Finally where we should be

Let's roll the dice!

"Go away, Michel!" Rory grunted at the French guy who was hovering behind her. She was happy he decided to stay at The Dragonfly after Lorelai announced the new extension project. But, the man sure knew how to be annoying. He spent the last hour counting how much paper was consumed to print Rory's manuscript at the inn.

"It doesn't grow on trees, you know?" He spoke in his slurred French accent.

"Well, as a matter of fact, paper in general is made from trees," the journalist tried to ignore him.

"I'm talking about money, young lady. You are spending a lot of this hotel's resources and you're not even a guest here."

"One of the benefits of being the owner's offspring. What can I say, I learned it all from Paris Hilton."

"Hold your tongue. Paris Hilton is a delightful creature and also a business woman. I met her when I was a concierge in New York," he crossed his arms in defiance. "She would use the resources of her own hotel or fashion company to print her biography."

"Gezz, you should leave me then and hurry to e-bay. You better purchase a copy of her last memoir filled with solid life advice before it's sold out." The guy was irritating since Rory could remember, but his behavior has gotten worse lately. Every time she dropped by the inn to do something book-related, he welcomed her with a snarky comment. There was even this one time he nagged about Lorelai wasting working hours to address one of the girl's questions. The young Gilmore would avoid the visits if possible, however she needed the printer and was too tired to go somewhere else. So, she has been trying to tolerate the flat-out rudeness. Until now. Because Rory finally realized Michel's cold shoulder had nothing to do with rationalizing office supplies. "I thought you'd be more happy about this project, since you are in it..." She revealed, without averting her eyes from the manuscript. How could she miss the signs? Michel was probably one of the most vain people she knew. Obviously he would like to brag about inspiring a book.

"You wrote about me?" The French man replied with a pleasant surprise, placing one hand in his chest. His annoyed expression suddenly turned into a large and proud grin.

"Of course! I could never tell the story about Lorelai Gilmore and The Dragonfly without including you," the writer looked up to reassure him and then continued. "If I tell you that your character even has a few lines, would you give me some space to finish this?"

Michel dismissively looked at her and responded with an unaffected voice. "I have important business to take care of, anyway."

As Rory watched Michel leaving the room, she almost asked if he could stop by the kitchen on his way out and bring some food. But the girl remained in silence. It was not wise to push her luck. Eating could wait, even for a Gilmore.

Without Michel breathing on Rory's neck, everything was printed and organized in less than one hour. Lorelai entered the room and found the girl standing up with a satisfied look and two piles of paper perfectly placed on the desk.

"You've been locked in THE OFFICE for so long I thought you dragged Steve Carrel in here to discuss a reboot in Connecticut." Lorelai chuckled. "If it was the case, I couldn't miss the opportunity to jump in and try to get a famous actor to promote my business."

"Sorry, no celebrity. Just me here." The girl answered, without looking at her.

"Shoot! I even came bearing gifts of the best kind to get Steve on board. What am I going to do with all this delicious food now?" Her mother said overdramaticaly.

The promise of good food was enough to catch Rory's attention. She turned to Lorelai and spotted a feast on her hands. There were chicken skewers, cheese and a plate of baby carrots with a green dipping on the side - a duo that seemed to be the object of the young Gilmore's healthy pregnant cravings nowadays.