A/N: I didn't have that many reviews, but I'm submitting this anyway because the whole thing is already written. Sorry if it's a little rushed but I'm sort of in a hurry.
Summary:
"I never thought you would turn away from your type," Chuck mused conversationally. I scowled at him. Everything about him is deliberate. He probably scripted how this entire conversation will go. He knows exactly how I will react and I can't help it.
"I don't have a type," I said shortly. Chuck just turned his amused gaze on me.
Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Obvs.
In retrospect, going to Butter in the first place may not have been the best plan. It was exactly the sort of place where we would run into exactly the sort of people I was trying to avoid. Sure enough, the one person I hadn't wanted to see while I was out making out with my new boyfriend approached them with nonchalance. He was alone. That was a first. I was definitely going to address the later.
"Dean," he greeted in that low husky voice of his. "Where have you been?"
I suppressed myself from cringing. I knew he was ignoring me pointedly.
"Chuck," Dean greeted uneasily. Unlike Nate, Dean wasn't stupid. He knew that if Chuck Bass was making a point of talking to them, disaster was sure to follow.
In my defense, when I started going out with Dean, I had no idea that he and Chuck were actually on friendly terms. I knew the disaster of dating Chuck's friends and I sure as hell wasn't going to make that mistake again.
Chuck wasn't really known for being the friendly type either. How was I to know? But that's the thing about Chuck. The hits just keep on coming. Story of my life.
Blair wasn't known for being the type of girl to just bring guys up to her apartment. But she could really see herself having a nondestuctive relationship with this person. She knew she could never love him to the degree that she was accustomed to. To the degree that she could only one other person. Tentative pleasantness would be enough.
Dean was good looking enough, smart enough, wealthy enough. He would make a good match. God, she sounded like her mother. The same mother that forbade her to see the one person that she had recently discovered was quite difficult to live without. But she would make it work.
Dean's kisses were adequate. It was obvious their relationship wouldn't be a passionate love affair, but really, she didn't think anything would hold up to her past indiscretions. Great. Now she was talking like him to. The Basstard.
"So," Dean attempted to make conversation before things got too far. He was so nice. "Do you usually live out of hotels like this?" It was a work in progress.
"It's just easier," Blair shrugged, convincing herself that it was okay that some guys didn't immediately want to throw her down across the leather interior of his limo. But they were in her room, not a limo. She had to keep remindind herself of that. "I'm connected."
"You know the owner?" Dean asked. Blair wanted to convince herself that tone in his voice was him being impressed. That didn't stop the fact that she didn't really want to address this particular subject.
"We're acquainences," Blair said carefully.
"You're acquaintances with Chuck Bass?" Dean asked skeptically. Blair was surprised that Dean knew who it was. Chuck Bass was well known, but not everyone had a list of all the hotels he owned. There were too many. It was tiring trying to find one that his name was attached to, so Blair didn't even bother anymore. Anyway, it paid off to be connected to the richest man in America.
She also didn't like the way Dean said acquaintences. Everyone knew Chuck's reputation. There were many implications associated with that word.
"We grew up together," Blair said vaguely. She really didn't feel like getting into it about the person she was desperately trying to forget.
"That's all?"
Blair looked at him curiously. She couldn't lie to a person who seemed so honest with her, but it was strange how he just seemed to know.
"Do you know him?" Blair asked suddenly.
"We work together," Dean relented.
"You work at Bass Industries?" How did she not know this? All she knew was that he was a wealthy... Oh. Damnit. She should have seen this one coming.
"You were with him?" Dean ignored her question like she ignored his. "For how long?"
"Its complicated," Blair said weakly.
"I never thought you would be the type of person to date that jerk," Dean muttered.
"I thought you said you were friends," Blair stated. Dean shrugged. Men. Everything was one testosterone contest.
She found the word "date" strange in this context. She wasn't sure if what they did constituted as dating. They never really put a label to it.
"We grew up together," Blair repeated, trying to defend herself. "It just sort of happened."
To say that Blair was shocked was an understatement. Since when was Chuck just the sort of person to just make friends. He hate Nate. He had Eric. He and Nate had been friends forever. He and Eric were friends because they lived together for a year and a half. Like everything else in his life, things just happened.
"Its more of a competitive friendship," Dean finally adressed.
That was how Blair would describe everything about this chain of events. Competition. Sometimes it wasn't even about her. Sometimes Dean and Chuck just wanted to get back at each other. But the real reason was obvious, even though Blair chose to ignore it.
Chuck didn't like people meddling with what rightfully belonged to him. As possessive and testosterone based it was, Blair knew Chuck had a tendency to get insanely jealous. At least when it came to her.
The problem with Chuck was that you would never know it unless you knew him. And Blair knew him better than anyone. He had phases of these jealousy attacks that were easy to pinpoint when you were as close as they were.
Chuck would spot the problem. He would glare for a while. He would approach and then systematically sabotage to get what he wanted.
Blair had seen it one too many times. Actually, not just one. More like a thousand. Chuck always got what he wanted. What Blair was unaware of was that he never stopped wanting her. The number of times they just exploded, she thought he was done with her. Unfortunately, Chuck would never be done. She should have seen that coming.
It was only a matter of time before Chuck would find out. He had around the clock private invenstegators on a rotating schedule. But so like a Bass, a Waldorf never backs down.
I hate being uncomfortable. But apparently Dean hated it more. He actually ditched me and left me alone with my turbulent ex. If he was so "competitively friendly" with Chuck, he should know how he operates. But then again, I guess no one knows Chuck Bass as well as I do.
"I never thought you would turn away from your type," Chuck mused conversationally. I scowled at him. Everything about him is deliberate. He probably scripted how this entire conversation will go. He knows exactly how I will react and I can't help it.
"I don't have a type," I said shortly. Chuck just turned his amused gaze on me. My weakness. Those damned eyes of his. He's so smug that he knows.
"Oh no?" he asked smugly. "Not handsome, rich billionaires with dark demeanors and encredible wit?"
"I don't recall ever having been with one of those," I said smoothly. He just smirked. I hated myself for caving into him like that. I also hate to admit that I love the banter between us as much as he does. Its like foreplay. Not a good sign when I'm here with someone else.
"So Dean must have had a good time on Thursday." I could tell by his tone that this was premeditated as well. Normally, I would have been able to hide my surprise and realization. He knew me too well.
Thursday night I tried calling Dean multiple times to no avail. It was 2 in the morning when I gave up. Chuck got me and he knew it. Usually I wouldn't give him the satisfaction, but he knew as well as I that he had my attention. I needed to know what happened that night and he would be the one to tell me.
"Thursday," I stated simply. He took that as his cue to go on.
"It was quite the affair," Chuck said, his arm over the back of his chair scoping out the room probably for some disposables. So predictable. "We took our dates to that new club in midtown. He probably didn't get home until 3."
I stiffened at the word dates. Damn that Mother Chucker. He got me and he knew it.
He finally turned his penetrating eyes back to mine after what seemed like a geological age. He was triumphant. I could read him so well. As well as he could read me.
"You know Vicky Hane don't you?" He was playing with me now. He knew he trapped me and he knew how to play this. What did I ever see in him? Oh yeah, I remember now. "Nice girl." That word. Nice. But it doesn't mean nice in a good conatation. When Chuck uses the word nice, he really means a nice screw. "She's model. She won't find a cure for cancer or anything, but she's--"
"Nice," I cut in savagely. There's that sexy smirk of his again. God, what is wrong with me?
"He's obviously more interested in you," Chuck said. But I knew where he was going with this. His voice was getting suggestive. "With all of your..." he eyed me seductively, "enticing features, how could he not?" Just when I thought he couldn't get any grosser.
I knew what he was referencing. That Snowflake Ball so many eons ago when we picked each other's dates. That had backfired too, so like everything else in our sad attempt at a relationship. He wanted to know if she had the same features as me. Jackass.
"I'll have to cut this meeting short," Chuck stood up abruptly, straightening his dinner jacket. He spoke as though this was just a business deal. I knew the real reason he was leaving. He spotted Dean. He had done the job of his destruction and now it was time for him to leave. Typical.
Though he was leaving now, I knew him better. It would be a short time until he struck again. He had completely manipulated me and sabotaged my relationship wtih Dean and he knew it. I wanted to be furious with him, but the only person I could find myself furious with was Dean.
"Have a wonderful evening," Chuck said, his voice coated with suggestion. I had to confront Dean. It was only a matter of minutes before Chuck found some easy blonde at the other end of the bar.
Dean conveniently found me after Chuck had left. I looked up at him, wondering if he could see the betrayal I felt like I was smothered in. Once was enough. I wasn't about to be cheated again. He was more like Nate than I thought.