CHAPTER 1
Hannah struts, (to the best of her abilities) towards the bar in the Palace Hotel. She is alone. She's heard Jessa's crazy tales of dangerous sexual escapades that have taken place after a few stiff drinks purchased for her by the various wealthy, occasionally not balding men who frequent this "watering hole".
Hannah is feeling particularly confident today. She is wearing her most flattering romper, the one that doesn't give her a camel toe, and her hair isn't quite as frizzy as usual. She pulls her phone out of her kangaroo pocket, pouts her lips, and snaps a quick selfie. She doesn't know when, or even if, she'll look this good again.
She takes a seat on one of the many open bar stools. She quickly adjusts her romper, as it has a tendency to ride up really badly whenever she sits down. She becomes painfully aware of an extremely painful wedgie only seconds later. She contemplates picking it, but before she does, she takes notice of a sulking boy across the bar.
He's not at all like the conquests Jessa has described. He's young, handsome, and radiates arrogance. He's the kind of boy that, Hannah knows, as confident as she is, would never look twice at a girl with her inordinately ill proportions.
As if he can feel her stare, he looks up, and meets her gaze. He doesn't blink, he maintains eye contact. Hannah can literally feel blood rush to her vagina. She cannot stand the tension. It's sexual on her end, is it sexual on his end? She feels like she is going to explode.
He flags down the bartender and whispers something in his ear, still holding Hannah's gaze. Hannah's phone vibrates on the bar. She looks down and sees a notification: a snap chat from Adam. She ignores it. She has no time for woodworking actors with this traditionally handsome, suit wearing lad is staring at her, FOR GOD'S SAKE.
When she looks up from her phone, a single malt whiskey stands in front of her. It's not her usual drink of choice (a shot of vermouth), but it will do. She didn't anticipate this boy buying her a drink, but, as she looks down and catches a glimpse of her nonexistent cleavage, she gets it, "Yeah, why wouldn't he want me." She looks over at him and winks. She motions for him to come sit next to her.
The boy gets up off his barstool, walks over, not breaking eye contact and takes the seat next to hers.
He smells so good. Hannah can feel her confidence diminishing, so she decides to start speaking, before she loses her nerve. "Okay, so in the interest of full disclosure, usually I don't drink things like whiskey, dark liquor, for whatever reason tends to make me really constipated." The boy raises his eyebrows and laughs quietly to himself.
"I'm Chuck Bass. I own this hotel, and many others just like it."
Hannah picks up the glass of whiskey in front of her and attempts to down it. About halfway through, she starts to gag. Chuck snaps his fingers and the bartender brings over an airplane barf bag. Hannah looks at the bag and shakes her head.
"I'm fine, I'm fine." Hannah insists, casually trying to swallow her vomit. She looks up at the bartender "Could you just get me some water, and maybe a few handfuls of pretzels? I prefer butter snaps, but honestly, pretty much anything will do."