Chapter 1
"But I think you'll find that my skills are more suitable for New York – perhaps a Christmas charity fundraiser or socialite's December wedding at the Plaza?" Blair straightened her back and lifted her chin so that she could meet Angelica's glacial stare. Ever since her initial interview with Alexander Design Studios, Blair had an uneasy feeling that the middle-aged manager had it out for her. In the interview, Angelica had asked targeted questions that were clearly meant to trip her up, and, when Blair challenged the partiality of the interview committee, the elder woman had the audacity to call her unprofessional. Fortunately, the owner, Edmund Alexander, was a close personal friend to Eleanor Waldorf; otherwise, Blair probably would've never received the job offer – complete with a rather generous salary for someone fresh out of college.
"Your skills, Miss Waldorf –" Angelica sneered, "– have yet to be seen. Any native Manhattanite can decorate a party on the Upper East Side. You're making double the annual salary of some of the finest designers in New York, and yet your portfolio shows little more than a couple of floral arrangements and centerpieces. In your interview, however, you specifically touted your ability to create a 'sophisticated, timeless, and unique atmosphere that flawlessly represents both the client's branding and the luxury reputation that Alexander Designs is known for.' Mountain Springs Resort and Spa is the perfect opportunity for you to showcase your skills on a broader scale."
Blair inhaled slowly, and smiling through gritted teeth, she rebutted, "While I am certainly capable of providing them with an exemplary experience, rustic chic is not my typical aesthetic. Surely someone else could -"
"If you are so confident in your ability to deliver superior services suitable to both the client and Alexander Designs," Angelica offered Blair a condescending smirk, "Then this task should pose no problem for you. Consider it an opportunity to grow and challenge yourself as a designer."
"I -"
"Your flight leaves at 11:30 Monday morning. Close the door on your way out, Miss Waldorf," Angelica returned her attention to her computer, silently communicating that the discussion was over.
XOXO
Blair settled into the backseat of the Range Rover as the resort chauffeur loaded her five suitcases into the back of the vehicle. From the rear window, she studied the lingering fall foliage that painted the trees with varying hues of red, orange, and yellow. It was already late November, and any given year, the leaves would've already fallen to the ground, leaving nothing but stark branches against a gloomy gray sky; however, this year, unseasonable temperatures had allowed the vibrant autumn hues to stick around a little longer.
"How long is the commute to the resort?" Blair questioned when Andrew took his place behind the wheel.
"'About three hours," he answered in a thick southern accent, "But the drive's really beautiful."
"Thanks." Blair sighed and nodded, pulling her iPhone from her purse.
"If you need to make a call, better do it now," Andrew warned. "Service is pretty spotty up the mountain. I doubt you'll get a very good signal the further we go."
Blair closed her eyes in frustration. When she graduated in May, she could've never imagined that she would end up in a podunk on the border of Tennessee and North Carolina - alone - at the height of the holiday season. Last week in Angelica's office, it had taken everything in her not to quit on the spot. She could've handled traveling to Chicago or even to the West Coast for her first major assignment, but the thought of spending the holidays anywhere in the south made her stomach turn. All she could picture was uneducated hillbillies with missing teeth. She'd dealt with her fairshare of southern tourists in New York, and they were an entirely different breed of humans with their Vera Bradley backpacks, Michael Kors watches, monogrammed pullovers, and Lily Pulitzer shift dresses. Living among them was certain to be hell.
She didn't need this job, but walking away after a few months would disgrace the Waldorf name and provide her hypercritical mother with fodder for years to come. The more stubborn side of her was also yearning to prove Angelica wrong; without so many words, she had all but predicted Blair's utter failure in the Appalachian Mountains. She may be out of her element in such foreign territory, but she wasn't about to let that bitter wench win.
XOXO
Chuck huffed, squinting into the darkness in search of the source of the incessant buzzing that had startled him awake. He nudged the redhead beside him until she extricated herself from his bed with a roll of her eyes. He wasn't in the mood to entertain her further, and his body language was enough to communicate to her that it was time for her to leave – she'd served her purpose. His searching hand found his phone on the floor beside the bed, and he let out a groan as the word Bart flashed across the screen.
He cleared his throat of grogginess, lest his father find one more reason to deride his behavior. "Hello, father." His voice was purposefully flat, indicating neither the anticipation nor the annoyance he felt at an early morning summons.
"My office, twenty minutes." The line went dead before Chuck could respond.
He tossed his phone on his desk and downed the rest of the scotch leftover in his tumbler from the night before. He didn't have the energy to deal with another speech outlining Bart's eternal disappointment in his only son, but he was even less willing to provide him with more ammunition by being tardy and obstinate. He'd spent the better part of the last five years trying to earn his father's approval, but every attempt was met with scathing criticism. It seemed that pleasing his father was an insurmountable task that he would never accomplish, and years of failure left him resentful and indifferent.
After a quick shower to rid himself of the remnants of his recent lechery, he made his way to his father's office, mentally armed against whatever disparagement at his expense Bart was ready to inflict. He knocked firmly on the door, knowing that the elder Bass loathed all forms of weakness, including the uncertainty that a timid knock conveyed.
"Charles," Bart motioned for his son to enter as he shooed the twenty-something secretary from his office.
Chuck braced himself, concealing all of his anxiety behind his aloof countenance. "Yes, sir, what can I do for you?"
"Have a seat, son," Bart sat forward at his desk, assuming his typical rigid posture meant to intimidate lesser men. Chuck refused to let it get to him as he lowered himself into a chair adjacent from the desk, matching his father height for height. "I finally had the chance to look over the proposals that you submitted last month for the Palace -"
Chuck inhaled sharply, interrupting his father before the inevitable tirade could begin. "I know that the numbers are rough, but -"
"If you would let me finish –" Bart snapped sharply, holding up his hand in irritation. "– I was about to say that they showed promise. You're finally thinking like a Bass, and I appreciate the initiative that I saw in your work."
Chuck's mouth fell open slightly, waiting for the criticism that was sure to follow the compliment. When it never came, he said, "Thank you, sir. I feel like we are missing a vital market in the 30-45 age range, and -"
"Yes," Bart nodded. "I've passed your proposals on to Mark, and his team will handle it from here."
There it was, Chuck thought. He'd spent the last year, studying the decline in revenue, analyzing sales data and booking demographics, and staring down an inordinate amount of spreadsheets to create those proposals, and, yet, once again, Bart didn't trust him enough to see the results through to the end. "I understand that Mark is more experienced, but I think that it's clear that I see something that he doesn't. With all due respect, I believe that I've proven myself to be -"
Bart turned his attention from Chuck, lifting a file folder from his desk drawer. "If you would learn some patience, and stop jumping to conclusions, I think you would find that what I have to say far exceeds your desire to run the Palace's marketing team."
Chuck's heart pounded against his chest in an unfamiliar rhythm, still unable to completely accept that his father's praise didn't come with major stipulations. "I apologize."
"I believe you've set your sights too low." He handed the folder to Chuck, who opened it slowly. Inside he found a set of blueprints alongside numerous other documents labeled Mountain Springs Resort and Spa. "Bass Industries is expanding our reach to luxury vacation resorts. We've recently purchased an unfinished resort in Tennessee –"
"Tennessee?" Chuck furrowed his brows in confusion. Bass Industries was a multi-billion dollar company with properties across America, Europe, Asia, and Australia. Bass-owned hotels were located in nearly all of the major cities in the US, but he had never once heard his father mention the southeastern region of the country - outside of the lone Bass hotel stationed in Atlanta.
Bart smirked at his son's skepticism. "Yes, the Great Smoky Mountains span from Tennessee to North Carolina, and surprisingly, it's the number one most visited national park in the US. It offers an untapped market for luxury vacations because, to put it bluntly, most of the vacational rentals in the area are shitholes. The board thinks that we have a real opportunity to kick start its luxury market with a resort spa for wealthy vacationers who want a quiet mountain escape without compromising on quality."
Chuck swallowed, trying to follow Bart's line of thinking. "And my role in this new resort?"
"Property manager," Bart explained. "I want you to oversee the grand opening on New Year's Eve."
Chuck choked out a cough. "New Year's Eve? In four weeks?"
"Yes. The resort is mostly furnished, renovations are complete, it's booked at 65% capacity. This is a fantastic opportunity for you to prove to the world that you are my son." Bart raised his eyebrows in challenge. "That is, if you feel up to the task?"
"Of course, sir," Chuck stood from his seat, reaching out to shake his father's hand. "I won't let you down, father."
"I have the jet scheduled for departure at 9:00 in the morning. Monday evening, you'll meet a young designer by the name of Blair Waldorf whom we've hired to plan the New Year's Eve Gala. I expect that you will be most accommodating to her as opening night will likely be indicative of the success – or failure – of the property."
As he left his father's office, he let out a string of curses. His father finally shows some interest in letting him take a hand in the family company, and it's in fucking Tennessee of all places.
XOXO
Chuck made his way through the lobby of the resort, carefully inspecting each piece of art and every inch of furniture for imperfections. After becoming acclimated with the property over the last week, he was beginning to feel more optimistic about the challenge laid out before him. While he would've never chosen this particular location, he felt vindicated in his abilities after years of living in his father's shadow. The resort itself was beautiful – nothing like he would've expected from this remote area of Appalachia. He'd yet to hire much of the staff, but the maintenance workers he'd encountered were both friendly and capable. In his one venture into town the night before, he'd been met with the smiling eyes of buxom blondes and sassy brunettes whom he would happily bring to his bed when he felt more settled. He had to admit to himself that things weren't nearly as bad as he'd anticipated; he was almost gleeful in his endeavors, though his well-established indifferent demeanor would never give away his internal delight.
As he rounded the corner to the reception desk, he caught sight of a slender brunette in a pencil skirt and stilettos tapping her heel impatiently against the stone floor. He took the time to rake his eyes over the sharp arch of her back, the round curve of her ass, and the shapely line of her legs. Her preppy little blazer clung to her slim waist, and, though he couldn't see her face, he imagined that she wore a look of concentration on her features as she studied the entrance to the lobby. She held a clipboard tight against her chest, and every couple of minutes, she would take down detailed notes outlining whatever thoughts seemed to occupy her mind. He licked his lips, letting his eyes drink their fill, because, unfortunately, he was certain that this was the designer that Bart had hired, meaning that he couldn't take her to bed – at least not until after she'd fulfilled her contract with Bass Industries.
When she turned to saunter toward him, he took the opportunity to introduce himself. Donning his most charismatic expression, he approached her and purred, "You must be Miss Waldorf."
She eyed him carefully, arching a pointed eyebrow in his direction. She registered his designer suit and his expensive dress shoes, quickly surmising that he must be the owner, but she decided to play it coy instead of giving him the satisfaction of recognition. "And you are?"
"I'm Chuck Bass." She felt a little taken back by the surge of warmth engulfing her small hand when she accepted his handshake. That same warmth spread through her body like molten lava as she watched an arrogant smirk dance across his lips. His almond eyes glittered with amusement, and she thought that there was something incredibly striking about his appearance. He wasn't traditionally attractive in the way that her past boyfriends had been, but he was singularly handsome. His harsh, angular features made her yearn to run her finger down the sharp cut of his jawline.
She cleared her throat and pulled her hand back, shaking herself out of whatever strange daze his presence had seemed to lull her into. "Well, Mr. Bass -"
"Please call me Chuck." His smoldering gaze and raspy voice caused the unsteady rhythm of her heart to stumble over itself in quick succession. His tone was somehow entirely polite yet suggestive, as if there was an underlying insinuation in his words that she didn't quite understand.
"Chuck," she enunciated his name carefully with a smooth click of her tongue, "I would like to get to work as soon as possible, but I have a few questions first."
"Of course, but first how about a tour of the property?"
He led her through the large double doors to an enclosed golf-cart. She arched an eyebrow skeptically, and he chuckled, "It's the quickest and easiest way to get around the resort. I promise I'm perfectly capable of controlling the cart's 15 mph limitations. You're in safe hands." His teasing wink caused her skin to grow hot, and she felt the sudden need to fan herself.
God, he was charming, but she didn't have time for distractions in the form of a handsome, arrogant stranger. She had work to do, and she had people to impress – none of whom were the man standing in front of her. Besides, her short-lived (and unfortunate) romance with one of her co-workers during her internship at W Magazine taught her of the dangers of crossing professional boundaries. She had a gut feeling that Chuck Bass was trouble; he had a natural appeal to him that drew her in, but she'd known plenty of men like him in her life – the kind of man who sucks a woman in with his charisma just to dispose of her as soon as he'd had his fill. Women held no intrinsic value to men like Chuck Bass, and she would be damned before she risked her professional reputation for a man who used women like tissues.
She positioned herself carefully onto the heated leather bench of the luxury golf-cart; smoothing her hands down her charcoal pencil skirt, she rested her red Lady Dior in her lap on top of her clipboard as a means to hide the less-than-stellar remarks she'd made regarding the underwhelming decor of the resort's lobby. She had no qualms sharing her concerns with Chuck, but she would rather broach that conversation after her questions had been properly answered.
"First time in Tennessee?" He asked as he pushed in the ignition, turning the cart down the first concrete path to their right.
She let out a small laugh, and asked, "How'd you know?"
His eyes traced a path from the red and green Gucci headband surrounded by glossy brown curls to the polished lines of her blazer and finally to her feet encased in Prada pumps. He smirked knowingly. "Call it a hunch."
"I'm not really a mountains and nature kind of girl," she shrugged, flipping her hair over her shoulder, "I much prefer the city, and the south is so…"
"Southern?" His smile widened, and the small fluttering in her chest increased to a rapid beat.
"Exactly," she grinned back at him. "But I do have to admit that it's beautiful. I love the vibrancy of the city, but I can't help but wonder what the stars look like when they aren't fighting against light pollution."
He stopped the cart at a fork and pointed down each trail individually, explaining the resort's offerings. "This path leads to three five star restaurants, the gym, and a state-of-the-art 30,000 square foot spa – which you are welcome to utilize at your convenience by the way. The main guest houses are down that trail, and this one -" He pulled a card from his wallet and swiped it against the card reader on a large gate. Immediately the gate opened to them. "-can only be accessed with a member's card. The premier cabins are down here, along with exclusive amenities including a private chef, a club house, and an indoor pool. Each of the cabins include an indoor/outdoor jacuzzi overlooking the best mountain views you can imagine."
At the description, Blair pictured small rustic log cabins with animal heads mounted above a stone fireplace – what she imagined was the entire cabin's only source of heat. As the cart slowed to the end of the drive, however, she saw that her preconceived ideas of what a mountainside cabin in Tennessee looked like was pitifully incorrect. These cabins were warm and inviting with large wrap-around porches and the soft glow of lanterns flickering across the entrance. Stone archways welcomed residents to sturdy oak doors featuring intricate carvings etched into the wood.
Chuck helped Blair out of the cart, and directed her up the path to one of two cabins at the end of the cul-de-sac. "This is your cabin," he explained. Pointing toward the second cabin, he added, "I'm right there."
He entered the code on the keypad and opened the front door. "You can use this code, or if it makes you more comfortable, you can change it. There are instructions in the catalog on the counter."
She took in the open concept living space — a sleek yet elegant kitchen sat to the right while a plush leather sofa and loveseat situated in front of an enormous fireplace made up the sitting room. Twelve foot ceilings boasted a second floor balcony overlooking the main living area, but Blair's favorite part was the floor-to-ceiling windows on the backside of the cabin. She opened the french door leading to the patio where she found the jacuzzi Chuck had mentioned earlier. Giant spruces dotted the landscape as far as her eye could see alongside the autumnal hued trees she'd seen on the drive up. The blue horizon faded into smoky gray clouds floating across the purple-pink sky to create one of the most breathtaking views she'd ever seen. Along the peaked ridges, trickling brooks wound down the mountainside, treating Blair's ears to the calming sound of water cascading through moss-covered rocks. "Wow," she mouthed in genuine astonishment.
"I take it you find your accommodations satisfactory?" Chuck asked, a hopeful tone in his voice.
"It's truly beautiful," she nodded. "Though, I'll admit, it's far less country-bumpkin than I expected. I was afraid it would cater to southern stereotypes with rooster or black bear decor, maybe a couple of taxidermied animal carcusses. This is tasteful – more of a luxury lodge than a country cottage."
"Like I'm sure you were told when you were assigned to this position, we aim to treat our guests with a first-class experience, simplicity and comfort that doesn't compromise on luxury. We're no tourist attraction, so you won't find those silly gimmicks here that cheapen the experience of other hotels in the area."
"You're quite the salesman," Blair laughed, shivering as a cool breeze of crisp mountain air cut through her blazer.
Chuck opened the door. "Come on," he directed. "The temperature's dropping." He turned on the igniter to the fireplace and took a seat on the sofa, motioning for Blair to join him. "I hope you'll find that we've spared no expense in making this the premier resort in the region."
"Speaking of expense," Blair began, subconsciously angling her body toward his, soaking in the warmth of the fire, "What is my budget?"
"Miss Waldorf -"
"Blair."
"Blair," His mouth turned up into a half-smirk, loving the confident way that she said her own name. "I trust that you have a vision in mind, and I am prepared to make adjustments as necessary to accommodate your needs. Don't worry about cost; I'll sign off on any reasonable expenditures."
"Thank you. That's reassuring." She breathed a sigh of relief, wondering if she'd judged Chuck a little too harshly. It seemed as though he was actually going to give her the space and resources to do her job effectively.
"You already have something in mind, don't you?" he surmised, eyeing the clipboard she'd left on the counter upon entering the cabin.
"Well, actually," she affirmed, "the lobby needs some work."
"The lobby?" He furrowed his brows. "I inspected every inch myself. What's wrong with the lobby?"
"It's not bad, but it's -" She tapped a manicured finger against her chin in thought. "It's rather unremarkable – fitting for a hotel that mostly hosts lone businessmen, but not for a vacation resort that prides itself on luxury and romance. When people come here, they're looking for an escape from reality, almost a storybook quality to their stay. They want to forget about the stress of everyday –their jobs and their burdens – but nothing about that front desk says this place can temporarily fulfill that fantasy. It's boring and unmemorable."
Chuck mulled over her words for a moment. After considering her proposal from a logistical standpoint, he shook his head. "While I can see your point, I don't think it's necessary or productive to overhaul the renovations that have already been completed inside the resort. Everything is the highest quality, and redecorating would set us back substantially – both in the timeline and the budget. Either way, your job is to help prepare for the New Year's Eve gala; I don't think that resort decor falls into that category."
Blair withheld her sigh and tightened her lips into a thin line to keep from making a snarky comment. It seemed that she only had a limitless budget as long as it fell within Chuck's narrow expectations of her job description. "I think my job is a little more involved than 'party planning,'" she sneered, "But you're the boss, I suppose."
"I will leave you to settle in." He didn't bother acknowledging her snide commentary. As he stood from the seat, she noted that his demeanor changed from the friendly man who'd driven her across the resort to that of a calculated businessman whose hardheadedness was his defining characteristic. He rebuttoned his suit jacket and instructed, "I'll meet you in the clubhouse tomorrow morning at 7 am. I expect a detailed report outlining general expenses and required resources so that you are prepared to discuss your plans for the opening."
"A detailed report at 7 in the morning?!" She glanced at the clock on the mantle that read 8:24 p.m. "That's -"
"Is that a problem, Blair?" He curled his tongue around her name in the form of a warning, and she suddenly felt her blood boiling with rage. How had she just found him charming and accommodating an hour earlier? Now he was nothing short of infuriating.
"Of course not, Chuck." She gritted her teeth together, delivering the same derision in her response. She offered him a sugary smile as a sharp contrast to her scathing tone of voice.
"Good," he remarked. "Because as we've discussed, we are on a tight timeline. I don't have time for you to brainstorm and change your mind a hundred times. I need the plan tomorrow so that we can get started."
"I assure you," she snapped, "That I am not the fickle woman you take me for."
"We'll soon find out," he replied dismissively, stopping at the door to add, "Seven sharp. Don't be late."
Blair let out a dramatic huff as soon as the door slammed shut and yanked her laptop from her bag. Sleep was overrated anyway, she thought irritably. The next few weeks were certain to be hell working under such a stubborn man. As long as he was in control, he was amenable and cooperative, but as soon as she challenged him, his defensiveness turned him into another sexist, pig-headed jerk. She resigned herself to the fact that they would inevitably butt heads, but he would find out quickly enough that Blair Waldorf doesn't back down from a fight – and she always wins.
A/N: This is just a little fic I thought up as I was watching cheesy Christmas movies. Last year I wrote a Christmas one-shot and wanted to try a more generally themed holiday story this year. I know it's a little strange taking Chuck and Blair out of New York, but I wanted to try something different. Let me know if you're intrigued or not. If I continue this fic, I'll likely increase the rating to M at some point.