Round Six: Not Good

Here's hoping this lives you to your (high?!) expectations. I know all these reviews definitely raised the bar for me! Thanks for the challenge and keep in mind its AU! Love and enjoy!

"I'll take two."

The bartender did not rush to fix Rory's drink order. Instead he gave her a confused look. He had been instructed to serve one at a time and he was sticking to his orders. Obviously, he did not know who stood before him.

She shot him a pressing look, silently urging him to fix her gin-and-tonic without questioning. The girl let out an agitated sigh as she realized he wasn't budging. What was it with people denying her the drinks she so desperately needed?

The troubled girl let out a dull sigh and scratched her forehead distractedly. "Look, I'm a Gilmore-Hayden. We organized this thing. You won't get fired for serving the person who is paying you to be here."

Rory was too drained to feel bad about using her last names to get what she wanted. And, right now, all she wanted was those drinks. Was that too much to ask? Apparently, it was as the bartender stood there, stunned by her bluntness. She let out another sigh as she dug through her satin clutch and pulled out a crumpled hundred dollar bill.

The desperation in her tone was all but tangible as she slid the note across the hardwood bar. "Better make it three, okay?"

The barkeep exchanged a quick glance between the distressed socialite and the crinkled green bill. Rory watched as he mentally weighed his options and, like she expected, his greed beat out his professional integrity. She silently took her drinks and snuck out the back entrance, hastily making her way through the French gardens, careful not to spill any of her precious alcohol, to the gazebo.

She liked it there considering it was quiet and nearly invisible from the house. It was a good place to collect her thoughts. Rory held one of her three beverages up to her face and examined it carefully, before taking a large sip, wincing as the alcohol burned on its way down.

This was not good. Not good didn't even begin to define the scope of her situation. She should be inside, eating salmon puffs and drinking a ladylike glass of wine and listening to mourners reminisce about the full and fabulous life her grandfather led, but she couldn't bring herself to it.

Normally, she could play along with the hypocrisy of Society but today it was different. Richard's death broke her family; she ached and all the men were inside talking business and the women were gossiping about her disastrous appearance. No one cared. Celebrating her grandfather's life was obliviously not a priority.

She wiped an angry tear away and blankly stared at the garden as she picked a piece of lint off her black skirt. Daffodils lined the stone pathways, hinting at the first signs of new life. She sighed at the cruel reality and let her thoughts return to Richard.

He would have laughed at the irony of new life on the day of his funeral. She knew her grandfather so well. Ever since she was a child, he stuck up for her, defended her 'scandal child' image. As she grew older she discovered that she and her grandfather shared a love of literature and he was the one who first saw her writing ability. He took great care in nurturing her talent and for that Rory was grateful; however, her grandfather was much more than her writing mentor. He was there for her when she needed him the most. It was not that she couldn't talk to her mother, but her grandfather offered a new perspective and great advice. He was her benchmark; if Richard was proud she knew she had done right.

She started on her second drink, savoring the burning sensation on her tongue before swallowing. Rory doubted that Richard would be proud of her today after tainting her speech with jumbled words and clichés. She knew he wouldn't mind an uninspired tribute; however drunkenly telling everyone that she called up a 'Blond God' to get her through the night and advising everyone to find his or her own 'Blond God', before bursting out in heart wrenching sobs was sure to earn her a posthumous disappointed looks from her grandfather.

Rory shut her eyes in embarrassment, releasing a few more of her pent up tears. She placed her glass next to her and rubbed her temples gently, hoping to alleviate the building headache. This was not good.

She knew she would be the source of gossip for months to come, but she didn't mind. Society relentlessly talked about her behind her back anyway. It came with her territory of being a Gilmore-Hayden heir; add to that her scandal child beginnings and her rebellious teenage years. She was always the tittle-tattle of the town. What mattered was that she allowed him – Logan - to taint her speech on a day that should have been dedicated to her loving grandfather's memory. How had he managed to seep in?

Dropping her head in frustration she groaned softly, as she distractedly rested her hand on the back of her neck, massaging it gently.

It was not like she had the best track record in love anyway. She tried it once, which crashed and burned. In a twisted attempt to get back at the ex – 'He-Who-Didn't-Love-Me-Back' - she created a party girl persona, complete with a string of meaningless hook-ups. Rory found out quickly that she was a commitment girl and stepped out of the game completely. She spent the last two years of college fully engrossed in her studies and emerging career.

It astounded her grandfather, since Rory was so confident in other areas of her life, but when it came to love she was clueless. She feared gold-diggers and commitment. A simple 'Let's dance?' sounded like a marriage proposal in her ears. On top of that, she couldn't help compare prospects to 'He-Who-Didn't-Love-Me-Back'.

She sighed heavily and took a small sip of her drink. She was nursing it, trying to make it last as long as she could since she dreaded going back inside.

It had been ages that she had thought about the sorry state of her love life. She knew perfectly well why she had let herself get caught up in the blond-haired boy. He was her distraction for the flight, something to keep her from falling apart at 30,000 feet. She wasn't supposed to like him, but there was something about him that intrigued her. The way he spoke certain words with a slight British affectation, that his eyes were surprisingly warm for someone from his background. She couldn't neglect how easily their conversation flowed and how relaxed he made her feel. It was a nice change of pace from her usual crimson cheeks and tongue-tied approaches at flirting.

Rory groaned inwardly as she replayed the events in her mind. It was not getting any better. Her father arranged an escort off the plane so she couldn't make a clean exit. No, instead she had to carry on the flirtatious banter and practically kiss him!

She almost choked on her drink thinking about that almost-kiss. What the hell had she been thinking? That he was that interested? That she thought she was in his league? She didn't know, but she resigned to her basket-case-being. She was an emotional roller coaster no man would voluntarily want to ride. Oh god, she had no business even thinking about him riding her….

There were no words to define the mess she had gotten herself tangled in. She buried her hands in her face as her humiliation grew by the minute recalling yesterdays' events. She was the initiator. She was the one who called and texted. Even though he welcomed her reaching out she couldn't help squirming in her seat as she thought about it. The first text wasn't so bad, but the falling asleep phone call was so far out of line, so desperate and needy.

"I'm independent," she told her gin-and-tonic, before crossing her right leg over her left in an attempt to get a little more comfortable on the hard wooden bench. "Miss Independent," she added for good measure and scolded herself for letting him consume so much of her time. When did she start doing that? Since "He-Who-Didn't-Love-Me-Back" she had never let a boy captivate her.

She wondered what Richard would say if he could see her now. Would he be upset with her for not thinking about him and letting her thoughts wander to an attractive young man she barely knew? Or would he tell her not to let herself get caught up in whatever she thought she was feeling and instead focus on her career? Or would he tell her to embrace it?

A wistful look appeared on her face as she could only guess his answer. She looked down at her now empty glass and the two empty glasses on either side of her, hoping they would contain some answers, but they didn't. She leaned back, resting her head on one of the wooden poles. The only conclusion she had come to, was that this whole mess of a situation was not good. In fact, it was bad…very, very bad.

It wasn't the atmosphere one would expect at a wake. Champagne flowed freely, waiters carried hors d'oeuvres around on big silver platters and attendees were talking and laughing. The only thing that gave away the supposedly grave nature of the event was that black was the predominant choice of dress.

Logan scanned the room for familiar faces. It was a little morbid, but he wondered if she would be here. He had been on his brain all morning, ever since he woke up with an uncomfortable pain in his neck and shoulder from clenching his cell to his ear all night. Not that he minded, since falling asleep to the sound of her breathing was the most exhilarating non-sexual experience he had shared with a girl to date. He could not think about defining whatever it was that he felt for her; all he knew as that he wanted to see her again.

The prospect of running into her wasn't the only thing that dragged him out of bed this morning. As much as he despised his father, he knew he was right – this was a defining moment in his career. If Logan had any hopes of breaking out and doing it on his own, he knew he needed to abide Mitchum's rules and if that meant attending a stranger's funeral to mingle, then he'd suck it up even though it seemed a little dishonest and a whole lot disrespectful.

He saw his father smoking a cigar with a Suit and his mother whispering something in some woman's sparkling ear. Neither one acknowledged his presence, so he made his way to the bar to order a stiff drink. Logan would have put money on him being the source of gossip, what with the prodigal son returning at all, but the attendees barely noticed him. Happy to fly under the radar, he took his drink and started to make his rounds.

No, the London market is not all too different from the American one," he addressed a Suit in his business tone, "HGP saw its profits double and believe me, with you backing this project there is no doubt in my mind HPG will achieve the same results stateside and book a twenty-five to thirty perfect profit for your business this quarter alone…"

He detested shoptalk with ignorant investors, but at least his surroundings helped curb his boredom. He tuned out the Suit who was droning on about numbers and stock reports as he listened in on the conversation between the two ladies next to him.

"Without Richard – bless his soul – the girl won't amount to anything!" The society creature cooed far too happily for such an event. Logan smiled wryly at her tone. "She'll probably fall right back in the party scene…You do know she slept with all the men on the lacrosse team at Chilton, right?"

"Of course I do!" The other society women said, slightly offended. "We all know Richard – may he rest in peace – paid for her stint in rehab, Gloria!" she continued haughtily.

"Stints," the woman who Logan assumed to be Gloria corrected with sneering emphasis on the last S. "Look at her, though. Isn't it utterly tragic to be a spinster at twenty-two? You would have thought with her last name she would have been married by the time she graduated college!"

"Let's not forget she let that wonderful boy walk away," the other voice continued harshly. "Supposedly, he was going to propose, but she turned him down…."

"Oh, I remember, Kitty," the first society wife interrupted, "I was at the Club when it happened! Oh, what a shame! They would have had absolutely beautiful children, what with his curls and her stunning eyes…"

"She does have pretty eyes," Kitty admitted, before adding evilly. "Wonder how much her grandmother had to pay for them…"

"Honestly, Kitty." The first society woman paused to take a sip of her drink, "Emily did not send her to a plastic surgeon, I'm sure if she had the girl would have gotten her nose and breasts fixed at the same time!"

Completely disgusted Logan stopped his eavesdropping. He had no clue who these women were talking about, but he felt sorry for the poor girl. They were at a man's wake! He knew he was being a hypocrite, seeing as he was standing here trying to strike a business deal. Annoyed, he finished off his drink and met his conversation partner's eager gaze.

"So what do you say, Logan?" the Suit asked him, good-humoredly nudging him.

He gave his the man a quick once over. "Yeah, you know what, that sounds good… Might need to run over some details, so fax it to my office and I'll get back to you," Logan spoke with confidence, but he had no clue if his reply was in the vicinity of what the Suit wanted to hear. "We'll do lunch…" he added with an insincere smile.

"Perfect!" The man shook the young Huntzbergers hand enthusiastically. "My secretary will get you those documents tomorrow. I have them in my car, but I wouldn't feel right giving 'em here, you know..." he lowered his voice, "...considering the circumstances."

Logan granted the man an understanding nod, and the Suit laughed loudly and patted him on the shoulder before leaving him.

"Wow," Logan sighed to his empty scotch glass. He decided that he was in dire need of another drink, one containing his two favorite components, namely alcohol and caffeine. As he strode in the direction of the bar, his heart skipped a beat as he eyes landed on the person he had wanted to see.

"Rum and coke," he ordered, his tone laced with self-confidence. He jerked his head in her direction, "And put whatever the lady's having on my tab."

"It's an open bar," she mumbled dully. Her gaze was firmly fixed on the little bowl of nuts on the bar and she wasn't paying close enough attention to recognize his voice.

Once again, Rory managed to effortlessly blow the young Huntzberger's ego. Feeling slightly bemused he took his seat next to her, stealing quick glances at her as he waited for the barkeep to hand them their drinks.

"Here you go, Birkin," he said with a smirk as he handed her a fresh G&T. She looked up this time and momentarily met his gaze, before dropping her head quickly.

"Oh my god."

An uncomfortable grin crept over his face as she soundly absolutely mortified. He did not know if she sat there wishing for the bar to open up and swallow her, or if she was caught off guard by his sudden appearance and was trying to hide her runny mascara by burying her face.

"Hey," he said softly, as he reached out and brushed her arm. "You okay?"

Obviously, she was not okay but he did not know that; he could not have known that and now he was here, in the middle of her personal hell. In fact, his mere existence brought this day to a whole new level of disaster.

And yet, she could not discard the butterflies she felt in her stomach as he continued to look at her intently . And she sat there, like an idiot, with her face on the bar. She owed it to herself to try to fix this situation.

"Yeah," she said slowly, lifting her head up. "I'm just a little surprised to see you here…"

He laughed, "Good surprise?"

She nervously bobbed her head around in contemplation, before attempting to sip her drink. Her hand-eye coordination was a tiny bit off, but she managed to navigate the glass to her lips without a spilling a drop.

"Excellent surprise," she told him. "Never in a million years did I expect to see you here." Even though her words slurred, she sounded completely sincere to him.

"Well, you know what they say, B…"

"No, what?"

He gave her an award-winning smile, before leaning in closely, letting her know his words were meant for her ears only.

"We only part to meet again."

She chuckled softly. "Very clever," she admitted as she pointed her finger at him, before pulling back as another pang of realization hit. "It's not always true…"

"What did you say?" he asked, as he lightly touched her arm, inadvertently forcing her to look at him.

Her eyes flew to his as she desperately told her drunk-self not to explain her previous statement. She was embarrassed enough as it was for her desperate actions; she did not need to give him anymore reason to think she was a basket case. Instead, she focused on his features, granting herself a few moments of drunken ogling. His hair was slightly ruffled, but he was clean shaven and bright-eyed. She would have never guessed he stayed up half the night talking to her.

"Hot. I said hot. You look...hot," she swallowed, mentally kicking herself at every word. Wasn't she trying to avoid cringe-worthy situations?

A bright smirk appeared on his face as she spoke to him. He knew she was drunk, but he also knew that intoxicated people were practically incapable of lying. His ego inflated back to its normal size as he mentally tallied the points.

"You look pretty good yourself, Burke," he complemented smoothly, though it was entirely true. Granted, her figure-hugging black dress was stunning, but she looked drained. Logan wondered if it was because of the jet-lag or maybe it was just her drunk personality. He himself tended to become a daredevil and aggressive, maybe she became depressed?

"You want to go get some coffee?" Logan asked suddenly, hoping that'd help her sober up.

Instead of a witty quip or enthusiastic nod, she looked away, making it clear that she was offended by his suggestion. "No."

"Okay," he shrugged, slightly taken aback at the harshness in her tone. "I just thought that the coffee place on First would be a lot nicer than here…" he trailed off, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

He saw her jaw tighten as she swiftly slammed her glass on the hardwood bar. "We are at a wake!" she whispered angrily at him "Are you serious?"

"I was being serious," he laughed awkwardly, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Am I okay?" The emotion in her tone had disappeared as she repeated his question slowly. He watched her eyes shift back and forth nervously as if she was mentally weighing her options.

Meanwhile, Rory's heart pounded rapidly as she realized that bad had gotten a whole lot worse. He was not supposed to be here. He was on a business trip. She felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. He lied to her. He was exactly like one of them; a sycophant of Society.

Still waiting for her to answer, Logan gave Rory a puzzled once-over as she cautiously put one of her Prada-heeled feet on the floor. She prodded around a few times in what he assumed was an attempt to see if she would be able to keep her balance, once standing.

Rory practically knocked over her barstool as she stood up. He jumped up immediately and grabbed hold of her. "Hey! Where do you think you're going, B?" He smiled at her, but she childishly turned her head away.

"Let me go," she ordered in a surprisingly sober and hushed tone.

"I'd let you go, but you can't stand," he whispered discreetly in her ear. Logan knew that standing in the crowded bar area would earn them a few unwanted suspicious glares.

A shiver went down her spine as Rory tried to ignore his hot breath tickling her neck. "Not your problem," she told him curtly, "Let me go!"

She started to pry herself from his grip as she was well aware they were drawing attention.

"Rory, come on," he tried, but she continued to try to wiggle out of his embrace. Logan let out a heavy sigh as he let her go. Immediately and without looking back the distressed girl walked off. His mind told him to let her go; let her be. As if he should care about a girl he knew less than twenty-four hours? Nevertheless, his feet followed her direction.

"Damn it, Logan!" she hissed as she whipped her head around. 'Go away!"

Maybe it was the desperation lacing her tone, or the sweet sadness he saw in her eyes, but he grabbed her hand and led her through the back entrance out to her so familiar gardens, taking her all the way to the seclusion of the gazebo.

He observed her as she stood as far away from him as possible in the gazebo. Her back was turned, so he couldn't see her bottom lip quivering. The Huntzberger lad was genuinely stunned since he couldn't figure out what exactly had happened in the few short hours since they last spoke. He was torn between consoling her and just leaving.

"Go," she dully made up his mind for him. "Just go."

His stomach tightened as her words sounded so cold and distant. Instead of leaving, he walked over to her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Rory's breath hitched at his touch and she hoped he hadn't noticed. He was making this impossibly hard. "Just go," Rory told him once again, as she turned to look at him. "Your prospects are waiting."

"They'll wait…" he answered causally as he held her gaze.

"Get the hell away from me," she interrupted, he voice rising with every word. "You lied to me!"

Logan tried to interject, but she shot him down immediately. "Try a wedding next time you want to network with your cronies stateside, asshole!"

He frowned unsure as to why he deserved this kind of treatment. He reached out for her hands, trying to calm her down, but she aggressively swatted them away. "Rory!"

"Don't talk to me," she hurled at him. "Are you that dense, Logan? Or just that desperate to get laid?"

"Excuse me?" he choked out, taken aback by her crudeness.

She crossed her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrow. "I'm not sleeping with you. Not today, not ever," she informed him. "So cross me off your 'List of Ass' and leave me alone!"

"But…"

"I don't want to hear it. I know your type – business, sex and booze. That's all you need, right? You don't care who you hurt or what you have to do to get it. You acted like you didn't care about your status, but you can't fool me." She paused her rant to inhale deeply, hoping it would stop the tears that threatened to fall. "You are just like one of them!"

"Are you done?" he asked her, forcefully stepping closer to her. In any other situation he would have walked away from a girl that dared chew him out, but he was inexplicably drawn to her. Logan could have reached out for her hands, but he knew she would swat them away. "Look at me, Rory. Look at me!"

She slowly turned her head and once again met his gaze. The boy that had stirred her thoughts did not look as mad as she thought he would, which made it a hundred times more difficult to stay mad at him.

"Rory, I am neither dense nor desperate," he told her calmly as a small smirk appeared on his face, but he quickly wiped it away. "I am here on business, yes, and it's not right it's during a funeral, but this is the way Society works…" he explained softly.

Her erratic breathing had almost returned to normal, but Logan couldn't stop his so-called comforting words. "You'll just have to let it go…."

"Let it go?" she howled at him, her voice cracking in raw emotion. "Let it go? That's my grandfather!" She pointed at the main house as tears spilled down her cheeks. "This is for my grandpa," she managed to choke out before he stepped forward and embraced her. She struggled a little at first; desperately trying to break out of his strong grip, but he did not let her and she relented to being encircled by his arms, as he gently stroked her hair and whispered apologies and soothing words in her ear.

His heart broke for the poor girl as she clenched his suit tightly as she let out heart wrenching sobs and realization set in. This was Rory Gilmore, granddaughter of Richard Gilmore, his father's best friend and biggest investor of the Huntzberger Publishing Group. In a different world it might have been odd he didn't know her, but not in his. He lived overseas and he only spoke to his father about business.

"I'm so sorry, Rory," he whispered in her hair, which caused her to cry even louder. He hugged her tighter and noted how perfectly they fit together, before that thought caused his stomach to tighten in anxiety.

He was here, in some garden, consoling a girl he only really knew by name. Granted, he might have felt pangs of attraction for the girl he called Birkin. Cool, quirky, puzzling Birkin but Rory Gilmore was a different girl. He didn't know much about her, but he knew Rory Gilmore was not for him. She was serious, insanely smart and passionate about writing - that was her love. But most of all, she stood here before him, letting herself become completely unraveled.

He wasn't sure if she expected him to help pick up the pieces and he wasn't all too sure he wanted to stick around and find out. He had signed up for flirty and fun and nothing serious. And this, right here, the suit-clenching hug and burying her head in his chest, defined serious for Logan Huntzberger. This wasn't good, he thought to himself as he absentmindedly placed another comforting kiss on top on her head. In fact, it was bad…very, very bad.

Sorry to end on a dramatic note and congratulations to all who suspected the death was Rory's grandpa! And cowgirl8016, I did my best to steer clear of 'rude' Logan. I've given you some more background on Rory's situation, so I hope that's answered some of your questions. Let me know if you want it to be more Logan-centric or this kind of third person dealio works for you and don't worry it is a Rogan – it's the only thing I know how to write. Ha!

Any other questions feel free to PM me! Okay – really hoping you all like this. Fingers crossed!