Chapter 2

Blair groaned as she yanked the comforter off of her tired body. Normally she prided herself on being a morning person – wide awake, dressed, and ready to start the day by 6 am. Sleeping in was for the rare hangover or illness; otherwise, it was just a waste to spend half the day in bed. But, now, she wanted nothing more than to smash her cell phone to pieces to end the dramatic chirping of her alarm and go back to sleep. She dreamed of telling Chuck Bass exactly where he could stick the ridiculous expense report he'd demanded. Stupid, arrogant prick.

She'd finally finished the report at 4 a.m, and considering the fact that it was now just after 6, her mood was anything but cheerful. It would take everything in her to maintain a professional demeanor when Chuck was the reason for her exhaustion. She didn't appreciate his attitude about her position any more than she appreciated his sexist remarks.

She poured a cup of coffee and stepped onto the back patio overlooking the mountains. The purple-pink sky met the rigid peaks of the mountain tops just as sunrise broke over the horizon, washing the entire landscape in a warm glow of light. She hugged her robe around her body, shivering from the crisp breeze blowing in from the trees. It was colder than she expected in the mountains, and she wasn't sure that her wardrobe was entirely weather-appropriate. When she thought of the south, she immediately thought of heat and humidity; thus, she had packed her suitcase with a rather mild autumn climate in mind. The temperature couldn't be higher than the mid-thirties this morning, and she was now cursing herself for foolishly neglecting to check the weather before her departure.

Rifling through her closet, she pulled on a cream-colored Tom Ford sweater dress paired with suede knee-high boots. It wasn't the ideal cold-weather outfit, but it was the warmest she'd packed. She gathered her hair into an elegant ponytail, letting loose curls fall down her back. Burgundy lipstick and statement earrings finished the look.

By the time she walked into the clubhouse, Chuck was already sitting at a table near one of the picturesque windows, sipping from a mug of coffee. The table was adorned with a variety of pastries, sausage, and fruits.

"Good morning, Blair." He stood, offering his hand in greeting, which she purposefully ignored, instead immediately taking the seat opposite him.

"Morning, Mr. Bass," she replied coldly. It might've been petty, but she intentionally left the word 'good' out of her greeting.

"I asked you to call me Chuck," he reminded her sharply.

"Given the nature of our last conversation, Mr. Bass, during which you clearly defined our roles as boss and employee, I would like to maintain professional boundaries, if that's okay with you." She offered him a sardonic smirk that had his blood boiling.

"Of course, Miss Waldorf," he gritted his teeth.

"Oh, you may continue to call me Blair," she sneered. "You know, since I'm merely the grounds decorator."

He sighed. This woman was infuriating. "I apologize for my poor choice of words, Miss Waldorf. I understand that your role is much more involved and skill-specific than I insinuated."

"Apology accepted, Mr. Bass," she nodded. The fake niceties were going to wear on his nerves quickly. It was only seven in the morning, and he already wanted a drink.

He shook his head, "This is ridiculous."

"What's that, Mr. Bass?"

"Nothing," he groused. "I trust you slept well."

"Oh, the bed is heavenly," Blair said. "Too bad that your dictatorial deadline kept me from enjoying it."

He closed his eyes in irritation, swallowing back the biting remark that he wanted to hurl in her direction. "As I said yesterday, we're on a tight timeline."

"Of course." The sugary sweet smile that she gave him contrasted with the acidic glint in her eyes.

He pushed a plate in front of her, ignoring the frost emanating from her. "Let's eat breakfast, and then we can run over your report."

They ate in awkward silence for twenty minutes, the only sound in the large dining room the scraping of their forks against their plates and the howling of the wind outside. Chuck took the opportunity to study Blair while she absentmindedly stirred sugar into her coffee. She was truly a stunning woman; her cupid's bow lips, dark eye lashes, and high cheekbones drew his attention away from the delicious curves of her body outlined in her tight sweater dress. Each of her features were striking, but put together, he decided that she was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. It was a shame that her frigid personality ruined it all.

After the table was cleared, Blair pulled the expense report from her bag and handed it to Chuck. She watched him comb over the report line-by-line, and she was quietly impressed by his attention to detail. She'd half expected him to barely glance over her hard work and either approve or reject her proposal. He stopped at one of the items on the third page of the spreadsheet. "What is this?" He furrowed his brows together, shaking his head as he ran his finger down the remaining items. "Authentic Santa Claus, cookie-decorating station, ornament-making…" He raised his head in disbelief, "Five hundred thousand dollars for an ice-skating rink? Are you out of your damn mind? We're planning a New Year's Eve Gala. What's with all of this Christmas shit?"

She inhaled sharply, having already anticipated this reaction. "I figured that before everyone comes to ring in the New Year at an adults-only gala, we could offer a soft opening for members only – a small family celebration on Christmas Eve so that the community can experience both the resort's family-friendly offerings and its appeal as a romantic escape for couples. We have a real opportunity here to showcase the resort's versatility."

"Blair," Chuck growled, already having forgotten the professional boundaries they'd established half an hour earlier. "While this may seem like a good opportunity, it isn't cost-efficient. We'll be shelling out at least double the profit we can hope to earn from early bookings. It's not practical."

Blair folded her hands primly on the table in front of her and looked him directly in the eye as she spoke her next words. "I submitted a proposal to Bass Industries late last night, and I've already gotten approval."

She didn't flinch when his fist collided with the table. Anger surged through his veins, and she thought that she might actually see steam pooling from his ears. "You what?" His voice was scathing.

"I had a rather pleasant conversation with Bart last night." Her tongue danced around his father's name, and he didn't miss the mocking tone to her voice when she referred to him on a first name basis. "He loved the idea so much that he granted pre-approval. He assured me that you would sign off on the report with enthusiasm. Is there a problem?" She batted her eyelashes innocently.

"Yes, there's a fucking problem," he barked.

"I would appreciate it if you watched your language," she dabbed at the corners of her mouth carefully, reveling in his frustration. He would soon learn that Blair Waldorf doesn't cower before men, especially not pompous assholes like himself. "I'm sorry that you're unhappy with my proposal."

"I'm not -" He closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh to regain his bearings. "In the future, as a professional courtesy, please see me to discuss any changes to the agenda or any additional expenses instead of going straight to my father. This is my project, and I would like to keep it that way."

She smiled sweetly. "Of course."

Chuck had to admire her tenacity. She was easily one of the most frustrating women he'd ever met, but she had met him in head-to-head combat and won. He was loath to admit it, but she had beaten him at his own game. There was something insanely sexy about it, too; something about the way that she took him down made his blood run hot for two different reasons. He'd have to stay on his toes to keep up with her, and he'd sure as hell have to suppress his attraction to her. Hatred was a strange kind of aphrodisiac.

XOXO

As November turned to December and the beautiful autumn foliage faded into gray bleakness, Blair saw a new layer to Chuck emerge. He kept it hidden from everyone, but she could see it in his every decision. He was hardworking and diligent, but above all, he yearned to prove himself as worthy. In a way, she felt a little bad for going to Bart her first night at the resort; it surely hadn't helped Chuck's cause in gaining his father's approval, and guilt knotted itself in her stomach when she thought that she might've deepened the chasm between father and son. She quickly swallowed those feelings, though, reminding herself that he'd brought it on himself.

After he realized that she wasn't going to roll over and take orders from him, Chuck became a bit more bearable. He listened to her ideas, and though he didn't mince words, he admitted that most of her opinions had merit. The only thing that he wouldn't budge on was redecorating the lobby. She couldn't understand, with all of the money that they'd already invested into the resort, why he was so stubborn on that one particular point.

On the Wednesday morning before the Christmas Eve event on Saturday, Blair knocked on the door to Chuck's cabin set on a mission with which she needed his help. He opened the door to her in a pair of low slung flannel pajama pants and wet hair dampening his forehead. She swallowed hard as she watched a rivulet of water drop onto his bare chest and trail over the hard planes of his stomach. He cleared his throat and she shot her eyes back to his, finding amusement dancing in his expression. "What is it, Blair?" he husked. "Surely you didn't come for a free show."

"I -" She blinked. "I'm unhappy with the trees that the workers keep presenting to me for the lighting ceremony Saturday evening. I need to pick the tree out myself."

He looked at her skeptically. "Have at it. You don't need my permission."

She looked down at her feet, scuffling from side to side. "Um, I need your help."

"What could you possibly need my help with? I know you certainly don't value my opinion about a Christmas tree. I'd pick the first one on the lot."

She exhaled slowly. "Andrew's off today."

"So, there are plenty of company trucks available, and I'm sure that the farm hands will be more than happy to load the tree for you."

"God, you're slow," she griped, crossing her arms over her chest. "I can't drive."

He chuckled at her obvious distress, not sure why she would feel embarrassed by her lack of driving experience. Most of the people on the Upper East Side had no need for a driver's license, and he could see no reason for the adorable blush creeping into Blair's cheeks. Still, he pushed her because he enjoyed getting a rise out of her whenever he could. "You're, what, twenty-three, twenty-four, and you can't drive?"

"I'm twenty-three," she narrowed her eyes at him. "And what need do I have to drive? I have a chauffeur."

"I'm kidding," he winked, and her insides turned to mush. "I only have a license because I found driving to be a sort of release from all of the frustration brought on by having a father like Bart Bass. Sometimes, I wanted to escape by myself, without having to have someone along for the ride. Controlling the pedals, the adrenaline that comes with speed, helped me get out the aggression that I felt any time Bart would impart his disappointment on me." He stopped when he realized what he had just revealed about himself – feelings that he was typically quite adept at locking deep inside. What was it about this girl that made him open himself up like a book? Shame washed over him and he quickly backpedaled, "Sorry for the sob story when you were just asking for a ride."

Her eyes softened, but she didn't dare convey pity. "No, it's fine. Trust me, my mother is on my case constantly. She nitpicks every little decision I make."

"Must explain your staunch determination." He offered her a genuine smile, the first since their initial meeting weeks earlier.

"Same for you," she commiserated. "I never apologized for going to Bart that first night. That was really low -"

"No, it's exactly what you should've done," he admitted. "I was an asshole to you, and I'm truly sorry about that. You've far exceeded your role here."

He shivered, and they both became aware of his state of undress once again. "Um," she bit her lip. "So will you help me with the tree?"

"Yeah, come on in," He opened the door wider, motioning her inside, "And I'll get dressed. There's coffee on the counter if you want some."

When he emerged from the bedroom dressed in a thick sweater and slacks, he took the minute to appraise her appearance. She was wearing yet another designer dress and heels. She looked gorgeous, but it was incredibly impractical to go to a tree farm in four-inch heels. "Don't take this the wrong way because you look beautiful –" he held up his hands, "but do you have any pants or flat boots…something with traction? There's snow in the forecast."

She blushed a few shades deeper and admitted, "Unfortunately, I wasn't entirely prepared when I packed. I expected milder temps, and I've never thought about snow in the south, so, no, I don't have anything else."

"Come on." Without thinking, he reached out to grasp her hand, pulling her from the sofa. They both froze at the contact, a surge of electricity shooting through their connected finger tips. Their eyes met, and something passed between them. Chuck cleared his throat, releasing her hand. "We haven't opened the gift shop yet, but I'm sure there's something there you can wear. We'll stop on the way."

Blair wrinkled her nose into a grimace. "Gift shop clothes?"

"It's either that," he shrugged. "Or busting your ass on the pavement when it ices over. The temperature's dropping quickly."

Once outside, Chuck helped Blair into the truck and started the engine. He turned the vehicle in the direction of the main building, and Blair noticed how deserted it was. "Where is everyone?" she asked, used to seeing several workers bustling about in preparation for the grand opening.

"I made the call this morning," he said, turning to the right. "Did you not get the email?"

"What email?" She checked her phone, but she hadn't received any new alerts in almost twenty-four hours.

"The one closing down the resort until the storm passes." He furrowed his brows. "Seriously, do you not pay any attention to the forecast?"

"I -" She checked the settings on her phone. "I think that my service is down."

"I sent all non-essential employees – which is pretty much everyone – home until the roads are safe for travel. Snow up here is pretty hit or miss, but when it hits, these mountain roads are incredibly dangerous because they ice over quickly, and they're so curvy. The last thing we need is a lawsuit because we put employees in danger when the resort isn't even open." He pulled into a parking spot and turned off the truck. "Besides, thanks to you -" he smiled at her. "We are actually ahead of schedule so there aren't a whole lot of last minute issues that we need to deal with."

She accepted his compliment with a nod and asked, "Why did you stay? You could've gone into town at least."

He shrugged his shoulders, helping her from the vehicle as they made their way to the lobby. "A captain always goes down with his ship, right? I didn't want to leave the resort unattended; I'm pretty proud of what we've accomplished here. Besides -" He looked away from her. "I noticed that you were sticking around, and I wasn't about to leave you up here alone."

Her heart skipped a beat, jumping over itself at his admission. She reminded herself that he was a businessman first and foremost, and it would be poor practice to leave her stranded alone. He would never risk such poor publicity before they'd even opened.

He unlocked the door to the gift shop, and she stepped inside the boutique. She was surprised to find that there were only a few t-shirts targeted at tourists; most of the clothes, while not from the luxury designers to which she was accustomed, were high quality and tasteful. "This is nicer than I expected," she observed, sifting through a few sweaters that hung on a center rack.

"Help yourself to whatever you like," Chuck directed her toward the changing room. "I apologize I didn't bring you here sooner." He stopped, considering his words before he finally admitted, "Perhaps I liked your dresses a little too much."

Ten minutes later, Blair had dressed in a pair of thermal leggings and an oversized plum sweater with white snow boots. Chuck offered her a pair of cashmere gloves and a puffy coat. He positioned a wool toboggan on her head, pulling it down over her ears, making her giggle. "I look ridiculous." She twirled in front of the mirror, a wide grin plastered to her face.

"You look adorable," Chuck corrected. "Like a little snow bunny."

"Thank you," she smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling brightly. She had a hard time reconciling this man with the jerk she'd met in November.

"Now," he picked a piece of lint out of her hair. "Will you finally stop calling me Mr. Bass? I know you were just doing it out of spite, but I think we're on friendly enough terms now that you can call me Chuck."

"Okay, Chuck." She enunciated carefully, and he had to keep himself from groaning at the way his name sounded on her tongue. He had forced himself many times over the past few weeks not to consider what she might sound like dragging his name out in a low, sensual moan or between desperate sighs of pleasure.

When they returned to the truck, Chuck stopped at the passenger side door to open it for Blair, but he paused when he thought better of it. "I have an idea."

She looked at him suspiciously. "And what's that?"

"Everyone's gone, the road's are deserted." He looked out over the stillness of the property. "Why don't you drive us to the tree farm?"

"What?" She knit her eyebrows together and frowned. "Are you crazy? On these winding mountain roads that you just proclaimed to be 'incredibly dangerous'."

He laughed at her incredulity. "I said that they are dangerous when they ice over; the snow hasn't even started yet, and it's straight shot to the tree farm. Hardly any curves. Have you driven at all before?"

She bit her lip at one prominent memory. "My ex-boyfriend tried to teach me in his Ferrari once."

"See, if you can control a car like that, you can drive this thing." He slapped the hood of the Tacoma as if he was any kind of automobile expert. For some reason, a strange mixture of anger and jealousy knotted itself together in his chest at her mention of an old boyfriend.

"What makes you think I was able to control the car?" she scoffed, quirking an eyebrow in challenge.

"Oh, I see. What did you do to it?" he teased.

"You mean, what didn't I do to it?" she laughed alongside him. "I'm certain that the damage I caused cost more than the actual purchase price of the car."

"Ah, did he break up with you then?" The question was innocent enough, but he was far too invested in her answer.

"No, but I don't think our relationship was ever the same afterwards." Her eyes shone brightly, and her dark lashes fluttered against her rosy cheeks. There was a lightness to her that he hadn't seen before, and he longed to reach out and touch her. "I think he loved that car more than he ever loved me."

"Were you with him for long?" Chuck asked, guiding her toward the driver's side of the truck. He opened the door and hoisted her in before she could object.

As he climbed into the passenger's seat, she responded, "A few years. We were high school sweethearts, though, so I don't know how much it counts." She checked her reflection in the mirror, stealing glances at him from beneath her lowered lids. As casually as she could, she prompted him with the same question. "What about you? Any girlfriends waiting at home?"

"No," he answered quickly. "I don't really date – a girlfriend would just weigh me down."

The relief that she felt at his denial was quickly overpowered by disappointment. "That's a grim view of relationships."

"I've watched my father's many marriages fail enough times to know that they're a waste of time." The tension grew heavy inside the confines of the truck, so he changed the subject. "Alright, Blair, place your right foot on the brake," he instructed, "And put the truck into drive." He nodded when she followed his directions. "Okay, now slowly ease off the brake and put pressure on the gas pedal."

The truck lurched forward when Blair's movements became a little too enthusiastic, and she let out a terrified shriek. They'd made it to the end of the parking lot before she put the truck into park, and threw her hands up in the air. "It's useless. I'm a lost cause," she whined, crossing her arms over her chest in indignation.

Chuck let out a low chuckle, hopping out of the vehicle to meet her on the driver's side. He pulled her from the truck and wrapped her in a tight hug. "We'll call this lesson one. I'm determined to have you driving before you leave this resort, though."

"Don't hold your breath," she grumbled, inhaling the heady masculine scent of his cologne. She longed to bury her head in his shoulder, but instead she pulled away and stepped back from him. Getting too physical with her boss, even if they were on friendly terms, was dangerous and irresponsible.

Chuck drove them the rest of the to the tree farm, where they wandered through the mass of evergreens as Blair carefully examined every spruce, fir, and pine that the farm offered. They stopped in front of a large Douglas Fir at the far end of the lot, and Blair placed her hands on her hips, assessing the tree's potential. She circled the tree, studying each of the rich branches for sturdiness and appeal. Eventually, she said, "Yes, this one. This is it."

Chuck directed the farm hands to handle loading the tree into the truck while he and Blair visited the farm's quaint gift shop to pay for the tree. When they approached the counter, the old woman behind the register asked, "Your first Christmas together?"

"Oh," Blair let out an awkward chortle, "We're not together. It's just for work."

The lady eyed them skeptically, a knowing gleam in her eye. "I see." She accepted Chuck's credit card as payment for the tree and directed the two of them to wait at the end of the counter for the tree to be loaded. She looked up mischievously when they were standing exactly where she had pointed them, and said, "Oh, dear, look at that. You're under the mistletoe."

Chuck shoved his hands into his pockets, and Blair glanced up at the ominous plant situated directly over her head. "It doesn't mean anything," she whispered to him.

"Yeah, of course not." He nodded in agreement, but he couldn't tear his eyes from her pouty lips.

"You can't ignore the mistletoe," the older woman warned. "It's bad luck."

Blair turned back to face Chuck at the woman's prompting, her eyes widening at whatever she saw in his expression. He couldn't kiss her; she wouldn't let him. They'd already crossed enough of the boundaries she'd set for them; this would mean crossing a line that she couldn't come back from. If she wanted to be a powerful woman, she couldn't go around kissing every handsome man she just happened to work with, now could she?

"Blair," Chuck spoke quietly, cutting into her thoughts. "Relax." He released her hold on the counter, color returning to her whitened knuckles.

He tentatively raised his hand to her cheek, brushing his fingers softly over her jaw line. She shook her head slightly, but she couldn't form words as her traitorous body melted into the warmth of his palm.

"Don't worry," he murmured quietly, sliding his hand into her hair while he brushed his thumb along the sensitive pulse point in her throat. "I'm not going to kiss you," he explained as he leaned in, nuzzling his nose against her neck. "I'm just going to appease the old lady." With the softest brush of his mouth, he grazed his lips along her jaw. She felt her entire body shudder against him, and she longed to turn her head to connect her mouth with his. She wouldn't dare, but his lips were so soft; she couldn't focus on anything but the feeling swelling inside of her. "There," he whispered against the shell of her ear before pulling away, "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

No, no, it wasn't bad at all – and that was the problem.

A/N: The pacing of this story is a little bit quicker than I typically write, but since it's a holiday story, it's only going to be a couple chapters long so that I can finish it by either Christmas or New Year's Eve.