AN: You know, I really hate it when I finally get my butt around to updating and then about 2 minutes after I send a chapter to my beta, another big story is updated for the first time in forever. It really takes away from my thunder :P But, alas, I decided not to be a spoiled brat today and post anyway even though I feel like I tend to get less reviews at a time like this. Prove me wrong, people ;)

PS- I've decided I love writing Mitchum and Rory. I'm a freak, I know. Don't worry, there's still plenty of Rogan-y goodness to go around.

She bounced from foot to foot as she stood in the hallway, waiting for the door to Mitchum's apartment to open. She had avoided him all weekend and she hadn't spent any significant amount of time with him—outside a few stolen moments in the office—in almost a week. Friday was supposed to be their first date since he'd gotten back from a three day meeting in Denver, but she had graciously given that time up so that he could meet his son and try to reconcile. It was obvious the reconciliation was still a work-in-progress, but she was hopeful they could sort out their differences. Logan seemed like a reasonable guy. Sure, it was obvious there were many hard feelings from a lifetime of conflict, but Mitchum loved his son. Logan just needed to see that. Maybe if she could get Mitch to ease up on him a bit...she knew he only wanted the best for his loved ones, but sometimes he could push a bit too hard.

But that wasn't why she was there. Tonight, she just wanted to spend some time with her boyfriend now that her guilt had subsided. She felt much better after her talk with Logan. She had screwed up, yes, but perhaps something good could come out of it all. She could befriend Logan and help him and Mitch out. And now she didn't feel like she had to hide in shame from either one of them. So, she was here for a little down time with her man.

The door finally swung open and she stepped right into the apartment, reaching into her oversized purse and bringing out a couple of flat, rectangular boxes. "What do you think—Seven Pounds, or W?" she asked immediately, showing Mitchum the DVD cases. "Now, I know you're a Republican and I've come to accept that, but personally, I think watching George 'Dubbya' choke on a pretzel is too mock-worthy to pass up. But if you really insist, we can go with a little emotional manipulation instead—or so Ebert says." She paused to catch her breath just long enough to notice the angry look on her boyfriend's face. "Or we can just put on Fox News and make out to The O'Reilly Factor," she suggested with a sheepish smile.

"Or perhaps, you'd like to explain this to me?" he offered in return, holding up a couple of pages filled with type and stepping aside to let her into the apartment.

"Umm, well, it looks like paper," she answered hesitantly, stepping through the threshold.

"Paper, yes, paper containing the contents of an e-mail my son sent to me not half an hour ago. And do you know what's on this paper?"

Rory's eyes lit up with pride. Logan had taken her advice and he'd wasted no time in doing so. "An article?" In her excitement, it came out as a question although she was sure of the answer.

"Correct, for ten points," Mitchum responded dryly, pointing at Rory with the pages still in his hands. She grabbed them from him and started to read the article, overlooking, in her excitement, the fact that Mitchum was clearly not as happy as she was. "Although as my memory serves, I don't recall assigning him any articles—do you?"

Rory was already engrossed in the words on the paper in front of her and wasn't paying attention to Mitchum anymore. She meandered over to the couch and sat down, never lifting her eyes from the pages. "This is really good," she exclaimed happily. She knew Logan had it in him—he was a Huntzberger after all.

"Of course it's decent," Mitchum stressed the word, conveying that he was clearly less impressed than she. "He's a Huntzberger. If he couldn't write a half-way respectable article, I'd have him DNA tested." Rory's eyes drifted back towards the article but Mitchum snatched it away from her, forcing her focus back to him.

"Hey, I wasn't…" Rory started to reach for the papers again, but finally registered the irate expression on Mitchum's face. "You're not happy…" she stated the obvious.

"Now what would give you that idea?" he replied in a sarcastic manner.

"But I thought you'd…"

"What, be happy that one of my employees thinks he can just have whatever job he wants? He's supposed to be learning the business side of things, not wasting his time writing useless crap on a whim." He tossed the papers angrily on to the coffee table, and they scattered all around.

Rory resisted the urge to get offended. He wasn't putting down her job as a writer, he just felt that Logan should have a different job. Writing wasn't a waste of time, it just wasn't what he wanted Logan doing at this point. After all, writing was the crux of his entire empire. Still, she had to disagree with him. "Logan isn't just some employee, he's your son. And getting involved and making a name for himself here hardly seems like a waste of time. You did a lot of writing before you moved on to the business aspect of things. Don't you think it's important for him to understand and appreciate the crux of the business he's going to be running some day?"

"He should have been doing that in college. But could you find that boy anywhere near the Yale Daily News during the five years he attended? Of course not, he always wants to be somewhere else, do something else. He doesn't have time to be years behind. I was a year younger than him when I got short-listed for the Pulitzer and even then, this…" he shook the papers in front of him, "is so far from Pulitzer worthy, Gary Larson would have a better chance of getting one."

Rory looked at her boyfriend in shock. This wasn't him. She'd never seen him get so riled up about anything. He always kept his calm about everything. How could one little article have him up in such arms? She hated to say it but she could actually see what Logan was talking about when it came to his relationship with his father. But…no…Mitchum was only so upset because he cared so much. He wanted the very best for his son—he just didn't know how to express it. She would just have to show him. She stood up, placing a hand gently on his cheek. "I'm sorry," she began. She wasn't, really, but she figured it couldn't hurt to appease him a little. "But maybe you should try to give him a little support with this…"

"Support?" he scoffed, turning away from Rory's touch. "All I've done is support that boy for the last twenty-six years. I supported him when he got kicked out of boarding school after boarding school, I supported him when he took a year off to sail around the world and sow his damn wild oats. I'm sick of supporting his damn every whim. It's time he started doing what was expected of him."

"I know," she replied. She took another step toward him and reached out her hand, intertwining her fingers with his. When he didn't pull away again she continued on. "But he's trying this time. He's trying to be involved with the business, he's trying to do something right—"

Mitchum scoffed and she could feel his hand pulling away but she tightened her grip and reached for the other one. "Listen," she requested. He sighed and she noticed his shoulders slump a little. He was listening—albeit reluctantly. "I know you have expectations. And maybe he's not at the same point at this age that you were, but he's already been successful at running the London paper—"

"Yeah, with about five of my best men telling him what to do—"

"So he had help," Rory acknowledged, "he still did a good job. He has the potential to be great, just like you. I'm sure of it."

"Why are you defending him? You're supposed to be on my side," Mitchum scowled. Rory had to repress a grin. Being pout-y was certainly not a Mitchum Huntzberger trait, but every once in a while, he let his guard down around her and it was those moments when she truly loved him.

"I am on your side," she promised. She was on both of their sides. She barely knew Logan, but there was a connection there. She knew they were going to be great friends—just as soon as he stopped constantly hitting on her, of course. Not that this was the time to tell Mitchum that. "And I want you to be happy. That's why I'm saying this. I know you want the best out of him, but you can't force it. I think he did well in London because he had space." She took one of her hands out of his and placed it just under his chin. "It's not easy living in your shadow. There's got to be a lot of pressure on him."

"Well, welcome to the world, Rory. There's a lot of pressure on everyone."

"But a little support goes a long way. I know you support him, but I don't think he gets that. He likes writing, and he's good at it." Rory pointed towards the scattered papers as evidence. "By giving him the space to thrive at an area of the business he enjoys, maybe it'll help him see that he has your support and make him want to become more active in other areas of the business as well."

Mitchum sighed with exasperation. "It'll make you happy if I print the damned article?"

Rory's face immediately brightened, knowing she had won. She shook her head enthusiastically. "Fine," he relented, "he can write for the paper, but he still has to take care of his other responsibilities here."

She bounced up and down with excitement at her triumph. "Thank you," she told him, standing on her tippy-toes to press a quick kiss to his lips in appreciation. Before her heals had even reached the ground again, his arm was around her waist and pulling her back to him for a more passionate embrace.

After they parted she looked up at him with a sly grin. "You know, I think The O'Reilly Factor's still on."

He smiled back down at her. "I do believe you're right, Pooh. I do believe you're right."

"You beckoned, Your Majesty?" Logan spat out sarcastically as he entered his father's office.

Mitchum rolled his eyes at his son's impudence. "Sit," he ordered.

"Yes sir, as you wish, sir." Logan mock saluted, then followed Mitchum's orders and sat in the chair across the desk from his father.

Mitchum took a deep breath, trying not to lose his cool. Logan was the only person in the world who could make him so damn annoyed. His son was a spoiled brat who never took anything seriously. In his opinion, the boy didn't deserve to have anything to do with Huntzberger Publishing Group. Unfortunately, cutting him off wasn't an option—it just wasn't the way things worked in his World. Besides, he didn't have any other sons to take over the business when he retired and he'd be damned if his sister's fruity kid got control of his pride and joy.

Still, he wasn't doing this for Logan's sake; he was doing it for Rory's. He wasn't sure how he let her talk him into this. He was supposed to be making the rules—in work, in the relationship, in life—and yet she had just seemed so earnestly to want to help that he had caved. It was ridiculous, really. Mitchum Huntzberger didn't cave, especially not to a woman. Although, he supposed his reward last night had sufficiently made up for his moment of weakness. And who knew, maybe she was right. Maybe Logan did have some hidden potential somewhere. Mitchum didn't really think so, and he certainly didn't think it was his son's doing that had made the London paper a success, but what harm could this do? Logan couldn't mess up the writing too bad, and if he did, Mitchum didn't have to publish it.

"I got your article."

"Well if it isn't the miracle of e-mail at work," Logan rolled his eyes.

"Shut your trap and show me some respect or I'll take it right back out of the lay-out."

Logan's eyes shot up in shock to meet his father's. "You put it in?" he asked incredulously, blinking in disbelief.

"Tomorrow," Mitchum acknowledged. "This doesn't mean you're a writer now," he clarified. "You have your real work to do."

"You mean my 'shadowing'?" Logan scoffed with his default sarcasm back in place.

"Don't be flip. I expect full performance reviews on each department. Plus, there will be board meetings and business trips. This isn't just some game. You'll be taking over this company some day, whether either of us likes it or not. You damn well better know how to run it."

Apparently, Logan had run out of smart-ass quips; he kept his mouth shut. "But in the mean time, you better not forget that this is still my paper. That being said, if you can find something on your own that you think is worth writing about and if you have the time to research and write it, I will consider publishing it in my paper. Understood?"

There was silence for a moment before Logan looked up to meet his father's eye again. "Yes sir, thank you," he admitted sheepishly, clearly unsure of what to make of his father's sudden interest in letting Logan do something he actually wanted to.

"Get out of my office. I have work to do." Without another word exchanged between the two, Logan stood up and left.

"So, guess who gets the pleasure of my company at lunch today?" Logan asked, peeking his head into Rory's cubicle. She was furiously typing away at her computer and for a moment he wasn't even sure she had heard him.

"Huh?" she said after an abnormally long pause, finally spinning in her chair to face her visitor. She seemed confused at first—it must have been some article she was working on—but he was sure he saw her eyes light up when she realized it was him.

"I went ahead and wrote that article," he explained.

"I know," she exclaimed excitedly. "…knew… that you could do it."

"And here's the real clincher…" he continued on, moving out of the entrance of the cubicle and inviting himself all the way in. He leaned up against her desk and crossed his arms in front of him. "Dad's actually going to publish it."

"I told you so," she gloated

"Well, apparently Mitchum Huntzberger still has a few tricks up his sleeve, even for me. Who would have guessed?"

"I would have," she reminded him.

"Right, well, that's not the point," he muttered, uncrossing him arms and waving his hand dismissively. "The point is, mon Cherry, that you owe me lunch."

"Don't you mean 'mon Cheri'?" she corrected.

"Nope," Logan answered with a smirk.

It took her a moment, but after a few seconds, her eyes sparked with recognition, and not in a good way. "Great, two embarrassing 'cherry' incidences in two meets and I'm branded forever. You're never going to let me live it down, are you?"

"Well, I could get past your offer at the bar—after all, I did promise to forget that night ever happened—but our second encounter is pretty much seared into my brain."

"Thanks," she answered wryly.

"Hey, it's not my fault you've got such a nice butt," he defended.

"Are you done being demeaning?" Rory rolled her eyes, but she wasn't really offended for some reason.

"For now," he shrugged and stood up from the desk, "see you at lunch, Cherry."

Knock, knock!

"Come in," Logan called from his seat at the desk.

"I promised you a lunch, so here…" she trailed off as she entered the room, her eyes sweeping her surroundings. "I thought we were going to the cafeteria."

Logan smirked. "Now where would the fun be in that?'

"I thought I was clear, Logan," she replied stoically. "We're just friends."

"What? Friends eat lunch to candle light." He gave his best possible innocent look but failed miserably. He gestured to the picnic set up on the floor in front of his desk, surrounded by flickering candles. The overhead lights were dimmed considerably.

"Do they also listen to 'Endless Love' in the dark?"

"You know, I believe they do, Cherry."

"Would you please stop calling me that?"

She was clearly a little annoyed by this point, but Logan paid it no mind. "Mmm," he pretended to consider it, "not likely, sorry."

She placed her hand on her hip and glared at him angrily, her foot tapping incessantly. Angry worked for her. There was a sparkle in her blue eyes and her cheeks flushed red. The placement of her hand accentuated the curve of her hip and the tapping of her foot drew his attention to her long, lean legs. She was absolutely gorgeous.

He chuckled amusedly. "I promise…" He put his hand to his chest, "no funny business." He knew he was going to regret such a promise—in fact, he already did—but he also knew she meant business. He couldn't understand—she was clearly attracted to him and they didn't lack for chemistry. He wasn't just some random guy in a bar anymore, he was her colleague, so she didn't have the excuse of not wanting to go home with a stranger. Okay, so he was more her boss than her colleague, but that didn't really seem to bother her. She was okay enough being friends with him, and she clearly wasn't afraid to tell him off. So why was she so reluctant to give this thing between them a chance? Whatever the reason, she was pretty adamant, so like it or not, for now, he would just have to play along. Logan had a tendency to get what he wanted. It might take a little work, but he'd wear down her reserves eventually. "Come on." He gave her his best puppy dog eyes.

She sighed in relent and relaxed her shoulders a little. "Turn the lights up and get rid of the candles," she instructed.

"Killjoy," he pouted.

The glare returned.

"Okay, okay," he relented, holding his hands up in defeat. "Candles are gone." He spun around in his chair and stood up, moving around the desk towards the picnic laid out on the floor.

She smiled as she watched him get down on his knees and blow out the candles one by one. "Good boy." She took it upon herself to adjust the dimmer switch on the wall near the door to turn the lights back up.

He looked up at her with a scowl. "Good boy?" he repeated, "That doesn't sound placating and condescending at all." He rolled his eyes.

"Aww, I'm sorry, did I hurt poor Logan's feelings?" she cooed with a smile.

"Are we going to have lunch now," he asked, ignoring her attempts to rile him up, "because I went to great pains to convince this Indian place to deliver."

"I hate Indian," she informed, straight-faced.

"What?" he looked up at her with a look of horror on his face. "But—"

Her face couldn't hold back any longer and she broke out into a grin. "Kidding," she admitted. She stepped further into the office and shut the door behind her before taking a seat on the sari that lay covered with lunch. "Indian's perfect."

AN2: I came to the conclusion that I don't have no idea how to work the "Ace" nickname into this story without being completely obvious and unoriginal. I still wanted Logan to have a nickname for her though, especially since Mitchum has one (albeit a very yicky one, but that's kind of the point). So, Cherry was born. It kind of reminds me of Punky Brewster though. Oh well, it fits. Hope you enjoyed and don't forget...

review please ;)