There had been very few moments in Logan Huntzberger's life when he hadn't known exactly what he wanted. Very few times where he'd hesitated in going after it. Logan Huntzberger was a man of action; he didn't hem and haw, he didn't hesitate—he did. And yet here he stood, lingering on the wrap around porch of a quaint, blue, colonial house.
He glanced over his shoulder, shaking off the strange sensation of being watched. There was no one there. He steeled his shoulders, lifted his chin, and pressed the doorbell.
Silence ensued. He shifted nervously back and forth as he waited for an answer. An old Jeep Wrangler was parked in the gravel driveway, so he assumed someone was there. Although maybe they'd walked somewhere. It was a small enough town; the main square he'd driven through was only two blocks away. Maybe they weren't home. Maybe they'd gone for breakfast, or shopping. Maybe this was the universe's way of telling him to get in his car and go.
But it turned out the universe had other plans; or no plans at all. Either way, just as he was about to turn heel and run, the door swung open to reveal Rory, dressed in a plain white tee-shirt and a pair of light blue pajama pants with drawings of chocolate donuts and little, steaming mugs.
"Hey," he greeted anxiously. "Can we talk?'
Her mouth opened and closed a few times, her lips pursing together. "Oh, umm, of course," she finally said, stepping aside and gesturing inside. She crossed her arms self-consciously over her chest, drawing attention to the fact that she clearly wasn't wearing a bra. He felt his body react despite himself.
Forcing his eyes away from her chest, he walked the way she'd indicated, through an archway, past what appeared to be a stuffed, mechanical rabbi, and into an eclectically decorated living room.
"I should, ummm…" he heard Rory mumble behind him. He turned back to face her again. "Ummm, have a seat," she motioned to the sofa. "I'm just gonna, uh, well," she looked down at what she was wearing. "I'll be right back."
"Of course," he acknowledged. "I'm sorry for dropping in so suddenly." He should have called but he hadn't had the courage. He'd been trying to build up the nerve to come here for days, ever since Stephanie had informed him she'd finally quit The Voice. He'd needed to take advantage of that morning's fleeting moment of resolve before it subsided again.
"No," she shook her head. "It's fine. Just, uh, make yourself comfortable." He watched as she disappeared through another archway into, from what he could tell from where he was standing, the kitchen.
"It's him," he heard her say to someone in a whisper.
"Him!?" another woman hissed, clearly displeased.
"NO!" Rory shouted, then continued on again in a hush. "Not him him. It's Logan." Involuntarily he felt himself being drawn closer to them. He busied himself looking at the pictures on the wall as he strained to hear their conversation.
"Oh, well that's good," the other woman replied. "Maybe he's here to offer you that job again."
"I don't know why he's here, but I just answered the door in my coffee pajamas. And I'm not wearing a bra!" He felt a small smile pull at the corner of his lips. Her clear discomfort with the situation, he had to admit, soothed his own nerves a little.
There was silence for a beat. "Do not make that face!" he heard Rory scold.
"What face?"
"You know what face." He could imagine the disgruntled pout on Rory's own visage. "Ugh, I have to go change. And you need to leave—through the back.
"I'm in my pajamas too." The other woman protested.
"So? Go to Babette's she won't care."
"No, but she will ask why I had to sneak out the back door in my pajamas."
"Fine, you can borrow some of my clothes."
Logan retreated back into the center of the living room in time to hear the opening and closing of a door. He took off his coat, hanging it on a coat rack, then sat down on the sofa, setting his briefcase down at his feet and picking up a copy of In Style Magazine from the coffee table. He flipped absentmindedly through the pages.
Finally, he heard the sound of a door again and Rory reentered the room wearing a pair of jeans and a burgundy sweater. Her hair was let down out of its messy bun, cascading over her shoulders in waves. She was as effortlessly beautiful as always.
"Hey," she greeted with a nervous smile.
"Hey," he smiled back, setting his magazine back down on the coffee table.
There was awkward silence again for a minute as Rory stood, fiddling her thumbs. Finally, she took a seat in a navy blue armchair next to the couch he was sitting on. "So," she started.
Logan reached up, scratching the back of his neck as he tried to figure out what to say next. "So," he repeated, unable to come up with anything better.
"You wanted to talk?" she asked.
"Oh, yeah, ummm, right," he answered shaking his head. There was silence again for a beat. "This is weird," he finally admitted, hoping just saying it out loud would ease the tension.
"Yeah," she agreed.
"Stephanie told me where you were. She said you quit?"
"Last week," she confirmed.
Logan breathed a sigh of relief. Partly because the farther away she was from Mitchum, the safer she was, and partly because he needed to know she'd cut those final ties to his father and to Huntzberger Publishing Group, before he could have this conversation with her. It would feel wrong, doing this behind her back—like he was victimizing her all over again. But he also couldn't risk that she'd go back to him and tell him everything. He needed to be able to trust her and he didn't know how he could do that, but he knew he needed to find a way.
"My offer stands, you know," he informed her.
"Offer?" she furrowed her brow in confusion.
"I can talk to Hugo for you. Get you an interview."
"Oh, umm," she looked down into her lap, gnawing on her lip.
"Really, Rory, you'd be doing him a favor," he assured her. "The site is growing rapidly; he needs as much new talent as he can get."
She picked at her cuticle, continuing to stare at her digits. She inhaled shakily. "Thanks," she finally said, glancing up at him. "That would be really helpful."
"No problem."
The conversation came to another deafening halt. Logan's eyes flitted around the room, noticing the plethora of framed family photos and the charming, if not unusual, tchotchkes that were scattered about.
"So, was that it?" Rory broke the silence once more.
"Oh, umm, no," he shook his head. "That wasn't it. I umm…" he closed his eyes, his teeth clenching together. He held his breath for a moment before finally blurting out. "Can I trust you?"
Rory blinked disconcertedly. "Umm…"
"I want to trust you," he continued on. "I need to trust you."
"You can trust me," she said, leaning forward expectantly. He looked up into her eyes; that deep well of blue. She seemed sincere, but when he looked into those eyes, he'd believe almost anything. Even after a betrayal so profound it had shaken the very core of his identity and derailed the entire course of his future.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
She nodded ardently
"Because if what I'm about to say gets back to him…if he finds out about this before…" The element of surprise was all he had in his favor here. If his father knew what he was planning, he'd be able to stop it. He had the power and the resources to silence this. If he knew too soon, it was all over.
"I promise," she assured him. "I know you have no reason to believe me, but I swear, Logan, I am done. It's over. Nothing you say will get back to him, not through me anyway."
"If he tries to contact you, I need to know."
"Logan…" she started to protest.
"No!" he declared resolutely, stopping whatever objection she was about to utter. "That's the only way this works. Complete transparency. I want to let you in on this. You deserve to be a part of it. But it only works if I can trust you."
She nodded her head. "Okay," she agreed.
"Okay?" he asked, needing to hear it again for confirmation.
"Okay," she repeated. "If he contacts me, if anyone from HPG contacts me, hell, if his plumber contacts me…whatever you want, I'll tell you," she assured him. "I know you don't trust me yet, but I trust you. So anything you want me to tell you, anything you need to know…" She trailed off, letting the open-ended statement just linger there. Anything. He wasn't sure he was ready for 'anything,' which was ironic because in college he belonged to a secret society whose motto was 'In Omnia Paratus' which literally translated to, 'ready for anything.'
Logan decided it was best just to concentrate on the matter at hand. He reached down to grab the Italian Leather briefcase at his feet. He undid the clip opening the front flap and pulling a stack of color coordinated file folders out to lay on the table in front of them. "My father's bad behavior didn't start with you, and it's not going to end with you," he informed her matter-of-factly. "Not unless we make it."
He glanced up, watching as her eyes squeezed shut and her chest rose. She held the breath for a moment before exhaling her answer, "I know, but Logan…." She shook her head despondently. She didn't need to finish her 'but.' He knew all the objections that lay beyond the ellipse. He'd considered them all a million times. And it had to be exponentially harder for her. A part of his heart wished that she would agree instantaneously; say she would go on the record, give up every piece of information she had about him; say that she would do everything in her power to crush Mitchum Huntzberger and make him pay. He wished her answer would cast away any and all concerns that she might still harbor even an iota of care for the man who had made both their lives hell. But his head knew better than that. And besides, it wouldn't make a difference either way. She'd told him, that night in the snow, that if he knew the truth about her he'd never look at her the same away again. He hadn't believed her then, but it turned out she was right. As much as a part of him still ached for her, nothing could undo the image of her standing in his father's living room wearing nothing but his shirt. He never would be able to look at her the same way again because every time he tried, he would always see that image.
"I won't ask you to do anything you're not comfortable with…" he paused, "Well, actually I'll ask, but you don't have to. The main thing I need from you right now is your blessing. And maybe a little advice."
"My…blessing?" she asked wearily.
"Once I hand these files off, there's no undoing it. Information will come out. I'll do everything in my power to keep you anonymous if you choose not to go on the record, but there are no guarantees."
"On the record?" she repeated uncertainly. "So all this is for…" she motioned to the stacks of files.
"A story," he confirmed. "A big one. And not just about my father. He and the board have been covering up for other bad actors…." he paused to pick up a rather thick file. "Jeffery Peterson…" he reminded. She was the one to bring Peterson to his attention in the first place. He noticed her wince at the name.
"What?" he asked, bringing the file back down to the table and raising his gaze to meet hers.
"It's nothing," she started.
"Rory," he admonished. It was barely a minute ago she'd promised him full transparency. That she'd promised to tell him anything he wanted to know. Was she seriously going to go back on her word already?
He waited anxiously as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth then slowly released it. Breathing deeply, she spoke. "It's just, I think he might have known something about…well, you know. Because he'd never really bothered me before. But as soon as things ended, he started getting…inappropriate."
"Inappropriate how?" he asked. It was bad enough he had to have the image of his father's hands all over her. If he had to think of another pervy old man touching her…
"Just, you know, creepy looks, a pat on the back, a squeeze of the shoulder... Mitchum must have told him to pull me off all my articles so he had me fact checking and writing obituaries and then he said he wanted to 'help me out.' He suggested we meet for drinks to discuss my work. Nothing happened though. I didn't go."
Logan felt sick. He'd heard a similar story from two other women already, only theirs had a different ending. Something had happened. Something they hadn't actually wanted to happen.
He took a couple of deep, centering breaths. "Thank you for telling me," was all he could manage to say.
"How are you going to do this, Logan?" she asked. "You have to know Mitchum will never let this come out. He'll do anything to stop it. He's got the money, the connections, the lawyers, the power. He has everything. He's Goliath and no offense, but given the current circumstances, you're basically some kid with a sling shot."
"Well then, I'll have to have really good aim."
"It's a huge conflict of interest. No outlet will run it," she continued to list her objections.
"Yeah," Logan nodded. "At first, I kind of tried to convince myself I could make it work by just focusing on Peterson, but someone helped me see the light there. That's kind of where I need your advice."
"Advice on what?"
"Writers," he replied, pushing the folders aside and pulling out a notebook. "As you pointed out, I can't write this piece. Which means I need to find us a writer we can trust to do it for us. I've come up with a list of five journalists I think could be good. They're solid investigative reporters with the backing of major, non-Huntzberger owned, publications. Their portfolios are solid. They've all gone up against big names before."
"So what do you need my advice for?"
"I can't know, what it's like, Rory; how it feels. I can't know the pressure these women felt, or the confusion, the fear, the powerlessness. And I imagine that most of them want to forget about what happened to them and just try to move forward with their lives. But if we're going to stop my father, and Peterson, and all the other men like them out there; if we're going to bring to light an entire culture of abuse and exploitation, then we're going to need them to come forward. So, we don't just need a reporter who can dig up dirt and put the screws to men like Mitchum, we need a reporter that these women will feel comfortable talking to."
Rory nodded, taking the note pad from him. "Pro-con lists?" she asked, glancing up at him with a small smile. She'd mentioned to him before that she used pro-con lists to make most of the big decisions in her life. He hadn't really thought about it at the time, but maybe she had influenced him a little.
"I heard they can be helpful." Her smile grew and he couldn't help the little feeling of warmth it brought to his chest. He watched as she flipped through the pages with his notes on the reporters.
"It shouldn't be too big of a name," she noted. "I know you need a writer who can hold up under the pressure that Mitchum is going to bring, but you don't want that kind of power dynamic. You want these women to come forward with their stories about being taken advantage of by men of power within the industry; they're not going to tell their stories to the colleagues those men are sharing war stories with over cigars and brandy. And honestly," she added. "I hate to say this, but a woman might not be right here either. There's still a lot of competition in the field, this feeling like there aren't enough seats at the table for all the women. There could be some veiled antipathy." She got quiet again as she examined the lists. "I'd say your guy is Jackson Andrews."
"Andrews?" he repeated. He was a little surprised. He almost hadn't put him on the list considering how green he was, but Honor had suggested him.
"Yeah, he's young and charismatic—seems easy to talk to. He's withstood a bit of scandal with his own father so he can probably take the heat. He's shown himself to be an advocate for women before; he did that piece on sexual assault on college campuses. Also, I think he might be gay, which could help the women feel more at ease."
Logan nodded his head. If both Honor and Rory thought he was right for the job he supposed he should listen. "Okay then."
"Okay," Rory nodded. The awkward silence returned. "Oh, did you want something to drink? I never…"
Logan shook his head. "I'm good."
Another pause.
"There's something else I need from you," he finally said.
"What's that?" she asked.
Logan grimaced slightly before asking, "You told me once that you knew two women who Peterson had…inappropriate relationships with…"
"Logan," she replied regretfully.
"You said you'd be honest with me."
"This is different," she responded. "This isn't my thing to tell."
He shook his head. "I know, I'm sorry."
Rory exhaled, her shoulders slumping. "Listen, I know you're a good guy and you want to help. But to these women, you're just a man whose name is on the building where they were taken advantage of. I can't give you their names. But, maybe, after I talk to Andrews, we'll see. Maybe I can reach out to them."
He sat up hopefully. "So you'll talk to him?" he asked.
"On background," Rory specified. "I'm sorry, Logan, but I'm not ready to go on the record with this. It's just…it's too much."
"No, that's fine," he assured her eagerly. He was just happy she was willing to engage with this at all. He would forge ahead either way, but he was pretty sure he'd hate himself for it if she'd asked him not to. "I told you, you don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with."
"Thank you."
"No, thank you." He glanced nervously around the room as the silence engulfed them once again. "I should…go," he said, standing up from his seat on the sofa.
"Yeah, Umm, I'm sure you have a long drive," she agreed, standing up with him. He bent down to gather his files, stuffing them back in his briefcase. When he stood back up, he saw that she had stepped out from around the coffee table so she could walk him back out. She was standing between him and the door now. He took a step forward, the gap between them shrinking slightly.
"It was good to see you, Logan." He let his eyes run over her; the slight flush in her cheeks, the uneasy way she pushed her hair behind her ear, the nervous way she picked at her cuticle. And yet, somehow, there was something else he saw as well; the square of her shoulders, the lift of her chin, the drive in her bright blue eyes. Beneath her worried exterior she seemed…free. He smiled at her.
"It was good to see you too, Rory."
It was late. Most of the office had cleared out. He pulled a bottle of scotch out from his lower desk drawer and poured himself a glass. He took a sip, leaning back in his desk chair and taking in the sounds of silence through the open doors that led to the normally boisterous newsroom.
He saw the man approaching from afar. He pulled out an empty glass for his companion and set it next to his.
"Mr. Hutzberger," the visitor greeted with a thick Russian accent.
"Do you have anything?" he asked.
"Would I be here if I didn't?"
Mitchum nodded, pouring whiskey into the second tumbler, but he didn't pass it over yet. "And?"
The Russian brandished a manilla envelope and passed it over. Mitchum opened it, pulling out a stack of photos.
"The ones in front are from today."
He took in the first picture; a blue house he'd seen in other photos before; photos of Rory's. Only this time a familiar looking Porsche was parked in the driveway. He flipped the page to see his son standing on the porch. There was a photo through the window of Logan standing alone in the living room. Another of him sitting on the couch with Rory on a chair caddy-corner to him. And yet another of two of them standing just inches apart, staring at each other.
His teeth ground together in a combination of fury and determination. He sipped his own scotch, pushing the second glass to his companion who had clearly earned the single malt beverage.
"Has he been there before?" he asked.
"Not since I've been following him. But if you keep looking, you'll see he's met with a few other women."
Mitchum flipped through the rest of the pages, landing on a photo of Logan sitting across the table from a cute, brunette girl in a café. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place her.
"She used to work here," The Russian informed him. "The other one too." Mitchum flipped through a few more frames to see a similar image of Logan at a bar with a different woman.
"You sure they're not just dates?" he asked for confirmation.
The Russian shook his head. "He brought his laptop with him. And he had folders. Plus, they kept their distance. It was definitely business."
"Do you have the girls' names?"
The man nodded, pulling a folded-up piece of loose leaf out of his pocket and tossing it Mitchum's way. Mitchum wrinkled his nose up at the paper, but accepted it, unfolding it to see names, phone numbers, and addresses for the women in the pictures.
He pulled open the top drawer of his desk, retrieving a rather full envelope and handing it over. "Keep on him," he instructed. "I want to know exactly what my son is up to."
AN: So after quite a few chapters apart, our favorite duo is back in the same room together. How do you think it went? I know a lot of you thought Logan might ask Rory to write the article but she, arguably, has an even greater conflict of interest than Logan. It had to be a neutral third party. But Logan would never want to blindside Rory with an article like this. He'd at least want her approval and ideally, her cooperation. But he's torn because he still doesn't completely trust that she won't go back to Mitchum and tell him what he's up to. Of course, it looks like Mitchum won't need Rory to tell him what Logan is up to. You didn't expect Mitchum to not have something up his sleeve, did you? As always, please leave me some honest reviews to let me know what you think, and maybe grace me with some of your theories. I'm a little under the weather today and awaiting the results of my COVID test so I think reviews would be excellent medicine!