A/N so i realise i am extremely late to the GG party, and who knows if there's anyone even reading anymore. But Netflix sucked me into the series, Ed Westwick sucked me into the character, and dag nab it I had to write this! If anyone's still reading GG fic I hope you like it
Chapter 1
Vanessa feels her shoulders tense and her back straighten at the unexpected sight of Chuck sauntering smoothly into the gallery looking suave and relaxed and utterly Chuck Bass in his dark grey suit and livid purple shirt.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she snaps. Her stomach erupting with the sick churn of impotent rage; at him, at Blair and their twisted cat and mouse games, and at herself for being idiot enough to get caught in the middle.
"Relax Vanessa," he drawls. The familiar syllables of her name sound strange and foreign in the practiced sexiness of his husky drawl and she feels her jaw tick angrily. "I come in peace"
"Well you're not received that way. Get the hell out." She storms over to him and pushes violently at his chest. He's immovable and amused and God she hates him, almost as much as she hates herself for falling for his crap.
"Easy there," he smirks and his eyes sparkle. There's either something nasty about his charm or perhaps something charming about his wickedness, she can't decide and she's not going to waste another second of her life wondering about it. Or anything else Chuck Bass.
"Vanessa," he turns serious and impatient when she shoves him again. "Stop, I have good news"
She steps back, crosses her arms defensively over her chest, and raises an eyebrow in sceptical invitation for him to speak. The corner of his mouth lifts into what might approximate to a genuine smile and he reaches into his inside jacket pocket to pull out a neatly folded piece of paper which he hands to her with an almost coy flick of his gaze to her eyes.
Vanessa takes a deep breath and unfolds the paper. The words of the letter are so thrilling and impossible that she reads them again to be certain. Checks the headed paper to be sure it's genuine, and rereads the final line again before she eventually looks up at him.
He's not smiling, although she can feel one pressing at her own lips, he's watching her with that intense squinting gaze of his, and waiting, just waiting, for her reaction.
"Is this real?"
He nods and maybe his lips twitch just a little. She looks back at the letter again, rereads the final line a third time, and to her shame she squeals.
He laughs then, or rather he chuckles, deep and husky, and warmer than his usual scoffing laughter. "Signed today."
"But your dad-"
He shrugs one shoulder languidly as he cuts her off. "Well I enlisted some support, the new Mrs Bass' opinion carries far more clout with the old man than his son's."
He says it like its nothing, and if she hadn't overheard Big Bad Bart shoot Chuck's proposal down at the party and seen the moment's desolation that had flowed across Chuck's gaze she'd never have guessed how badly that hurt him.
"I can't believe this," she grins. "Does Horace know?"
"Well as I suspect Horace isn't my number one fan at the moment, and as it's entirely possible he has a gun in the bar, I thought I'd recruit you as bodyguard for the trip." The reasoning doesn't seem very genuine but she won't push right now, she just grabs her coat and follows him to the waiting limo.
An hour later they're seated in the dusty gloom of the bar after they've delivered the good news and gone over the details of Chuck's vision for updating the premises without compromising its Speakeasy authenticity. It's a well thought out proposal and she's listened with a grudging respect to the confident business man that this womanizing creep is clearly destined to be.
Horace gives her a hug before they leave then he turns and his hand falls with fatherly good will on Chucks shoulder. "I misjudged you son." He says sincerely. "Hope you won't hold it against me"
That's when Vanessa sees a flash of something in Chucks face she knows is going to send her spiralling back into wasting her precious time contemplating the enigma of this spoiled rich kid with his terrible reputation and fucked up daddy issues. "No sir" he replies and she thinks for a second that, yes, she can categorise that fleeting look before his expression settles in to familiar impassiveness.
She thinks perhaps it's yearning, and that makes her feel, despite every terrible thing she knows him to be, desperately sad for him.
tbc...