Damien Dalgaard

"Enjoy your stay in New York, Mr Dalgaard," greeted the overly annoying air hostess as the two men exited the plane. Damien scoffed – that was highly unlikely…

Completely ignoring the woman, Ambassador Dalgaard briskly walked past her, his son in tow.

"Remember Damien, don't embarrass me. We'll be staying at the Empire, and a friend of mine will show you around. I want your behavior to be impeccable - you know how important appearances are…" Damien's father began.

Tuning out his voice, Damien whipped out his iPhone and scrolled through his list of contacts. It had grown way too long.

"Are you even listening?" his father demanded angrily. At every location, Damien was given the same lecture, the same instructions - be on your best behaviour, do what I say, smile for the camera…. It was getting old. Really old.

"I am listening," Damien answered irritably. Hastily stuffing his phone into his pocket, he slipped into the limo after his father got inside. The rest of the ride was silent, both father and son lost in their own thoughts.

"Hello, Mr. Bass," greeted Ambassador Dalgaard pleasantly. "How are you?"

Fixing his gaze on the man, Damien noted how well put together the man was. With perfectly styled hair, a crisply pressed pink Hugo Boss suit! and defined features, he had a unique kind of look that most women probably found irresistible. He was about 5'10, a mere inch shorter than Damien, and seemed to have a similar taste in style.

Though never introduced before, Damien instantly developed a strong sense of dislike for the man. His eyes were too calculating, too sharp and cynical for him to seem trustworthy. Judging by his expression, 'Mr. Bass' didn't like Damien very much either - he was suspicious. Damien found his distant, reserved personality very much similar to his own, yet it was off-putting. Refusing to look away from his demeaning stare, Damien stared him down and attempted to become as distant as possible, not wanting to seem emotionally affected by a prick like that.

After years of practice, Damien had effectively learned how to keep his emotions to himself, anyway. It wasn't too challenging appearing detached. Just as he did with his father and at the galas they attended, he hid any feelings of contempt, disgust or unhappiness and internally suppressed them in order to seem assured and at ease. This was one of the few helpful pieces of advice his father had ever given him, and he always used it on people like Chuck Bass.

"Just fine, Mr. Dalgaard. It's been too long," he replied politely, averting his attention back to the Ambassador with a rather fake smile.

"Indeed it has - it's been four years since our last meeting, I believe. Although, just a couple of months ago, Jack informed me that you purchased The Empire. Congratulations - I'm sure Bart would have been proud." Damien's father smiled genuinely. Yet strangely enough, Damien noted how Chuck's eyes seemed to harden beyond the phony smile and at his side, he clenched and unclenched his left hand briefly. Damien could only guess the topic of his father was sensitive.

Managing to keep his temper in check, Chuck answered calmly, "Yes… of course. And who might this be?" he asked, turning to Damien, his face a little arrogant beneath the artificial charm. Damien had been told by his father to keep quiet unless spoken to, yet another demanding rule among many for their trip. Damien was expected to act like the 'ideal son' in public, after all, and he had to keep up the pretence of having a perfect relationship with his father when in reality, it was a train wreck.

"I had almost forgotten! My apologies. This is my son, Damien," The Belgium Ambassador introduced Damien with an apologetic laugh, intending to be jovial. He gestured toward Chuck. "Damien, this is Chuck Bass, Bart Bass's son".

"A pleasure, Damien", Chuck smiled thinly and reached out to shake hands, as if the exchange was nothing short of a pain in the ass.

"The pleasure is all mine, Charles," Damien replied coolly and quietly, taking his hand in a challengingly rough grip before letting go. Chuck looked like his upper lip was about to curl, and it made Damien cough into the back of his hand to suppress any kind of amused reaction.

"A favor, Mr Bass. It is my son's first time in New York, and I need someone to show him around. Do you have anyone in mind?" He hated it when his father talked on his behalf - it made him feel like a child.

Chuck raised his brow. "I'd love to show him around," he offered, disdain still evident in his eyes.

"So it's settled then. Damien, go upstairs and get some sleep. It was a long flight and surely, you must be tired my boy," his father advised pleasantly. It seemed caring, but it wasn't really fatherly advice - he just wanted to get Damien off his hands.

"Sure." Damien smiled a little mockingly at his father and then, ignoring Chuck entirely, he made his way to the lobby elevators. Stalking over angrily, he almost snarled when he saw Chuck look back at him with his father. Damien sighed, impatiently waiting for the elevator to reach the ground floor. He walked in the moment the doors opened, feeling himself cool off a little as he pressed the button for the 27th floor.

When he reached their floor and got to the penthouse, Damien wasn't extremely impressed - from the extensiveness of his travels, he had seen better. Purposely finding the larger bedroom, not caring about his father's reaction, Damien threw off his jacket on the bed then located the hotel telephone on the nightstand. He called the concierge to move his bags into their room.

Fifteen minutes later the job was done, and Damien dismissed the concierge as quickly as possible and with a lower tip than he probably should've given. Whatever. Opening his bag and sorting through his jackets impatiently, Damien found the old sweatshirt in the bottom of his suitcase and pulled a small bag containing white powder from the inside pocket.

Jenny Humphrey

"Prince Henry? Second in line to the throne of Albania, practically rolling in cash…" suggested Lily persuasively, though a little tiredly. Handing a picture of the prince himself over, Lily hoped that Jenny would choose him, if only to end their tiring search for a date.

It was a Saturday morning, and usually, Jenny loved nothing more than to sleep the day away. Unfortunately for her, this Saturday was different, because she had to decide on a date for the ball. Today.

"Lily, I'm not going to the ball with a 30-year-old - it's bizarre, not to mention a little creepy," Jenny sighed chidingly, talking to her as if she were a child.

Since 11 that morning, Lily Humphrey had been showing her step-daughter endless prospects for her to take to the ball. It was next week and Jenny was panicking. No matter how many ideas Lily presented, none of the men fit her standards - Jenny was incredibly selective. Some were too old, some too young, some too unattractive and some too tasteless or not rich enough. Jenny had to have the best of the best, as usual, and it seemed like an impossible task finding her perfect match. This was the social event of the year, and Jenny needed to make a splash. It was almost three in the afternoon now, and Lily was openly exhausted.

"What about Brad Alexander?" Lily tried again, her eyes skimming through the names in her notebook containing prospects for Jenny's date. "His mother said he's single."

"That's because he gave six girls from Nightingale gonorrhea of the throat last year," Jenny informed her with an annoyed sigh, throwing the photo aside and settling to page through an old copy of Vogue while reclining comfortably on the white lounge chair in her step-mother's living room. Jenny rarely if ever stayed at home on the weekends, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She didn't feel like having any of her 'friends' harass her about finding a date, or offer their stupid suggestions, so her step-mother was the next best thing.

"Jenny, don't be so paranoid. You've managed to pick apart over 30 different men so far. You're being a little over the top," Lily sighed, exasperated. Jenny could be terribly aggravating when she wanted to be.

"30 men…having so many choices is a bit excessive, don't you think?" A deep voice leisurely rang out from the elevator. Chuck Bass. Trust him to come up with some witty remark at a time like this.

"Charles, how are you?" Lily greeted, ignoring his sarcastic remark. "Can I get you a cup of coffee?"

"Thanks, but I'm on my way to the Planetarium" he informed her, smoothly handing over a black leather folder to Lily. "I'm just dropping of the papers you needed." "And Jenny, I'm sure you'll find someone" he reassured her, though he didn't seem too interested in the affair.

Looking up from her magazine and failing at being annoyed at the interruption of her date-picking process, Jenny's face broke out into a small smile when she saw Chuck. "Did Chuck Bass say he was going to the Planetarium?" she called over mockingly.

He let out a short laugh. "I'm entertaining a hotel guest, son of an ambassador. He's waiting in the foyer" he gestured, to a man leaning on the pillar near the elevator. He was dressed impeccably and had a roguish elegance which was uncommon in the Upper East Side.

"Maybe Jenny could show him around," Lily jumped at the opportunity to receive a break from Jenny's endless criticism.

At the mention of her name, Jenny casually discarded her magazine on the coffee table and leaned back on her elbows to look over at the Ambassador's son. Just one glance sent all thoughts of the Horticultural Society Gala out of her mind. With stunning facial features, a lean body, dark blond hair and classy style, Damien Dalgaard was, simply put, a perfect 10.

It only took him a moment for him to realize how she was unabashedly staring at him; he was astute and sharp. Intelligence was always a bonus. But it was the way he locked eyes with her, his gaze challenging and intense, which made her heart turn with interest.

"Yeah, I can do it," she replied with little hesitance. Brushing past Chuck, she quietly murmured, "but you owe me."