Somebody Else's Page

by abc79-de

Rory/Logan. Slightly AU. What if Logan managed to take a little less time off during his college career and made it through without overlapping Rory's years at Yale? She's about to start her first internship at the Stamford Gazette, just as it's being taken over by the Huntzbergers. Story title from a Modest Mouse song, called Missed the Boat. COMPLETE.

4. Could We Change the Subject Now?

Story: Somebody Else's Page

Chapter: Could We Change the Subject Now?

Description: Rory/Logan. Slightly AU. What if Logan managed to take a little less time off during his college career and made it through without overlapping Rory's years at Yale? She's about to start her first internship at the Stamford Gazette, just as it's being taken over by the Huntzbergers.

Disclaimer: I write fan fiction. I own none of these characters. None of this happened on the show, which is the whole point of fan fiction. You get the idea.

Rory opened her dorm room door late the next morning, to see her mother smiling excitedly despite waiting in the chilly air for entrance. She was well prepared, in her favorite puffy winter coat, and a colorful matching knit hat and scarf.

"Morning!"

"Shhh!" Rory urged in a hushed tone as she let her mother into the warm confines of the common area.

Lorelai took a few steps in, but stopped short as she took in the prominent change to the scenery. "Hey. New roomie?"

Rory let out a heavy sigh, without looking to the couch. She'd gotten a good enough view when she first emerged from her room a little earlier. "Nope."

Lorelai gave a little start. "Wait. Did he… follow you home?"

Rory quirked her head in thought. "Not exactly. Think of him like a drunken little puppy that someone took pity on before he could freeze to death."

Lorelai put an affirming hand on her daughter's shoulder. "You have a good heart."

"Not me," Rory contradicted. "Doyle found him outside on our bench and offered use of our couch," she said, using air quotes with the possessive pronoun.

"So, you do have a male roommate," Lorelai said, pointing a finger at her.

"No, Paris has a male roommate with a liberal guest policy," Rory corrected again. "I'm just over there, minding my own business. Did I mention our visitor is my boss?"

Lorelai's eyes widened as she peered at the snoozing blonde. "This is the Huntzberger media king?"

"Not quite—this is the prince."

Lorelai considered him. "Doesn't look much like a prince. I think he lost his crown. Maybe it's in your couch cushions. Why did he come here?"

Rory sighed. "Maybe he never left. He brought me home last night, because he's a bus fascist, and…," she began, but her mother cut her off.

"I'm sorry. A bus fascist?"

"He and I were working late at the office," Rory began again, only to be interrupted a second time.

"Is that code for doing naughty things in the copy room?" Lorelai asked with a motherly cringe.

"No. We were both at the office, working, and were the last two to leave, and he wouldn't let me go to the bus stop by myself at night."

"I like him more already," Lorelai said appreciatively.

"I'm an adult. I can make it home on my own."

"I understand. I fully support your feminist ideals. But as your mommy, I'm glad the nice young man gave you a safe ride home. This was before he ingested the gallon of whiskey, wasn't it?"

Rory sighed. "Can we discuss this at breakfast?"

Lorelai pointed at Logan. "Are you just going to leave him there?"

Rory waved her hand. "He's not my problem. He obviously needs to sleep it off, and Doyle let him in. I need to eat."

Lorelai furrowed her brow. "Okay. But he's your boss, not to mention he's asleep on your couch."

"So?"

"So, what if he wakes up and decides to rifle through your underwear drawer?"

Rory grimaced. "He wouldn't do that. He'll probably wake up realizing he's in a strange place, an event he's surely experienced before in his life, and make for the door as quietly as possible. He can use his key fob to find his car, and he'll go on his way."

"So, we don't like this boss," Lorelai said in a more modulated voice as she followed her daughter into the breezeway.

Rory wound her own scarf around her neck. "What? No, he's an okay boss."

"But you don't like him being at your place," Lorelai pointed out.

"Of course not. It's weird. I mean, he's my boss. He's not a student, and while I can appreciate the ride home on some level, I didn't invite him over. We have a working relationship, and nothing more. He shouldn't be waking up at my place."

Lorelai smiled and patted her gloved hands together. "So, you've thought about it."

Rory jerked to look at her mother. "Thought about what?"

"Thought about him, in a non-work related way," she said with a heavy lilt.

Rory sighed, not wanting to expound on the topic. "He came over with fruit."

Lorelai appeared confused at the tie-in as they continued through the campus. "Last night?"

"No. He brought Doyle, who used to be his editor at the Daily News as well, fruit after I told him that Doyle practically lives at my place. It was supposed to be some sort of peace offering for having to deal with him during his party years."

"It would appear those aren't over yet. But I guess that makes perfect sense, seeing as he's your boss. He can't bring you gifts at home. He has to play his hand just right or he's looking at lawsuits."

"That's insane."

"No, that is the reality of doing business in the real world. Especially for a guy who looks like that and likes to bring fruit to pretty young interns' dorm rooms."

"The fruit wasn't for me!" Rory exclaimed.

"Oh, honey. That fruit was for you," Lorelai said knowingly.

"Can we talk about something other than passion fruit?"

Lorelai let out a bark of laughter. "Good one!"

Rory stared at her quizzically. "What?"

"The joke you made. Passion fruit."

"That wasn't a joke. That's the kind of fruit he brought."

Lorelai let out a whole peal of laughter. "You're not serious?"

"It doesn't matter what kind of fruit it was, it still wasn't for me. It was," Rory began, irritated at her having to repeat herself so much to her mother.

"I know, I know, for Doyle. Just like Doyle was the one that let him in last night?" Lorelai asked skeptically.

"I was as surprised as you were to see him on the couch. The last time I saw him was last night, in his car before I came in alone and went to bed."

"What exactly happened in his car?"

Rory hesitated, knowing her mother would only read more into the honest answer to that question. "He offered to set up a meeting for me with his dad."

"Wait, I know this one. His dad is the media king?"

Rory nodded. "Exactly. It's a huge opportunity."

Lorelai raised a finger in the air. "An opportunity, much like the ride home itself, that would leave you feeling in some way indebted to him? Or in some way desiring to partake of his passion fruit?" Lorelai pitched forward in uncontrollable giggles while getting the last two words out.

"I'm not indebted to him. I mean, sure he gave me a ride home at late hour when I'd have had to endure the cold and possibly sketchy characters on the bus, and yes, he's giving me a chance to have his father's full attention for the length of at least a cup of coffee, and, okay, sure, maybe he shouldn't let an intern do more than make copies, let alone work on layout and proofread final copy, but none of that means I owe him other than my best efforts at the office."

Lorelai put her arm around her daughter's shoulders. "Of course it doesn't. And if you want to sue him for his trying to hock his fruit at your doorstep, I'll make sure you have the top sexual harassment guy in the business."

Rory opened the door to the food hall. "I don't need a guy. Logan might need professional help of some kind, but that's his business. I will certainly give Doyle a piece of my mind about whom he lets crash on our couch, but Logan isn't my problem."

"You call him Logan?" Lorelai asked with raised eyebrows.

Rory handed over her card to the card swiper. "It's his name."

"Yeah, if he was some guy who was bringing you fruit, but he's your boss. Shouldn't you call him something a little more formal than his Christian name?"

Rory handed her mother a tray. "He doesn't like it when people call him Mr. Huntzberger. He seems to have some pretty serious father issues."

Lorelai snorted. "Who doesn't?"

Rory shot her a withering glance. "I'm not discussing Dad."

Lorelai sighed. "That was not my intention. He says hi, though."

"Mom," Rory began.

"He and I are cool. There's no reason for you to be mad at him. He thinks I'm great, is that such a crime?"

"I'm not discussing Dad."

"Which leaves us with the man asleep on your couch," Lorelai said, dropping the other issue for the time being.

"Maybe it leaves us open for a whole other topic altogether. A clean break, doesn't that sound nice? How's work?" she asked, hopeful for her mother to take the hint and grant her a reprieve.

Lorelai put pudding on her tray and followed Rory toward a table. "Funny you should ask. We have this guy who keeps sleeping on our couch."

Rory stared blankly at her mother, wishing for just once, she had the kind of relationship with her mother that didn't involve full disclosure.

-X-

It wasn't the feel of the pen hitting his head that woke him up. That should have done the trick, especially given the sunlight that had been assaulting the side of his face for the better part of the last hour. What finally woke him up was the feel of his feet being lifted up and over the edge of the couch and left to the floor.

"I'm sorry, did my moving you so I could sit on my own couch disturb your beauty sleep?"

Even if he wanted to reply, his mouth was far too dry. He remained reclined from the waist up as he tried to remember what he'd ingested the night before, but his memory was lacking in a certain window of time. The room he saw when he opened his eyes was vaguely familiar, but in the way that most dorm rooms were familiar to someone that had been to college recently. It smelled too inviting to belong to a male, and the girl that was glaring at him was enough of a clue that he was in fact at a girl's dorm room. Except she didn't look like the kind of girl that he'd have a good time with—even at his drunkest state of being. She had definitely not enjoyed any time spent in his company.

"You know the best way to get all the rest you need? By sleeping in your own bed. You do have your own bed, don't you? Because your clothes reek of money, underneath the smell of all that bourbon. So I figure if you can afford those clothes and all that bourbon then you probably have some physical home of your own with a better place to rest than my couch. Unless we're dealing with a domestic situation, and then I can direct you to the nearest shelter if you ask nice."

"Scotch," he managed after her tirade.

Her frown deepened. "Excuse me?"

"It's scotch, not bourbon."

"I have mace and a rape whistle. I also know Krav Maga and have a hot glue gun plugged in for a craft project, so unless you'd like knock raging hangover from the top slot on your current list of ailments, I suggest you find someone outside to discuss your preferences for whiskey with."

"Coffee?" he inquired, not so much asking for a cup from her as a general navigational hint.

"The closest cart is two blocks to the east."

He stood up, staggered back as he caught his balance and patted his jacket for his wallet and car keys. "Thanks. For your couch. And for not being graphic about what you had in mind with the glue gun," he said as he made for the door. A wave of déjà vu hit him even as the pounding of his head got worse. "I've been here before."

"Yeah, well, make sure this is the last time, okay there Sleeping Beauty?" she asked as she shooed him out the door.

He found himself on the other side the slammed door, with no more memory than when he first pried his eyes open. He studied the outside of the door for a minute, and then decided that his inner sense of direction was still intact as he headed east to find the nearest source of coffee.

There was a line, as was his karmic load, and quite a long line at that. He felt suddenly out of place, in his wrinkled suit and dried out skin, the effects of being out too late too far from home at too old an age. Around him were college kids, on their way to or from class, in comfortable clothes that masked any late hours they'd kept or a need for a shower. They had ball caps and loungewear that made them blend into the crowd like co-ed camouflage. He on the other hand was late for work and had just enough time to collect his coffee and make it to his early afternoon meeting with advertisers that had the ability to make or break all his efforts thus far.

He had plenty of time to feel sorry about his state of affairs—for falling back onto such a crutch that he thought he'd begun to outgrow—as he shuffled his way up three or four people in line. He watched each customer leave with a cup of warm sustenance, whether they needed to be alert for a taxing lecture or just enough energy to help him get back to their beds for a late morning nap. He was fully ensconced in his inner monologue and self-pity, when he heard a familiar voice behind him, in the ever-cycling line.

"It's too cold."

"But the coffee will warm us up."

"We just got coffee. It's still in our hands."

"Yeah, but we're almost empty, and we still have a ways 'til we get back to your room."

"My room is right over there."

"But the coffee cart is right here."

Logan turned to see his intern and an equally attractive, though slightly older, woman arguing over the need to be the line they had joined. The déjà vu from earlier resurfaced, and he felt a sinking sensation in his stomach.

"Hey, isn't that your couch crasher?"

It was then he realized he wasn't just staring at Rory, but that they were making reluctant eye contact. He offered a pained smile. She returned the gesture. She wasn't nearly as irritated as the blonde that kicked him out of the suite, but she obviously wasn't thrilled at seeing him so soon again, either.

"Good morning."

"Is it still morning?" Rory asked knowingly.

"How'd you sleep?" Lorelai asked, the only member of the conversation at all entertained by the turn of fate.

"Excuse me?" he asked in return, wondering just who exactly her companion was.

"Mom," Rory chastised, revealing the answer to his unasked question.

"What? He was asleep on your couch. At least you know he doesn't snore."

He couldn't help but try to hide the smile that her commentary inspired. "Did I call you last night?"

Rory stared at him with a chilly indifference. "No. If you'd like to send more fruit by way of apology, you once again are indebted to Doyle."

"You're mad."

Rory shook her head, the gesture somehow cooling the already freezing air around him. "I'm not mad. I think it's weird and inappropriate, but what you do on your own time is none of my business. Though I suppose if you're going to be crashing on my couch and showing up to my place unannounced in general, I'm entitled to my opinion on how you spend your time at my personal expense."

"Let me buy your coffee," he offered, long having let the people between them in line go ahead of him.

Lorelai looked as if she might take him up on the offer, but Rory shook her head firmly in the negative. "I don't need you to do me favors to forgive your bad behavior."

"You are mad."

"I'm not mad. I'm annoyed. I'm put in an awkward position, but I'm not mad."

"I'm sorry," he said. "If it makes you feel any better, your roommate threatened me with bodily harm as she unceremoniously pushed me out of your suite."

Rory folded her arms over her winter wear. "Paris is mean to everyone. It hardly makes you special."

"It's true. She made their high school librarian cry on more than one occasion. She even unleashed her brand of psychological torture on several U.S. Senators, didn't she?" Lorelai asked Rory, trying to pull her out of the moment.

Logan smiled weakly at her mother's attempt to break the icy interaction, but kept his eyes trained on Rory. "Look, I have a meeting to get to, but I feel like I owe you a proper explanation."

Rory shrugged. "You don't owe me anything."

"Even so. Are you busy tomorrow evening? I'll get in touch with my father and I can give you details for that meeting and apologize with more than a cup of coffee."

They'd arrived at the front of the line, and he gave his order and instructed the barista to put both ladies' drinks on his bill.

Rory didn't respond to him until after they all had their drinks. He waited as patiently as he knew how, though he kept an expectant eye on her until she countered. "I suppose I am free tomorrow evening."

His expression brightened from that of hesitation and concern to his much more normal easy-going evenness. "Good. I really do need to get going. It was nice meeting you," he said, turning to her mother.

"Lorelai Gilmore. Proud mother of the best intern you'll ever have."

He nodded his agreement. "We'd be lost without her."

"I'm right here," Rory protested, not enjoying being talked about as if she were absent. "And I'm freezing. We have your coffee, can we go?"

"Tomorrow," he reminded her as he turned to take his leave and find where he might have left his car before he took to excess with the whiskey the night before.

She nodded curtly before she took her leave. "Yeah. Tomorrow."

-X-

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"This guy is everything you hate. Don't defend him."

Lorelai held up her hands as she sat on the couch that Paris had already disinfected. "I'm not defending him. Drinking to excess is wrong. I've learned that lesson countless times, be it standing on tables and dancing, or giving loud, embarrassing speeches, or having sex on balconies, I've learned it time and time again."

"I don't care if he drinks. It's his life and his liver. I just with he'd keep it out of my dorm room."

"Why didn't you just tell him you were mad?" Lorelai inquired curiously.

"He's my boss."

"Yeah, but he's your boss that slept on your couch. There's a very blurry line that separates your professional and personal time."

"Exactly. I would like to bring that line into very clear focus. Being overly emotional around him will not help that goal."

"So you just want him to leave you alone, unless he needs help with the newspaper?"

Rory nodded. "That is exactly what I mean."

"And you're planning to tell him just that when you meet with him, off the clock, tomorrow?"

Rory adamantly nodded yet again. "Yes."

"Even if he rescinds his offer to let you meet with his father?"

"I see what you're doing. And it won't work."

"What am I doing?"

"You think I find him charming and I might crack under his pressure and date him."

"I think no such thing. He is charming, and a little wayward, which I've always found attractive, but he's totally wrong for you."

Rory eyed her mother with great suspicion. "He is."

"I know a hundred guys exactly like him. He's privileged and arrogant and thinks the whole world revolves solely for his amusement. He never gives a thought to anyone else and his attention span is probably gnat-like."

Rory frowned. "Well, I mean, he is privileged, but he's actually quite self-effacing. He really cares about what he's doing at the paper, no matter the cost to him or his career. And he's one of the most generous people I've ever met."

Lorelai smiled. "See? Who would ever want to date a guy like that?"

-X-

He found himself nervous, partially because he had no idea just who would greet him. It could be a fresh-faced brunette, whose eyes were blue enough to inspire an ocean of dreams. It could be his old editor, a man who had a penchant for donning his girlfriend's loungewear and, despite having his own apartment, had taken up residence and felt at ease with inviting in drunks off the street, or in his case off the bench in the breezeway. Thirdly, it could be the much scarier option of the crazy blonde with a chip the size of the Great Wall of China on her shoulder.

His fears were eased when Rory opened the door, dressed for the elements, already shutting the door behind her. "Hey."

He smiled. "Hi."

"Can I say something, before we go?"

He nodded and watched as she sat on the bench on which he'd attempted to nap when he thought his knocking was going unheard, the memories of which were coming back in foggy patches. "Sure."

"We don't have to do this, if you don't want to. You don't owe me any explanations. I've thought about it, and it had nothing to do with me. I'm just an extraneous, correlating factor. Any issue I might have had with finding a person passed out on my couch is really with Doyle, who doesn't actually live here and shouldn't be opening our door to outsiders."

He sighed and motioned to the bench. "May I?"

She nodded, so he sat. He looked at her before he spoke. Her cheeks were already pinking up from the cold. It was the kind of weather that prompted him to start making travel arrangements for warmer climates. She probably had the patience to bundle up until spring, but he'd never been much good at waiting. "I did a dumb thing last night."

She didn't argue with him, a point that wasn't lost on him. "When you went in, I couldn't shake this feeling I had. I didn't want to go home, but I knew you didn't want me to come in, so I went to blow off some steam, and things got out of control. Finding my way back to your place was some sort of inner navigational instinct that took me back to where I'd wandered from, I didn't mean to impose on your life."

She listened to his explanation and seemed satisfied. "Okay."

He ducked his chin. "Really?"

She gave him a tight smile. "Yeah. So, I guess I'll see you next week?"

He shook his head, suddenly panicked at the thought of her just going inside. He wasn't sure why he was having such an adverse reaction to her simply leaving him, but if it continued like this, it would get to be a big problem. The kind that interfered with work and all other aspects of his life and required a twelve-step program to fix.

"I made reservations."

She stiffened, which did nothing to ease his panic. "Look, I appreciate the gesture, but we're good, really."

"Do you have something you'd rather be doing? It's a great place, and it's not far. We can bill it to work, which means my dad pays. It's really a win-win. And I promise to keep my drinking in check. You can feel free to have as many as you like," he added for good measure.

She sighed. "I don't know, Logan."

The sound of his name coming off her lips surprised him. She'd generally avoided calling him other than 'boss' since he asked her not to call him Mr. Huntzberger. "It's a meal. You have to eat, right?"

She stood up and looked at him with what he assumed was defeat. It certainly wasn't anticipation. "Let's go, then."

He stood up, high off the sheer elation of getting her to agree to the outing, for the second time. Other than waking up in a shameful manner, he'd had a successful meeting with advertisers that encouraged him to email his father, in lieu of actually speaking to him, to give him a brief rundown of his progress. It wouldn't satisfy the old man, but it would put him off for another day at any rate.

She wasn't full of conversation on the way to dinner, and he didn't push for more than she'd already agreed to. He remained in high spirits and waited for her to come around. It wasn't until they were nearly at their destination that he cracked under the pressure of remaining quiet. "It's not so bad is it?"

She emitted a noise much like a suppressed groan and turned to him. "Can I be completely honest with you?"

His features were wiped clear by her brevity. "Yes, of course."

"This job at the paper, it's my first real-world experience in my chosen profession. All I wanted was to do a good job and maybe get a little recognition above and beyond the grunt work I happily signed up for."

He nodded as he got the feeling she wasn't finished, nor did she want to hear any pandering to her abilities.

"And it's been amazing, even though I know the situation isn't typical. I love being there and I love getting the opportunity to dive in and work alongside everyone else."

"Not everyone would have been able to do that, jump in the way you have," he pointed out sincerely.

She offered a tight, if genuine, smile. "I just didn't expect you, I guess."

"That sounds bad," he said, encouraging her to elaborate.

Her head shook no, but her eyes said differently. "Bosses should stay in their offices and offer directives, they shouldn't be asleep in a drunken stupor on my couch. I'm a college student—nothing about my surroundings should be coveted by someone in your position. I don't know what all you're going through, but trust me, my life isn't anything you should wish for, even for a night. College life might be glamorous for a certain level of nostalgia, but it's a never-ending series of too much information and weird living conditions, and being forced to see your editor wearing a pink silk robe with a fuzzy collar, and boys who don't understand that men and women can be just friends," she listed.

"I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to intrude on your life," he apologized.

"Then, I guess, why me?"

He smiled wistfully. "I guess you just reminded me of something I lost. We had a little in common and you're sort of everything I should have been—involved at the paper, hungry for the industry, you seem to make it to all your classes and aren't distracted by everything else that stands to get in your way."

"I don't have any answers."

"I'm not looking for answers. I enjoy spending time with you."

She stiffened again. "But I'm not … looking for someone to spend time with."

"Because I'm your boss, we can't be friends?" he asked with regret.

"You want to be my friend?" she asked in disbelief, not because she wasn't a great friend, but because she could see through him in a way that almost no one else ever did.

"Can anyone ever have enough friends?" he asked, completely dodging her inquiry.

"Listen, Harry told me about your penchant for interns. I get it. I'm not completely naïve, but I don't want this. I don't want to be that girl. I want to be taken seriously."

"I do take you seriously," he argued. "And I have no idea what Harry was talking about, I've never had a workplace romance because I've never really fully engaged in a work place before this," he explained as it hit him. "Oh, he was talking about my dad."

She frowned. "Your dad?"

He nodded sharply. "He likes interns. Young ones."

Rory looked horrified. "But he's… the top guy in the industry."

"That just means he's good at his job. It doesn't make him a nice guy or a family man."

"Isn't it the family business?" Rory asked, still wounded by the tarnish on her idol.

"He works long hours, he's incredibly driven, and he takes what he wants without apologies. That kind personality doesn't turn off, for any reason."

"So, if he had taken over the Gazette, instead of throwing you overboard to drown, chances are he'd be hitting on me like a creepy old man?" she asked in disgust.

"First of all, thank you for your support. Second of all, as much as I'd like to think that the Huntzberger charm allows for the negation of the whole creepy old man vibe, chances are slim that he would have put the charm to work on you."

Rory turned in surprise. "Why not?"

He chuckled at the fact that she grew so instantly indignant at the perceived slight. "He prefers blondes. Still want that meeting?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "The real world is often a very disappointing arena."

He nodded curtly. "I concur."

"You do?" she asked, her chin tilted in the most adorable manner toward him.

"Why do you think I'm so attracted to the college scene still? And please refrain from creepy old man comparisons."

She smiled, a feat which felt like a true accomplishment. "You're not creepy."

He was encouraged. "It's okay, you can admit it. I'm rather charming, in a boyish sort of way."

"See, what kind of boss says stuff like that?"

"Hey, I'm open about my flaws, as well."

They'd arrived at their destination, but neither made a move to exit the car. He'd do the gentlemanly thing, even without her permission, and go around to open the door for her, but the way she was just sitting there waiting made him pause as well. "You want like a detailed list?" he asked at last.

"No, I just can't figure out why you're bothering to spend time with me, when you surely have a whole list of more important people to woo."

"I assure you my priorities are in place."

"You can't sleep on my couch again."

He smiled at her assertion. "It wasn't very comfortable anyhow."

"And no more dropping by under false pretenses."

He wanted to argue that point, but he held his tongue in check. "I will come up with more believable excuses."

"Be serious!"

"You've got to give me something. I'm a spontaneous guy. But if you really want me to leave you alone, I'll respect your wishes."

She was quiet again, an action that unnerved him to no end. He knew her mind was always working, and he couldn't argue with her if she didn't vocalize her concerns. It would take far more exposure to her for him to accomplish that feat. "This is just work related, right? You have absolutely no interest in me outside of the paper?"

"Please don't say let's just be friends," he beseeched her. "It's an over-used cliché."

She shook her head. "No friends. Just coworkers."

"You really are mad at me," he decided, with a sigh of defeat.

She held up her hand. "I'm not mad. I just like things to be contained and clear cut."

"Yeah, well, that real life you found so disappointing? It's messy and it often involves crossing safe boundaries, and nothing turns out like you thought it would. Idols are jerks and bosses have no experience, and I like spending time with you."

"What are you, the reality police? Is this just a way to back out of setting up a meeting between me and your father? I've heard the rumors about how you're ignoring his calls, so I get that this probably has nothing to do with me and it's more about you just hiding from your responsibilities," she remarked, not bothering to cover her disdain.

"It's that hard to believe I like you?" he asked, full of indignation.

"Cut to the chase, Logan."

He groaned. "Look, I am ignoring my father's calls, but that is not new behavior. It's a skill I've spent my whole life honing. It has nothing to do with work, which is actually going well, by the way, and more to do with the fact that I hate that guy. I don't want you to meet with him, but not because you have no interest in me but because he's an ass who will do nothing but disappoint you."

She was silent after his fitting tirade. After all, she'd started it. It felt like an hour before she spoke. "I can't date you."

He held up a hand. "Whoa. I never said I wanted to date you. I said I like you. I would be open to spending more time together, but we can't date."

"There is something wrong with you," she accused.

"I thought you weren't even interested in dating anyone right now. You said yourself that something casual was all you could handle," he reminded her.

"Yes, exactly, I can handle dating some random guy from school casually. Someone I won't really care about, not in a life-altering way. But I can't do that with you."

"We seem to be at an impasse."

She rolled her eyes. "Actually, we're agreeing."

"I think at best we're agreeing to disagree," he offered.

It was at that point that she exited the car and set off on foot without him. He took a minute to watch her go before he went off after her.

-X-

She had the urge to strangle him, so she took cooling off to a literal level. She'd only gotten about a block away when he caught up with her. She did the polite thing and slowed to a stop.

"Are we fighting about the fact that we like each other?" he asked as he shoved his hands in his coat pockets to keep warm. She turned over her shoulder to see him standing in the freezing cold in order come to a better resolution.

"I don't care if you think I'm naïve, but I like to keep things separate. It works for me."

"And I'm breaking your rules," he said as he bobbed up and down to try to keep warmer.

"Yes."

"And that makes you uncomfortable," he continued.

She noticed that he'd gotten closer to her, under the guise of moving to keep warm. He was suddenly in her personal space, and she backed up a little to maintain a safer distance. "Yes."

"You want me to just be your boss and put aside everything else?" he continued, still moving closer.

"I think that's best," she said, not bothering to back up again. He was in pursuit and she didn't have far to go. Her resolve was strong, but she had a feeling that he had the ability to wear her down until she gave his way a try. She didn't even know what that would involve, but she was pretty sure it would be confusing and intense and put her internship in jeopardy. She wasn't sure she could handle that on top of all the huge priorities she was currently juggling. The fact that she sucked at interpersonal relationships backed up her resolve, even if his more casual approach did hold a certain appeal due to her lacking in that department.

He was close enough to kiss her, and she watched as his eyes darted to her lips. She watched curiously, with baited breath, wondering if he would throw caution to the wind and choose a different method of warming himself in the elements.

"Then we'll go have dinner and toast our business relationship. I sent my father's secretary a message to save an hour on his schedule this Friday, and that is set aside for you."

Her concern at his sudden acquiescence to her demands raised her suspicions, as she found the display wholly unbelievable. "Just like that?"

He nodded. "Just like that. You're a valuable asset, especially given the financial state of the paper, and I would hate to lose your talent because of my poor behavior."

She was floored at his words. "Okay, then."

"Just so I'm clear, we're agreeing to disagree, right?"

She cocked her head, wishing he'd be serious so they could at least get warm. "I think it's best."

"Then I will trust your judgment, as I've shown mine isn't always on point where you're concerned. Should we go get warm now?" he offered, extending his elbow for her to wind her arm through.

She did so, welcoming the warmth that she felt from him even despite his professed cold. It was a pleasant sensation, cozying up against him to block the wind as they quickly made for the door. It wasn't enough to change her mind or risk her putting her professional career in a gray area for what might be a fleeting moment of fun or excitement at his hand. But she was keenly aware that whatever it was left room to revisit the topic at a later date.