If this felt like it took forever and a day to update, it's because it took forever and a day to write.

"This looks great," Rory said eyeing the lemon chicken, roasted vegetables and rice Logan had so expertly arranged on her dinner plate.

"I'll take credit for the style, but I can't take it all for the cooking," Logan replied with a smirk as he topped up her wine glass.

"This is so," she agreed, "after all, I did cook the rice."

Figuring it to be in his best interest to remain quiet, Logan simply smiled at her. Rory was about to dig in, but she stopped herself, as she caught his somewhat humoring smile.

"What?!" she asked with a raised eyebrow, "I did make the rice."

"With some help…" Logan countered lightly, though fully aware he was intentionally pushing her buttons.

"Unless your name is Uncle Ben I don't know what you are talking about."

"Let's recap," he said, folding his hands together, "who told you to read the instructions on the back of the box?"

"I would've figured it out…" she tried, but Logan shot her an unconvinced look, to which she relented. "Okay, so I would've called China Express and had it delivered. Same dif." Rory tried to wave the issue away, but Logan wasn't having it. The unconvinced looked remained fixed on his face and he gently tipped his head to the side.

"Alright, okay! You don't have to look at me like that! Jeez. You and Ben know best, China Express sucks. I learned my lesson. Please, can we eat? This food's getting cold and I'm starving!"

The smile he had been holding back finally flashed over his face and he raised his tumbler of rummy coke to her. "To us chefs."

Grinning, Rory raised her glass. "Here, here."

"So, apart from writing about 20th century authors and learning how to cook rice – which is perfect by the way – what else did your Tuesday bring you?"

Rory rolled her eyes at his rice comment, before shaking her head. "Nothing but disappointment."

"Disappointment?" Logan questioned, shooting her a concerned look.

"That CFO luncheon was not good."

"Ah, Troy Gibson," Logan nodded understandingly.

"More like Troll Glibson…" Rory muttered, before she caught herself. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"Yes you did," Logan told her, amusement peaking through his tone, "and no need to apologize. I know it's true and there are a worse things to call Glibson – Gibson." Logan chuckled. "See what you've done?"

"Sorry."

"Nah, don't worry about it. Glibson has a nice ring to it. So, tell me, what did he do?" he asked with a kind smile.

"It's not so much what he did, just how…," Rory looked up at Logan, briefly wondering if he really cared to hear about her complaints, but he nodded encouragingly and she continued. "I mean, we are For the Future Writers so we are new to the business and he's talking to us as if we're old pros and then mocking the people who have questions..."

"Did you have questions?" he interjected, "Because I'll answer them…"

"No," she smiled, waving his suggestion away, "I know my way around financial cocktail conversation, but Nick fumbled a couple of times…"

"He did?" Maybe his tone gave away how eager Logan was to hear about that boy's misfortune, but Rory didn't notice. "Ah, it wasn't so much the financial chatter as it was the luncheon… you and I were raised in that type of environment."

That was true; however, Nicholas Braden wasn't exactly born into poverty either. "Nick went to boarding school and he looks the part. He ought to be able to handle a luncheon."

Rory took a sip of her wine and she contemplated Logan's comment. "You know as well as I that there are boarding schools and boarding schools. St. Michaels isn't Eton. Besides, he wears last year's Ralph Lauren. Not this year's Hugo Boss."

Logan's lips curled into a mischievous grin. "Hugo Boss, huh?" With that grin, and those eyes fixed on her, Rory could feel the blush threatening to flush across her cheeks, but she managed to roll her eyes, which prompted him to continue. "Well, B, I've got to say, you are quite the socialite. My mother would be proud."

She scoffed at his comment – Shira was proud of her regardless. "Don't act like you don't know it's true, Logan. In this world, to Troll Glibson, there is a difference between this year's Boss and lasts year's Lauren. It matters!"

"It does," Logan agreed with a nod. "I'm not saying it doesn't, Ace. But it matters to you, too."

Rory shot him an incredulous look. "No it doesn't," she told him. "I'm not like that. I like Nick."

"That as it may be, you just looked absolutely disgusted when you told me his wardrobe was so last year. And I know that look wasn't because of the food. These things matter to you, Ace."

"But…" she tried to defend herself, but Logan wasn't hearing it. "Save it. It matters to me to and I like that it matters to you."

This was news to her. "You do?" she asked softly as she gently cocked her head to the side.

"Absolutely," he nodded seriously, but quickly changed to a more playful response, "I can't have you hanging around these low-life, last-year wearing Ralph Lauren types. They might distract you with their upper-middleclass ways."

That look – the one where his eyes looked straight in to her heart and his smile blinded her – he was giving caused her mouth to go dry and made it hard for her to breath. It was…distracting. She took a sip of water to quench her sudden thirst and found herself able to talk again.

"From the program?"

It wasn't so much the question as the way her lips pulled into a small smile as she spoke that caused him to briefly lose focus. Why did every conversation have to have this sultry, flirtatious undertone?

Or was it just him?

"Yes, you shouldn't be distracted from the program. I am your mentor, after all." He added that last part as a reminder for himself.

"Right. Mentor." Rory nodded. Huh. Maybe she needed a reminder, too? "So, what's for dessert?"

"Strawberry sundaes?" Logan suggested but she scrunched up her nose and pouted slightly so Logan gave in. "Alright. Hot fudge," he smiled as he grabbed her plate to clear. "I'm going to kick myself for asking, but where is Finn tonight?"

"He's with Sabina – a chocolate haired Swedish girl," Rory told him, taking her empty wine glass and the placemats as she followed Logan into the kitchen.

"A brunette, huh?" Logan shook his head in disbelief. "Why does he even try?"

"Maybe he's broadening his horizons…."

"Maybe he's ran out of redheads."

"Bite your tongue," Rory laughed. "There is one red head that's perfect for him. It's the girl who works at the coffee house…"

"I know," Logan nodded. "But he won't go after her."

"Why not?"

"Young Finnegan believes that history is destined to repeat itself. Quite cynical for such an optimistic guy, but there it is…" Logan sighed as he loaded the dishes into the dishwasher.

Rory remained quiet, not having the heart to admit that she shared Finn's beliefs. And she didn't really think it was cynical. She briefly wondered if Logan had ever allowed someone in so close that he'd lost the sense to breathe, and if someone had ever smashed his heart to smithereens, so much so that he could never entirely put it back together. But then Rory realized that Logan wasn't that type. He was the untouchable, cocky ladies man, a role he had given himself for the sole purpose of avoiding heartache.

She had to commend him, even though it wasn't the Dr. Phil approved way to deal with all things love. To her, it was smart and she was jealous because she couldn't be detached in love. It was all or nothing, all the time. Finn was the same way and both of their hearts had been crushed because of that. Even though they'd only mentioned this briefly during Rory's first day in London, it was what cemented her friendship with Finn.

"Hey, why don't you take these into the living room?" Logan asked, dragging her from that deep and twisty place her thoughts on love and life lived. He handed her a tray with two bowls of ice cream and all the ingredients for sundaes, "I'll just finish up loading the dishwasher…?"

"But it's your turn to pick the movie…" Rory said, taking the tray from him.

About halfway through Gran Torino Logan's blackberry practically vibrated off the coffee table.

"Jesus, Joseph and Mary! Who the fuck is calling me now?"

"Relax Walt Kowalski," Rory chuckled and paused the movie, before reaching over and handing Logan his phone. "I'm sure it's just Finn."

Logan glanced down at the display and shook his head. "No. It's Mitchum." He was about to ignore the call but Rory told him he had to pick up. He groaned and shot her a weighted look, but she didn't give in and so, he had to pick up.

"Hey, Dad. What's up?" He rolled his eyes at the satisfied smirk of Rory's face. "I don't know, Dad. I don't have my schedule in front of me." He looked at Rory while he moved his fingers and thumb up and down, creating a little mouth with his hand. She chuckled, though Logan's conversation suddenly became serious.

"I understand," he bit into the phone, "but I've got business to attend to as well – I believe you assigned it to me and under no circumstances…ah, your rules. I see." His jaw tightened as his tone became more and more strained. "Tonight? Morning meetings? But… no buts. Alright. I'll be there. Don't worry. Bye."

Logan angrily pounded the disconnect key on his phone and got up from the couch. "No buts, only assholes," he muttered and Rory watched as the phone left his hand and hit the coffee table with a thud.

"I don't understand how Mitchum can be so nice to me and so mean to you," Rory said in a small voice.

"Because the next Pulitzer will not come from my pen, neither will I be the editor-in-chief of some pretentious Huntzberger publication nor will I head some great strategic business deal because I don't give a fuck about this stupid business. Of course, if Mitchum Huntzberger had any paternal instinct at all, he wouldn't give a damn and he'd let me go, without strings and without holding my trust over my head."

"And you can't just go, because your trust is very important to you." Her tone was void of sarcasm or disapproval; she was simply stating the facts.

Aggravated, he pushed his hand through his hair shouted at her. "Yes!" Logan instantly felt bad for yelling, but her sympathetic look let him know that it was okay for him to be mad. That she understood and that she was here. Right in front of him, on the couch, waiting for him to get this out of his system. After he cursed Mitchum a few times, his gaze met hers and a brief silence fell over the apartment as Logan came down from his rage. He was still to mad to resume his place on the couch, though.

"I'm sorry for yelling" he sighed eventually. "It's just…"

"Mitchum," Rory shrugged, waving his apologies away. "If you can't cause a scene at home, where can you?"

A small smile played at Logan's lips as Rory continued. "What's Mitchum want you to do?"

"He scheduled a breakfast meeting in Glasgow. Booked a 9pm jet and a room for the night for me and he called to let me know that he's attending…."

"Oh, well, that's not too bad," Rory said, thinking that Mitchum's phone call was to inform him of something far worse, but in Logan's world this was pretty bad.

"You say that because you only know warm-and-fuzzy Mitchum. My Mitchum never makes the trek across the Atlantic unless something serious is up. The last time he was here was on my first board meeting – the only board meeting the overhead slides didn't work by the way, so you can imagine what kind of impression that made."

"Ouch," she said. "So, you don't know what kind of meeting?"

Sighing, Logan shook his head. "Not a clue."

"But Mitchum's coming?"

"Mitchum's coming."

"And it's in Glasgow?"

"Yep."

"Maybe he's thinking about acquiring some Scottish paper, The Herald perhaps, or run a Scottish test group, to see if it's even worth considering to buy?" Rory suggested and Logan finally found his way back to the couch. "Yeah, maybe. Seems rational," he said, shooting her a grateful look.

"Hey, I'm not all Birkin bags and next season's fashion!" Rory laughed.

"I know that, B," he said sincerely. And that look appeared on his face. Rory averted her eyes, but couldn't help responding to his comment. "I know you know."

Logan's lips pulled into a coy smile. "I guess we'll just have to postpone movie night?"

"Yeah. No problem. Grey's Anatomy is on anyway."

"Oh well. Say no more," Logan laughed as he stood up. Rory was ready with remote in had to get lost in the world of dreamy doctors and dark and twisty characters whose love lives where way more complicated that hers, but she couldn't help her gaze from going to his.

"Say goodbye before you go."

She was sprawled out on the couch when he returned to the living room a short while later. Gaze fixed on the television screen, mug of coffee in hand, hair curly and loose around her shoulders, fuzzy socks covering her feet. She looked at home and he liked it.

"Ace?"

Rory looked up and shot him a dazzling smile. "You look dapper," she said before she spotted the two suitcases next to him. "And well-packed for one night away. Are you Bond, James Bond?"

Logan threw his head back in laughter. "No, it's armor. Mitchum armor."

"So, you've got a bullet-proof vest under that Armani shirt? And, um, bazookas?" she asked, pointing at the luggage.

"May his death be a particularly unpleasant and humiliating one."

"Logan!" Rory scolded and got up from the couch.

"Oh Ace, no bullet-proof vests and no bazookas," Logan laughed, "It's just some extra clothes just in case Mitchum decides that one day isn't enough."

"You mean you might be gone for more than one day?"

Logan raised his shoulders into a shrug. "It wouldn't surprise me – it's classic Mitchum."

"Oh." Was that disappointment in her tone?

"I know," Logan said, "It kind of sucks." There was definite disappointment in his.

A small nod from her confirmed the sentiment. "But you'll be with Finn, unless he hits it off with that Swedish girl."

"Doubt it."

"Me too."

"Hey listen…" A sudden seriousness laced Logan's tone. "If you don't want to be alone, I'll call Finn. Or you can go back to your place, if you are more comfortable there…"

"No, I'm good here," Rory said, self-consciously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "All my stuff is here, you know. And the couch turns out to be pretty comfortable…."

"Good," Logan smiled. "So I'll see you when I get back?"

"Absolutely."

"Good," he said again before swinging one of his bags over his shoulder and taking his roller bag by hand, signaling that it was time for him to go. Together they made their way down the hallway and to the elevator. Logan pressed the button and as they waited, Rory realized that there really wasn't anything to say, but she couldn't not say anything.

"Say hi to Mitchum for me."

Logan turned to her, suddenly finding himself extremely close to her. For a moment Rory thought he was going to cup her chin and put his lips to hers, but he didn't.

"Will do, Ace," he smirked, leaving her with a coy smile as he stepped into the elevator. "Will do."

It was dark and late by the time the tiny jet touched down on a private airstrip just outside of Glasgow. Logan saw thick, juicy raindrops run down the windows but he knew he wouldn't have to take his umbrella out of briefcase as Mitchum had arranged car-service to pick him up and take him to his hotel. To the outside world it was a kind, thoughtful gesture, though Logan knew it wasn't about that. To him, it was a signal that his father still didn't trust his word.

He slipped in to the car and as it drove off into the night, he released a heavy sigh and resigned to his fate in which relenting was key. He gave in to his father's ludicrous demands, he gave in to heading the London Publications, he gave in to not living the life he never had the chance to design for himself.

There weren't enough words in the world for Logan to describe his discontentment. Why, why, why had Mitchum decided to call this stupid meeting, and for a Wednesday morning no less? Didn't Mitchum realize he had things to do on Wednesday mornings, like pour coffee for his caffeine deprived prodigy-protégé? And this – Logan couldn't help but sarcastically point out– was a job designated to him by the big man himself. Not that he otherwise enjoyed tasks Mitchum threw at him, and honestly, he still wasn't sure what to make of his current situation. All he knew was that he'd rather be at home, watching a movie with Rory than in this car in Scotland.

Logan felt the car slow to a stop and his car door opened not a moment later. He acknowledged the bellhop with an uncomfortable smile, which stayed on his face until he stepped out of the elevator on the top story – of course Mitchum would arrange the penthouse suite for him. Who wouldn't want a six bedroom suite for a one night's stay?

"It matters."

Her voice suddenly cut through his thoughts and a wry smile captured his face. It was true. If his Dad had put him up in a single room, one with a simple bed and an pressed-wood desk, he'd be perturbed and quite frankly, a little disgusted. Smirking, he retrieved his cell from his pocket.

"I've arrived in Glasgow. Sipping my rum-and-coke from my penthouse couch. Hope Finn came home. See you tomorrow if all goes well."

Logan kept his eyes on his cell, willing it to buzz with her reply. Luckily, before he could rationalize this sudden bout of OCD to himself, his cell vibrated with three short buzzes.

"The penthouse, huh? Wouldn't expect anything less from Mitchum. Finn did come home. All I can say is no brunettes for a while. He's making cosmos as we speak…."

He didn't hesitate as he quickly typed his reply.

"Ah crap. I'm sorry you get depressed Finn. Sounds like it's going to be a long night. Call me if he gets too drunk – and don't get too drunk yourself – you've got luncheons and seminars tomorrow!"

And luckily, Rory was keen to text back quickly.

"Oh, way to play the mentor card, mister! And when have you ever seen me drunk? Finn and I will be fine, but he requested that I stop texting seeing as it takes the focus off him and his sad love life. You never told me he was such a drama queen!"

A smile cracked on his face as he read her reply. Finn was indeed a drama queen and Logan couldn't help but feel a little bummed at how his friend was monopolizing all of Rory's time tonight. First Mitchum called him away from home, from routine, and now he couldn't even engage in a little text-conversation with Rory!

He took a sip of his rum-and-coke as he mulled over that last thought. Since when had routine become more important than adventurous and spontaneous? Since when was he content with just talking to a girl? Of course, Rory wasn't just any girl. She was special in that treat-like-a-sister-protégé type way. Whatever that meant. And before his thoughts went there, he flipped on the TV and let 'Friends' re-runs drown out the thoughts that swirled around in his mind.

Wednesday morning came far too early, although, Logan had to admit that any day that contained a meeting with Mitchum came too early. The conference room turned out to be located at his hotel. It was convenient, though Logan did not view it that way. He saw it as another chance Mitchum took to belittle him, another strike against any faith his Dad had in him. There were a handful of people attending this meeting, but these people were allowed to sleep at other hotels and make their way to the board room in their own time. Logan was the only one to receive a wake-up call so he'd be on time to the meeting that was going to take place six stories below him.

The upshot to this whole ordeal was that he was the first one to the boardroom and had the advantage of taking his pick from the breakfast spread. By the time Mitchum – who was second to arrive – Logan was on his second glass of orange juice and he'd finished a fruit cocktail and a blueberry muffin.

"The coffee's fresh, you know," Mitchum said by way of greeting as he poured himself a cup.

Logan shook his head slightly; already tired of this meeting. "Thanks, but I don't drink the stuff."

Mitchum mumbled something in reply and before Logan had the chance to pick a fight with him Troy Gibson entered in all his stuck-uppity glory.

"Oh good, there's coffee!" he said as he reached for the pot. "Ceramic," he noted as he filled his generic white cup to the brim. "How quaint."

Gibson hadn't been in the room for two seconds and Logan was seething. It was a fucking hotel coffee cup!

"There's enough for seconds or thirds, Troy, " Mitchum remarked dryly, "Logan isn't much of a coffee drinker."

"Really?" Troy asked, grabbing a chocolate croissant from the tray. "I love the stuff."

Logan managed to crack a smile. "Then you should really try Kopi Luwak. Extremely exclusive, runs up to six hundred dollars a pound. Only a handful of restaurants serve it by the cup, which can cost upwards of a hundred dollars."

"Have you heard about this coffee?" Troy asked Mitchum, but he was too caught up in his papers to answer, so Troy focused back on Logan. "What makes it exclusive?"

"This coffee is made from the beans of coffee berries. In Asia, there are these cat-like creatures who eat these berries and in their stomach the beans absorb these enzymes and once the berries pass, they are collected, washed, sun-dried and roasted, providing you with an aromatic, syrupy coffee with much less bitterness than your usual brew."

"Logan, it is far too early for your jokes," Mitchum warned but Gibson was intrigued.

"You aren't pulling my leg, are you son?" he asked and Logan smirked. He was a little skeptical the first time he heard it, but it was Rory who informed him about the cat-poo coffee. Their discussion had been about the most-expensive versions of their favorite drinks. Exclusive brands of his rum could cost about two thousand dollars, outrageous, compared to her six hundred for a pound of coffee, Logan had to agree.

"I wouldn't dare, Glib-," he caught himself just in time, "Gibson. I'll admit I had a hard time believing it, but one of my students told me."

Troy nodded deeply, fully convinced that Logan was telling the truth. "Smart group, this year. I had the pleasure of meeting them yesterday, Mitchum."

Not amused, Mitchum looked up from his papers. "CFO luncheon, if I'm not mistaken?"

"You are correct. Always a marvel how such a busy man such as your father keeps track of everything…" Logan rolled his eyes at Gibsons obvious sucking-up. "...but you've done an excellent job of assembling the group this year. You've certainly met the less-fortunate quota, but it's always a giggle to see them struggle with escargot utensils."

"Well, I do that for your pleasure," Mitchum said with the slightest hint of sarcasm in his tone. And Logan – who had so much rage towards Mitchum– had to suppress the laughter that threatened to escape him. It was obvious to him that his father quite possibly hated Glibson more than he did!

The offender himself babbled on obliviously, though. "However, there really isn't much competition. It's clear the win is for that Gilmore girl. Related to…"

"Not to my knowledge, no" Mitchum interjected coolly. "But it is always nice to hear students are thriving. That's why I started the program all those years ago." He reached for his ceramic coffee mug and downed the last sip effectively ending the conversation.

By now, the room had filled up with attendees, causing Mitchum to push back his chair, call the polite morning chitchat to a halt and start the meeting.

It was a long and tedious sit, people rambling on and on about the implications of the recession, the effect new media had on consumer behavior, increasing paper and printing costs, the new markets for the coming years…

More than half of it was lost on Logan. It wasn't that he didn't care, because he did, he just didn't care enough. Huntzberger Publishing would never go out of business – it had too much brand power for that – and if, in the unlikely event that HPG wouldn't be able to adapt to the changing market, the company would continue with a different product. Nokia started out as a paper mill and sold rubber boots before it made it big in the cell-phone industry. HPG could do the same.

Just as Logan was about to expire, Mitchum closed the meeting and he breathed a sigh of sweet relief. He was about to scoot back his chair and get the hell out of there, but Mitchum stopped him.

"We aren't done yet." Logan couldn't contain the groan that escaped him and he shot his Dad an annoyed look, but waited to talk until the room was empty. "What, is there a quiz?"

"No, but I'll remember that for our next company meeting. You are an example to the other employees, Logan. People who actually work here because they worked hard to get here – without silver spoons – so it'd be wise to drop the poor little rich boy act, it's very unbecoming and it sets a terrible example."

"Maybe the position would be better filled by someone who actually wants the job then?" Logan mumbled, but loud enough for his father to hear it and shoot him down, immediately.

"No. I don't want you jetting off across the globe, spending my hard-earned money on frivolous things like cat-shit coffee."

"I don't drink coffee," Logan said, his impatience and intolerance towards his father practically tangible.

"Fine, converting hotel swimming pools into skate rinks, then," Mitchum retorted as he rolled his eyes.

"I was nineteen, Dad." Logan's tone was strained, "And I paid for the legal expenses myself." Another threat to his beloved trust.

"Doesn't matter," Mitchum wasn't in the mood to bargain. "I want you at the company, where I can keep an eye on you."

"But…"

"No, Logan, I don't want to hear about your business plans. HPG is a paper. We will not expand to music. Had you paid attention during the meeting, you would've known."

It was clear that Logan wasn't going to win this battle any time soon, so he put the issue to rest. "Forget I even said anything. Why am I still here?"

"Rory."

Logan's eyebrows shot up in surprise and the smallest bit of guilt washed over him – as if he'd been caught – although he wasn't breaking any of the rules stipulated by his father.

"Rory?!"

Mitchum did not pick up on the obvious shock in his son's tone as he carried on pouring another cup of coffee before leaning back in his swivel chair. "She calls me, you know."

"I know," Logan said cautiously, "a standing appointment every two weeks, I believe it is."

The older Huntzberger nodded affirmatively. "She told me you were slacking on your mentoring duties."

Logan knew it was better to be truthful and admit he had slacked the first month. "Adjusting to the situation was a little difficult the first month…."

"Balancing your work load, I presume?"

"What else?" Logan felt his heart thump, thump, thump in his throat. What was ole Mitch driving at?

"Well, forgive my asking, son," he shrugged, "but there was a time that French girls and jetting off to Paris were far more important to you…"

Logan dropped his head in defeat – would he ever live down his wild teen years? "Again, I was nineteen," he told his father firmly. "I wasn't in Paris last month, I was workng and I've managed to adjust my schedule to accommodate these mentoring duties, so...."

Mitchum didn't respond, but he seemed satisfied with Logan's answer. At least in the sense that his eyes hadn't narrowed to slits, or that his cheeks flushed beet red. A few moments of tense silence passed – Mitchum enthralled in thought, Logan anxiously waiting for the next move of this ever twisted dance.

"What?" he finally asked.

"Rory has been calling less."

Logan's brows furrowed. Was Mitchum being sincere? Had he honestly flown half way around the world to ask his son why his would-be daughter stopped calling? If so, it was kind of pathetic, right? Although. Somewhere Logan really couldn't blame his Dad – if Rory suddenly stopped being a part of his life, he'd be unsettled.

"It's a busy program, Dad, as I'm sure you know," Logan tried to reassure his father. "And she has friends…"

"Friends?"

"A person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard," Logan couldn't help making a sarcastic quip, but Mitchum wasn't amused.

"I'm quite aware of the definition. Who are these friends, Logan?"

"Gemma Warrington and Nicholas Braden. Gemma is a little rough around the edges and Nick is walks around in last year's wardrobe, but both are reasonably good students."

Mitchum scribbled a few things on the legal pad in front of him.

"Ralph Lauren, is Nick's brand," Logan mentioned, trying to alleviate the tense mood, but all he really did was make it worse.

"This Nicholas is a boy?" Mitchum asked, traces of concern lacing his tone.

"That would be the appropriate description," Logan confirmed – inwardly smirking at the subtle dig he'd given Nick.

Mitchum ran an aggravated hand through is thinning hair. "Damn it, Logan. She's supposed to stay focused!"

Logan tipped his head to the side, taken aback by his father outburst. Did Mitchum even know Rory? Or Nick, for that matter? Because last night's dinner confirmed that that boy wasn't a threat, or something to loose focus over.

"Dad, come on, she's like two weeks ahead of the program! Not just for my classes, in every single one," he punctuated the point his was trying to make by pounding his fist on the table. "She knows the answer to every single question I ask and then some. Hell, she should be teaching the class and what Gibson said earlier is true – she deserves to win, regardless of her last name or status. She's got this hands down; she hasn't lost her focus. Believe me."

It was Mitchum's turn to be slightly taken aback. The mere mention of Nick leading Rory down the wrong path elicited an unprecedented outburst from his son. Logan not only defended a girl to his father, but praised her as well. Going by his son's definition they were certainly friends. His boy seemed changed, too. Much calmer, much more mature and Mitchum knew that it was Rory's influence.

"Where are you going?" Mitchum asked as Logan pushed back his chair.

"I've got a plane to catch. Business to attend to…." He said as gathered up his papers and tossed them into his briefcase.

"Logan," Mitchum called as his son was about to leave.

"What, Dad?" The strain and frustration was now audible in his tone. "I haven't forgotten our agreement, if that's what you're getting at."

"I…" Suddenly, Mitchum was at a loss for words. Rory did have a positive effect on his son, after all talk of French girls and converting hotel pools was gone. Maybe she could rub off some of her enthusiasm for the business on him, steer his thoughts away from the music industry. This might be the beginning of a remarkable – and beneficial - friendship and Mitchum didn't see any harm in that, especially since their agreement was fresh in Logan's mind.

"Have a safe flight, son."

Soo. Tense-ness all the way around. Excellent. It'll probably get a little worse before it gets better. I'm not sure if I want Mitchum to stay evil or not. What do you think?

I turn 21 in two days, this story turns one. I will finish this before it turns two, promise. In the meantime, hope this lived up to your expectations. Despite the sporadic updates, I still love this story – haven't stopped.

I'll probably try for NYN II next, but I might go ahead and finish MWF first. Keep your eyes peeled.