The Paris Ritz
Contrary to popular belief Blair Waldorf could be nice. At times. To certain people. In certain situations. When she felt like it. Dashing young men trying to get their point across to the concierge in broken French that smacked strongly of her native shores was one of such situations.
It would be inhuman to leave the poor boy struggling. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she was alone in the city of love because Dan Humphrey of all people had just dumped her and jetted back to New York and right now she couldn't remember why she was even dating Serena's ex from Brooklyn. And she missed Nate, who was also in France, by the way and hence much too close for comfort. And Chuck had called to nights ago for some kind of transcontinental booty call. And she had her vulnerable eyes that had snared each of them in the first place because truthfully, Blair likes to move on fast and this guy was there at the Ritz and his shoes were really nice and now he was thanking her for stepping in and saving him and she was stumbling over "You're welcome" without even trying.
He was a pretty and polite as Nate, as bad and sexy as Chuck and as intelligent and soulful as Dan. She flinched when he smiled because he could break her heart three times over.
He was cursing himself the moment she spoke because he could tell he was money. Big, old money. She spoke the Queen's English but with an all American accent that was the exclusive trademark of the typical Ivy league East Coast housewife. And then his eyes met hers because she finally raised her downcast gaze from an earnest perusal of his shoes.
They were dark and brown and broken and it was like looking into a bloody mirror and his heart stopped because all of a sudden he can't even remember who Rory Gilmore is and it's the first time in so many years that he's had that freedom and he feels like he can breathe again.
Then that girl- Blair, she introduces herself and it's such a crisp name, reeking of the brains and beauty package he already knows she is- smiles and withdraws. She gently rejected his offer of a drink but he sees her move toward the bar any way.
"As your damsel in distress, I surely owe you a drink," he insists following her to the oak counter and pulling out her stool for her.
Her raised eyebrow and cavalier smirk belied the hurt eyes. He empathized with her frustration. The best way to get over some one was to get under someone else and while this hadn't worked for him, he was willing to help this girl give it a try if she wanted.
The signs were evident. Her eyes were immaculately lined with black but se couldn't get rid of the red rim that a nights crying had gifted. She was twisting her little ruby ring around her finger and couldn't stop biting her lower lip. Her gaze wavered between him and the door as though trying to collect her thoughts to decide.
She was snotty, bitchy and obviously heart broken. He didn't care. All he knew was she made him forget the one that got away and he figured he owed her one for that. So if she wanted a quick fuck it wouldn't be much of a hardship because she was lovely really and he couldn't keep his eyes off her legs.
So in the end he made the decision for her, gently taking her arm through his and leading her away. They were both adults they both knew what was happening.
Back in her room, Blair looked nervous. The min bar rivalled that of his local pub. She poured him a Martini, shaken not stirred and he wondered how she knew. She looked straight at him over her Scotch, stealing his breath again. He made a strangled noise deep in his throat and reached for her, sliding his fingers into her hair and drawing her closer.
She set her own drink down, slamming it down with and urgency that matched his. The air crackled between them and she hesitated, holding back.
"What's wrong?" he asked softly. He didn't want to break the spell that her dark gaze had him under.
"I don't do this." She disentangled herself from his gaze.
She gulped down her drink. "I'm Blair Waldorf. And I don't hook up with random nameless stranger. Even if I did Dan, I'm still a Waldorf and I don't do this. No matter how cute the random stranger may be."
It came out in mumble. He grinned at the reference to his looks and rose in fluid movement out of the door before she could say another word. "Good night, Princess."