Mitchum leaned back in his leather executive chair, the Empire State Building shining brightly through the windows of his high-rise office. In his hands, the Tiffany diamond was once again nestled in the blue velvet box from which it had come.
Matthew had delivered it back to him earlier that day. Mitchum hadn't been surprised when his assistant had knocked on his door, poking his head timidly into the inner office. He explained that a staff member had delivered an unmarked envelope, that it clearly contained more than just paper, and that he wasn't sure what to do with it.
"I'll take it," Mitchum had assured him, barely looking up from his computer screen.
Rory was stubborn. He knew she wouldn't be so easily swayed back. It would take time, and persistence, and loathe as he was to admit it—possibly a little bit of groveling. That's why he'd chosen to give her space over the weekend. And in all honesty, he needed a little space as well. He'd tried to take the high road after their fight the night he'd proposed. He'd been beyond pissed when she'd chosen to go running off after Logan instead of staying with him. It would have been bad enough on a regular night, but that had been their engagement night. He should have been her priority.
And then, for Rory to return after that and literally throw their engagement ring back in his face and flaunt the fact that she had, in fact, spent the rest of the evening with Logan instead of with him…of course he'd snapped.
But he realized he hadn't given enough thought to how his plan to keep Logan from interfering in his relationship would affect Rory. She'd grown soft on the boy. Too soft. And he only had himself to blame. Well, no, that wasn't true, he had Logan to blame. But if Mitchum hadn't been so oblivious to their blossoming friendship, he could have put a stop to it before she'd gotten attached.
None of that mattered though, the past was done with. He couldn't change what was; Rory had fallen into Logan's trap. And while Logan might not be the son and heir Mitchum had wanted, he'd at least managed to inherit his powers of persuasion, especially when it came to the opposite sex. So, Mitchum had chosen to forgive Rory. It wasn't her fault, it was Logan's. And once his son released his sticky, weaselly grip on her, Mitchum would finally be able to get back the woman he'd fallen for.
And in that regard, things were turning out even better than he could have hoped for. Not only would his little reveal keep Logan from trying to ruin his relationship, it appeared his son would no longer be in line to ruin his legacy either. And since it had been Logan's own choice to leave, he wouldn't have to deal with the wrath of the board.
"You're a fucking bastard." Speak of the devil. Mitchum didn't bother to turn around and face the intruder.
"I'm sorry sir, he just barged right in."
"It's alright, Matthew," he informed his assistant. "You can leave us alone," he dismissed with a wave of his hand. He had been waiting for this. Logan wasn't the type to bow out quietly; he always had to get the last word in, even as a child.
Mitchum heard the door close.
"If you ever lay a finger on her again, so help me God…" Logan growled.
That was less expected. It seemed he knew about their fight New Year's Eve. Had she confided in him, or had he put the pieces together himself? Mitchum suspected it was the former; Logan was too self-absorbed to see anything that didn't directly affect him; it's one of the reasons he'd been such a piss poor choice to take over a journalism empire. Of course, if she had disclosed the events of the other night to Logan, that presented several problems. The first being that it meant Logan was not as done with Rory as he had hoped. The second being that this bit of information in Logan's hands could be quite dangerous. Logan's lack of promise was far more related to laziness and apathy than a lack of actual talent. If he was feeling slighted enough over the loss of Rory, it could be the motivation he needed to seek out revenge. Mitchum needed to handle this delicately.
He turned lazily in his chair. "My relationship with my fiancée is none of your business."
"You're fiancée?" Logan scoffed. "Pretty delusional for someone currently holding an engagement ring that's been returned to him twice." She'd definitely confided in him.
Mitchum snapped the ring box shut. "She's upset right now, she'll come around."
"Yes, of course; just a silly, hysterical girl being upset over something trivial like having the living shit beaten out of her by someone she trusted. You just need to indulge her little tantrum and she'll eventually come around."
"Something like that," he shrugged
"Forget it; she's done with you. Mostly because she's not a masochistic idiot, but also because you're going to leave her the fuck alone."
"Am I, now?" Mitchum raised his eyebrows curiously, crossing his ankle over his knee and leaning back. "And why would I do that?"
"Because I said so."
Mitchum laughed, light and jovial. "You should really work on your intimidation techniques. Although I guess they won't really be necessary anymore, seeing as how I hear you're leaving to, I presume," Mitchum cocked his head to the side, "take up a career in the fast-food service industry?"
"Something like that," Logan repeated Mitchum's earlier line. He retrieved a plain, unmarked envelope from his briefcase, tossing it onto the desk. Apparently, it was the day of unmarked envelopes, although this one was not unwanted. "My formal resignation. An e-mail copy is ready to be forwarded to every member of the board, explaining my decision to leave. You'll see I played nice; creative differences, a desire to strike out on my own… " He summarized. He reached back into the briefcase and procured a fatter envelope. "Of course, there might be some interest in the more detailed account, as well."
"So I do as you say or you tell the board—what? That I had a relationship with a subordinate? I think that might get out anyway when we announce our engagement."
"There. Is. No. Engagement!" Logan leaned forward in what was meant to be a menacing look, but he found it hard to take him seriously considering it was Mitchum's money that had bailed the boy out of every problem he'd ever been in.
Mitchum leaned forward and picked up the thinner envelope. "Your resignation has been duly received," he acknowledged with a head nod. "Since you are no longer an employee here, you can see yourself out—unless you'd like me to have security do it." Logan shot him an angry glare, then turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him
"God damn it!" Logan turned and punched a wall in the anteroom outside the office. It had taken everything he had to hold his tongue. Mitchum had been right—the second resignation letter was a joke. It mentioned the affair with Rory—not by name—and vague uncorroborated accusations of the abuse. Nothing the board would give him more than a slap on the wrist for. It was laughable and Mitchum knew it. What Mitchum didn't know was that it was meant to be laughable.
His father was smart. Scarily so. But if he had one blind spot, it was Logan. He was constantly under-estimating him. And Logan had every intention of using that to his advantage. What he had no intention of doing, was letting this go. What his father had done to Rory was bad enough, but that bit of knowledge had opened something inside of him. The memories were vague, but he knew they were real. A man didn't just start hitting women at the ripe old age of 57.
So much of his life suddenly seemed to make sense. The vague "illnesses" his mother had throughout his childhood. The way his big sister Honor would randomly come into the room and declare she wanted to play hide and seek—and insist that he be the one to hide.
Logan knew his father was a serial cheater who'd served his mother with divorce papers on her 37th birthday. He'd always presumed it was for a younger woman. But now, knowing that he was a serial abuser as well—he wondered if that was the reason after all.
Of course, whatever the reason, after the divorce Honor had gone to live with their mother, and he had been forced to stay with his father—that is, when they both weren't being shipped off to boarding schools. He'd visit with his Mom on occasion, but more often than not, she'd be at some charity function or just "not feel well." When she was around, she could barely stand to look at him.
Logan had nothing more than a perfunctory relationship with his mother and he'd always blamed that on her. But now he knew the real reason was because of his father. Because when Shira Huntzberger looked at Logan, all she saw was Mitchum's heir—and not just in business.
"So, I'm guessing that didn't go well?"
Logan turned around to face Mathew. He'd always gotten along with his father's assistant, a man just a few years younger than him with dreams of becoming the next big American author. But right now, looking at him just stirred his anger even more.
"Did you know?" he raged.
"Know what?" Mathew asked with narrowed eyes.
"Don't play stupid."
The assistant still looked stumped for a moment, but then a realization dawned. "Oh," he leaned back against his desk with his arms crossed. "You mean Gilmore." He gritted his teeth.
"Yeah," Logan replied snidely, "I mean Gilmore."
"Well, not 'officially,'" he said, "But, there are only so many excuses a man can come up with to be alone with a hot, young reporter before it becomes blatantly obvious."
Logan didn't answer, not trusting himself to speak at the moment. He just continued to glare.
"What?" Mathew shrugged. "My boss's private life isn't my business and it all seemed consensual."
"Yeah, I bet it was real consensual when he hit her."
"What!?" Mathew stood up, his face imploring. "Logan, no! I swear I had no idea about that."
Logan took a moment to look the assistant up and down. Mathew's shock and horror seemed genuine. He let the tension in his shoulders subside slightly. "If you mean that," his voice firm and unwavering, he pointed towards his father's door, "you'll make sure she never walks into that office alone with him again."
Mathew fidgeted uncomfortably. Logan knew it was a lot to ask. Mitchum was a powerful man. And Mathew had dreams. Crossing his father could cost him everything. "I'll do what I can," he offered.
Logan nodded, then pulled a small, sterling silver card holder from his briefcase, retrieving a card with his personal contact information. "If anything does happen; with Rory or, you know, you just want to chat about," he shrugged casually, "other things that might be going on around here…" He handed off the card.
"You know what you're asking—right?"
"I do."
Mathew nodded. "Good luck, Logan."
It was Friday afternoon, the week after New Year's, when Rory exited off the train platform in Danbury, looking for her mother's Jeep. She'd been giving Lorelai the brush off all week, but she knew she couldn't let it go on forever. They'd only just made up, cutting her off again wasn't an option. But confessing what had happened in the short time since Christmas—it wasn't going to be pretty.
At least the bruises had started to fade and it no longer hurt to take a deep breath. She had to hope that time would mute her mother's reaction as much as it had her injuries. The physical ones, at least. The emotional ones were harder to put behind her, especially with Mitchum's relentless attempts to get her to talk to him.
He'd stopped trying to return the ring, but other presents made their way to her desk each morning. Walking to her cubicle these days was its own, mini panic attack, just wondering what would be waiting there for her. Elaborate bouquets of flowers. Fancy chocolates. Even expensive jewelry and a first addition copy of Sense and Sensibility. She'd toss the flowers and candy in the trash can just outside of his office, hoping he'd see. The more valuable gifts were sitting in a box in her bottom desk drawer, waiting for an opportunity to be returned.
People were definitely noticing. She'd received plenty of looks throughout the office, and more than one direct question about who was trying to woo her.
The gifts always came with a letter as well. She'd finally given in and read it on Thursday. It had been pretty much what she'd been expecting: flowery worded apologies, talk of how much he loved and missed her, abundant flattery, and pleading for another chance. He hadn't wanted to hurt her; he'd just been overcome by jealousy, he'd written. He knew he hadn't been the best boyfriend in the past, but he loved her and the thought of losing her was too much to handle. If she gave him another chance he would do better, be better; he would be the man she deserved.
The letter was good, as she'd known it would be. And a part of her wanted to believe him. Hell, a part of her did believe him. Or at least believed that he believed. But when she closed her eyes, she could still see the rage in his eyes, the little balls of spittle on the corners of his mouth. She could still smell the vanilla candles, mixing with the scent of pine from the elaborate 8-foot, Douglas Fir Christmas Tree in his apartment. And most of all, she could still feel the weight of his fingers gripping her arm and the blow of his foot against her stomach. She could still experience the terror of gasping for air as the wind was knocked out of her.
He'd tried to summon her to his office several times throughout the week. That was easy enough to avoid. She'd just ignore the requests. No one would know but him—and Mathew. And she got the distinct impression Mathew knew more than he let on. She'd always figured he'd known about the relationship—he'd have to be an idiot not to have figured it out; and Mathew wasn't an idiot. But now, when he called her desk to relay the message, he seemed nervous about it.
What was much harder to ignore was Mitchum's attempt to hold her back after the staff meeting earlier that day. "Ms. Gilmore, I need to speak with you," he'd stated matter-of-factly as soon as he'd adjourned the meeting. He kept his eyes trained on the leather-bound portfolio in front of him, his posture completely relaxed. Her heart had been on over-drive already, sitting in the same room as him while surrounded by 30 other people; the thought of being alone with him was enough to make her feel like she was going to faint, Scarlett O'Hara style. But what could she do? She couldn't ignore a direct request made in front of the entire features department. And there was no one there to help her. As a lowly fact checker, Chase wasn't part of the meeting. And Logan was gone. She'd seen movers wheeling boxes of his things from his office on a dolly Monday afternoon and she hadn't heard from him since.
As one by one, her fellow employees filed out of the room, the bile crawled its way up her throat; especially as she'd caught him sneaking occasional glances her way.
Finally, the room had emptied out except for her, Mathew, and Mitchum. "Excuse me, Sir, I need to run something by you quickly. It will just take a second." Mathew was standing just behind Mitchum's right shoulder, holding a couple of files out. He looked at Rory, a look that said, now's your chance.
"Not now," Mitchum replied angrily, thrusting Mathew's hand away. He turned to her, she was halfway to the door. "Rory," he commanded. "Stop." She didn't respond, just kept moving, even as she could sense him standing up and following. She pushed the door to the conference room back open and escaped into the bustling newsroom. She turned back to see Mitchum shooting an angry glare over his shoulder at Mathew. She really hoped she hadn't gotten him in trouble.
"Aren't you supposed to stick your thumb out?" Lorelai asked, breaking Rory from her thoughts as she pulled up beside her and rolled down the window. "Maybe hike your skirt up and show a little leg?"
"It's too cold for that, and besides, I got you to stop without having to show skin so it seems a little superfluous. If there's one thing I learned in the big city, it's never to offer more than necessary."
"Smart girl."
Rory opened the passenger door, throwing her bag in the back seat and climbing in. "Ugh," she groaned as the Def Leppard song, Poor Some Sugar on Me belted from the speakers. "I hate this song."
Lorelai gasped as she pulled the Jeep out onto I-84. "What?! Blasphemy! This is a classic, Kid."
"It's obnoxious. And unhygienic," Rory argued.
"Hey, food stuff is fun…and it has yet to give me a yeast infection, so…"
"Eww, Mom. TMI."
"You're such a prude, are you sure you're my daughter?"
Rory shrugged. "A switched at birth scenario would explain a lot."
They continued their lighthearted banter the rest of the way home. When they got there, Rory headed to her bedroom located just off the kitchen and unpacked her bag. When she finally made her way out, her mother was sitting at the kitchen table, two cups of coffee and a pint of Americone Dream with her.
Rory wished she could slink back into her bedroom, but it was no use. Lorelai had been stationed there waiting for her, and when Lorelai was determined to talk, there was no getting out of it.
"So," she started, sliding a mug across the table. "How about you tell Mommy all about your break-up." It wasn't a question.
Rory sat, wrapping her hands around the mug and staring forlornly down at the steaming contents inside. "It's…complicated."
Lorelai raised an eyebrow at that. "Did you not do it?" She was trying to sound nonchalant, like she would support her either way, but Rory knew Lorelai's blood pressure had just spiked 20 millimeters of mercury.
"No, I did."
"Good." Lorelai's shoulder's sagged in relief. "So, what's the complication then? Is he giving you trouble at work?"
Rory took a sip of coffee, trying to bide time to work up her courage. "I broke up with him," she reiterated, once she could drag her swallow out no longer. "But my first attempt was kind of a failure." She'd start from the beginning, she supposed. The engagement news was bad, but not as bad as the rest of it.
Lorelai gave a reassuring shrug. "Breaking up with someone isn't easy," she said, "even when it's right. It's okay if it took more than one try."
"No," Rory shook her head, "you don't understand. When I say it was a failure, I mean it was the complete opposite of what I set out to do."
Lorelai narrowed her eyes in confusion. "So, like, you had break-up sex or something?" Rory noticed her mother suppressing a grimace.
Rory slowly looked up to meet her mom's gaze. "Look, I want to tell you what happened, really, I do. But I need you to promise me that you won't say anything until I'm done."
"Why not?"
"Because I just…I need to get it out uninterrupted. I need you to promise. Not a word."
Lorelai gave a concerned frown. "Okay, not a word," she agreed.
"No matter what."
"Really, Rory you can tell me."
Rory looked around for a minute, then abruptly stood up. "One second…" She held up a finger before turning and disappearing into the living room. She reemerged a moment later carrying a throw pillow. "Here," she handed it to her mother.
Lorelai gave the pillow a quizzical look. "What's this for?"
"It's for you to smash your face into when you want to scream."
"Okay, you're starting to scare me. It can't be that bad."
Rory sat back in her chair, leaning her forearms on the table and rubbing her hands together anxiously. It was time to pull off the Band-Aid. "Well, you see, last week I got engaged."
Rory watched as Lorelai's eyes went wide. The pillow, it turned out, came in handy as her mother stuffed the corner in her mouth, biting down. Rory went on, telling the whole story, from the engagement, to Logan walking in on them, to the fight and her running after him, about how she'd tried to return the ring to Mitchum the next day and about how he'd reacted violently. She'd couched the extent of the beating a little…and the part about Logan drunkenly kissing her, but for the most part, she told the truth, until finally it was all out.
Lorelai sat silently for a moment, her face expressionless. "Are you done?" she finally asked.
Rory nodded.
"Good." Lorelai pushed back her chair and stood up, dropping the throw pillow on the floor. "He's going to die."
"Mom, calm down."
Lorelai turned towards the front of the house. "Luke has a hunting rifle still in his old apartment above The Diner."
"Mom, stop it. You are not going all vigilante. I don't need you to wind up in jail for murder."
"I think the jury would let me off on this one," Lorelai snarked.
"That's not funny."
Lorelai spun back around to face her daughter. "This is not, okay. None of this is okay." Her hands waved wildly around as she ranted. "He can't get away with this. And what the hell were you thinking? Not going to the police? Not going to the hospital? We are taking you to the doctor—now!"
"I'm not going to the doctor. It's been over a week. And Paris checked me out. I'm fine."
"With all due respect to Paris," Lorelai sneered, "I want someone with letters behind their name to check you out. In a medical facility. With actual diagnostic equipment."
Rory had managed to keep her cool through the whole story. She was a degree detached, like she was telling someone else's tale. But now that it was over and her mother was freaking out, like she knew she would, Rory couldn't stay detached any longer. Her chest was getting tighter, her eyes were getting wetter. She was one step away from a total melt down.
"Mom, please," she begged, her voice catching noticeably. "I know you mean well, but this is not what I need right now."
The tremor in Rory's voice must have gotten through to her. She stopped and looked at her daughter, tears spilling out of the younger woman's eyes as she shook back and forth. "Oh, Kid," she breathed out. In an instant she was by her side, giving her daughter the biggest hug she'd had in years. "I hate him," Lorelai whispered, as she stroked her daughter's back. Her voice was calm and sympathetic this time though, instead of angry. "I really hate him."
"Me too," Rory sniffled.
"I'm so sorry, Kid. But I promise you, I'm here, and we're going to figure this out. Together."
And for the first time since it had happened, for the first time since she could even really remember, Rory felt safe, as she sobbed into her mother's arms.
AN: So there you have it. Another chapter. Some more insight into Mitchum's messed up mind. A father-son show down. Some background on Logan's past and his relationship with Shira for LoveRocket09. And of course, some mother-daughter bonding. Let me know what you thought. Reviews are some of my favorite things!