Chapter 3

Gigi stood outside a conference room with a cup of coffee in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other as she waited on guard, ready for her ambush. The boss was coming in today to review operations, and Gigi was primed to make an impression. She wasn't even picky about what impression she got. She'd get a surge of smug satisfaction if she received positive feedback, but she also braced herself for negative. She wouldn't shut down if a stranger didn't hold her hand and tell her she's amazing. No one talked to her like that, ever. She was very experienced in receiving advice from professionals who were helping her to improve at something.

And it wasn't like Gigi was dating the boss's son. She wouldn't be deeply offended if anyone wasn't impressed by her last name.

She glanced down at her watch for a third time and decided to go into the room and take a seat in one of the chairs along the wall. Then she stood instead. She didn't want to be sitting when everyone walked in, she needed to be ready to put her clips in front of the publisher. She had done the same thing with the editor.

Someone appeared at the door then, but it wasn't an employee from the paper. It was a boy near her age, tall with dark hair and stormy eyes. Her heart fell to her stomach. It was the boy from the party, the one at the piano with the perfect family, living her alternate life. He held onto the frame of the door as he poked his head into the room.

He glanced around, looking at Gigi since she was the only one there. Recognition flashed in his eyes at the sight of her. "You're the sad ballerina from the party." He pointed at her. "Didn't we kiss?"

The corner of her lips quirked up. "No."

"But we were going to, right?" He wagged his finger and smirked. "We were going to." Then he said, "The receptionist said my mom would be here. She wanted to have dinner with me while she's in town—my mom, not the receptionist, although she did seem nice—but my professor scheduled an exam," he said. "I just wanted to stop in and say hi."

"I can tell her you stopped by. Who is she?"

"Jennifer Stiles." The boss. That made him the boss's son. Crap. "She'll answer to Jenny Dugray too." He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head in thought. "I don't think she kept Dugray for work, but I could be wrong."

"You don't know her name?" Gigi teased.

"Yes, I know her name," he said, overly sarcastic. "Her name is Mom."

She smiled and chuckled softly.

"She's married to Dad." Turning serious, he said, "Actually, my dad is Jason. But I'm sure I already told you since we've met before." When she shook her head in the negative, he frowned. "No? That's weird, I usually tell people."

"If your mom's the boss, does that make you the heir?"

He cringed sharply and sucked air in through his teeth. "Watch your language, that's a four letter word at our house."

Gigi's brow furrowed, but she smiled at the same time. "It's a four letter word everywhere." She returned to the reason for his presence, "I haven't met your mom yet, but I'll let her know you stopped by."

"Thanks," he said. "And don't be nervous about talking to her. She's a normal person, just like you and me."

She paused a beat. "How do I know you're normal?"

He considered it. "You don't, and I'm probably not. But I don't get it from my mom, so you're good." He clicked his tongue and tapped his hands on the door frame. "Thanks for passing the message along."

He was gone then, and Gigi was back to her waiting game.

Finally, the editors filed into the room. She knew which one Jennifer Stiles was when they let her sit at the head of the table in the good office chair. She had brown eyes and her ash blond hair was pulled back into a bun. She looked relatively young, possibly still in her forties. The woman listened as the editor got the meeting rolling, taking notes and occasionally asking questions and offering input.

Gigi stuck around when the meeting was finished. She waited for the staff reporters and the editors before she approached the publisher. "Excuse me, Ms. Stiles?"

The woman looked up. "Yes?"

"Your son dropped by before the meeting to say hi. He has an exam, so he can't have dinner with you."

"Oh, darn."

"I'm an intern, Gigi Hayden," she said, her pulse quickening as she held out her hand. This was her big chance. Without thinking she blurted, "I could go to dinner with you, since you were already planning on spending time with a college kid."

Jennifer's brows raised slightly at the suggestion, then she shrugged. "Okay. I'll drive."

They were slowing down to approach a red light when a familiar song came on the radio. It was an old One Direction song, and Gigi felt a twinge of disappointment when Jennifer reached toward the radio right before the chorus. Instead of station change, the music got louder and the woman sang along, "Everybody wants to steal my girl. Everybody wants to take her heart away."

Gigi gave her a sidelong look and tried to stifle a grin. She joined in quietly, "Find another one 'cause she belongs to me."

"I don't mean to brag, but I saw them twice in concert," Ms. Stiles said when the song was over.

"Me too," Gigi said. "My dad took me." He teased her for liking them. She thought of Jennifer's son, and wondered how strong his loyalties to his little sister were. "Did your whole family go?"

"No, just me and my daughter. But we all go when Tay-Tay is in town." Gigi couldn't imagine going anywhere with both her father and mother. Or her father and sister. Neither combination was a unit of any kind, so much as they were three people floating separately through life and happened to share DNA.

"I should check in while I have the chance," Jennifer said. After a couple taps on her phone, they could hear ringing transmitted over the speakers.

"Sloan Stiles," a girl on the other end answered briskly.

"Uh, this isn't your phone. Did you make sure it was me before you picked up?"

"Yes."

"You sound busy. Hard at work?"

"Yes. I'm working on my geometry."

"Good. Is Dad busy?"

"Yes. He's very busy being weird," Sloan answered.

Jennifer raised a brow. "What tipped you off?"

"He won't let me help him."

"You know you have to wait a few years before you can have your own clients. And then four more years."

"No, his stapler was empty so I tried to fill it for him and he wouldn't let me. He put it up on a shelf where I can't reach it."

"Then leave it alone. He doesn't like you doing office housework." Glancing at the clock, Jennifer added, "You'll be leaving soon anyway."

"Why can't you ever be on my side?"

"Because I'm on Dad's side, so try to get along with him."

"That would be easier if he wasn't out of his Vulcan mind." Sloan added, "I climbed on his chair when he left the office anyway. So he has a fresh row of staples, whether he likes it or not."

"You're quite the rebel," Jennifer said flatly. "Tell him I'll call him at the house later. I'll be back by the time you wake up in the morning."

When the call was finished, Gigi asked, "What's the big deal about staples?"

"Oh, Jason worked at his dad's insurance company since he was a kid, so even when he got older and was a real employee, the older guys never broke the habit of treating him like a kid, always calling him Digger—including his dad. He doesn't want it to be like that for our kids." Jennifer shook her head a little. "But it's not the same for them. Spock and Serek are incapable of talking and resolving things reasonably."

Gigi frowned. "Who?"

"Serek and Spock? They're father and son Vulcans. They repress their emotions and have a very cold, distant relationship. Jason and his dad are the same."

Jason Stiles and his dad sounded a little like Chris and Straub Hayden. Gigi knew her dad wanted a warmer connection with his daughters than he had with his own father.

Jennifer shook her head again. "I'm sorry. I've lived with three Trekkies for too long, I'm starting to sound like one." She muttered, "Our dog's name is McCoy."

They pulled into a parking lot of a restaurant, and Gigi followed her inside and they were seated at a table. She hung her cardigan off the back of her chair and they placed their drink orders. She wanted to ask Jennifer Stiles a few questions that were personal. But this was a professional dinner, so she stuck to business. "How did you start your career?"

Jennifer took a sip of her water. "I worked as a writer for broadcast news after college—in Connecticut for a few years and Seattle for six. Then I came to work for the family 15 years ago. I've been the publisher for the last 10."

"How did you get into journalism?"

Jennifer shrugged. "It runs in the family, it just comes naturally." She asked, "What about you, why are you interested in journalism?"

"My older sister—well, half-sister—is a reporter. She writes features for a newspaper." Gigi quickly added, "But she wants to be a foreign correspondent for an important company, like CNN or The Times. She's Rory Gilmore, so she's great, just really exceptional—the perfect role model." Ms. Stiles didn't interject, so Gigi went on, "She's super smart and nice. She's just really really special—better than regular people."

"Better? How so?"

There was a pregnant pause as her mind froze. These were things she was repeatedly told. She never had to explain it. "Um, she's Rory," she started, feeling strange saying it. She wondered how anyone said it with conviction. She never talked about Rory with anyone, not after she found out she was the forgotten sister. She'd even spitefully claim to be an only child. She felt guilty for it though. She wondered if Rory ever felt guilty for not claiming Gigi. Probably not. It was out of pure innocence that Rory forgot Gigi. "She went to Yale and edited the paper, so that's impressive. And she followed Barack Obama on the campaign trail after college." Gigi faltered again. "She's just, Rory, which is synonymous with perfection."

Ms. Stiles raised a brow. "Is she?"

Gigi had expected the woman to reassure her with a platitude about no one being perfect. "People think she is." She heard it there, slight bitterness.

"What people?"

"My dad—I mean, our dad. Her mom. My mom. Her grandma. Everyone in her strange town."

Jennifer rested her chin on her fist as she listened. "What about you?"

"Me? Oh I'm not perfect. I was a difficult child, really bratty and spoiled, and out of control. I sent nannies running when I was a toddler. Preschools didn't want me. Neither did my mom. My dad didn't raise Rory, and Lorelai only tells him the good things about her, so that's all he knows." Darkly, she added, "Lorelai thinks Rory is more infallible than the pope."

The older woman was frowning and shaking her head. "You misunderstood, I was asking your opinion, do you agree that your sister is perfect?"

"No," Gigi said slowly. "But she could get away with anything and no one will blame her, so it doesn't matter if it's true or not."

"What do you mean?

"She dropped out of college and gave her mom the silent treatment for months and went yacht racing—or whatever that was," Gigi said, swiftly throwing her sister under the bus. "It wasn't Rory. It was her boyfriend's fault—and his family." She crossed her arms and could feel a frown forming. It was happening again, the over-sharing.

"The family, huh?"

Gigi nodded. "It was after her internship at one of your other papers, actually—when the last guy was in charge."

"Ah, I've met him," Jennifer said lightly with a nod. "He gave me the keys to the office, rather reluctantly."

"He wasn't impressed with her. No one is allowed to question her ambitions." Gigi added, "My dad didn't want me to do the internship because the owners are such horrible people."

"I see," the older woman said without disputing it or getting upset. She casually took another sip of water.

"You don't seem horrible to me."

The woman smirked slightly. "Give me a minute before you decide."

Gigi sat nervously when they paused to give the waiter their orders. How long had she been talking? Did she really just ramble on and on about Rory? Why would Ms. Stiles let her get so carried away like that? Gigi was the bad guy here, she was the only one on the planet who wasn't charmed by her sister. The woman across from her probably thought she was crazy.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said all that. My sister is a very good person, and I'm terrible. Please don't tell anyone what I said about her. I'll get in trouble."

"With who, your cult leader? Don't worry about it."

The waiter returned a moment later to refresh their drinks and told them their food would be out soon. Jennifer thoughtfully took a sip of her water and then laced her fingers together, resting her hands on the table. "Okay, so around 1982 is when it started, I think. The kids born after that—their parents started operating under the belief that their precious offspring walked on water and shit diamonds. They could do no wrong."

One of the dark clouds within Gigi just got punctured. The cloud's name was Lorelai. She kept listening, very closely.

"The Rory's of the world have been told they're wonderfully special, and they expected to shine brighter than everyone else."

Gigi's brows furrowed. "The Rory's of the world? But she's so uniquely and singularly special," she said wryly.

"She isn't."

"But she's Rory."

"I'm sorry, but that doesn't mean anything. There are others. They all think they're the main character of an exciting story." Jennifer went on, "They want fulfillment from the careers, not just economic security, and they felt entitled to this immediately—after all, they're so much more special than everyone else. You say your sister isn't where she wants to be in her career?"

Gigi thought about it for a moment. "She likes features, but she's supposed to be the next Christiane Amanpour," she said. "Everybody thought she was robbed when she didn't get to keep reporting on Obama when he won. They confuse White House correspondent with cabinet post."

Jennifer nodded. "When one grows up with this combination of unrealistic expectations for so long, one suffers delusions of grandeur."

Gigi could only stare, speechless. For the first time ever, she felt like someone was telling the truth about her sister, and it wasn't a wagon full of praise. "You're just saying that to be nice."

"No, that isn't something I do. You can Google it and judge for yourself. Generation Y Special Yuppie," Jennifer said. "And something about protagonist. It should spell gypsy."

"She's delusional," Gigi said, trying it out and liking the way it rolled off her tongue. She grinned involuntarily. "Rory isn't special, she's delusional." Lorelai too, and Chris. Now it made sense. No wonder they got so irrational where their precious daughter was concerned. Gigi looked across the table at the woman in awe. "That's Rory. It's like you know her. Like, who she really is."

Jennifer shook her head. "I only know her type. I'm related to some, worked with others. Two of my brothers narrowly avoided this because our parents sent them to military school." She went on, "To my annoyance, this bunch does not care for constructive criticism, which is as good an explanation as any for your sister stealing that yacht when she got Simon Cowell instead of Randy Jackson."

Gigi gaped. "What?"

"Simon Cowell and Randy Jackson, American Idol?" Jennifer waved a hand. "I guess you're too young."

"No, the thing about the yacht."

"Oh. Yeah, I don't know how fast they were going, but the Coast Guard was more concerned with the stolen yacht."

"Rory stole a yacht?"

Jennifer tilted her head thoughtfully, squinting her eyes. "Either that, or they sunk it. I might be getting yachts mixed up." She shook her head. "No, it was definitely stolen. They were arrested."

"Rory got arrested?" Gigi's eyes were wide. She asked, "How do you know all this?"

Jennifer shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal, when it was the biggest deal in the world. "Family gossip. I'm family, I'm a gossip. I know things."

"You're my favorite."

The woman gave her a strange, modest look. "Favorite what?"

"Person. Ever. Really, you're wonderful."

Jennifer waved a hand. "No."

Disgruntled, Gigi said, "I can't believe this. Lorelai knows all about how difficult I am, but she doesn't tell my dad any bad thing Rory has done. She wants him to believe she got the perfect kid."

Jennifer sighed heavily. "Be honest, how would you describe your relationship with your sister?"

"It's a lot like playing peek-a-boo with a baby." At Jennifer's perplexed look, Gigi explained, "When she can see me she's perfectly nice and friendly." She held her hands in front of her face. "She doesn't know I still exist." She moved her hands and smiled. "How's school, Gigi?" She hid her face. "There is no Gigi."

"Then why are you chasing her unrealistic dream?"

Gigi wrung her hands under the table. The somber tone made her uncomfortable. So there had been a point to letting her go off-topic. She was grateful when the waiter returned with their plates. But Ms. Stiles didn't seem to notice, instead waiting for an answer. "I want—I just—my dad loves Rory so much and thinks she's the best, most amazing person. I'm sick of hearing how great she is and how lucky I am. I don't feel lucky. I feel . . . not as good. I have to be better than her at something."

"That doesn't mean you have to try to be her." Jennifer's head was tilted in concern. "What's your plan here?"

Gigi blinked. "I—I'm not sure."

"What happens if she switches careers and you're stuck doing something you don't really want to do?"

She opened her mouth and closed it. She didn't have an answer.

"Or what if you do get more successful than her, what do you expect to happen then?"

In a small voice, she said, "I haven't thought about it." Gigi was starting to feel very stupid.

Not unkindly, Jennifer pressed, "What are you doing?" When she sighed again, Gigi felt like a huge a disappointment. "Can I share something inappropriately personal with you?" Yes, thank god someone else was offering to take a turn. Gigi nodded. "A few years after I dated Jason we went to dinner. We hadn't seen each other since I moved to Seattle and I had to tell him some big news that affected him."

"That he had a son?"

Jennifer stared. "What? Yes. How do you know?"

"I met him—your son—at a party at school. He told me."

The woman looked concerned and slightly mortified. "That's what he tells people when he meets them?"

"It was my fault."

Jennifer shook it off. "Yes, that's what I had to talk to Jason about. Now, he had just broke up with a woman he'd been dating and it bothered me—a lot—that he liked her so much. I wanted him to like me. He talked about her a little and I hated it," she said. "I could have cried. I felt inadequate—like I surely wasn't as fun or smart or pretty as this other woman. I felt incredibly . . . shitty. I wished he'd like me better. I cannot imagine feeling that way for 20 years."

"A guy and a dad aren't the same," Gigi argued.

"I know, it's different. But Gigi," Jennifer said seriously, as though to make sure she had her attention. "The ex-girlfriend was Lorelai Gilmore."

Gigi was stunned silent. Again. This lady was full of unbelievable bombshells. Her eyes narrowed. "What?"

Jennifer just nodded, a brow raised.

"Your husband dated Lorelai?"

"He did."

"When did he propose?"

"A few years later we dated again. He already had the ring when he asked me to dinner." She smiled and added, "He bought a family car."

"No, when did he propose to Lorelai?"

Jennifer snorted and her smile stretched wider. "Jason? Please."

Gigi was reeling. This didn't make sense. "I didn't think men could ever recover from Lorelai."

"Jason did."

"How?" she asked, skeptical. "You aren't even like Lorelai. I don't mean that as a bad thing."

Jennifer opened her mouth in surprise before backing off. Then, "Special circumstances at that time in his life factored in. And it's probably different with the mother of a man's child."

It seemed plausible, except . . . "Not when the mother is mine," Gigi said quietly. "My dad didn't love my mom because of me. She was just some girlfriend he got pregnant when he was about to have the perfect life with the Gilmore girls. I'm his do-over," she said. "If I was more like Rory, my mom probably wouldn't have left us."

Jennifer's eyes widened in surprise at this outburst, and then softened in concern.

"When your son was a baby, did you ever think about leaving him on his dad's doorstep with a note?" Gigi asked.

The woman tilted her head in consideration. "Only for the comedic potential, but I wouldn't want to miss out on it. It was basically About a Boy."

"It's pretty much what my mom did, except they were married. She didn't even try to get us to go with her."

Neither of them said anything for a while. Then, "It is not your fault your mom left. And your dad has two daughters that are different—neither superior over the other. You aren't responsible for his happiness, or your mom's leaving. So, stop it."

"Stop what?"

"This. Stop doing this. It isn't what you want—you still can't give me one reason it is, can you?" After Gig's silence, she said, "I would normally be worried about an intern who only does clerical work around the newsroom—by the way, that's the most common behavior for interns who won't become journalists. But I'm more concerned that you're only going through the motions, no matter what you've been doing at the paper."

Jennifer reached across the table for the articles and folded it in half. "I'm not going to read this, unless you think it over and decide this is really what you want to do. This isn't a secure job, and it won't be fulfilling if you don't have your own reasons for doing it." She added, "Your sister already thinks she's the protagonist of a special story. Don't let her be the main character of yours too."

In a panic, Gigi said, "I can't quit now, they'll think it's all your fault."

"That's okay, I can handle blame."

"But they'll hate you."

Ms. Stiles lifted a shoulder as she put her napkin on her lap. "They already did. It isn't my job to please them any more than it is yours. They just have to deal."

Gigi looked down, her hands pressed together in her lap. "Am I the biggest idiot you've ever met?"

"No, just very immature."

That one cut deep. Gigi never felt more stupid. But she knew it was true. She wasn't five anymore. What was she doing?