AN: So apparently a few of you seemed to really love this idea, and a few of you adamently opposed it, but over all it seemed as though the general consensus was that this story was equal parts disturbing and intruiging. Some of you mentioned that you didn't think that Logan would be willing to go for someone who was dating his dad, but come on-do you really think I'd let him find out before he was a total goner for her? Oh this story is going to be so much fun to write. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter...no Mitchum/Rory stuff to suffer through and of course our dynamic duo meet. Let me know what you think.

The air in the dimly lit, extraordinarily expensive restaurant was thick with tension between the father and son pair dining at a corner table. Logan sat, absently twirling strands of linguini around his fork with one hand, and downing another sip of the two-hundred dollar bottle of wine they had ordered with the other. He had been more than a little surprised when he had gotten into the limo at the airport and seen his father in the back seat. Mitchum had insisted that they go get some dinner together and 'catch up.' For the most part, they had pretty much sat in silence ever since. Logan was just waiting for the interrogation to begin.

"So, how was London?" Mitchum broke the silence. How was London? Seriously? As though he'd gone for a weekend getaway and the experience could be summed up in some monosyllabic response.

"Fine," Logan offered.

"Did you learn anything?" Logan actively restrained the scoff that begged to escape his lips. Logan had pretty much been running the entire operation out in London and with him at the helm circulation had nearly doubled, revenue had skyrocketed, and investors had practically been breaking down the door to do business with them. His father knew this, but he acted as if Logan was still some schoolboy more interested in making trouble than making decent grades.

"Some," he responded in disinterest as he speared a piece of veal with his fork and popped it in his mouth. At least the food here was good, though the company was severely lacking. It would have been a much more enjoyable meal with a cute blonde; or brunette, or redhead-Logan wasn't particularly picky about hair color—on the other side of the table; preferably one with a decent sense of humor and the ability to hold a somewhat interesting conversation. He used to go for the bimbo type, but a few years ago, he suddenly found himself being bored to tears by them. A pretty face to look at just wasn't enough to hold his interest for an entire date. Besides, getting to know a different girl every night was just becoming too much work. He wanted to develop something a little more comfortable, especially once he had moved to London—so far away from all of his friends. It wasn't like he didn't still enjoy a night spent in the company of a good woman, but he definitely found himself seeking out girls who showed some long-term potential.

Apparently his father wasn't so picky, Logan noticed. Mitchum responded to Logan with a distracted, "Mmmhmm," and Logan looked up to see his father ogling the klutzy busgirl in the short skirt who had bent over to pick up a tray full of silverware she had just dropped. Mitchum had fooled around with much younger women all throughout the course of his marriage. Now that he was divorced, he didn't even try to conceal his cradle-robbing tendencies.

"Yeah, I learned that the World is flat, the Earth is the center of the Universe, and that Communism is superior to Capitalism. In fact, I've officially adopted red as my new color and decided henceforth to forsake all things green. Well, not all things green—I've decided to become a florist."

"Huh?" Mitchum turned his attention back to the table, but he was clearly still distracted by the eye-candy he'd just indulged in.

"Right," Logan said, pushing his chair back and tossing the cloth napkin from his lap onto the table as he stood up, "that's what I thought. How about I do you a favor and take my leave? The night is young…you've still got plenty of time to go screw one of your tramps. Just make sure you check IDs. I hear the penalties for statutory rape in New York are pretty stiff."

"Sit your ass back down," Mitchum commanded gruffly, his attention suddenly devoted to his son once again. "I am your father and I demand a little respect. And not that my personal life is any of your business, but if it weren't for 'one of my tramps' as you so nicely refer to her, I wouldn't even be here tonight. I'm doing this as a favor for her."

"Right," Logan scoffed, "you expect me to believe you'd do a favor for anyone other than yourself, let alone a woman? I bet it was a favor to this girl when you hit on the hostess, too."

Mitchum rolled his eyes. "Harmless flirting, you don't know the first thing about a real relationship, Logan. You're a bigger playboy than I ever was."

"Things change, Dad; people change. But of course that's hard to see when you banish your son to the other side of the globe for two and a half years. But even if I didn't change, I'd still know that 'real relationships' don't involve banging your secretary, trying to bribe your way out of it by buying your wife expensive jewelry, and sending her to some stupid spa."

"You ungrateful wretch," Mitchum hissed angrily, "you have no idea what I've done for this family; what I've given up."

"Well, don't let me interfere with your life anymore, then. Thank your slutty, little fuck-bunny for a terrible evening. I'm out of here." Logan shoved the chair back under the table and stormed off. He didn't even know why he bothered trying to be civil with Mitchum Huntzberger in the first place—he had twenty-six years worth of experiences to tell him that time spent with his father never ended well. Oh well, he was just going to do what he should have done the second he got back on American soil—call his best friends Colin and Finn and go get trashed.

Rory concentrated intently on her martini glass as she slowly lowered the toothpick-speared olive onto the rim of it. She almost had it perfectly balanced.

"Are you going to drink that, or did you just shell out the ten dollars so you could practice your olive trapeze act?" Paris barked, coming up behind her at the bar. "Because if that's the case, they might have given you the olive and toothpick for free if you were willing to flash a little cleavage." Paris turned her attention to the bartender and ordered—demanded was really more like it—a Miller Lite. Rory hadn't really meant what she had said to Mitchum about going out and flirting with boys, but when she told Paris about the conversation she'd had with him, Paris had insisted that was exactly what she should do. (You can't just sit around and mope all night. You do this every time he's not around…frankly, it depresses me, and I don't like being depressed.') So, Rory's pushy roommate had made the decision for her. Paris claimed her classmate at Columbia had an in at the hottest club in Manhattan and could get them on the list. Several hours later, that was exactly where they were.

"You know, Rory," Paris continued once she had her drink in hand, "it's like Terrance always says—if you're going to do something, you should commit to it one-hundred percent. I just don't feel like you're committed to this whole clubbing experience."

"Sorry to disappoint Terrance," she mumbled sarcastically. Terrance was Paris' rather eccentric life coach.

"Listen, I didn't drag you out here so you could sit at the bar and be your normal wall-flower self. You think Mitchum is moping over you? I mean, really…wealthy, good-looking, hedonistic CEO to billion dollar, multi-national media conglomerate spends nights pining over girlfriend? Who's watching that movie?"

"Paris," she whined.

"I'm serious, Rory. Mitchum is used to getting whatever and whomever he wants. You need to show him that you have a life outside of him. Show him he still needs to work to keep you. You need to get the Hell up off your butt and dance."

"Thanks for the tip Paris, but I think I'll pass." Rory turned her attention back to her martini, popping the olive into her mouth. She was most certainly not in the mood to dance. Maybe Paris would let her leave soon. This place was definitely not her scene.

No such luck.

Rory sat at the bar for another forty-five minutes, nursing the same martini without interruption, before anything changed.

The line outside the night club reached the entire length of the city block and around the corner. Logan breezed right past it and made his way to the bouncer.

"Name?" the burly, bald-headed man guarding the entrance said lazily—leaning against the corner of the doorway, arms crossed against his chest.

"Logan Huntzberger," he answered. Finn had informed him on the phone that he and Colin were on the main floor of the club where the band was playing and that Logan should just go straight to the front of the line and it would all be taken care of.

"Ahh, Finn's buddy." The bouncer perked up at the mention of their mutual friend.

"I try not to advertise it," Logan joked lightly.

"I gotcha," the bouncer chuckled, "Finn can be a bit of a handful; practically assaulted me after he got your call. He was bouncing like a fucking bunny; told me his 'long-lost best mate was in from London and that it was imperative that I let you right in so that he could welcome you back to the Americas by making sure you got thoroughly drunk and laid."

Logan smiled at the tale of his friend's antics. "That's Finn for you."

"Well, go on in. I hope you get your proper welcome home."

"Thanks man," Logan replied as he moved past the other man into the building where the air was pulsating with the beats of the rock anthem flowing from the amps. He searched the main room for a few minutes before seeing his friends sitting in a booth with a couple of girls.

Logan smiled widely, imagining the response he would get from the Curly and Larry to his Moe. Colin and Finn were like brothers to him, and they were what he had missed most about America while he was gone. They were certainly closer than any real family he had, except maybe his sister, Honor.

He strode up to the booth, plastering a serious look on his face and crossing his arms over his chest menacingly. "Excuse me, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave," he began, getting the attention of his buddies as well as their dates. "These public displays of affection are completely inappropriate and will not be tolerated."

The two girls looked completely horrified by the announcement, truly believing they were getting kicked out of the club.

"But…but we weren't doing anything," the red head next to Finn squeaked, drawing her hands away from Finn's thigh and clenching them tightly to her side, attempting to make as much room between her and the Australian as possible.

Finn smiled wickedly at his best friend. "Yeah, mate," he protested, "we weren't doing anything," he replied with mock innocence, throwing his arm over his date's shoulder and pulling her close.

"It's not our fault we can get laid and you can't," Colin chipped in. The women in the booth both glared angrily at their companions, looking like they were prepared to chop off very important body parts if they were forced to leave the club Lindsay Lohan and her girlfriend were reported to be frequenting.

"Can't get laid?" Logan scoffed. "I think your Mom would care to differ," he joked.

"Which one?" Finn chimed in.

"The blonde," Logan added with a smirk.

"Ah yes, she was hot," Finn replied.

Logan chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. He had missed this—the idle banter with his friends. He didn't have to watch what he said around them, didn't have to sensor himself. With those two, he was free to be himself completely. It was good to have that back.

"Yeah," Colin scoffed bitterly, rolling his eyes, "just the way daddy dearest likes 'em. By the way, welcome back, buddy," he added, standing up to give his friend a manly hug. Finn followed suit, although his greeting was slightly more enthusiastic—almost knocking Logan right off his feet.

"Thanks, it's good to be back; and I feel for ya, man," Logan empathized, squeezing himself into the circular booth next to the two couples. "At least my dad just screws around with them. I don't know how I'd deal if I got a new mommy who was younger than me."

"You blokes are crazy. If I had moms half as hot as Colin's, I totally take advantage of the situation and root every one of them."

"Eww," Colin glared at his friend.

"I think I'd almost forgotten how incredibly depraved you are, Finn," Logan added. The thought of sleeping with any of his father's Playboy Bunny wannabes was too disturbing for words.

"That's why you love me though, mate," Finn grinned cheekily.

"Sometimes," Logan shrugged, "so…how does a guy get some scotch in this place?" he asked the ever-important question.

"The waitress should be back around soon—we've been tipping her exceptionally well," Colin assured his friend with a slightly nefarious grin.

"So she's a hottie, huh?" Logan chuckled, knowing exactly the way his friends worked.

"Hell yeah!" Finn's date turned to glare at him angrily. "But not nearly as hot as you," he quickly added for the sake of the girl by his side. This seemed to appease her, and she went back to her inappropriate touching.

"By the way, this is Logan," Colin chimed in, finally doing the polite thing and introducing the new addition to the group. "Logan—Theresa and Nikky." He pointed to the blonde and then the red-head respectively. Logan reached his hand out to greet the girls—acting like his normal, charming-self, and getting a few flirtatious giggles out of them, but nothing more. He wouldn't dream of hitting on his best friend's dates, especially with so many other women around to choose from; and besides, they weren't really his type.

After a few more minutes of catching up with his friends, Logan started looking around for the waitress, who had not yet returned to take his order. He was considering just getting up and going to the bar himself when his eye caught something that sealed the deal for him. She stuck out like a soar thumb in the surrounding environment and she caught his attention immediately. She wore a not too tight, khaki skirt that just grazed her knees which were pressed demurely together, her legs crossed behind the ankles. A white tailored jacket hugged every curve in a sexy, but not trashy way. Her wavy brown hair cascaded just past her shoulders with long, fringy bangs framing her face. There was something about her—something elegant and classy but not stuck up that just didn't fit with the throngs of horny, scantily-clad women strutting around the club. She was definitely beautiful—there was no doubt about it.

"If you'll excuse me, boys," Logan began with a smirk on his face as he started standing up from the booth, "I think a trip to the bar is in order. If I don't come back, don't wait up." With a nod of his head, he was gone.

Rory busied herself with the cardboard coasters sitting in front of her. She bent one in half, feeling the inside crack, though the outer paper layer held it intact. She tore through it and repeated the action on the next half, wondering how many times she could split the square object. If Paris didn't show up soon to get them out of there, she was going to go insane with boredom. Would Mitchum still visit her in a mental institute?

Despite the deep concentration she had devoted to her coaster, Rory suddenly felt a new presence at her side. "I'll have a scotch, neat," someone stated to the bartender. She sensed the newcomer take a seat on the stool next to hers, but she paid it no mind; people had been coming and going from that spot all night. Still, she couldn't ignore the person next to her for long—his hand reached out for the bowl of peanuts and somehow managed to knock into her, still half-full, martini.

"Damn it, I am so sorry," he quickly apologized, picking the glass up and reaching for a stack of napkins to soak up the mess. Rory hurriedly pushed her chair back and stood up to avoid the liquid running into her lap. She automatically brushed at her clothing, surveying herself for damage. Luckily it seemed her outfit was martini free.

"It's fine," she mumbled absent-mindedly, grabbing a few more napkins to dry off the bar before sitting back down. "No harm done."

"At least let me buy you a new drink; it's the least I can do."

"It's alright," she replied, "I wasn't really drinking it anyway." She looked up at him, really noticing him for the first time. He was handsome, with spiky blonde hair, soft, brown eyes, and a well muscled, but not too built body,

"Well then, perhaps something different would appeal to you more," the man suggested with a smile. Rory was about to politely decline once again, but something stopped her. Perhaps it was the way his eyes seemed to look right into her, or maybe it was the way he smiled at her. Whatever it was, something about him felt comfortable and almost familiar.

"Umm, yeah," she finally agreed with a small smile, "something else would be good."

"What would you like…" he paused, probing for her name.

"Rory," she finished for him, "my name's Rory."

"Nice to meet you, Rory," he held out his hand for her to shake. "I'm Logan."

"Logan," she repeated, accepting his proffered hand.

"So, Rory, what can I get for you?"

"Umm…" she paused. Great, why could she never think of any drinks? This was why she always stuck with her standard martini. She couldn't ask for that though, she'd already told him she didn't want another one, "surprise me," she finally decided.

He nodded in agreement and called the bartender back over, ordering her another drink which she didn't recognize the name of.

"So, what's a girl like you doing all by yourself at a place like this?" he asked, once her fruity concoction had arrived. "It doesn't exactly seem like your scene."

Rory finished swallowing the sip of her drink—it was exceptionally good, she'd have to remember to ask Logan what it was. "It's not," she finally answered, "my roommate dragged me out here. It's actually not really her scene either, but she thought we needed to get out. Apparently I was being a mope and it was depressing her."

Logan laughed. "No offense, but I don't think it worked. You still seem a bit mopey." Rory stiffened up slightly, not sure why his words should have such an impact on her. It wasn't like he was wrong about it. She'd done nothing the entire night but tear apart coasters and doodle on bar napkins with a martini-soaked toothpick. Still, it bugged her.

"I am not mopey," she replied defensively.

"No, I didn't mean…I actually think it's kind of cute—especially the pout." He gave her his most charming smirk and Rory's cheeks immediately turned red from the compliment. She quickly felt her anger dissipate.

"Cherry?" she asked, holding out the fruit filled toothpick from her drink.

Logan looked at her with raised eyebrows and a soft chuckle escaped his lips. "I'm sorry, did you just offer me your cherry?"

"Yeah, well, I don't really like them, and I just thought…" She trailed off, noticing the incredulous way he was staring at her. She wasn't sure what she had said wrong, but the look he gave her was making her incredibly uncomfortable. She squirmed in her seat and turned away from him. "If you don't want it you could just say so," she mumbled petulantly.

"No, no I want it," he quickly interrupted, plucking the toothpick from her hands. "I just didn't think you'd be making an offer like that for at least a few more hours."

Realization suddenly dawned on Rory and her face fell in shock and horror. She gasped audibly, or at least it would have been audible if they had been some place quieter. She wasn't sure if she was angrier at herself for her own naivety, or at him for being such a pig. Actually, she was sure—she was definitely angrier at him. "God, you are such a…a boy," she replied in disgust. She suddenly remembered exactly why she was with a real man like Mitchum. Boys were idiots; that was why.

"Jeez, it was just a joke." He held his hands up in surrender.

With a disgusted shake of her head, she quickly shoved her barstool back and stood up, prepared to storm off into the crowd, but Logan was quicker and before she could take a single step he softly grabbed her wrist in his, gently tugging her back around to face him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated, "it was inappropriate. I realize that—let me make it up to you. Maybe with a dance?" He nodded his head towards the dance floor. She glared at him angrily. "I promise I'll be a complete gentleman," he held his hands in front of him for her to see.

She wasn't sure what it was about this guy that seemed to make it impossible for her to be angry at him, but once again she felt herself softening under his gaze. "I don't really dance," she replied.

"You don't dance?" he repeated, clearly not believing her.

"Well…" she trailed off for a moment, "I dance, I just…I don't do…that," she gestured to the masses of lewdly grinding people occupying the dance floor.

Logan laughed light-heartedly. "Let's go," he pulled her towards the dance floor. He began moving to the music but Rory just stood there uncomfortably. After few moments Logan spoke again. "You know, if that's your idea of dancing, I think you were actually right when you said you couldn't do it."

"Ha…ha," she replied drolly.

"Come on, loosen up," he prodded.

"Excuse me?" she asked angrily. This guy was seriously getting on her nerves, but she couldn't seem to walk away which was getting on her nerves even more. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just that you look like you could use a little fun."

"And dancing with you is supposed to be fun?" she asked pointedly.

"It's a start," he smirked. Damn that smirk; it already seemed to be her downfall.

"Fine," she huffed, "but only to prove you wrong."

"I'll take what I can get," he replied with a smile. He took her hand in his and spun her around. She rolled her eyes instinctively, but felt her own smile starting to creep its way back onto her face. She hated that he was right. She hated that she was having fun already.

After a few more fast songs, the tempo flowing out of the speakers changed as a slow song filled the air. Rory felt conflicted about the change in music. On the one hand it felt safer, less likely to result in some sort of supreme embarrassment she was sure awaited her thanks to her extreme lack of grace; on the other hand it was more intimate and she felt guilty for engaging in such an activity with Logan while she was with Mitchum.

Logan moved his hands to her waist, leaving a respectable amount of distance between them. Despite Rory's inner voice telling her that she was being unfair to her boyfriend by flirting with another man, and that she was being unfair to Logan by leading him on, she slipped her arms around his neck and began swaying to the music.

As the song came to a close, she realized she had somehow managed to wind up snuggled tightly into his body. His arms around her felt so safe and his chest so comfortable, as though she'd known him for so much longer than the hour she had. She found herself silently praying for another slow song as the cords of the current melody faded out. Without thinking, she lifted her head up to look at him, wondering if he was feeling the same way. His eyes were staring right back down at her and they locked onto hers, mesmerizing her. She swallowed the lump in her throat as his head leaned down slowly, getting ever closer. After what felt like an eternity his lips landed on hers. She let her mouth fall open and his tongue swept inside. She let her hands slide up from his neck into his hair, pulling him in even deeper. He was an amazing kisser; even better than…Mitch. She instantly shoved him away. "Oh God," she mumbled as she took a few steps back, her fingers falling to her lips which had just been engaged in some seriously inappropriate behavior with a near stranger.

"Rory, wait." He reached out to grab for her hand but she yanked it back.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…it was…oh God," was all she could manage to say. "I have to go." This time she was faster than he was as she slipped away into the crowd.

Logan stood on the dance floor staring in the direction Rory had disappeared several minutes ago. He hadn't moved since. He was still trying to figure out what went wrong. She was the one that had closed the gap between them during the slow song. And then, when he had gone to kiss her, he had moved slowly enough that she had ample time to turn away, but she didn't. She had responded favorably at first, even deepening the kiss, but then—without warning—she had shoved him away. It was definitely not the usual response he got when he kissed a girl. It made no sense.

And then she was gone. Like some insanely beautiful, slightly uptight mirage. He had to admit, in less than an hour she had somehow managed to get under his skin. He shouldn't be obsessing over this one girl who'd just blown him off—there were a hundred others in the club that night. But he didn't want any of them; he wanted Rory. He wasn't really sure what it was about her that had him so captivated. Maybe it was that cute pout she was wearing when he'd first approached her at the bar. Or maybe it was the way she got all riled up so easily. Angry had really worked for her. Luckily he had enough Huntzberger charm to put out the fire before she slapped him and stormed away. Or perhaps it was the kiss, for as long as it had lasted. She had tasted sweet, like the blue lagoon he had bought her; her body arched receptively into his, fitting against him seamlessly; and then there had been the feel of her lips on his, so soft and plump as they moved perfectly with his.

He was pretty certain he wasn't getting this girl out of his head anytime soon. He wanted her. Of course there was the slight problem of finding her; all he had was a first name and there were over eight million people in New York. Still, he was determined. It wasn't like there were a ton of girls named Rory, and he was Logan Huntzberger—he had connections. He was sure with a few of the resources available to him at Huntzberger Publishing, he could find her in no time.