The newsroom was buzzing with energy. She usually loved it. She usually thrived on it. But today, it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
She wasn't sure why. If anything, the vigor and vivacity of the newsroom should have soothed her. Mitchum wouldn't be stupid enough to try anything with so many people around. And yet, all the commotion had her senses on overload. She took a deep, calming breath—Stephanie had showed her some breathing exercises that were supposed to relax her—and made her way to her desk.
She turned the corner into her cubicle and immediately stopped short, her heart thumping alarmingly in her chest. Sitting there was a red rose—tied with a ribbon—and an envelope. She took a couple slow steps closer, reaching out and poking at it like she expected it to jump up and start attacking her with paper cuts.
It didn't move, and, after a quick look around to survey her environment, she carefully picked up the letter, running her finger under the flap and opening it. She pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper, and with it, a very familiar diamond ring came tumbling out. She jumped back, staring horrified at the object which was supposed to induce feelings of joy and excitement, but only induced terror.
She'd expected he wouldn't leave her alone, but she assumed he'd be trying to ruin her—not woo her back. What the hell was he thinking?
Honestly, she didn't care. A part of her wanted to take the ring and the unread letter, march across the newsroom to his office, and throw both back in his face. Of course, if she did that, she'd be playing right into his hands; she'd be going to him. Then again if she didn't return the ring, what would that be saying?
She shook her head, stuffing the ring and letter back into the envelope, opening her desk drawer, and dropping them inside. Then, sweeping the rose off the surface of her desk to join them, she slammed the drawer shut.
She sat down, closing her eyes and trying to center herself. She had to concentrate on work. She'd managed to get some writing done at home over the weekend—it had been a welcome distraction from her own crumbling life—but she didn't have the resources there that she did here. And she needed her work to be beyond reproach so Mitchum had no legitimate reason to fire her.
"Hey," a voice interrupted her. She opened her eyes to see Jeffery Peterson leering down at her from over the top of her cubicle.
"Oh, hi," she replied.
"Just checking in. How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Fine," she answered. "Just sore," she added truthfully.
"Well, if you need anything," he said, stepping further into her cubicle and blocking the entrance, "let me know." Her nose crinkled up in disgust. Normally she could take his creepy, pervy, flirting in stride. In fact, she'd thought he'd given up on her ages ago—moved on to more receptive women; but perhaps he thought the trauma of her supposed car accident would fill her with a sudden, girly need for a man to come save her?
She stood up abruptly, feeling claustrophobic in that cubicle with him. "I'm going to go get some coffee."
He straightened up, squaring his shoulders like he was Superman getting ready to fly off and save the day. "No, sit," he directed her. "I can get it for you. You should be resting." Rory tried not to gag.
"It's a hundred feet away," she pointed out.
"How do you take it?" he asked, ignoring her protests.
Rory rolled her eyes. "Black," she conceded.
"Black it is," he said with a nauseating smile. He turned and walked away. Rory watched until he disappeared into the break room, then immediately headed out in the other direction. She had no intention of being there when he got back.
She looked around helplessly for a moment, trying to decide where to go. Of course, there was something she needed to do. Someone she needed to talk to. She'd been thinking about it a lot this weekend. She just wasn't sure he'd want anything to do with her. Still, she knew she had to at least try to make things right; and now was as good a time as any.
With a resolute nod, she made up her mind, heading to her target.
She came upon his cubicle. He was sitting there, cross referencing something on this computer with a tome on his desk. "Hi," she replied timidly.
Chase looked up, a scowl on his face. "Is there something I can do for you?" he asked coldly.
"Can we talk?" she asked.
"If you have something you need fact checked, you can add it to the pile."
Rory grimaced at his cold tone, knowing she deserved it. She'd suddenly stopped eating lunch with him almost six weeks ago and she'd barely spoken to him since. There'd been tons of ignored text messages and phone calls. She hadn't wanted to cut him out of her life, but Mitchum had been getting clingier and clingier. Plus, she knew Chase wouldn't stop harping on her for deciding she couldn't be friends with Logan anymore. He'd ask too many questions—questions she didn't have answers for. It had just been easier to avoid him.
"Please, Chase?" she begged. "I want to explain."
"Oh, so there's an explanation for you suddenly becoming too cool to even look my way?"
"Please? Five minutes."
"Tell it to someone who cares."
She cringed. But she wasn't quite ready to give up yet. "It involves really juicy gossip."
He looked up excitedly, but then immediately tried to hide it, crossing his arms over his chest and reapplying his scowl. At least he continued to make eye contact. "Well?" he asked.
Rory looked around. "Not here." Chase rolled his eyes skeptically. "I swear, you're going to want to hear this," Rory placed her hand over her heart.
With a harrumph, Chase stood up. "Fine," he agreed. "You better not make me regret this."
"You won't. Come on," she led him away towards a set of bathrooms in the far corner of the floor that were rarely used. She opened the door to the women's room and peered in, then ushered him inside. She opened each of the stalls and checked inside, making sure they were truly alone before turning back to her friend.
"Well?" Chase asked. "Can we talk now? Or are you afraid there might be a cockroach who could overhear us."
Rory took a deep breath. "I've been seeing someone," she admitted.
Chase scoffed. "I'm sorry, that's your big excuse? That you're one of those people who dumps your friends the second you get a new beau."
"No," Rory shook her head. "I didn't get someone new. I've been seeing this person since before I even knew you."
That seemed to take him aback. "Say what?"
"We were together for over a year."
Chase glowered angrily. "Don't think I'm not mad at you for lying to me forever," he crossed his arms over his chest, "but alas," he sighed in defeat, his frown melting away, "you are correct—I cannot resist the gossip."
"I'm sorry, Chase. I couldn't tell you. I couldn't tell anyone."
"So then, spill already. Whose husband were you boinking?"
"No one's!" Rory insisted.
"Right," Chase nodded sarcastically. "A secret affair with a not married man. Very believable."
Rory sighed. She walked over to the door and peeked out, confirming there was no one nearby before turning around and ushering Chase away from the door. Glancing around one last time, she closed her eyes and confessed. "It was Mitchum Huntzberger," she whispered.
There was silence and Rory opened her eyes to see Chase staring at her with his mouth gaping open like a minigolf clown.
"Say something," she prodded.
"You've been screwing a billionaire newspaper magnate who also happens to be our boss…'s boss's boss?" Chase clarified.
Rory looked sheepish. "Yes."
Chase stared at her for a minute more before bowling over and starting to laugh hysterically.
Rory looked at him in confusion. "It's not funny!" she insisted. He had no idea how not-funny it was.
"I'm sorry, it's just…" he gulped out between laughter. "It's just…you couldn't date Logan because you were secretly dating his father."
Rory sighed deeply. Images flashed through her head; Logan when he caught them together; how cold he was to her when he got back to his apartment; the kiss; the way he'd reacted to the kiss—like he'd just tasted something poisonous…
"That's really not funny," she whispered.
Chase stopped laughing and looked up at the serious tone in her voice. "Oh shit, what happened?"
Rory looked at the floor, wrapping her arms around herself comfortingly, and then, she started the tale.
"I can't believe you didn't read it," Chase said, looking down at the envelope that Rory had just pulled out of her desk.
"I don't know," Rory shrugged. "I mean, what do men always say after they beat their girlfriends? 'I'm sorry, I'll never do it again. I just love you so much you make me crazy and I can't control myself….'? Except this time, it's in a letter written by one of the best writers of our time. Reading it doesn't really seem like a good idea."
Chase nodded. "True dat." He paused for a moment. "Can I read it?" he asked, eyes alit with shameless delight.
"No!"
Chase pouted. "You're right, I'm sorry." He looked up guiltily. "Can I see the ring?"
Rory rolled her eyes.
"Oh come on," Chase protested. "If you're going to make me return the ring to the angry, powerful man who controls my career, the least you can do is let me see it."
"Just give it to his assistant. I don't want to put you in the middle."
"Sure," Chase nodded, plucking the envelope from her hands. "Not in the middle at all." He opened up the envelope and took out the ring.
"Damn girl," he exclaimed. "What is this rock? Four karats?"
Rory rolled her eyes. "Sorry, I forgot to ask in between Logan catching us and me getting kicked in the stomach."
Chase had the decency to look contrite. "Sorry."
"Shh," Rory shushed him suddenly as a couple of people walked by.
"His entire office was already packed up in boxes this morning. He must have done it over the weekend," the man said.
"Where do you think he's going?"
"Daddy's probably sending him off somewhere exotic again."
"London's exotic?" the girl laughed.
The blood drained from Rory's face as she realized who they were talking about. She shrunk back in her cubicle, slinking down low.
"You know what I mean."
"It's probably one of those middle eastern countries where women can't work. I heard he had an affair with an employee."
"I bet it was that Gilmore chick. She's hot and he was always hovering around her."
"I don't get it. That girl has got such a stick up her ass. What do men see in her?"
"She's hot," the man reemphasized. "Plus, she's got that naughty librarian vibe going on…" Their voices were fading away as they disappeared down the hall.
Rory stood up.
"Are you okay?" Chase asked.
Rory's eyes looked panicked. "He's leaving?" she asked.
"Okay," Chase nodded. "That's the part we're upset about. I see. Just one question…" Rory looked at him, expectantly. "Are you insane?" he asked.
"This is my fault."
"You need to let it go, my friend. The Rogan ship has sailed."
"Rogan?"
"It's your couple name—like Brangelina."
Rory just rolled her eyes. "I need to talk to him."
Chase shook his head defeatedly. "Fine, but when he breaks your already traumatized, little heart, don't say I didn't warn you."
Logan sorted through the files on his desk, packing some into the box in front of him and putting the rest in piles off to his side. A part of him wanted to be petty and vindictive. He should just take them all. Or shred them. Or dump the folders out into a heap on the floor. Of course, it's not like there weren't back-ups of everything so what was the point?
He glanced up to a knock on his door and saw it swing open. Rory poked her head in timidly. He turned his attention right back to his files.
"It's true?" she asked. "You're leaving?"
"The rumor mills are hard at work, I see." He heard her shut the door. He kept his eyes down but he could feel her presence; she effused the whole room. He focused on his files, willing himself not to look at her. Looking at Rory was like looking at the sun. Sure, it seemed warm and inviting and when it beat its rays down on you, you felt like you could bask in it forever. But if you looked directly at it, it would blind you.
"Where is he sending you? Back to London?"
Logan scoffed.
"What?"
"I know my self respect has taken a bit of a beating lately, what with recent events and all, but I have enough of it left not to stick around and find out what sadistic plans Mitchum Huntzberger has in store for me next."
"So you're quitting?" She asked, unable to hide the shock in her voice.
"I'm quitting," he confirmed as his eyes scanned the folder in front of him and he placed it in his box.
"Have you told him yet?" Rory asked, her voice sounding oddly anxious.
"I'm sure the news has made its way to his desk. And if not," he picked up an envelope from his desk and held it up, "he'll be reading about it in my formal letter of resignation soon enough."
"He's not going to like this."
"Have you not been paying attention? He'll be thrilled. He'll dance a jig on the grave of my once promising future."
"No, I mean…"
"You mean what, Rory?" he asked, slamming a folder down on his desk and finally looking up at her. She looked unusually disheveled. Her hair was up in a messy bun, her sweater was baggy, her posture was slumped, and her face, which was usually fresh and clean, was caked with makeup.
"Just…"
"Just what?" he barked. "If you have something to say to me, just fucking say it for once in your life." She seemed to shrink into herself as he spoke. He almost felt bad for yelling at her—almost.
"I just meant he's not going to make this easy for you," she sniffled out. "What are you going to do? How are you going to work?"
"I'll be fine," he replied coolly. "Believe it or not, not everyone worships at the altar of Mitchum Huntzberger—unlike you."
"I deserved that," she admitted with a nod.
"Yeah," he nodded in agreement.
She was quiet for a minute, just standing there, playing with the stretched-out sleeves of her already oversized sweater. He looked away again, hating the way he actually felt sorry for her. Hating that he felt anything at all other than contempt and disdain.
"I'm sorry," she finally said. "I'm sorry I lied to you, I'm sorry for the way I treated you. And most of all, I'm sorry I didn't listen to you when you tried to tell me the kind of person he really is."
He bent down, placing the folder he'd been holding onto a pile on the floor in an attempt to avoid her gaze. He stood back up just in time to catch a glimpse of Rory as her hand reached up to push a strand of hair back behind her ear. The sleeve of her sweater slid down, causing him to do a double take.
For as hard as he'd been trying not to look at her, he was suddenly unable to look away, his eyes glued to the fingerprints wrapped around her exposed wrist.
Rory paused, her eyes tracing his line of sight back to her arm. Then, quickly, she lowered her arm, pulling hastily at her errant sleeve. But it was too late, and they both knew it.
His chest felt tight, his breath coming in hard, short puffs as his jaw clenched in fury. "What was that?" he ground out.
"What was what?" She asked, her eyes looking everywhere but at him.
"Rory?" he growled.
"I should let you get back to work…" She started to turn away.
His feet were moving without even thinking about it. He rounded the desk, advancing towards her. "Damn it, Rory," he hissed. She scuttled backwards, away from him, the expression on her face one of terror.
He stopped short at the sight of her horrified reaction. An image flashing through his mind. Another woman with that look on her face, his father towering above her.
Where had it come from? Was it real; some long suppressed memory? Or just a figment of his overactive imagination?
Either way, he pushed it out of his head to concentrate on the woman in front of him.
He held his hands up in front of him, taking a couple slow steps backwards. "I promise," he said, trying to remain as calm as possible despite the building rage within. "I'm not going to touch you. But I need you to show me what's on your arm."
"Oh," She replied, her voice painfully cheery as she forced herself away from the wall and tried to act cool. "That's nothing, I just slipped on the ice and…" she trailed off, clearly able to hear how ridiculous the excuse sounded before it even started.
He waited for her to say something more as he fought the urge to do something drastic—like punch something or throwing something. That was clearly the last thing she needed. She chewed on her lip, her eyes darting nervously around the room. She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "He's not a big fan of being broken up with," she finally admitted.
"How not big of a fan?" he questioned through gritted teeth. Another memory pushed its way in. A woman, lying in bed. A black eye. 'You can see her later; she just needs a little rest right now,' a second woman in white says.
Slowly, hesitantly, Rory reached for the hem of her sweater, pulling it up on one side to expose an array of, large, coalescing, yellowish-purple bruises wrapping all the way around her rib cage.
"Holy fuck, Rory," he breathed out in horror. There was barely an inch of unaffected skin. "I'm going to kill him." How had he not known? How had he not realized? For months he'd worried about the kind of relationship Rory was in; had felt, deep down in his gut that it was abusive. But from the moment he had laid eyes on her in his father's apartment, all he'd felt was anger, and disgust, and most of all, self-pity. He hadn't given a moment of thought or care to the situation she was in. And the worst part of it all, was that he should have known. Should always have known exactly what kind of man his father was.
Sure, he spent more time with his nanny than his parents when he was a kid, and they'd divorced when he was only nine. But the evidence had been there, and it was suddenly coming back to him with rapid clarity. How had he not put it all together until now?
"Don't!" she said, darting in front of him to block the door.
"He can't get away with this." He pointed angrily in the general direction of his father's office.
"I've screwed things up enough. I don't need you getting into a fist fight with your father in the middle of a busy newsroom over me."
"Not everything is about you, Rory," he snapped, spinning around to face her.
"Umm, okay?" She took a step back, not in fear this time. She mostly looked confused, and a little embarrassed. He could only imagine how crazy he sounded—threatening to kill his father for laying a hand on her and then claiming it wasn't about her. But he couldn't explain.
How could he tell her that he should have known? That he never should have left her alone with him? That he should have warned her, but he was too busy wallowing in his own bruised feelings to see what was right in front of his face? How could he confess that, had he not been so oblivious to his own past and his entire family history, he could have prevented this?
"What are you even doing here?" he snapped instead.
"What?"
"Here, in this office. I mean, I have to imagine it's hard to keep the 500-foot distance that must be on the restraining order you obviously took out on him."
"I work here, Logan," she replied with irritation.
He shrugged. "Well then, you're fired."
"Excuse me?" she scoffed.
"I haven't handed in my resignation yet. Which means I'm still technically your boss. And I say you're fired."
"On what grounds?" She replied indignantly.
"On the grounds that staying here could get you killed."
"Don't be ridiculous, he's not going to do anything here."
"No, he's not…because you're fired."
"You've lost your mind. And you are not firing me. This is my career we're talking about."
"You can get another job."
"No, I can't," she gestured frantically. "He can destroy my reputation with a single word. He can easily make sure I never work again. You never wanted this to begin with, so if he has you black-balled and you have to take your trust-find and your ivy-league degree and start over in another field, it's no skin off your back. I don't have that luxury. This is everything I've worked my entire life for. So if he's going to ruin me, I'm at least going to make sure he has to do it the hard way and find a legitimate reason to have me fired."
He felt his fury deflating slightly as feelings of guilt and regret and shame fought their way to the surface. He shouldn't be taking his anger out on her. She'd suffered through enough toxic masculinity to last her a lifetime, and here he was, retraumatizing her with his angry words.
He rocked back on his heels, shaking his head exasperatedly. "I'm not going to let him hurt you again."
"Let him hurt me?" she repeated, her head cocked to the side questioningly.
He turned away unable to look at her for an entirely different reason than the one he'd had when they'd started this conversation. "You know what I mean," he mumbled.
"No, Logan, I don't."
He didn't try to clarify. "Has he tried to make contact?" he asked.
Rory remained silent and he knew the answer was 'yes.'
"What did he do?"
"It doesn't matter," she tried to assure him, "I took care of it."
He turned back around and leaned against his desk. He still couldn't make himself make eye contact, but he was at least looking in her general direction now. "You don't really believe that." There was no 'taking care' of Mitchum Huntzberger.
"And why is that?" she asked
"Because you're not stupid. So I ask again—what did he do?"
Rory shrugged. "He just left some stuff on my desk."
"What stuff?"
"A letter. A rose…" she paused uncomfortably. "The engagement ring."
Logan let out a small, aggravated huff, shaking his head at his father's insane moxie. "And you…took care of it?"
"I had Chase deliver it back to Matthew," she clarified.
"Right. And this time he's just going to accept the ring back graciously?"
"It doesn't matter if he accepts it or not."
"He's not going to give up. You don't leave Mitchum Huntzberger. He leaves you."
She shrugged, gesturing around at the stacks of boxes. "You're leaving him."
"And you already pointed out that he won't make it easy. But I'll at least have distance. And the knowledge that he hates my guts. I won't be right under his nose getting love letters and expensive jewelry."
"So you think I'll go back to him?"
"I think Mitchum Huntzberger can be very convincing. And as long as you let him retain even the tiniest bit of control over your life, you'll never be free of him."
Rory looked down, biting her lip anxiously. Maybe he was getting through to her. She couldn't stay here. Mitchum would do whatever it took to get his way. He'd exert whatever control he could to make her believe she needed him. And then, she'd either give in and be back in his clutches, or he'd completely destroy her until there was nothing left but an empty shell.
"I don't have a choice," she finally said.
"Yes," he promised her, "you do. My friend Hugo has an internet media company. It's not much right now, but it's got potential. It could be the next Huffington Post. That's where I'm going."
She looked at him with curiosity as he continued on. "Despite my best efforts, Mitchum has resisted the move to more online assets, which means there's room for us to take advantage of this new platform without getting gridlocked by his cronies. And it's small enough to fly under his radar for a bit. We get in early—we box him out of the market."
Rory shuffled her feet. "I don't know, Logan. Do you really think that's a good idea after everything that's happened? Me leaving here to go work for you somewhere else?"
"You wouldn't be working for me," he confessed.
"What do you mean, you just said…"
"I'll just be a plain old worker bee myself. Hugo's taking me on as a staff writer." Rory stared at him, her eyes agog with shock. He shrugged a single shoulder. "The writing's the only part I ever really liked anyway."
She fidgeted uncomfortably for a minute. "I'll think it about," she finally agreed. It wasn't much, but he'd take it for now.
"I should get back," she said, motioning to the door.
Once she was gone, he turned his attention back to the files he'd been sorting through. His eyes landed on a pile on the corner of his desk that he'd been planning to leave behind—HR stuff. He picked the entire stack up, evaluating it thoughtfully before adding them all to his box. He had a feeling something in there could come in handy.
AN: So Logan knows what happened. And it seems to have brought up some other revelations about his past. As well as a myriad of emotions that, at the moment, seem to be outweighing his anger and disgust towards her. He's gonna have to deal with his new found knowledge as well as his still confused feelings for Rory in the chapters to come.
Also, will Mitchum stop trying to get Rory back? Will Rory leave her job and join Logan at this new job? And what is Logan planning to do with the HR files?
Let me know what you think. Although you may need to wait a little bit for the next chapter since I really want to try to give RLH a little of my time and energy next.
Thanks for reading