DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. These are fictional characters created by someone who isn't me, but used in an even more far-fetched situations to satisfy my own sick ends.

She played with the edge of the linen napkin that was laid out neatly in her lap. No one would know to look at her, the polished make-up and perfectly done hair, her attentive eyes and best little black dress; but she was bored out of her well-educated mind. She'd given up on picking at her chicken marsala long ago, finished off her fair share of the red wine over a half hour ago, and this guy was still rambling on about how his 401K plan wasn't—well, okay so she hadn't been listening, but she distinctly remembered him saying something about a 401K at some point.

Her mind wandered to trying to figure out exactly when she had gotten to the age that the men she was set up with actually rambled about such boring topics. At least a few years ago, the endless string of men had rambled on about keg parties and things that made her still feel young and like she had years to find Mr. Right. She made a mental note to call her mother as soon as she could beg off from this hellhole of a date. It had been Lorelai that had set her up on the most current debacle. This man, this boring eternal bachelor with a receding hair line and no clue as to why talking about his retirement plan wasn't of any interest to her, was the nephew of a neighbor of someone that had stayed at the Dragonfly last month. She had her mother, grandmother, Sookie and even Paris looking high and low for men to set her up with. Not to mention Ms. Patty who generally only looked low. When Paris had started in on it, she felt a twinge of self-pity. She was an attractive, successful 27-year-old reporter. She lived in New York City, the hub of the single overachievers. Surely there was one man on this island that she would hit it off with. She was beginning to rethink that notion, as this particular specimen didn't even bother to stop talking to chew as he ripped off a piece of breadstick with his teeth. She winced and brought her fingertips up to rub her temples.

Her thoughts quickly went from trying to think of polite excuses for her sudden need to leave the hip new restaurant alone to thinking that climbing out the bathroom window probably wouldn't be that harrowing. She glanced down at her new stiletto pumps that she'd rewarded herself with after her last promotion and sighed.

He was coming back from the bathroom, wondering how much of the tiny salad with no dressing his date would actually choke down before rushing off to the bathroom. She was blonde, she looked like she weighed about ten pounds and she was going to put out after he paid thirty dollars so she could pick at four leaves of lettuce. Trying to figure out which of the small discrepancies between these women that rotated through his life would differ tonight almost kept him interested enough to listen to them talk about why they're never going back to the hottest new salon ever again because of the debauchery they'd made of her French tips.

On his leisurely stroll back to his table, his unusually good hearing picked up a familiar voice. He slowed down to catch a few more words, almost colliding with a waiter with a tray full of entrees.

"No, I didn't realize that the sci-fi convention would actually be in town next weekend," came her curt reply. She sounded horrified, and whomever she was talking to obviously didn't know her very well.

When the waiter halted suddenly next to him, he leaned way back in order to miss the tray and turned back towards his table and his waiting date. She was checking her teeth in her knife, and he took a deep breath before sitting down opposite her and giving his best 'I really need to get laid tonight' smile.

She heard a loud squeal, and looked up from her personal pain to see where it had come from. Half of the restaurant had turned; suddenly the focus of the dining room was on the man in the Armani suit on his bended knee holding out the largest diamond she'd ever seen. It had to be several carats, and it was a brilliant yellow color. The woman that he extended his hand out to had covered her mouth with both hands after her squeal and the room erupted into applause when she nodded in affirmation. Rory rolled her eyes, tired of seeing this night after night, and even more tired of this man's grating voice yapping at her hour after hour. Where their waiter could be with the check was beyond her. Her eyes glanced down at her delicate watch, the perfect accessory, something this man didn't deserve. He didn't even deserve her in her sweats and paint splattered in her hair that was becoming the norm for her while not at work as her current undertaking was making her living space her own. She was repainting her apartment in warm, homey colors, ridding the place of plain, stark whites.

She gave one more glance to the 'happy couple', wondering how long they'd be married before she spent his entire fortune and moved on to the newest hotshot on Wall Street. There were plenty of hotshots here tonight, and plenty of would-be trophy wives joining them. As a matter of fact, just to the right of the squealer was the perfect example. The woman was picking at a sparse looking salad, the kind that made you want to run out and chew on some bark in order to get some flavor and fulfillment. She looked as devoid of character as her caloric intake. The man sitting across from her—he looked familiar. He was dressed nicer than most of the men here—definitely more attractive than the broker in what she swore was a Nehru jacket sitting across from her at her own table. This particular man was what the New York elite had deemed a metrosexual—he definitely spent some time making himself look that good. He was tanned, blonde and well groomed. He smirked at the no doubt inane comment his date was making and she knew she had to be correct about his identity. No one else could smirk that well, and make indifference look, well, that sexy.

He felt eyes on him, which was odd, seeing how it hadn't been his date that had let out a squeal that had almost convinced him they were adjacent to a barnyard. He glanced quickly around the room to find the source of the feeling that was causing the fine hairs on the nape of his neck to stand. He knew it wasn't his sure thing of a date. She was too busy complaining that her favorite lipstick had been discontinued for the fall season and she was going to have to get a whole new wardrobe to work with any of the new colors she was forced into buying. He gave a smirk; trying to appear just interested enough to get him home with her in another half an hour. He knew she wouldn't touch any dessert he ordered and he'd blown enough money on her.

Then he saw her. The only other person that looked more bored than he was feeling. The voice he'd heard earlier had in fact belonged to her, as unlikely as it had seemed at the time. She looked like at any moment she might lurch across the table to slit her escort's throat with a butter knife her index finger was tracing absently. He noticed her original gaze was on him, but she looked quickly away when he found her staring at him. He gave another smirk, seemingly in response to the comment the blonde mannequin across from him made that he failed to attend to. The stunning brunette across the dining room glanced back towards him to see the smirk and he watched as realization washed over her exquisite features. Immediately his thoughts leaped from how to get an itch scratched to how to get a smile to form on the full lips of the most beautiful woman in the room.

His eyes went from his date to hers, and then she watched as his eyebrow cocked as if to ask her what in hell they were seriously doing in this restaurant with these people. She bit back a smile, glancing back at her own date who was now using his finger nails to dig into his teeth. Disgusted, she grimaced and gave into the absurdity that was this evening. She looked back to the blonde god across the dining room and offered a shrug and small smile as if to take no blame in how she ended up with this man.

Now the game was on.

AN: Back with another Trory. I had this idea months ago, but I got all caught up in the Summer Trory exchanges. . . So review if you like it, encourage me, people! Please? I do so appreciate it.