Title:A Siren's Call
Seminary: She's the contemporary siren, but he's no sailor. Their serinum scopuli? Washington DC.
Disclamer: I don't own Gossip Girl or Nathalie Beddingfield's 'I bruise easily'. This storyline however is completely original and therefore completely mine... Ow yeah! Hahaha. Enjoy!

My skin is like a map of where my heart has been
and I can't hide the marks, but it's not a negative thing.
So I let down my guard, drop my defences, down by my clothes

I look at myself in the mirror one last time. My brown hair falls in beautiful glossy curls past my shoulders. I recheck that my cherry red lipstick is still as glossy as it was a few seconds ago and make sure that it doesn't move past my lips. I know that my lip marker usually makes sure of that, but since tonight is not the night for it to fail at it's purpose, I check again. I pull at the hem of my cobalt blue cocktail dress in a desperate attempt to lengthen it. I know it's useless, but that doesn't keep me from trying. I adjust the neckline, push my smallish boobs up, trying to make them look bigger in my already super-push-up bra. 'It's useless' my mind scolds at me. Deep down I know it is but I'm not sure I'm ready to admit to that fact.

Deciding that enough is enough I step out of the lady's room at Bourbon and reclaim my seat at the bar, where my single malt awaits me. I was afraid that ordering a fruity cocktail would make me stand out, so I went along with the house specialty. Diana made sure I understood the rules of the game I was about to play.

"You need to blend in and yet stand out." I remember her exact words. Being early was not done in this line of work. You might create awkward situations for the client, and yet I found myself being ten minutes early. It's not in my nature to be late for anything, ever. I make the mental note that I really should to work on that, if I want to impress Diana and keep this job. That's what it is to me a J. O. B, a job. Others might prefer working 40 hours a week doing some lame 9 to 5 job at minimum wage, I chose this instead. Well I kind of had to if I wanted to keep up my way of life.

While my eyes take in the spectacular Christmas decorations, my mind takes me on a trip down memory lane. I've been bred and groomed to be an upper class girl and I was one, until my father got arrested for fraud and the FBI froze our bank accounts. All of them. My mother decided to divorce my father then and there, with the hope of being able to claim her part of the Waldorf wealth, she got half of the dept instead since they never signed a pre nuptial. Six months later my mother sold the estate and her business to free us out of those shark loans. We are now living in a middle class apartment with a street name that doesn't end with avenue. I used my thrust fund, or what remained of it to keep up my style in life. About two weeks ago, when I was down to my last thousand dollars, it was then that I realised I needed to start looking for a job that would help me support my life style. I came to the conclusion that there was only one job who could do that. Once I realised that this, me sitting here patiently – well not so much today - awaiting a client in a bar, could guarantee me that, my decision was made. On one condition, I was going to be a high class girl. From now on I was going to be someone else a few times a week.

- xoxo -

Last Monday.

My legs felt wobbly as I walked up the stairs of the gorgeous brownstone. I push the doorbell and a buzzer opened the door that would bring me to the office. I had a 9 o' clock appointment with the Lady of the house: Diana Pain. I took a deep breath, made the mental note to calm myself down, hold my chin high and shine. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right.

I had done my research and Diana Pain's select services delivered high end class girls to the most prestigious and wealthy men in Washington. I was able to get myself an appointment and was awaiting my job interview. I never expected to actually have to go on an interview for this kind of job. But then again it's no common whore house.

A gorgeous redhead welcomed me with a warm smile and takes me to a private waiting area around the corner. I still an see the front desk, but any given passenger won't be able to see me squirm while waiting. "Miss Pain's meeting is running a bit late. Could I offer you a cup of coffee while you wait?"

"That would be kind, thank you." I smile while I shake my winter coat off my shoulders, fold it and lay it neatly on the chair beside me.

She eyes me from head to toe, before she returns my smile. I secretly hope I passed the first test already. She returns moments later with a steaming cup of coffee on a plate accompanied by a bag of brown and a bag of white sugar, a skinned milk and a creamed milk and an assortment of biscuits on the side. I decide on the brown sugar because it's more healthy and half a portion of the skinned milk. The cookies look alluring, but I decide against sampling them. I'm pretty sure that the cookies are in fact a test.

They made me wait ten minutes on the spot. I was just putting down my cup on it's plate as one of the dark oak doors opens and reveal a woman in a spandex style dress.

I stand up as she walks over to the reception desk, ordering the cute redhead around, before she turns to face me.

"Good morning." The woman greeted me as she approached me with her hand extended. I took it and give it a firm shake. Making the mental note not to squeeze too hard and yet hard enough. "I'm Diana Pain. I hope you didn't have to wait too long."

"No. It's fine." I reassure her. "I'm Blair."

"Waldorf." She finished off for me. "I know exactly who you are."

I pick up my winter coat and Birkin bag and followed her into her office. She closed the door behind me and offered me a seat in one of the two luxurious chairs in front of her desk.

"What brings you here Blair?" She wondered while she took her own seat.

"I'm here because I want to be a part of you service." I tried to answer without a shaky voice.

"A delicate flower like yourself?"

I gave her no response. My initial reaction was to say I'm no delicate flower, but luckily realise that my reputation must have outran me once again. "Perhaps I'm not as delicate as they claim me to be."

"True." Diana smirked at my response and the little devil on my shoulder started doing her little victory dance already. "Do you know what the job means?" She wondered next.

"I know it is mainly about sex." I started, before I stayed silent for a few seconds until I rearranged the thoughts in my head, but she started talking first.

"I expect both beauty and brains from my girls. I know both those requirements are not issue with you."

I nod in agreement. Well I agreed about the brains part, I'm no ugly duckling, but no supermodel either.

"You've had the perfect upbringing, perfect grades and your innocent reputation, as I have earlier pointed out, make you the perfect candidate for marriage in the high circles."

"True, but the elite find my father's prison sentence un-overlook-able."

"And yet you are prepared to be the secret mistress for many of those elite men."

"I find it personally a poring when some waists my time, so yes. I am. Otherwise we would not be having this conversation."

"Okay then." Diana answered. "Let's talks business."

I nodded in agreement as she started to explain the rules to me.

"First off. You are no hooker. You are an escort girl. That means you will never ever receive cash payments from clients. All money goes through this agency, as well as the appointment making." Diana starts to explain. "Second, when a client books you it will be at least for 12 hours or 72 at the most. They feed you and they put clothes on your dainty back if they want to take you out to a social event, take you along on business trips and so. They are required to give you a separate place to sleep if they book you for a long period of time."

I nod and smile, taking it all in. I like sex, money and a rich lifestyle. This is going to be a piece of cake.

"You can get 2 days off once you build up a full client book. You are aware that these men could take you to events where you are mist likely to run into someone you know. Make sure you get your details worked out with your client."

I think about it for a second. I am well aware of that fact and once my mother figures it all out, she is most defiantly going to freak, but I'm planning to take this one hurdle at a time, truly wishing that their won't be much hurdles on my path. Once I spotted Miss Pain trying to read my face, I become aware of the fact that she expects me to respond. "I know," I state "and frankly I don't care. There is nothing left for me to lose."

"Ok then. Onto the next topic: what's your age limit?"

Diana's question startled me for a second. "Well they must be legal." I responded, not knowing how to answer that particular question, really.

"Our youngest client is 18, the oldest is 75."

I scrunch my nose at the thought of a grandpa hovering over me.

"That's what I figured." Diana smiles politely. "Tell, what's the oldest you are willing to go?"

"Perhaps around 45?" My answer really came out more a question than a statement.

"Very well. And what about your sexual boundaries?"

"My..."

Diana smirked at my sudden loss for words. "You are going to have to get a costumed with these topics." I think she joked, but I'm not entirely sure about that fact. At this point I'm simply praying I didn't just completely blew it.

I made sure I had my act together before I opened my mouth to speak again. "I'm no fan of torture or pain. So sm is off limits, as well as my ass."

"It is noted in your profile. We won't set you up with clients who have a known preference for those sexual acts."

The remainder of the conversation is merely all paperwork, dates I already know I want to save, planning monthly doctors appointments, my medical file, social security number and the signing of my contract. As I put my autograph down I realise I'm signing away soul to the devil.

"Before I can put the final touches to your profile, I need one more thing: your cover name..."

"Audrey." Blair smiles. "I want to be Audrey."

- xoxo -

Well, here I sit as Audrey. Not that she is that much different from Blair. Perhaps she's a bit more daring than I am. The amazing thing is, I can turn her into anyone I want her to be, or the client, for that matter. As I take another small sip of my beverage I here 'Have yourself a merry little Christmas' roll off the speakers. Bourbon slowly starts to fill up around the time he's about to arrive.

The annoying part of this particular part of the night, is the fact that I'm sitting here waiting for someone and I don't know who. Diana told me I was planned to meet him here at 9pm. It's 9.05 and I'm still waiting. He could be in this bar right now, enjoying his bourbon while he watches me squirm, while i am at loss who too look for. Diana gave me no name, no description, nothing.

And yet I know something about him. I smile as my mind takes me back 2 days.

Every three weeks Diana scheduled me for a beauty moment. When I walked up to the beauty parlour I could not believe she had gotten me an appointment at the most exclusive beauty salon in Washington. Not even my mother could get an appointment this last minute at Giuliani's. I'm talking about the time we were rich, of course.

Diana send me along with Georgina Sparks, one of her top girls. Georgina looks like me, but then again she doesn't. Her eyes are blue while mine are brown and she's edgier around the edges, even when polished. We had been talking about every light topic anyone could imagine: the weather, celebrity gossip, nail polish colours, fashion, ect. So I knew that the topic of my professional deflowering would not be far off...

"I overheard Diana making your first appointment." She started out of the blue, we were discussing Birkin bags, seconds ago.

"You did?" I'm sure that came out a whole lot squeakier then I intended.

Georgina gave me a smile, obviously she caught my high pitch response. "You don't have to worry." Her attempt to reassure me made me only more nervous. It showed as I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. The beauty specialist cursed at my sudden, and for her uncalculated, movement.

"Do you know who it is?" I asked her, what my mind really wondered was this: has she slept with him?

"She must have high expectations for you, Blair." Georgina gave me a another smile. "Diana only lets him have a taste of the girls who she believes are here to stay."

My mind took a while to process all of that. So Diana believed in me.

"Tell me about him." I almost demanded.

Georgina smiled at my sudden eagerness. "I can't give you any details. But I can tell you this much: we girls at the office have a nickname for him: the cherry picker."

-xoxo-

When 9.15 rolls around I decide to go against the rules of only one alcoholic beverage a night. I'm sure many of the other girls break that rule. I'm not quite sure that breaking the rule on my first night is actually a good idea, but what the hell. The fact that I am meeting 'the cherry picker' here is actually more frightening than reassuring. Since Georgina refused to give me a name I was unable to do any form of online research. Not that I believe my first ever client would be someone known around the Washington Community, but I could at least have attempted to search the name on Facebook or twitter in the hope of seeing any picture so I know who I'm supposed to meet. I check my wrist watch and realise that my thinking made another five minutes pass and that the man obviously doesn't own a watch or perhaps has no sense of time.

The bartender flirts with me while he serves me my drink. The young man, probably has no idea who or what I am, and I relish in the anonymity. I swirl my seat around and as my eyes land on the door a gorgeous man walks in. My eyes connect with his and I feel an electric wave rush through my body. This amber eyes are so intense it feels like he's mesmerizing me from afar. I whimper when he pulls his eyes away from mine. I don't know how long I have been staring at him, but at this point I really don't care. His eyes burn me as they rake over my body in that certain slow, lustful way. I lick my bottom lip in anticipation. Could it be him? Please let it be him.

My blood is rushing through my veins, desperately trying to go any faster when my mind wonders: will he walk over to me? My breath hitches in my throat when I see him scan the crowd, as if he's looking for someone. My heart jumps at the realisation that this gorgeous man in my client. I throw him a coy smile, that he returns by a nod if his head, accompanied by a slight raise of the corner of his mouth. Oh those lips, those full gorgeous lips. They taunt me. My heart falls into the pit of my stomach when I see him walk away to the other side of the bar and not towards me. He sits down at the far end of the bar. He takes off his long winter coat, only to reveal he is dressed in a perfectly tailored business suit, with a bowie. I have always preferred a man in a bow tie over a plane tie. I turn my chair around and feel like a fool. Anyone will be ugly compared to him right now. Stupid woman!

I stare at my drink. Perhaps I should just get the hell out of here. No harm to my reputation has been done, my mother won't have to suffer through that heart attack, I'm pretty sure she'll have once she finds out my new line if work.

I stare at the brown liquor in front of me, I slowly spin the glass around, swirling the bourbon around in the glass, barely containing it with the glass. As I look up I find his seat empty. Oh great, on top of the fact that he rejected me, he also bolted. I glance down at my watch again and it's 9.30 pm. At the realisation that i have been stood up, I throw by scotch back. I cringe a bit as the burning feeling in my throat hits me.

"Slow down there, gorgeous." I here someone muse on my left. I slowly turn my head around and there he is, standing within arms length of me. The first thing I see are his gorgeous amber eyes. And I just stare, I stare into his deep amber coloured pools. If his eyes were bourbon, I would be drunk by now. The next thing I notice is his smirk and realisation hits me that I've been staring, as in really staring at him. The whole vixen act I had prepared and rehearsed has flown out the window.

"How about another drink?" My gorgeous man offers.

And I am back to doubting, when ether or not he knows who or what I am and when ether or not he is in fact the client I'm waiting on. If that man appears now, I will get burned on both ends. As his eyes connect with mine all worries disappear and I give him a coy smile before i reply: "Yes."

"two more." He orders the bartender around, who barely dares to look at me now. For a moment I wonder what's up with that, but his deep voice drowns my thoughts. "Tell me your name gorgeous."

I take a sip of my drink before I answer him, a naughty smile plays on my lips when I found the perfect answer. It will clear a few things up. "I thought you were told that part of information."

He smirks at my response. My insides clenge at the conformation that he is indeed my client and he is gorgeous! Yay for me. My inner goddess is jumping up and down with glee. His eyes are burning me and I look away for a moment, taking another sip. When our gazes reconnect the look in his eyes has changed, for the better I guess. I'm sure I'm going to find out when ether my gut was right or not. His eye colour has darkened, but the slight raise of his eyebrow reveals he's amused by me.

"I was." He smirks. "But that doesn't mean we should skip the proper introductions..."

"That would be impolite."

"Yes, it would be." He keeps smirking at me while his eyes rake over my thin body. I'm pretty sure my clothes are about to disappear any moment.

"I'm Audrey." I put my hand out, he takes it and slowly raises it to his lips, kissing one of the knuckles gently.

"That's a good one. Nothing like the usual flower or perfume based names."

I'm startled for a moment. He knows it's not my real name. Now what?!

"I know you are special gorgeous." I'm sure he's deliberately not using my fake name. About a dozen questions go through my mind. How come he knows so much about me and I know little to nothing about him, other than the fact that my body is ready to jump him. I even haven't gotten around to asking him for his name. "I know, because I only do special, and i get a special treatment in return."

Special treatment? My mind immediately wonders.

"So why don't you continue."

"I'm Blair."

"I'm Chuck Bass." Immediately I know who he is, he smirks as he watches the realisation sink in with me. He's rich, filthy rich, multi millionaire, if not billionaire. He is a real-estate tycoon, who owns a chain of exclusive 'Empire' hotels around the world, clubs, bars. You name it he owns it. He's made his first hotel 'The Empire' in New York his home, but apparently he comes out to DC once in a while.

"What brings you here mister Bass?"

"You."

"Although I would find that very flattering, you coming to DC just to see me, I know it's not true. Don't underestimate me, mister Bass."

"Call me Chuck and I promise I won't."

"Good." I smile. "So tell me, Chuck. What kind of business brings you here?"

"I've had back to back meetings all day long." He sighs. "I would rather to talk about you."

"Why?" I wonder. "You probably had me background checked, so you know every detail of my life, while I know absolutely nothing about you."

"I live a very public life, miss Waldorf." I shake my head at his use of my last name, only to confirm that indeed he had me background checked.

"There must be more to you than your reputation..."

"I could say the same thing about you. That folder on my desk is to me what my reputation is to you."

"So it's a folder now."

"I have the tendency to do things thoroughly."

I know he's talking about the background check but somehow I can't keep my imagination in check and wonder when ether or not he is referring to something totally different. My thoughts make me blush, not much, but just enough to burn through my make-up.

He takes a step closer and his musk smell fills my nostrils.
"Do you like it when men do things thoroughly?" He wonders.

I try my best not to let my mouth fall open because I can not believe he just asked me that. My inner goddess is doing a victory dance, before she starts scolding at me: 'answer him you silly goose! One word, three letters.' "Yes" I hear myself say in a throaty tone.

Anyone who can touch you, can hurt you or heal you.
Anyone who can reach you, can love you or leave you.

AN: My new year's resolution? Starting a new story…
I'm kind of nervous to read your reactions on this.
I hope you will welcome it with open arm just like you did with 'The thin line between business and pleasure' and 'Butter'.
It's an idea that has haunted my mind for a while now and I just needed to get it out of there,
because it was blocking my creative thinking on my other stories. So I wrote it down and decided to upload it right away... ^^
Leave me kind things if you want to see this story continued…

Happy 2013! D.