. She wasn't drunk, just well lubricated. He grabbed her half empty wine glass before she knocked it over and filled it the rest of the way, placing it back just out of range of her waving hands. He probably shouldn't be helping her drink more until they'd actually discussed what they came here to discuss, but it wasn't like whatever they decided here would be binding, they had to go through their lawyers for that. This was just laying the groundwork. And though she was a little more animated than she was at the beginning of the evening, she was clearly still in control of her wits.

"Good, then we have time to discuss business."

"Business, business, business," Rory scolded. "We're not even married yet and all you can think about is business," she teased melodramatically.

"Hey, you knew what you were getting into when you agreed to marry me…Dear," he responded with a wink.

Rory felt her eyes roll and she chuckled awkwardly. "God that's weird."

"What?"

"Hearing you call me 'Dear,' even jokingly."

"Too soon?" he cocked his head to the side.

"No, it's not that, it's just…I don't think I've ever had a pet name. No Dears or Sweeties or Pumpkins." None of her exes ever called her anything but Rory. Or maybe the occasional 'Ror.'

"Really? Because you look like such a 'Pumpkin.'"

"Round and bumpy?"

"Hey, you said it," Logan shrugged with a smirk.

"Smart ass."

"That's Master and Commander to you."

"Command this!" She shot him a middle finger.

"Well, we've proven we can fight like a married couple."

"Yes, we'll have everyone convinced where madly in love."

"Love, hate…potato, potatoe." He flipped a hand jokingly as though brushing the words away, then paused for a minute. "Seriously though," he said, wiping the humor from his face. It was all good and well to have fun, but Logan wasn't a kid anymore, he had responsibilities. Business didn't have to be painful like he used to imagine, but it did involve staying on topic. "We should talk details. The clock is ticking on tying the knot. The legal stuff will take some time. Plus, I'm sure my mother and your grandmother will insist on packing two years of wedding planning into three months."

"Yippee."

"Not a fan of a big wedding with hundreds of people you've never met?"

"Not really my cup of tea."

"Well, what is your cup of tea? What kind of wedding did you always fantasize about having?"

"Honestly?" she asked, her face getting thoughtful as she tried to think back to some time where she fantasized about her wedding at all and coming up blank. "I didn't."

"You didn't?"

"No," she shrugged her shoulders. "I mean, I guess I gave it some idle thoughts when I was at a wedding. Or when Mom was planning one for the Inn. And I guess if anything, I imagined something small. Maybe in the gazebo in town, with just family and a few friends."

"Well, unfortunately that's not really going to be a possibility. People will expect this to be an…event. Not least of all our families. If you don't have strong opinions about it, it might be best just to sit back and let them do their thing. I'm sure it will be…what's that word again…garish?" he winked.

"Well, at least it will match my ring." She replied, the corner of her mouth curling up in a mocking grin as she picked up her wine glass to take a sip.

Logan rolled his eyes and shook his head with a laugh. At least she had a sense of humor about it. Most women he knew took their jewelry extremely seriously.

"Alight Miss Jewelry Critic, I guess let's start at the beginning…wedding date. My birthday is February 25, so it'll need to be before then. We'll have to check when and where we can get a last-minute venue, but I'm thinking early February."

"Not Valentine's weekend," Rory insisted with a shake of her head. "I can put up with poofy dresses, and stupid themes, and cake smooshed in my face, but a Valentine's Day wedding is a level of cheese I will not tolerate."

"Agreed." Not that Logan had strong feelings about Valentine's Day. As far as he was concerned it was just another day. But it would introduce a degree of saccharinity that he'd rather not deal with. Not to mention the mocking potential from his friends.

"Okay, so wedding date TBD, but we're looking at some time in February that isn't Valentine's Day. What else?"

"Well, actually…" she held up a finger to him while turning in her seat to reach for her purse. She unzipped it and pulled out a note pad, opening it up and setting it on the table. Logan couldn't read it from where he sat, but he could tell the page was full. "I made a list."

Logan raised his eyebrows in admiration. "You come prepared."

"I'm a planner," Rory confirmed. "I like to be ready for all possible contingencies."

"And how many contingencies do you have there?"

"Umm, well?" She started flipping through page after page, trying to tally up the bullet points in her head.

"Geez woman!" Logan let out with amused incredulity somewhere around the time she got to page five of her list. "My lawyer doesn't have that many contingencies and I pay him to think of them. This is going to take more than a slice of tiramisu to get through."

"Well, if it takes two slices, that's just a sacrifice I'll have to make." She sighed dramatically as though she were Jochebed preparing to float Moses down the Nile. He had a feeling it wouldn't be a problem for her if it took the whole tiramisu. He seriously had to wonder where she put it all, but he was a wise enough man not to comment on what a woman ate.

"Okay, well, let's just start at the top of that list of yours, shall we, Martin Luther?"

"Alright, well," Rory said, as she shifted in her seat, getting settled in for the long haul with pen and pad in hand. "Just to clarify, the two years starts the day of the wedding, right?"

"Wow, that anxious to get rid of me that you're already counting down the days? I'm wounded." He grasped at his chest.

"I told you," Rory shrugged coolly, "I'm a planner. I need to know these things so I know when I can take my alimony money and run off with my true love…the guy who runs the gas station down on Victory and Main."

"The one with the pirate earring and the weird little goatee?" Logan asked, brushing a fingers along his chin for emphasis.

"Exactly."

"Well," he leaned back in his seat and picked up his wine glass, tipping it her way before taking a casual swig, "I wish you two nothing but happiness."

"Thanks." Rory shrugged. "So…two years from the day we're married?" she asked, getting right back on point.

"That's what the will says…" Logan set his wine glass down, leaning back in his chair. "I get official and irrevocable control of the company on my second anniversary. The pre-nup will qualify that anything material you take away from the marriage, house included, is contingent upon us being married for two years."

"Okay," Rory looked down at her list; she had so many questions about what her life would be like. Her mind was imaging every possible scenario from nothing changing but a piece of paper, to some Gatsby-esque existence of decadence and debauchery. From an amazing life of travel and fascinating people, to a miserable existence of loneliness in an ivory tower punctuated by obligatory social events with entitled society brats. So yes, maybe she had gone a little overboard on her list, but she needed to know what to expect because left to its own devices, her brain was a dangerous place. "So, during those two years," she glanced back up at him. Best to start with the basics. "I assume we'd be expected to live together?"

"Might look a little strange if we didn't." he shrugged.

"Tim and Helena made adjoining duplexes work," Rory suggested with half-hearted desperation; she had no delusions that that would be a viable solution for them but it never hurt to put the idea out there.

"Well, yes, but then again, they were never technically wed." He figured it would be an adjustment for both of them. He'd lived with Natalie for a bit in college, but he'd been living alone now for over five years. He'd gotten comfortable with his space. With coming and going as he pleased, with having things as clean or as messy as he was in the mood for at any particular time, with having his friends over whenever he wanted.

"True," Rory nodded in capitulation. She wasn't super comfortable with the idea of living with a strange man, but she knew it was really the only option; had known it when she decided to go back to him and tell him she'd reconsidered. It had been pretty close to the top on the "con" side of her pro-con list. "So…where?"

"Well, no offense, but I think me moving in with you and your roommate is out. And besides, I need to be based in Manhattan."

"So, I move in with you?"

"My place won't really work either…it's a loft. I think we'd both like a little privacy. But I inherited my Dad's penthouse on Lexington. Three bedroom, three bath, library…plus a rooftop terrace. You'll have plenty of your own space." God, it sounded so decadent, a Manhattan penthouse with a terrace? But there was also something comforting about knowing that he was moving too. Yes, technically it was his place, inherited from his father. But if he'd never lived there before there was a sort of neutrality to it. Not that it could ever truly feel like it was as much her place as his when the property taxes alone were probably more than she made in a year.

"That sounds…logical," she said.

"You don't sound convinced."

"No, I am," she nodded with forced exuberance. "I mean, it's clearly the most sensible solution. It's just going to take some getting used to…going from my tiny little apartment to something so…fancy. It's…" she felt a swell of emotion wash over her. For exactly what, she wasn't sure. Her apartment? Her soon to be former life? Her time living with her childhood friend? "It's an adjustment, is all. Plus, there's Lane to think about."

"Your roommate?"

"I mean, I don't want to leave her high and dry. We've got a lease through June and there's no way she can afford both halves of the rent herself."

"Well, I've seen your place, so while I don't know exactly what your rent is, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say we can afford to keep covering it."

"You're sure?" She asked earnestly. It probably seemed like such an inconsequential thing to him, but to her it was huge.

"I promise not to leave Lane homeless."

"Okay, good." She nodded succinctly. She relaxed a little; she knew they'd only just gotten started, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Yes, she'd have to make major changes to her life, but Logan seemed to genuinely want to make them as easy for her as possible. His willingness to take care of not only her and her grandparents, but Lane as well, showed a good faith that comforted her. She took a sip of wine and moved on to the next item on her list. They continued to discuss everything from daily routines to how the holidays would be split to the amounts and types of physical touch in public that was acceptable but necessary to make their ruse believable.

As Rory polished off her second slice of Tiramisu and Logan looked on in wonder while sipping his coffee, there were only a few things left on the list to discuss. But there was a reason Rory had put them at the end of the list, and it wasn't because they were afterthoughts. She bit her lip nervously as she glanced down at her notebook, then back up at Logan. She didn't know why this one bothered her so much. Maybe because she expected it to bother Logan? But why? It wasn't like she cared what he did. It was just an awkward thing to be discussing with your soon to be husband. Not that any of this was not awkward.

"So, umm," she fiddled nervously with the napkin in her lap. "What about, umm…"

"Yeees?" Logan drew out, looking at her with amusement. It amazed him how she could go from bold and confident to shy and self-conscious and back again so quickly. He enjoyed guessing which topics would elicit which reactions and he had a feeling he knew what was coming up next. It was certainly a topic he planned to breech if she didn't. But with the sheer exhaustiveness of the list she made, the idea that she wouldn't eventually bring this up was slim to none. Rory had quite literally thought of everything. Still, he enjoyed watching her fumble for it. That probably made him a bad person, but what could he say? There was something about seeing a woman who had no trouble telling off her boss one minute, blush and demur the next. It was the dichotomy of it all.

"Well, it's just, I was wondering…" her eyes darted away anxiously, "about dating?"

"Why Rory Gilmore, are you asking me out?" he teased.

"No!" she sent an annoyed glare his way. And just like that they were back to bold and confident. It was just a single word, but the sheer delivery of it spoke volumes; the narrowing of her icy blue eyes, the pursing of her lightly painted lips, the furrowing of her brow. He let out an amused chuckle before responding.

"Well, we're going to be married for two years and I for one, don't plan on spending the next two years celibate, so unless you're offering…" he prodded with a pointed eyebrow raise.

"I'm not."

He let his eyes rake over her as a punctuated silence hung in the air. It was kind of a shame. She was beautiful and passionate. She'd probably be great in the sack. But there were plenty of other women who could fill that role for him, it was best his wife wasn't one of them. It would make things too muddled. After a moment, he gave a flippant shrug. "It's probably for the best anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she hissed.

"What? I'm agreeing with you," he pointed out. "We shouldn't sleep together. I think we should make it a rule."

"Pft," she scoffed audibly. "I don't need a rule to not sleep with you."

"Oh, you definitely need a rule."

"Please, you're the one who needs a rule." He most certainly needed a rule. Not that he was an animal that couldn't control himself, but a few drinks…the two of them going back to the same apartment…following some carefully orchestrated PDA for the masses. It's quite possible he could forget himself and let his dick lead the way. Still, he wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of admitting that.

"Look, it's nothing personal, it's just that I've got plenty of options in that area already."

"And I don't?" She probably shouldn't be as indignant as she was. She hadn't been on a single date since August when Brendon had left for his sabbatical. But still, Logan didn't know that. And that fact that he automatically assumed she didn't have her choice of men irked her. Did he not think she was pretty enough? Funny enough? Smart enough? She was a catch. If she wanted to go around having tons of promiscuous sex with an array of men, she could.

"I didn't say that," Logan protested. "…Although…" his face scrunch up on one side, his head cocking to the side.

"Excuse me?!" she gasped. Was he really going to come out and tell her to her face that she couldn't get a man?

"Look, I'm not saying you couldn't have options. You just don't really seem the type to go looking for them."

"What does that mean?"

"You're just a little sheltered is all."

"Why? Because I don't sleep with everyone in a skirt?"

Logan's interest was piqued, though he knew that wasn't really what she was saying. "So you sometimes sleep with people in skirts?"

"What? No! Not that it would be your business if I did. We agreed we could date, who we date is our own business, regardless of gender."

"Well, technically we didn't agree yet."

Rory rolled her eyes in frustration. Was this how it was going to be? Two years of him getting under her skin and pissing her off? "You said…"

"I know what I said. But an agreement takes both parties, and you never said how you felt…other than articulating your insistence that you weren't going to sleep with me."

Rory inhaled deeply, trying to tamp down her mounting rage at his infuriating need to piss her off just for entertainment's sake. She really needed to stop giving him the satisfaction. She let out the breath and spoke more evenly. "I don't care what you do in your free time. If you want to date every Victoria's Secret Angel who has her wings, feel free. Make sure to aim big…go for the one in the bazillion dollar bra. She clearly likes diamonds, so I'm sure she'd appreciate your garish taste in jewelry."

"Her name is Mandy, and we've already hung out a bit."

Rory let out a scoff. What was she even doing here? She couldn't believe she'd left herself start to believe this could work. That she'd convinced herself this was actually a good idea. "Of course you have." She started to push her chair back. They were fools to think they could pull this off.

He pushed his own chair back, ready to go after her. "Rory come on!" Shit! He'd pushed her too far. It was just so much fun seeing her all riled up. He should have known better. He shouldn't have let himself get so comfortable. He did know better—he knew never to take a deal for granted until it was finalized. He knew not to let his guard down until the deal was done. If she walked out of here now, he was done for. "It was just a joke." Sort of. He had hung out with Mandy Riggs, a model who had donned the famous million-dollar bra in last year's Victoria's Secret fashion show. But they hadn't dated, and they definitely hadn't slept together. They just happened to have some mutual acquaintances.

She paused, standing between her chair and the table, hands on her hips and blue eyes still buzzing with angry electricity, but she made no move to go any farther. That was good; she hadn't stormed off completely. But it was clear that she wasn't entirely appeased. In fact, she didn't really seem appeased at all. She was very clearly pissed off. He was going to need to bite the bullet and apologize.

"Look I'm sorry you're so bent out of shape, I didn't mean to upset you."

"You're sorry I'm so bent out of shape?" she hissed, her anger only seeming to ignite further. Okay, that hadn't gone the way he'd expected it too.

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" Why was she even giving him the satisfaction of letting him explain? She should just leave. This entire plan was just one big foley. A momentary lapse in judgement. A case of temporary insanity. So why was she still standing there?

"I just thought we were having fun. Honestly, I thought it was kind of our thing."

"Our thing?" she asked incredulously.

"Yeah, you know, just a little heated debate for fun." She hated that on some level, beneath her irritation, she did know. Fighting with him was infuriating, but it was also kind of exciting. She glared for another few second before reluctantly sitting down again. So, he had an annoying habit of provoking her. He wasn't all bad, and she was an adult capable of choosing not to let it get to her. She could do it…for her grandparent's sake.

"This is not our thing," she informed him, crossing her arms over her chest in silent protest.

"Absolutely," he nodded, prepared to tell her whatever he had to to appease her—for now. She was a fine line to walk, but he was up for the challenge. He watched her settle back into her seat and after a few seconds, her shoulders dropped, her arms uncrossed, and she seemed back at ease. "So…" he started back again, making sure to keep things serious this time. "We concur that this arrangement does not preclude us from engaging in other…extracurricular activities?"

Rory nodded. "Yes," she huffed. "I concur."

"Of course, discretion will be paramount. Any outside romantic relationships, whether for a single night, or for the long haul, need to be kept secret until divorce papers are signed. We can't have people figuring out that this marriage is a ruse."

"Agreed. I know I'd personally rather not be publicly humiliated by my man-whore of a husband flaunting his mistresses around town."

"I'm gonna let that go because I need you to not walk out that door," Logan said, nodding towards the exit. He was more amused than upset by her biting remark. "But I think you might want to reconsider what our 'thing' is."

She let out a resigned huff and rolled her eyes, finding his own unbothered attitude somewhat contagious. She had to admit that he could at least take as good as he could give. And maybe she had let herself get a big goaded before. "You're right I'm sorry, that was uncalled for."

"Wow, an apology," he gasped in awe at the unprecedented event. "Can I get you to say that again on tape…for prosperity's sake?"

"No."

His shoulders slumped with exaggerated disappointment. "I guess It'll just have to live in our memories, then."

Rory let out a little chuckle. Damn him for being so annoyingly charming even when he was a pain in the ass.

"So, what do we tell the people that we're dating?" She had no idea how one would even broach such a subject. 'Hey, I know I'm married, but do you want to go on a secret date?'?

Logan shrugged. "I'd say just keep things vague. 'We have an agreement.' Something like that."

Rory nodded. "And what do we tell other people?" She asked, segueing right into her next bullet point.

"Other people?" he asked in confusion.

"You know…friends? Family? About us?"

"You mean in general?" he asked, catching on to the change in topic.

"Yeah."

"Well, nothing. I mean, we stick to the story. We can't risk having this get out."

"Okay, it's just, well…Lane kind of already knows. Our apartment doesn't exactly have thick walls. And my mother, well, she's not going to buy that I conveniently happened to fall in love with a billionaire days before my grandparents lost their house. Besides, we don't keep secrets from one another."

Logan nodded reluctantly. It made him uncomfortable, not being in control of the information. But he had his people to talk to; Honor, Colin, Finn. It wouldn't be fair of him to deny her the same. If he was going to entrust his future to this woman, he needed to trust the people she put her faith in. "Fine," he consented. "My sister also knows about this. And my two best friends know about the clause in the contract, so they'll be able to put the rest together. I mean, true Finn is usually too drunk to remember what day of the week it is, but even so, he'll eventually catch on. So I have three people…you can have three people. Lane, your mother, and one more." It was the only fair solution.

A name came immediately to Rory; the third person who would know the truth about her. She was going to need to rely on her for some legal advice. Plus, she'd never let Rory have a minute of peace if she thought her friend had actually fallen in love with Logan Huntzberger. She'd be much more understanding of a marriage of convenience. She'd still give her endless shit about it, but in the end, she'd respect it on some level. There was only one problem.

"What?" Logan asked, taking in the look on her face.

"You're not going to like it."

"What?"

"My third person."

"Why not? Who are you planning to tell, Rupert Murdoch?"

"It's just, well…" she shifted in her seat nervously. "We went to school together…"

"You and Rupert?"

She rolled her eyes at the interruption "We went to school together," she continued, "And I know it doesn't make any sense, but well, I mean, for as…intense and exasperating as I know she can be, she's super loyal and underneath it all, she really does have a big heart."

"Okay, this is a lot of build-up for a stranger, so I'm going to guess I know this person?

"You probably remember her from the Yale Daily News."

"Oooookay?" He tried to go through the names of the people he could remember from his time on the school paper. To be honest, he'd spent the bare minimum amount of time in the newsroom as he could get away with back then.

"It's Paris Gellar."

"Oh fuck no!" That crazy bitch? She was editor of the paper for half a semester before she got Howell-Rainsed by the board. She ran the paper into the ground. She barricaded herself in a make-shift bunker. She was certifiable. And Rory wanted to entrust the future of his entire company to her? Hell no!

"We can trust her."

"I don't trust her with a can of soup. She almost burned down 202 York Street with a hot plate."

"She's been my friend for over a decade. Yes, she's a rabid pit bull, but she'll defend me like one. And that means she'll defend you and your secret just as ferociously. Besides, if I don't tell her, she'll know something isn't right and she will stop at nothing until she figures it out. And when she finds out I lied to her, well, you've seen a Paris scorned before…it's not pretty."

Logan let his head drop defeatedly to his hands, hearing the plates and silverware clatter in response. How had it come to this? He thought he was rid of that woman when he graduated. He would have been more than happy to never see her face again. And now she was going to be one of the only people in the world to know his biggest secret, and if she and Rory were that close, it meant that on top of everything, he'd actually have to see her. Maybe it wasn't too late to reconsider marrying Laura Fallon.

Except that he knew that it was. Well technically, it could be 4 PM the day before his birthday and Laura Fallon would probably meet him at the courthouse in thirty. But he'd called Colin immediately after he'd finished his 11AM conference call this morning and told him to get started on the pre-nup. And he and Rory had spent the last three hours working out the details of their arrangement. He was too far into this to back out now. Even if he wanted to. And the truth was, after most everything had been worked out with minimum drama—the dating conversation not included—he was more convinced than ever that Rory was the right person to do this with him…her frightening taste in friends notwithstanding.

"No, it's not," he admitted with reluctance.

"So, I can tell her?"

His teeth ground together, loathe to say the words he knew he needed to say. He'd sooner give her another five million in the divorce than agree to this, but he knew it wasn't about the money for Rory. This was what she wanted. What she needed. So he either agreed, or walked. And walking wasn't an option. He just hoped he wouldn't come to regret this. "You can tell her," he sighed, lifting up his head from his palms just in time to see a relieved smile spread across her face. The sight was almost enough to make him forget exactly what he'd just agreed to.

"Great," she said, her voice peppy once again. "Then there's only one thing left on the list."

"Seriously?" he asked in shock. "You mean the other half of that notebook is empty?" He thought that they would be there so long, the sous chef was going to have to chase them out of there with a frying pan while Rory shouted more questions at him.

"For now," she shrugged. She was sure she'd have more questions for the lawyers. She was actually going to need Paris to give her a referral to someone. She'd need her own representation to go over the pre-nup with. She could sometimes be a little too trusting and naive, but she knew enough to know she couldn't just rely on Logan's lawyer to make sure her side of the bargain was fulfilled. She took a moment to flip the page over and make a note to call Paris and get a lawyer.

"Okay, so last but not least on that list of yours?" he prompted.

He wasn't kidding about 'not least.' This was the biggie, at least as far as Rory was concerned. Asking about dating had been awkward, but ultimately, it wouldn't change much. Her romantic life was already non-existent, and she wasn't into dating causally. She had come to expect that she wouldn't be able to pursue a relationship until this was over. If she did manage to somehow meet someone, then so be it. But dating and relationships had always played a secondary role in Rory's life. Sure, she'd been in love before. She'd had relationships in her past that had been a priority for her. But they had never been the priority. For Rory, that had always been her career. And no matter what the answer to her next and last question, she knew that from here on out, that would forever be affected. That's why she waited so long to ask it. Because she knew that the answer to each previous question would lead her further and further down the path she'd chosen. So that by the time she got here, she'd be too far in to turn around, no matter what happened.

She inhaled a shaky breath. "My job," she stated simply.

Ahhh, maybe she wasn't as principled and stalwart as he gave her credit for. Well, he couldn't really say he blamed her. He was used to people in his life using him to get ahead in their careers. He was technically using her to get ahead in his career. He should have been expecting it. So why did he find himself pushing back a veritable tidal wave of disappointment. "What about it?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light and untroubled. This was business; it was business to him, it was business to her. He just needed to keep reminding himself of that.

"I mean," she shrugged nervously. "I'm going to be married to well…you. You're the CEO, majority shareholder, board member. And I'm just…a lowly staff writer. What's going to happen to my job?"

"What do you want to happen to it?" he asked, the ice sinking into his words. Here was where she negotiated herself right into a vice president's office or something. He should have known better. He should have listened to Honor when she said to pick someone who didn't work for the company. And he knew he shouldn't be so annoyed. It's not like she wasn't smart and capable and knowledgeable about the profession. And he could probably find some position for her that came with a fancy office and a big title that she would be more than competent at. He just hated that he hadn't seen it coming.

"Nothing."

His head shot up to look at her in confusion, his heart beating a little faster at the seeming curveball she'd once again thrown at him. Had he been worried for no reason? "Nothing?"

"I'm a journalist, Logan. I've dreamed of this job for as long as I can remember. And I worked my ass off to get here. I've earned my place. And don't take this the wrong way because I am not saying you don't deserve your job just because it was handed to you. That you haven't earned it in your own way. But I don't want anything just handed to me. And I'm sure there are responsibilities that will come with being a Huntzberger, even just in name, but I just…I'm a reporter. I like being a reporter. I like going out and getting a story. I like writing…"

Maybe he should have been insulted—just a little at least. But he wasn't. He felt relieved. Maybe even verging on delighted. She wasn't just using him for a promotion. He couldn't quite understand why it mattered so much to him, she was still using him—just for the money to save her grandparents and not for an executive title. They were using each other. Who cared what her motivations were as long as the final outcome aligned with his needs? But the feeling was there whether it made sense or not.

"Well, Ace," he said, "I can't promise you that the taint of the Huntzberger name won't leave you with the unmistakable stench of money and power, but if a reporter is what you want to be, a reporter is what you will stay. And I promise to kick the ass of anyone who dares to give you special treatment."

She chuckled with relief. She knew he was right—no matter what he said or did, people would look at her differently now. They'd see her as a gold digger, an opportunist, someone to suck up to to get in good with Logan. But she'd known that from the beginning. This was the best outcome she could have hoped for—he'd do what he could to support her in her current position. She'd stay a reporter and keep doing what she loved.

This big, scary, new life she was hurdling towards, maybe it didn't have to be so scary and new after all. Maybe it could just be bigger.