So, I've officially entered the working world. It's interesting, but not nearly as interesting as this story.
This may be a little fillerish (and a lot shorter than the last few chapters) but I wanted to get it posted since a) my writing time is literally notes written during my commute and b) it's the big segway to the next part of the story.
Thanks bunches and bunches for all of the love on the last chapter. Much love!
Disclaimer: I don't own gg
Mitchum Huntzberger had always trusted his instincts. After all, those impeccable instincts were what made him the successful mogul he was today. Had he listened to Elias' plans he'd be heading Huntzberger Paper Presses, producing paper, rather than newspapers. Of course Elias had been mad when Mitchum broke the news that he'd be leaving the family business to pursue other interests. Elias stomped his foot and shouted, calling him an ungrateful traitor and threatened to slash him from the family will.
Shouting and threats didn't bother Mitchum. He was a millionaire in his own right thanks to his grandfather's inheritance. That and youthful opportunism was all he needed. Soon, Huntzberger Publishing Group acquired its first newspaper, and then another, and Mitchum sought out his father, with a business proposal. HPP would be the sole supplier of the paper HPG's newspapers were printed on.
Elias came round; Mitchum was re-emitted to the family will. Both business flourished. Instincts. It was what Mitchum relied upon and they'd never been wrong. And yet, as the corporate jet took to the sunny skies, he couldn't shake the feeling that his gut had been wrong this time.
Rory Gilmore in love? With Logan?
Mitchum didn't know much about love. Sure, in his younger years, he knew how to sweet talk any girl. He too had a slew of girls he kept around purely for entertainment purposes, but he never broached anything serious. Establishing a career was far more important, until it wasn't. He spotted Shira in a crowd and she smiled and the terribly abstract concept of love suddenly made sense. Deep down, and only to himself, could he admit just how much sense it made. Forty years and one son later Mitchum knew his gut had been right about that, too.
But Rory and Logan, they were different. Calculative and cynical about love. Neither ever letting on that they possibly ever wanted anything resembling a relationship.
Rory was twisted and bitter, but talented. Too talented to let it go to waste. Richard saw her spark and Mitchum aided in nurturing that talent. When the DuGrey boy came along it was unfortunate and her reaction extreme, but it was tolerated.
Mitchum couldn't remember why. Maybe Richard insisted? Or maybe her behavior hadn't been so out of the ordinary? After all, Logan was sleeping his way through London society, running up thousand pound bar tabs and flying off to exotic locations.
Logan was a master in sweeping girls off their feet, letting them believe in the fairytale before dropkicking them to the curb. Mitchum knew Logan had never met a girl with an ego the size of his and the same kind of selfishness, the same kind of guard that was always up. Logan's was natural and Rory's aggravated by circumstance but it was the same.
It never occurred to Mitchum just how similar they were. Maybe Rory's newfound good-girl attitude had fooled him. Surely, she'd outgrown whatever rebellion she experienced in her teens and with no prospect of Elias' inheritance, Logan would surely want to hold on to his trust. So, he put them together. To see Rory grow, but also to honor his promise to Richard.
Nothing more and nothing less. Never, not in a million years, had he expected two people so ignorant about love, to fall in love.
Was it really love? Mitchum tried to think. Had he missed anything? Were there any signs, some foreshadowing? Perhaps. Her calls to see more of her 'mentor', his consistently glowing reviews of her.
Mitchum rolled his eyes – there was no point looking back – and his thoughts turned to the present. Finn's call. That look in Rory's eye. And now London. He'd have to see Logan's face and then he'd know. Instincts.
A knock on the door forced Logan to mute the Dirty Jobs marathon he'd been watching. Somehow, watching Mike Rowe power wash a dead cow made him feel somewhat better about the sorry state of his life.
"Alright, mate" Finn said, "you know that deal. One more episode once the pizza has arrived and then we switch to the classic movie channel. Gone with the Wind is on all day."
Logan rolled his eyes and grabbed a fistful of bills from the coffee table. "Whatever." He walked slowly to the door, as if just placing one foot in front of the other was too great an effort.
"Large pizza, extra cheese," Mitchum greeted Logan. "Excellent choice."
Logan was too stunned to talk, too stunned to be offended by his father's tone (he'd heard the tone, right?). Mitchum's eyes scanned him, keeping his face void of any emotion. Mitchum had seen Logan at pretty bad times – at sixteen in the headmaster's office after being expelled for the sixth time in as many months, in the lawyer's office after the Hilton skate rink affair, and at HPG's Holiday Party three years ago – the first corporate event Logan attended - but never had Logan looked as bad, as fallen and dejected as this.
His gray sweats hung baggy around his legs, but the waist was a little snug; the otherwise hard lines of his abs were faded and the tiniest bit of belly was starting to protrude. Usual tan skin was pale. His tired face was bloated and dark purple circles framed his empty eyes.
Logan blinked a few times – accepting that his father was now at his doorstep – and took the pizza box from him. "Thanks."
He turned on his heel, not bothering to invite him in, but not turning Mitchum away as he followed Logan into the apartment. A bewildered smirk appeared on Mitchum's face. It was surprising how easy it was to enter Logan's place. However, the lack of fight was also telling.
Logan dropped the pizza box on the coffee table and left for the kitchen. He heard the hushed, urgent exchange between Finn and Mitchum, but couldn't make out what they were saying. Upon his return, Logan did manage to note how awkward and out of place Mitchum looked standing in his camel colored overcoat in the sleekness of his apartment. His lips twinged but didn't pull into a smile.
Logan handed Finn a beer and gave one to Mitchum. "Finn, my dad. Dad Finn." He took a swig of his beer and let himself fall back onto the couch.
"Thanks," Mitchum said, tipping his bottle at Logan, before taking a seat.
He mumbled something of an acknowledgement, sipped his beer, took a slice from the box and watched as a silent Mike Rowe take a chainsaw to the now-clean cow hide.
Finn and Mitchum exchanged a tense look. Finn silently urged Mitchum to speak up, but he wasn't going to. As Logan reached for his third slice of pizza and Mitchum nursed his beer, Finn cleared his throat.
"Mate, I'm going to retreat to the movie room."
Logan waited a beat, before turning to meet Finn's gaze. Maybe there was a hint of pleading – don't go! – in them, but if there was, Finn wouldn't let that stop him from giving father and son some much needed time.
"You know I want to see Rhett and Scarlett together in the jail scene. I've missed it twice today!" With that, Finn sprung up, tipped his beer bottle at Mitchum. "Was lovely to see you again, Mitchum," and walked off.
"Enjoy," Mitchum said with a curt nod, one that let Finn know that he understood. When Finn was safely out of earshot, Mitchum chuckled.
"He's a peculiar sort of a fellow, isn't he?"
Logan turned to him, slowly chewing his pizza and shrugged. Mitchum, not letting Logan's coolness deter him, tried again. "You know the Hartford rumor mill says he's gay?"
"Well, he's not." His tone was annoyed and tired.
"I know," Mitchum was quick to say and he stoked his chin, still a little unsure at how to handle Logan in his fragile state. "He, um…" he coughed, "…actually, Rory told me…."
Logan's jaw clenched and his body tensed up at the mention of her name, but he didn't speak.
"She made it up, actually," he chuckled, shaking his head, as if he were telling a cute joke and not an anecdote about a blatant lie. "Could you imagine Emily Gilmore's reaction if she knew her granddaughter was living together with two straight men?"
A spark of fire flickered in Logan's eyes and he scoffed. It was unbelievable that Mitchum approved of her lies – like she was a not-trained puppy. Yes, the pup shouldn't pee on the floor, but it's just so gosh-darn-cute!
"I think I could," Logan responded dully. After all, he knew how he had responded to her lies and he imagined that Emily was the type to blow a gasket or two. "She doesn't tolerate foolishness."
"We don't either," Mitchum said sternly, "her antics have landed her under Emily's supervision at the DAR, you know."
"Seems suitable," Logan shrugged. Had his father really flown half way around the world to discuss the painful subject of Rory?
"She stopped writing!"
Logan's eyebrows shot up, unimpressed. "Stopped drinking, too?"
Mitchum's jaw tightened and he was about to speak, but Logan cut in. "Look, Dad, why are you here?" Finally, there was some agitation evident in his tone. Perhaps not the emotion Mitchum wanted to hear, but it was an emotion none the less.
"The quarterly is tomorrow," Mitchum said gently, wondering if Logan had forgotten about it.
"I know that," Logan shot back, annoyed, "I mean, at my apartment. Talking about…" he drew in a sharp breath, "….things that are done. FTF is over. Katie Nolan won. If you are here to cut me out of the will and take my trust, just do it. I… I just don't care."
A smirk played on Mitchum's lips – his son not caring about money was a first. "From where I'm standing, son, you did not break any rules. In fact, I think this is the first time you adhered to them."
At Logan's confused expression, Mitchum rolled his eyes. "Your trust is safe," he clarified, his tone taking on a note of seriousness. "I actually have a business proposition for you."
Logan's eyes flew to Mitchum's. "What?"
"Production at the London Office had spiked over the last three months. I believe that is strictly down to your influence."
Logan downed the last sip of his beer. He should have known it was all business, all the time with Mitchum. That he was drowning himself in his work didn't matter, as long as production was up.
"So?" Logan asked, before trekking into the kitchen and returning with another couple of beers.
"Business is changing. Big things. HPG needs to innovate to stay relevant and we need to find the next big thing. I'm introducing an eight week project to find the next big thing. I'm taking current corporate talent and new talent and creating a task force Think of it as an eight week brainstorm session if you will. In New York, all expenses paid."
"And?"
"And?" Mitchum laughed, "I want you in. You've proven yourself out here Logan. Especially over the last three months. That kind of energy can only benefit the Task Force."
Logan cocked his head to the side, thoroughly confused. Was that actual praise from Mitchum Huntzberger? And what made ole Mitch think that he'd actually leave his London town to go stateside.
"I'm willing to negotiate, Logan," Mitchum said, "If you give me eight weeks of your time, I'd be willing to release you from your future HPG commitments."
"Meaning?"
"Eight weeks in New York and then you're free to leave."
"I'm not nineteen and gullible, Dad," Logan was almost offended, "What are the strings?"
"No strings. I'll have my lawyer make up a contract if you insist."
"I do," he shot his father a pointed look, "And Finn would have to come."
"Finn?"
"I can't leave him here – he'd trash the place. Besides, he's creative and quite possibly a new talent," Logan narrowed his eyes to slits, "and that is what you are looking for, right?"
"Right," Mitchum nodded slowly and realized that adding Finn to the mix would be beneficial. Another pair of eyes and another pair of ears. "You are absolutely right. Finn can come too."
Logan's eyes widened in surprise – since when was negotiating with Mitchum so easy? No fight, no yelling and screaming.
"So, we've got a deal?"
Logan waited a beat. His mind was so numbed and fuzzy, he really couldn't decide if Mitchum was offering a good deal or was screwing him over. But things in London weren't good and they weren't getting any better. Eight weeks in New York (and the promise of freedom) seemed like a welcome change. And Finn was going.
"What are you doing, Dad? You think letting me off the hook will make me want to stay?"
"I think that's something you'll have to decide for yourself. I'm done trying to force you."
"How…noble," Logan scoffed and a tense silence engulfed the men. Logan's mind was made up about Mitchum's offer (he'd take it – what did he have to lose? ) but the whole sequence of events felt off.
Had Mitchum come because he knew he was weak and likely to take the offer? But he started off talking about Rory. From the few statements, it was obvious that Mitchum knew much more about what had transpired than he let on and yet, he seemed to accept it. His trust was still intact, there was no screaming, Mitchum had even said Logan had followed the rules. What happened? What had Rory told him?
Logan locked eyes with his father once more. "What about FTF, Dad?"
Something flickered in Mitchum's eyes, but Logan couldn't place it. "It is what it is." Mitchum cleared his throat. "Rory wanted me to give you something. It's in the hallway. She said it would replace what she took. And that she was sorry."
"Me too," Logan said suddenly and without thinking and cursed himself immediately for letting his guard down in Mitchum's presence.
Mitchum stood up, just as unexpectedly as he arrived. "Let me know your decision tomorrow. You'll start in February." He touched Logan's shoulder in a surprisingly comforting gesture. "I'll see myself out."
Logan sat there on that damn designer couch, silent and expressionless. Mike Rowe had been replaced by one of the Mythbusters, but he was focused on a large cardboard box in his hallway.
How'd he missed it before? It didn't matter. What mattered was that it was Rory. He had just managed to rid his apartment of her presence and now she came crashing back in. And what did she think, anyway? That a gift would make up for the drunkenness and the Greek and the cringe-worthy come-on that followed? This wasn't crying on his T-shirt after Richard's funeral? A case of Coca-Cola didn't make up for the total implosion of his world. Hallmark didn't make a card for this!
He should send it back. Unopened, not caring. But he couldn't and he hated that his heart thump-thumped a little faster as her name passed over Mitchum's lips. Rory's in the DAR (suffering, like him). She's sorry (like him). Maybe she wants him back (no, in the first place).
"Fuck it," he told the empty room and scooted off the couch. Fresh beer and scissors in hand, he approached the box. One swift swipe was enough to separate the brown packing tape from the cardboard, revealing 10 bottles filled with a perfect honey colored liquid. Barcardi Gold. Rum. His favorite. Rum she used to do make-shift shots. Rum that he hadn't touched since she left.
He dug around for a note. One part of him desperately wanting to find one, the other part feverishly wishing there wasn't one and suddenly his mind flashed to her receiving her London boxes. No note. He'd told the housekeeper to back that manila envelope of notes with the coffee maker. He knew it'd hurt her more that way.
Sure enough, he found a small yellow envelope on the bottom of the box. A small daisy decorated the front. So sweet, so innocent and so very different from the connotation this note and gift carried.
I know this can't replace all the damage I've done. Me, not you. I'm sorry.
No joke, no facts, no cute little smiley face with which she usually signed her notes to him. It was honest. Heartbreakingly honest. And it pissed him off.
It was easy to write sorry, even easy to say sorry. But for all he knew, she was sorry that Logan came home when he did – sorry she was caught, sorry she was sent home, sorry that she didn't win FTF. Sorry for herself, essentially. And he figured, selfish as she was, that she was.
Logan crumpled up the note and tossed it in the trash. Rory could stew in her apologies. It didn't affect him. But he was keeping the rum. And he was eating that last slice of pizza.
"Mitchum!" Emily practically choked on her tea. "Weren't you in London?"
Mitchum cracked a smile, he loved catching Emily off-guard. "This morning. It was only a quick meeting, but I have some things I would like to discuss."
"About my granddaughter, I suppose?" There was a hint of coolness in her tone, but Emily still gestured for the maid to make tea for Mitchum and load his tray with some sweet snacks. "By all means, Mitchum, have a seat."
"Thank-you, Emily."
A perfectly tweezed cocked eyebrow let him know that this was no time for pleasantries. He gently broke a chocolate chip cookie in two and started. "I don't think Rory is doing well in the DAR."
Emily frowned. "She's doing just fine."
"She's managed to offend every member. Twice," Mitchum reminded her. "If it wasn't for you and Constance McCrea, who's taken a liking to her, she'd been ostracized."
"She needs some practice, but she'll get there."
Mitchum nodded slowly, "But she doesn't want to get there."
Emily threw her hands up in anger. "No, she wants to be in London doing God knows what with God knows who! I'd like to keep her under my supervision, thank you very much! Honestly, Mitchum, is that the way a girl of her stature should behave?"
"Absolutely not!" Mitchum agreed and leaned in a little closer, "What if I told you I could put her under my direct supervision?"
Emily lifted her tea cup, but put it down and narrowed her eyes to slits. "What are you driving at?"
"I'm starting new business in New York…" but Emily cut right in, "I've heard enough of your crazy ideas, Mitchum. That's how she ended up in London in the first place. It was good for her, you and Richard said, for her development, to hone her skills…."
"It's not a business," he backtracked quickly, "think of it more like a project. An eight week project."
"Eight weeks? Whatever can she do in eight weeks?"
"Come up with ideas for the company, but that's not the point, Emily. She's not happy where she is now, you can see that, can't you?"
He waited a beat for Emily to nod her head in a agreement and continued, "This would be a change of pace for her. Just a short one, but maybe the one she needs to commit fully to the DAR."
A small smile played on her lips, but quickly turned into a frown. "Or HPG?"
Mitchum drew in a sharp breath. "That'd be her decision, obviously."
"Obviously." Emily agreed and swallowed, "Richard would have wanted her to decide, wouldn't he?"
"I think so," Mitchum said softly and Emily sighed deeply. Eight weeks wasn't a lifetime and New York wasn't London. Mitchum would be watching her. And Richard would've wanted it. Finally, after a few moments of silent deliberation, Emily agreed that Rory would be in New York come February.
Late that night, Mitchum was still awake. Jet-lag, he'd told Shira and sneaked out of the bedroom, down to the kitchen and poured himself a rum-and-coke. A meddling, Hartford style deal had been made. He tricked Logan into thinking he was getting what he wanted, he'd tricked Emily to believe the same and he made Rory insanely happy, for now at least.
His meddling could cause a rift between the Huntzbergers and Gilmores forever, but knowing what Mitchum knew, and seeing what he saw, he doubted it. A Huntzberger Gilmore union was more likely and far more beneficial business wise. That it happened to be love made his meddling appear to be altruistic, but it wasn't. Why he hadn't thought to force the couple before, he didn't know. It didn't matter – he was trusting his instincts on this.
Meddling Mitchum, always a pleasure. Maybe a little "As the World Turns" to have Rory and Logan meet this way, but, you know, this whole story has a good helping of soapy-drama, so it's okay.
Review if you are excited to see the Logan x Rory x Finn drama in the next chapter.