Super stoked at the response for the last chapter. You guys are amazing and I'm so excited about this story it's insane. I will, will, will work on my other stories. Hopefully sometime next week. I am thisclose to finishing school so that should be good for my updating schedule.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own GG

It was Friday morning. The Friday morning, the Friday morning with the Friday night over vodka penne in Nice with Logan. It was the Friday she'd been waiting for and at noon today, the Board was set to announce which lucky Future Writer would tag along to the business meeting in Paris, and Rory would release a sigh a relief at what was happening.

Because she wanted it to happen, she'd been waiting for it to happen. She'd been waiting for him. And he'd been waiting for her, too; it was obvious. Perhaps that's why their already painstakingly slow relationship slowed to a near halt after Logan proposed Paris to her last week. To preserve the magic. To embark on this the right way. Alone. In Paris, without HPG or Mitchum or Finn interrupting.

"I'll see you at noon?" Logan smirked at her over coffee (for Rory) and herbal tea (for him) on this fine morning.

"You bet," Rory confirmed with a sweet nod, "My bag is packed!" and she pointed at the Louis Vuitton roller bag standing next to the couch in the living room.

"Presumptuous much, there Ace?"

"Well," she grinned a little mischievously, "I've got a very reliable source…"

Fake ignorance crept over his features as he smirked his reply. "Is that so?"

Rory caught his wicked grin and excitement flooded her body as she thought about tonight. Tonight she'd reach across the table top and brush his hand and he'd lean in closer and brush the stray hair from her face, before cupping her chin and crashing his lips into hers.

But since it was still morning, and she was in her PJs, bantering at the breakfast bar, she nipped her bottom lip and nodded. "Yep."

Logan cracked another winning smile as he crossed his arms over his chest. He was about to quip his comeback, but a sharp buzz cut through the building tension.

"Shit!" he murmured as he glanced down at the screen. "It's Westville ," he said to no one in particular, before grabbing his briefcase off the counter and pressed the phone to his ear. "Huntzberger." A stream of whats, I'm sorrys, and I'm on my ways left his mouth and he left the apartment, leaving a slightly shocked Rory behind.

She'd only ever heard Logan talk about Frances Westville, his role in the FTF-program was limited, but being one of the board members, he was a influential person within HPG, and a call from him, especially one before 7 am, meant trouble. Rory, however, just chalked it up to last minute preparations for this afternoon's luncheon and decided that her weekend bag could do with her black Yves Saint Laurent dress. After all, she'd only thought to pack her Chanel and a girl needed options.

"Oh this is a special lunch, isn't it?" Gemma remarked as she, Nicholas, and Rory made their way down the long hotel corridor to the Crystal Ballroom. "I mean, this isn't a Holiday Inn Express, is it?"

"Maybe the Marriott didn't appreciate HPG's business?" Nicholas suggested, but once he caught Rory's disapproving glare (really, what kind of self-respecting company rejects HPG?), he added, "or maybe the Board finally got the memo about the coffee complaints…"

"You reckon?" Gemma asked with a wink in her voice and Rory rolled her eyes, shrugging. "Perhaps." Figuring it to be in her best interest to play dumb, she carried on, "The Ritz-Carlton doesn't seem like an instant-serving establishment…"

The group rounded the corner and found themselves in the magically decorated Crystal Ballroom. Huge bouquets of yellow and white roses were placed in the middle of crisp white table-clothed tables, framed by plush red chairs. A spotlight focused on the stage at the far end of the room and taller versions of the bouquets lined the corners of the stage.

"Coffee, tea, or juice, Miss?" a server managing the lunch buffet asked Rory.

"Coffee," Rory replied automatically and without missing a beat, the server rattled off her coffee options (regular, decaf, or special blend), her flavoring (vanilla, mocha, or caramel) and her choice of topping (whipped or foam). Rory smiled – definitely not an instant establishment – as she placed her order (regular, vanilla, whipped). She looked over her shoulder and found Gemma and Nick ordering their beverages. Nick sent a wink her way, before the three moved on to the lunch portion of the buffet.

Maybe she should've chosen a sophisticated lunch, like salmon and rocket wraps, considering the setting of the gathering. Or perhaps, she should've taken something easy on like stomach, like spring chicken bouillon, in case her nerves got the better of her on this Big Night. But she didn't, instead she opted for a cheese burger – an angus beef burger topped with aged English Cheddar - but a burger nonetheless.

"They've got seven chairs set up on that stage," Gemma noted, trying to take a dainty bite of her salmon wrap, "who for?"

"There's seven Board members…" Nick said and he started to count them off, "Westville, Huntzberger, Gibson, Morris, Munson, Saunders, and Berger."

Gemma nodded as if Nick's suggestion made sense, "but then why'd they call us all here?"

"A goodbye luncheon?" he suggested.

"Or maybe they'll announce that instead of 1 person, they'll admit 2 people for the program…"

"Maybe someone's dropped out!" Nick countered a little too eagerly for what he was implying.

Rory let Gemma and Nicholas speculate as she let her thoughts wander… She had not expected this announcement to be this big. The Ritz, the lunch, the spot-lit podium. The prospect of Nice and dinner and Logan had caused her thoughts to jumble, distracting her from what an accomplishment this was: she was going to be acknowledged for her hard work and dedication to the program. Not just from Logan, but from the Board, people who didn't know her as the granddaughter of Richard and Emily, people who didn't know her for her scandal beginnings and tumulus teen years, but just as Rory, the hard-working future writer, who deserved the business trip to Paris.

Nicholas brushed his fingers over Rory's forearm. "There they are," he cocked his head toward the stage, "all 7 of 'em."

Rory immediately spotted Logan, sandwiched between a smug looking Gibson and a salt-and-peppered haired man wearing a grey jacket and a green tartan waist coat. He looked tense, his lips forming a tight smile and his eyes staring vacantly into the crowd, avoiding all eye-contact with Rory.

Not that she'd expected his eyes to find hers in the crowd, especially not on this day. They'd both been so careful to keep up the student-mentor front, that they'd let nothing, even something as subtle and insignificant as a second of eye-contact, take away from that carefully crafted image and jeopardize Nice.

Tartan Waist Coat stepped up to the lectern and cleared his throat before speaking. "I am Frances Westville, and on behalf of the Board of Directors, I would like to extend a very warm welcome to you all on this Friday afternoon." He paused to accept the polite round of applause, before carrying on.

"Future writers," he boomed into the microphone, "My colleagues tell me you entered this program full of naïve hopes and dreams, ideas and fantasies about the business, but from where I'm standing I can see how far you've come in a little over two months. Things the Future Writers Program let you experience have probably met or exceeded your expectations, but I know that there a quite a few that had some soul-crushing effects on a great deal of you, chipping away the glossy sheen the paper industry had for you. However, your lecturers and coaches have seen you blossom and grow, greedily taking in each and every experience offered to you. You've shown a great willingness to learn and demonstrated dedication to the program. Admittedly, some of you have managed to exceed our expectations as a Board and that, my Future Writers, is why we've asked you to gather here today…"

Nicholas nudged Rory, "See, I told you they'd end up offering two positions!" She humored him with a smile – she knew better.

Westville rambled on about recognition and threw in a few choice terms like "tremendous commit" and "bright future", before announcing that this "diamond in the rough" would be awarded with a the opportunity to experience a business transaction up close and personal, this afternoon, in Paris, for a sneak peek into his or her possible future.

A tiny condescending grin appeared on his face as an audible gasp flitted through the crowd. "And to announce to you, who that special honor goes to, is the man who has committed the most of his time to this program and the man who will be accompanying the lucky Future Writer to Paris, Logan Huntzberger."

As he stepped back and Logan stepped forward, a handful of girls sighed and wished they'd done better. Oh, to spend an overnight trip in Paris with the very, very single and very, very sexy Logan Huntzberger was every girl's dream.

Rory could not help the smug smile that played at her lips. In a minute she'd hear her name effortlessly pass over his lips and the other girls in the room would heave a heavy sigh, adding this to their "why I'm jealous of Rory Gilmore" lists. She'd probably be on the receiving end of some death stares, but it didn't matter - Logan was most certainly worth the jealous glares.

"Thank-you for that magnificent introduction, Mr. Westville," Logan said, adding a little bow, which earned him a few laughs from the crowd. Logan carefully arranged his note cards, before adjusting the microphone, striking a somewhat nervous appearance.

"I know this announcement comes a surprise to you," he said, quickly glancing down at his note cards, "but this is one of the Program's best kept secrets and the Future Writer whose name I'm about to call should be honored. However, I'd like to stress that this decision is based on the input of the entire Board of Directors…"

"Good," Rory thought self-righteously, "he's diverting the attention to the Board, letting the rest know that it's not his opinion, leaving speculation about their couple-status out of the equation."

Obviously, it was the Board's decision. They thought she was great, not just him.

"… and today's outcome does not in any way affect the final outcome. Everyone is still in the race for the year-long position at Huntzberger Publishing."

"Excellent," passed through Rory's mind, "let those poor, poor bastards think they still stand a chance at winning…"

Rory was too wrapped up in her smugness that she failed to notice how Logan's eyes nervously darted across the room, briefly seeking eye-contact with her, before clearing his throat and announcing the winner.

"So, the lucky Future Writer who'll find him, or herself on this afternoon's corporate flight to Paris is Miss Gemma Warrington!"

Immediately, 100 heads turned to spot the curly blond in the crowd, who'd let out a deafening shriek. Part in shock, but mostly to let the other girls know that she – yes, she! – was going to spend 48 hours with the extremely single and sex-sex-sexy Logan in the city that screamed love.

Logan spotted Gemma in the crowd and, as dictated by protocol, motioned for her to come towards the stage. He tried his best to keep a neutral look on his face, but somewhere he hoped that Rory noticed the guilt etched on his face. She didn't, though, as she sat there in complete shock, mouth slightly open, bottom lip slightly quivering.

Meanwhile, an 'Oh My God' shrieking Gemma stood up and made her way towards the stage, very much like she was a contestant on some low-class game show. Come on down, Miss Worthington and claim your prize!

Rory briefly felt Logan's eyes on her, but she couldn't risk looking at him, and he broke his gaze as Gemma reached the stage and Rory's running voice-over continued in her mind.

You've won an original Logan Huntzberger. This 1984 model features perfectly rustled blonde hair and tight abs and the ability to take your breath away by casually leaning over the breakfast bar and handing you a perfectly set cup of coffee. He is also completely flexible in terms of dinner (he'll cook!) and movies (you pick!). It's no wonder he's our grand prize!"

"Except, of course, that it also turned out that he was a lying and cruel douche bag, who thought nothing of secretly humiliating his supposed date," Rory bitterly argued to her inner dialogue. In fact, she was so caught up in this moment of complete and utter devastation, she forgot the part where she was supposed to clap politely and smile tightly at Gemma.

Nicholas' hand suddenly resting on her shoulder helped her snap out of it, though. "Isn't that something," he remarked, "our little Gemmy is all grown up and jetting off to Paris…"

Rory forced a smile, one that she hoped that didn't look resentful, but Nick noticed. "You put up a good front, girl, but I see through your mask."

"Mask?" she shrugged, playing dumb.

"The fake smile you're wearing," he pointed at her face. Rory's eyes dropped to his index finger, which was hovering just centimeters from her face, "it's plain as day…."

Rory held her breath – for a second she was convinced Nicholas was going to tell her he knew about her secret, crazy-love for Logan, - but he didn't. "…you're jealous," he said and pulled his left shoulder up, shrugging, "can't say I blame you. I sure as hell am. What an absolutely brilliant experience, even if it's with some business deal with arrogant French snobs. It's a business trip – a career defining one, at that!"

"Yeah" Rory nodded, releasing the breath she'd been holding. That it was, too. What had Westville said? Recognition for a hardworking diamond in the rough with a bright and shiny future?

Apparently, that bright and shiny future was not hers to have. This was a set-back of sorts. She never failed. But then again, she'd never exactly been given the chance to fail. Being a child with double hyphens, meant she was inviolable; above the law, like the Queen. So even if she fucked it up – which she'd done countless ways and countless times – it didn't matter.

But today, as just Rory Gilmore without the support of her last names, it did matter. She was average, but she lost. To Gemma, with her stupid frizzy hair and toothy smile and who wore last year's Ralph Lauren.

Rory kind of wanted to bolt – it wasn't as if she was going to get the chance to speak to Logan here as he and Gemma would be whisked away to a conference room to discuss business. But even if she saw him, what would she be able to say?

But Westville stepped up to the microphone mumbling on about not to be disappointed and how this luncheon was another opportunity to network and Rory realized she couldn't bolt. After all, she had done a good job at creating a practically perfect persona and it would be out of character to bitterly stomp out of the ballroom. Not to mention it'd set tongues wagging and that was something she wanted to avoid at all costs.

Twelve cheese puffs, two champagne flutes and thirty minutes later, Rory's cheeks were sore from the fake smiles she was giving her peers as they stepped up to her, offering her their smug comments on the situation.

"Gee, talk about choosing the underdog, huh?" a label-less girl said to Rory and her Lagerfeld-for-H&M wearing friend added, "yeah, I thought they were going to choose you!"

That's what I thought, too! Rory's mind screamed, but instead she clenched her champagne flute tighter and gave the most ambiguous answer she could. "It is what it is." And the girls scurried away and Rory took another champagne from the tray.

She had no clue what that meant. So, Logan publically dropped a bomb on her, informing her that she wasn't going to Paris. The Board, apparently, chose Gemma instead. Was this his twisted, sadistic way of saying that he was backing out of their date – that he'd rather be with Gemma? Was that what it was?

"Those were the fakest smile I've ever seen," Nicholas said, dragging Rory from her thoughts.

She took a sip of champagne before answering him. "It is what it is."

He snorted a little, a smile gently pulling at his lips. "You want to skip out on the rest of the festivities. Maybe get a drink somewhere less crowded?"

"Um," Rory pondered over his question but ultimately decided that she was in desperate need of sweat pants, coffee and a good book. "Maybe later – I think I'm just going to go home…" and she tipped back her last sip of champagne.

"Do you want me to call a cab?"

"Don't be silly, I'm going to walk."

Rory wasn't drunk. Really, three flutes of substandard bubbly barely made a dent. Although the dent it made was big enough to set her mind abuzz and doubt everything. She was a writer – this trip was supposed to happen.

She was a Gilmore-Hayden and had pull behind the scenes – this trip was supposed to happen.

She was just Rory Gilmore, the super-smart talented writer, to the outside world – this trip was supposed to happen.

Logan asked her out on a date – this trip was supposed to happen.

But it was not going to happen. Instead, Gemma was going in her place and Rory was to stay behind. That cycle kept repeating itself in her mind but she couldn't make sense of it. Rory and Lorelei-Leigh were mixed, business and personal crossed and the line between fantasy and reality faded.

By the time she reached her apartment door, she was tired and let down. All she really wanted to do was crawl into bed and hide under the covers. But of course, with today being today it was not that easy.

To her surprise, she found Logan, suitcase open on the coffee table, packing for his 48 hour trip to Paris.

Stabbing her in the chest would've been less painful and offer her a sweet release from this terribly awkward situation.

Make no doubt about it, there was guilt scribbled all over Logan's face as he dropped his gaze down to Rory's LV-roller next to couch. It wasn't going anywhere. He looked up and caught the anger in her eyes. Maybe there were flecks of confusion and betrayal, but anger was the overriding fear. And she wasn't talking, letting him swelter in awkwardness.

He supposed it was her right after this afternoon's embarrassment.

"Hey," he offered as his dazzling opening line, and quickly followed up with the equally brilliant, "I didn't expect you home."

Rory's left eyebrow shot up unimpressed. Seriously? That's what he was going with? "I really wasn't in the mood for festivities," she said coolly and she wondered if the sharpness in her tone could be attributed to her champagne consumption.

Logan was a little taken aback by the ice in Rory's tone. "Right, I understand…"

"You do?" she cut him off sharply.

"I do! You know this afternoon wasn't supposed to go down like that." The tiniest bit of aggravation lined his words. Didn't Rory get that this was an impossible position for him.

Apparently, she didn't as she continued on a sarcastic note. "It wasn't?" she scoffed, "Because, really, I thought Gemma's deafening shrieks added a nice touch!"

"Ace!" Logan sighed and he cocked his head to the side. He knew she had every right to be upset but why did she have to be so hard on him?

"What Logan?" Rory snapped although she hated herself for it. She hated, hated, hated that she was letting this get to her. That meant that it meant something and he was not even hers to have yet. Maybe his cavalier behavior about the whole thing indicated that it did not mean as much to him. And she hated that even more; letting herself get so wrapped up in a guy, a guy that in fact might not even be all that into her. She was not that girl any more. She was trying so hard to not be that girl.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely as he dug his hands into his pockets. "I thought you winning was a done deal. It should have gone to you."

"Then why didn't it?" she demanded.

"Politics," Logan said with a dismissive wave. "Westville thinks it's better press if a girl like Gemma wins instead of a girl like you."

"You mean a girl who finished her homework a month in advance? Or you mean a girl who works hard and is determined? Because I do think Westville had those points on his shortlist?"

"You are also the girl who has a genuine Birkin," he said through an agitated sigh.

"So what? FTF is a prestigious program. Every single student is a snob or pretends to be one!"

"The Board seems to think there is a difference between this year's Birkin and last year's Ralph Lauren," he said – frustration obvious in his tone.

Rory looked at him in disbelief. Was he really getting frustrated with her? If anyone, he should get mad at the Board. Of all the bat-shit crazy thing she'd heard, this took the cake – she had gone to the Writers Program to be a normal girl, ditch the hyphens and now her last names were still working against her!

"Gibson said that Gemma portrays an image of "accessible class" which means that average Joes and Janes will be more inclined to submit applications for next year, which in turn means that we'll have to turn down more people, thus amplifying our image of exclusivity. Or snobbism, as you put it."

"It's not funny, Logan," Rory said, "it's a bunch of bullshit. And you went along with it."

His jaw clenched at Rory's accusation. Where did she get off saying that he just went along with it, like it was okay. It wasn't okay and he was disappointed but it was business. Just business.

"What was I going to do, Rory?" he asked exasperated. "Make a big stink? Put unnecessary attention on us? Just whip out the restaurant reservations and explain my predicament?"

An instant wave of guilt washed over her – of course he wasn't in the position to veto Board decisions. A tense moment followed as Rory didn't speak. This was their first argument (apart from the slurred, drunken words she hurled at him at Richards wake) and it stung.

Rationally, she understood why the Board wanted gap-toothed, accessible Gemma generating press, but emotionally it hurt. She was just a girl, too! And besides, this was supposed to be their first trip. Her first trip with a guy who maybe really kind of liked her.

"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice. "I don't want to fight."

A half-smile captured Logan's face. Rory was all sweetness and light now and it made it very easy to forget the death glare she was giving him just moments before.

"Me neither. I am so sorry, Ace. I know this was supposed to be our trip – I wanted it to be our trip," he told her.

"I know," Rory nodded, letting her rational side take over. "It is what it is."

Logan nodded. "I know."

Rory let herself fall on the armchair next to the couch and watched as Logan continued to pack. "I can't believe they picked Gemma!"

He looked up and shot her a curious look. "I thought you two were friends?"

"It's a relative term."

He shook his head, chuckling, knowing full-well that the likes of Gemma could never be "real" friends with Rory. They were a different class and as much as Rory fancied herself a normal girl she wasn't and really did not want to be. His mind briefly went back to the first time he saw her. Eyes covered by bug-eyed shades and toting that damn Birkin.

"Well, if I'd have to give this opportunity to anyone other than you, it'd be her."

"Really?" Rory was shocked. Why did he say that? What did that mean?

"She's competent," Logan shrugged. "Compared to the other people in class…"

"And gap-toothed!" Rory scoffed.

He shot her a confused look. "And well-spoken…"

"Like anyone is going to listen to her, they'll be too busy staring at her frizzy hair."

"She's a quick learner…"

"and a bad dresser and psycho!"

"Ace!" Logan was shocked. Where was this coming from? Gemma was a bright, personable girl. Any other day, Rory would agree. And then it hit him: Rory Gilmore was jealous.

"What?" Rory shrugged innocently.

"You're jealous," he told her matter-of-factly.

Rory took offense. "Am not!"

"Are to!" Logan shot back.

"No, I'm not!"

Logan shot her a disbelieving look. Oh, she was certainly jealous. And he couldn't help but find that endearing. This evened out the score. It meant she cared about him and that was reassuring because he'd been jealous of Nicholas. It was nice to know he wasn't the only one.

"Maybe a little," Rory gave in with a huff. "It's just that Gemma mentioned that, well, that, she thinks that you're, um, attractive."

Attractive might not have been the exact words Gemma had used, but really she had no desire to tell Logan that Gemma thought of Logan as "sex-on-a-stick."

This was intriguing news for Logan. Not so much the "attractive" part, because he was used to girls finding him attractive, but the girl-talk spiked his attention. "You've talked about me?"

"She talked and I listened," Rory clarified, "and don't look so surprised! We are friends!"

"Oh, so you are friends now!"

Great. So now she was being mocked. As if she hadn't been humiliated enough today.

"Oh Ace," Logan said as he caught the look in her eye. And Rory noticed he was giving her that look – the one that made her feel like she was gasping for air and her palms sweat.

"Do you really think Gemma will put the moves on me?" And before Rory had the chance to respond, he continued, "Do you think I'd let her put the moves on me?"

"No?" she answered hesitantly, feeling a little embarrassed by her sudden and overwhelming jealousy.

"No," he answered firmly, reassuringly "Don't worry, Ace…"

"…We'll get our date?" she asked, a tiny smile playing at her lips.

"We'll get our date."

So you didn't think I'd actually let them get their date right away, right? Review if you are excited about the next chapter!