Chapter Eighteen
Mitchum Huntzberger was big, not the large slovenly mass given to over-eating or sloth, but the largeness attributed to a man who had much. Too much, perhaps, but, nevertheless, he had much: much money, much power: much respect; much importance; much influence. Mitchum was a solid man, due in equal parts to his great muchness and the college football he played at Yale. His body and will, filled with the resolve and strength his position in life afforded him, refused any weakness, had, in fact, hammered such impurities form himself long ago and leaving behind a body of iron will and fire-hardened steely strength. It seemed only natural, therefore, for Mitchum Huntzberger to fill a room despite his average height and appearance. It was his way—as was the way of many who had much, and the confidence that came with such vast quantities—to quietly slip into a room with arrogant humility and observe those around while they remained unaware of his presence. Inevitably, he commanded their attention, but the damage would be done, and Mitchum Huntzberger would have the upper hand.
Such were Rory's thoughts when she had first met Mitchum Huntzberger: much. She had always prided herself on her ability to read people. Dean was safe and innocent. Jess was hurting but reaching out. Logan, despite his own protestations, was decent and loving. She was confident that while Mitchum Huntzberger was a tiger in the Pit, he was simply a perceptive businessman and was more akin to a cuddly bear than a dangerous predator. In the weeks that she had been working at the Stamford Herald, she had found no evidence to the contrary. True to the sanctified bonds of the internship, Mitchum had taken her under his wing and supported her. He reviewed each article she submitted with a harsh captiousness that would shame even most exacting and analytical of professors. Each article was returned to her marked in red, covered in notes, and with a demand for a rewrite due in an hour to make copy layout.
Her articles always went to press.
She was glad for the challenge; came to crave it. A glimmer of satisfaction in his eye, or a grunt of appreciation at a clever turn of phrase meant far more to her than a simple 'A' on a term paper, or praise from a professor. Those people molded their students, forcing them to fit a standard of quality that suited only their discerning eyes. Mitchum Huntzberger, however, forged his workers; imperfections and weakness were beaten from them beneath the blazing fury of his exceptive pen. They were the stronger for it.
Now, a month into her internship, Rory found herself scanning her paper for flaws with an eye honed and sharpened at the anvil of the Stamford Herald. She sniffed in frustration; this particular sentence was all wrong, it refused to rewrite itself into a better form. She shrugged, as anger flowed from her like water through a river. She would conquer this. She had turned the repaving of a parking lot into a masterpiece of sentimentalism and she had transformed the saddening account of a country's struggle to heal into a personal and moving piece that touched on everyone's lives. She would succeed at this.
Warm hands wound their way around her shoulders and a pair of lips tenderly placed feathery kisses on her neck, forcing her to tare her gaze from the screen. "Working hard or hardly working?"
"Hey." Her heart skipped a beat at his boyish grin.
He grinned contentedly. "I was thinking sushi tonight, my treat."
Rory's nose crinkled in distaste. "The wasabi makes your breath all stinky and horseradishy"
"It does?" She nodded. "What do you want? How 'bout that Indian food you like so much?" Rory nodded and kissed him passionately. "I'll take that as a yes." She kissed him again. "Of course, we could just keep doing this until my dad finds us. That'll give him a nice visual for what goes on in your bedroom." Rory's cheeks burned in embarrassment and she pushed him away with a chuckle.
"Tandori chicken sounds great." She pointed towards her bed. "Wait there and we'll leave when I'm done."
"Bossy!" Logan grinned and collapsed onto the bed. "You're really digging this whole modern woman persona, aren't you?"
"It has its definite advantages. " She beamed, her momentary irritation evaporating in the bright fire of Logan's energetic and welcoming smile. Rory turned to her screen and shrugged as she saved the article. The due date for her piece was in three days, which gave her plenty of time to revisions. Dinner tonight would not hurt her piece. She linked her arm with her boyfriend's and led him through the common room passed Paris' withering glare and out into the courtyard. "What's this?" She pointed towards a black SUV filled with members of the Life and Death Brigade.
"I thought I'd invite you on a little Brigade business." Logan's eyes twinkled with mischief.
"What about the tandori chicken?"
"We'll get that on the way."
"On the way to where?"
"That, Love, would be telling." Finn's Australian accent, thickened by a great quantity of alcohol, tripped its way across the grounds. "Now get your bloody arse in here quick so we can leave! I'm bloody freezing out here!"
Rory shook her head in mock dismay; Finn could be such a character. "So, where are we going? I have an article due in four days."
"You think we'd keep you out that long?" Rory shot Collin a look. "Right, well, this is different, right Logan?"
The blond boy laughed and nodded as he began to massage Rory's shoulders. "Relax, Ace. We're just going on a little outing. We'll be back in plenty of time. Promise."
She leaned into his hands, her flesh dissolving into soft pliant clay. "You're sure?" Her voice became a breathy purr of comfort as his hands continued their ministrations. She forgot everything save the ecstasy of his touch.
Three days later, Rory remembered her article.
"Oh my God!" Her fist smacked something into Logan's throat as she threw herself out of the cot of they shared. "Logan! We have to go!"
Logan's mouth worked in futility as he tired to force words passed his damaged larynx. "What's wrong?"
"My article is due tomorrow morning and I haven't even revised it! Ill barely have enough time to print it for your father!"
"So email it to him when we get back."
"People don't do that to Mitchum Huntzberger. You just don't do that to your employer period." She scrabbled over to her pack and took out her phone.
"Well, I'm your boyfriend, so you have some clout."
Rory shook her head furiously. "No. It's bad enough I got the job because of my connection with you, I'm not going to force him to play favorites because of it now." She anxiously paced about the room. "Please, please, please pick up."
"Who ever you are, you had better be dying or very far away from me." Rory cringed and held the phone a little farther from her ear. Paris did not sound pleased, nor did she sound particularly tired at such a late hour at night.
"Paris, it's me Rory."
"Of course it is who else would have a reason to call me at three in the morning?"
"I know this is bad, and believe I'll make it up to you for waking you."
"I wasn't sleeping."
"Oh." Rory's cheeks burned in embarrassment. "Can you do me a favor?"
"What?"
"Can you print my article and get it to the Stamford Herald by three?"
"Why can't you?" The gild paused. "For that matter, where are you?"
"Vermont. Logan and his friends were initiating some new members to the group this weekend."
"Oh." She did not sound pleased.
"Will you? Please?"
"Yeah, sure, whatever. But, the next time Logan sleeps over, I'm going to intrude on you two just as you're about to finally reach climax."
Rory giggled, despite her shudder, as she heard an indignant squawk in the background. "Night Paris, and thanks." She clicked her phone shut and slid back onto the cot with Logan. "Problem solved." Their lips met in a kiss, and then they drifted to sleep.