Hello! Okay, so while I'm still torn up about Chair… I managed to write this. I'm going to give this a T rating, but the content will be slightly mature given the subject matter. I've cut back my smut writing in recent times, and I've never written a smutty Chair. What I will say? I'm going for hot... or seductive. Like how only Chair can turn in on… think Yellow Dress scene. I'm might not get it there, but hey? I'm trying to get myself and any other tortured Chairs through the Blonde French girl episodes. Seriously, is she gone end of four? You know I love it when people spoil me. Enough of the blabbing… This chapter is a short one, and is just the intro basically. It's the kick off of the rest of the chapters that will be longer. Here we go…

Chuck sat in his limo staring up at the prewar office building that he had no appointment in, but was going to enter. He had heard rumours. He had caught whispers. But it was as if it was never meant to meet his ears. Chuck Bass was usually given an engraved invitation to the opening of this sort of rarified establishment, but in this case he only knew about from the satisfied murmurs of some of his most high-end hotel clients as they headed out of town. At first he had thought his being kept in the dark had been an accident, a faux pas on the part of the entrepreneurs, but as the weeks went by and their reputation built, they should have become aware of his own and made contact. Taking the intuitive he had put out feelers that then went unanswered. Then he received the slap in the face.

One night he was contacted by a bartender who worked one of his quieter, yet more exclusive clubs, and given that it was becoming know that Chuck was on a hunt for the new agency and that he paid for information, the call had come quickly. The bartender had been serving two men, who were in town on business, and at first it had been one of those mundane conversations he usually tuned out, but then he heard the gist of it. One man was telling his friend about the best night of his life, and how he owed it all to the L.M. Barnes Agency. And in that, Chuck finally had a name. Now, he would have paid handsomely for that alone, but the next bit earned the bartender his tuition for the next two semesters. One, the Agency only dealt with out-of-towners, and two, under no circumstances would any news of the agency be spread to Manhattan proper, and especially to any arm of Chuck Bass Industries or Bass Industries as a whole. Nothing pissed Chuck off more than being excluded in such a demeaning way. But try as he might he had found no concrete proof of its existence or how to contact them.

In the end he had set his best investigators onto it. And yesterday his efforts had born some surprising fruit.

He should have known the minute he heard the name of the agency.

As his driver opened his door, Chuck tugged his leather gloves on and stepped out onto the curb. With a self-satisfied edge to his small smile, he sauntered across the street, into the lobby, and up to the 17th floor. The doors opened directly into an impeccable waiting room, and the soul person in the room, a nervous secretary, stood at his unexpected arrival.

To her credit she tried to stop him from entering the large doors that shielded her employer's office, but he shot her a look and she sat back down. He pushed the doors open, and their slamming shut had the director to the L.M. Barnes Agency spinning around in her high-backed chair to face him.

"Well, well, well… this is a surprise…" He breathed, owning the situation and the upper hand.

"Chuck?" She managed, and he could tell that she hoped she was hallucinating.

"It's been too long, Kitten. Up to new tricks? ... Tricks being a rather apropos word in this situation, wouldn't you agree?"

"I don't know what you think this is, bu—" She bit out.

"I know exactly what this little business is, and I am greatly intrigued…" He came across the room and snapped a card onto her desk. He let his eyes rove over her body, perfectly silhouetted in a black suit jacket and tight pencil skirt. He saved his comment about how he'd missed her naughty librarian look the last couple of years. "I expect to have all my… questions… taken care of tomorrow night… if you don't want news of your little business venture to be spread to the entire Upper East Side, that is… I'll see you at nine."

Without waiting for a response, Chuck meandered out of her office, but it didn't matter, because for the moment Blair Waldorf was actually speechless. She glanced at the appointment card, noting the name of the restaurant, the date and time, before ripping it into a million pieces and then stomping it into the carpet.

She should have known her good luck wouldn't last. She should have known better than to open the most elite escort agency in Manhattan and think Chuck Bass wouldn't find out about it. Damn that Mother Chucker.

TahDAH! Okay, so that's the start of my new fic. Feel free to hate it or ask questions. I deliberately went a little vague, and will go more indepth in the coming chapters… like how and why she opened it, and where the story is situated in CB history. It is AU, so there's that. Hope you enjoy!

PS-I hate Henry Prince.