Chapter 3

I huffed in frustration and jerked a $3,600 Dior dress over my head, tossing it to the ground amidst the host of other expensive designer pieces that I had rejected in the past hour. By any standard, I have a wardrobe to be coveted by even the most iconic fashion blogger. In all honesty, I would estimate that my closet easily contains six figures worth of designer pieces. Chanel, Alexander McQueen, Valentino, Saint Laurent, Tom Ford, Marc Jacobs, Prada - you name it, and it's there, hanging from the racks of my enormous walk-in closet. Well, I suppose they were now scattered on the floor in haphazard heaps, but still, I should have plenty enough to make it through a week in California. Unfortunately, everything I own screamed New York elegance - not California boho chic, which seemed to be the theme that Serena was going for with her bohemian beach wedding. There was not a single item in my closet that would be appropriate for a bachelorette party, rehearsal dinner, or bridesmaid's luncheon on the west coast.

I dropped to my knees among the carnage and wrapped my thin La Perla robe around my shoulders. I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to come to a decision. I haven't seen Chuck in over a week, and it's been surprisingly unsettling. Not seeing him in the hallways or being awoken by his late night shenanigans has been…strange. I guess I've grown accustomed to his annoying presence, and I've almost started to expect some kind of disturbance or snarky comment from him on a daily basis. Maybe, I'm just growing a little apprehensive that he will back out of our deal or that he's toying with me about the flight situation. I'm still not quite sure why he agreed to the whole thing anyway. He's never been overly concerned about my pride in the past six months, so why he felt compelled to introduce himself to Kati as my boyfriend was beyond me. If anything, I would've thought that he might take some kind of morbid pleasure in watching me squirm uncomfortably as I tried to embellish stories of my love life on the spot.

I sighed loudly and marched from my closet through my master bedroom directly to my front door. I don't know how many times my fist made contact with the dark wood of his door, but it took several moments for the door to be thrown open. Clearly agitated with my incessant knocking, Chuck appeared from behind the door with a scowl etched onto his face. He practically growled, "For Christ's sake -" but he stopped short of finishing whatever tirade was going to come next. His mouth fell open slightly when he saw me in front of him. He seemed to be in a trance as his gaze slid over my body slowly, and I realized that, in my haste, I had forgotten exactly what I was - or wasn't - wearing. I looked down sheepishly and pulled my robe closer around my body, but the lightweight material did little to conceal the tops of my breasts, where his eyes lingered for a moment too long before he shook his head and forced his eyes back to my face. "What do you want, Blair?"

I held my chin high as though it was completely normal for me to be standing in the hallway in little more than my underwear. Wrapping my arms around my waist, I secured the robe in place and raised my eyebrows inquisitively, in an attempt to disguise the nerves that were now wracking my body. "What did you mean when you said I looked matronly and then again when you said my coral dress suited me well?"

He furrowed his brow like he was trying to remember what I was talking about. I felt entirely ridiculous, but all of my insecurities were quickly replaced with a deep burning sensation spreading through my whole body. He stepped slightly closer and reached out to toy with the tie on my robe, causing my breath to hitch in my throat. He didn't touch me; there was no actual contact between the two of us, but I heated up as if his fingers were trailing a path along my skin instead of a flimsy piece of silk hanging from my body. "You're young and beautiful, Blair," he murmured, leaning in so close I could smell his heady cologne. My mind went fuzzy, and I subconsciously tried to inhale more of the masculine scent. As his lips came closer to my ear, his breath tickled my neck, and I felt goosebumps prickle across my skin. "That shapeless sack you had on hid…all of this," He tilted his head down at my body in indication of his meaning, "The other dress - the one you wore to the cafe - it showed off the delicate column of your neck," He raised his hand and just barely smoothed his thumb across my collar bone - the first time his fingers have touched my bare flesh. I shivered, and I'm pretty sure my entire body shook in anticipation. He moved his fingers slowly across my clavicle, pushing my hair over my shoulder, "It was tasteful, while emphasizing your most…alluring features." I felt myself leaning more closely into him, hanging on every word, seeking any other touch. His hand came to rest on the nape of my neck, drawing soft circles against the skin. "It teased just enough to make the viewer wonder what you might be hiding underneath." My heart was pounding erratically against my chest, and my eyes closed of their own accord, willing him to continue. It was intoxicating, and I craved more. I wasn't sure exactly what I wanted more of, but all I knew was that I didn't want it to stop.

But his hands fell to his side and he stepped away from me, shaking me back to reality. What the hell was that? My body had reacted to his words - to his touch - in a way that I refused to allow myself to consider. I once again chalked it up to the lack of intimacy in my life in the last year or so. I must be so starved for a man's attention that I'm reacting to Chuck Bass.

Chuck Bass! I silently scream at myself in shame. Playboy. Pig. Arrogant Prick.

I cleared my throat and rolled my eyes, hoping that he wouldn't notice the effect that he had on me. "I'm sophisticated and classy," I huffed. "I don't need to show off my body to look good."

"No, you don't," he agreed, licking his lips suggestively, "But there's a line between conservative and sophisticated; you can be both without being dowdy." He lowered his eyes once again to my heaving chest and added, "Though, I have to say this is probably my favorite outfit I've ever seen you in."

I had to stifle my laugh because there's something borderline charming about the way he said it. I cannot believe I'm allowing myself to associate the word charming with Chuck Bass. It's just my mind preparing to play whatever role this is - this fake dating thing that will certainly drive me to the brink of sanity. "Will you help me?" I asked, sounding almost a little too needy. "I mean, California fashion is so tacky and…"

"You want me to pick out your clothes for our trip?" He smirked in amusement, and my heart thrummed in my chest at the image of one corner of his lip turning up a fraction higher than the other side.

"No," I said, spinning the gold ring on my finger anxiously, "I want you to come shopping with me. Give me your opinion on different outfits."

"So you'll give me a private show? Will you be modeling lingerie and bikinis for me, too?" He raised one eyebrow, making me flush a deeper shade of red. "You know, for sleeping and the beach. You can't be too prepared." He offered me a playful wink, and my legs nearly gave out from underneath me.

What is wrong with me?!

"No, you pervert," I disguised my blush with yet another eye roll, "I just need help picking out a few dresses."

"Sure," he responded, and I'm surprised by the genuine tone of his voice, "Let me just grab my jacket."

"Um," I looked down at my robe, "I need to change. Meet me out here in ten minutes." I turned toward my door, and glanced back over my shoulder with a soft smile. "Thank you."

"Isn't it my duty as your boyfriend?" he asked with a chuckle before closing his door.

"Fake boyfriend," I echoed weakly into the empty hallway.

XOXO

After rummaging through the mess all over my closet floor, I settled for a navy Ralph Lauren blouse paired with a Chanel pencil skirt. I pinned my curls back behind a red headband and grabbed my Saint Laurent envelope clutch. After slipping into a pair of Jimmy Choos, I did a onceover in the mirror and wondered how Chuck would appraise this particular outfit. It was as conservative as just about everything else I wore, but it offered a body-hugging silhouette with a low neckline. I don't know why I even care about his opinion anyway.

When I stepped out into the hallway, I twirled with my arms up in the form of a shrug, and said, "Well?"

He rested his chin in his hand and made a show of examining my outfit carefully. "I like it," he said slowly, "It's giving me sexy librarian vibes, and now I don't think I will be able to get that image out of my mind -"

I shoved him lightly on the shoulder and said, "Are you always so -"

"Charming? Handsome? Witty?" His grin grew wider with each question.

"Obnoxious," I finished, "Presumptuous. Depraved. Perverse."

"I'll take each of those as a compliment."

"You would," I scoffed, but there wasn't any real malice behind it.

"Lead the way," He held out his arm for me, and I reluctantly slipped mine through his.

XOXO

"What's first on the list?" Chuck asked as we entered Saks still arm-in-arm. I'm not sure when our interactions started growing more familiar, but it felt oddly natural to rest my arm inside his. His touch was warm and comforting, and I felt its loss when he released me to reach for a white dress hanging on the rack in front of us.

"Bridesmaid's luncheon," I answered, lifting the dress from his hands and returning it to the rack. "Wedding Etiquette 101 - No one can wear white except the bride."

"Pity," he murmured, "This would look phenomenal on you."

I looked over the dress once more, trying to peek at the label without letting him see the interest I took in the dress. Maybe I wouldn't wear it to the wedding, but perhaps it would make a nice addition to my wardrobe. Zimmerman - low back with subtle side cut-outs, halter neck and flowy skirt. He had good taste; the dress was exactly what I would pick out for a beach vacation that didn't involve a wedding.

I continued into the store and said, "I need something sophisticated enough for an upscale lunch, but casual enough for a beach setting."

"Hmm," He seemed genuinely focused on the task at hand, walking around the store gathering different dresses into his arms. He looked me over carefully before mentally calculating my size without asking. I don't know if I should be insulted or impressed when I catch a glimpse of one of the tags and realize that he was completely accurate in his appraisal of my proportions. "Okay, what else?"

"Um," I reached for some of the dresses stacked in his arms. "Should we try these first, and then find the others?"

"We?" he leered, raising his eyebrows, "I'm coming into the dressing room with you?"

"Good try," I narrowed my eyes, "It was just an expression. You can have a seat in the waiting area while I change."

I traipsed into the dressing room, settling onto the bench to remove my shoes and take a minute to gather my wits. This all seemed so strange, but it wasn't awkward. In a way, it felt like we had done this exact thing a hundred times. After drawing a deep breath, I pulled the first dress over my head. It fell to my mid-calf and hung loosely from my shoulders. If I spun around quickly enough, I'm sure it would flare out in a perfect circle, like I've seen little girls in the park strive to accomplish. I opened the door to find Chuck relaxed in a plush velvet chair, one leg crossed over the other. He almost seemed to be enjoying this, which was as big of a surprise as the fact that we were here together. Before I could turn around to show him the back, he said, "No."

I exhaled, thinking the exact same thing, but wanting to hear his reasoning, "And why?"

"Too much fabric for your frame. It's overpowering. You're Blair Waldorf; the clothes don't wear you. You wear them."

"Damn right," I laughed and closed the door to change into the next piece - a floral knee length dress with a ruched waist, structured skirt, and spaghetti straps. It fit my body like a glove, and I took an extra second to admire the beautiful construction in the mirror before exiting the fitting room and striking a pose.

Chuck smiled back at me and rubbed his hand across his jaw, "Look at that confidence. You know that's the one, don't you? Did you even really need me here?"

"Yes," I returned his smile, "Because I get inside my own head too much."

"Mmm," he sighed, "That sounds like a scary place."

"Hey," I tossed a hanger at him, feigning offense. "Go find me the next set of dresses while I change out of this one. I need a rehearsal dinner dress and a bachelorette party dress."

"Yes, your majesty," he rolled his eyes and stood to leave. "If you're sure you don't need help getting out of that dress. It seems a little tricky –"

"Go," I pursed my lips to bite back a smile, "Now."

A few moments later, he tossed a dozen dresses over the door and said, "You owe me after all of this."

I yanked a shirt dress over my head and asked, "Whatever would you like in return?"

"Did you just ask me that?" I could hear the suggestive nature of his question, "Whatever I want?"

"Ugh," I scrunched my nose and snapped at him a little harder than I meant to, "Give it a rest." I think on some level, our newfound camaraderie was making me uncomfortable, causing me to lash out in confusion at his lewd commentary. I really wasn't offended by it, but for some reason, I felt like my irritation was warranted and necessary to make the point that we aren't on friendly enough terms for that kind of joking to be appropriate.

"Fine," His tone lost some of its playfulness, and I felt a little bad about my response. He really was a great sport about all of this, and he was using his own time to help me.

I tossed the first dress to the side, deciding that it wasn't even a contender, so there was no need to show it to him. Pulling a slip dress over my head, I softened my voice and said, "Why are you helping me so much? What's in this for you?"

"Besides spending time basking in your sunny personality," There was a sharpness to his voice that hadn't been there all afternoon, but it was lighter than it had been a moment earlier. "I have a favor that I need in return."

I stopped changing for a minute, my heart pounding in my chest. "Chuck, you don't mean -"

"Relax," he spat in frustration, "Contrary to the image you've created of me in your mind, I prefer the women I invite into my bed to be willing participants. I don't bribe women for sex." My eyes widen, and I'm glad there's a door separating us. "Turns out, I need a date also."

"You…" I repeated cautiously, "need a date."

"Yes," he calmed considerably, "I need a date."

"When and where?" I asked slowly.

"Tomorrow night. A charity gala."

"Uh," I stuttered, confused by why he would need me to be his date to a charity gala. He has a multitude of women at his beck and call.

"Blair," he growled, and I think I may have insulted him with my hesitance, "It's one night. I'm flying across the country for a week with you."

"Of course," I answered quickly, "I just don't understand why you need me when you have so many women -"

"I need someone I can trust." There's still an edge to his tone, and I feel bad for pushing him. He trusts me? He doesn't even know me.

I opened the door to reveal a slinky dress with a low cut back outlined by criss-cross straps stretched over my shoulder blades. I spun around to show him the back and said, "What makes you so sure you can trust me?"

"Because I know that you'll be there against your better judgment and won't spend all evening trying to convince me to take you to bed," he smirked, and I was glad to see his playfulness return. He stood and walked closer to me, examining the dress carefully. "This," he said, adjusting the delicate straps against my back, "is stunning on you, but the color is wrong."

I frowned and looked down at the sage color of the dress, "What's wrong with this color?"

He held up his hand in the universal gesture to signal that he would be right back. He returned a moment later and held another dress up to my chest, "Nothing's wrong with it, but you wear jewel tones so well. This one brings out the tiny flecks of gold in your eyes. They're almost imperceptible, but they're there." He stood behind me, draping an arm around each shoulder – not touching me, but close enough that my entire body became hyper aware of his presence. He ushered me closer to the mirror, holding the emerald dress against my frame, "See. Gorgeous."

I studied my image in the mirror, and I could see the golden tones that he was talking about. I'd never really noticed them before. I exhaled slowly, and my eyes met his in the mirror; the expression on his face was unreadable, but his gaze was fixed to mine. My limbs started to tremble, and it took everything in me not to relax against him. He was all around me, and yet he hadn't touched me. I cleared my throat, which seemed to spur him to step back, providing much needed space between us. "Okay, I'm sold," I smiled shakily, "The bachelorette party attire is all that's left."

I closed the fitting room door and inspected each of the four dresses he had chosen as potential candidates for my party dress. Each of the dresses offered a certain level of sex appeal - cleavage or a low back or a high slit. None of them were indecent, but they were certainly more revealing than anything else I owned. Much to my surprise, I reached for the sexiest of them all and struggled for a moment to shimmy into the tight material of the Herve Leger bandage dress. It was skin tight, to the extent that it nearly seemed to be painted on my body. It hit me mid thigh with a keyhole cutout across the chest offering a hint of cleavage without being overly revealing. I hesitated for a moment before drawing a deep breath and opening the door to find Chuck standing right in front of me instead of seated on the chair in the corner.

He stared unblinking for several moments, his eyes wider than I had ever seen them. He tightened his jaw, the muscles flexing under the weight, and I was certain that I could actually see his pulse jump in his throat. I heard the slightest in take of breath that matched the rhythm of his chest rising as he inhaled. I started to feel self-conscious waiting for his response - any reaction besides silence. I subconsciously wrapped my arms around my stomach in an attempt to hide the fact that the dress clung to every curve and divot on my body. The movement seemed to stir something in Chuck, and he grabbed my hand to pull it away from my abdomen. "Don't," he rasped, his voice thick, his eyes hooded.

I swallowed hard, unsure if I was reading his body language correctly, "I'll try on the others -"

"No," he said quietly, tilting his head so he could look me directly in the eyes, "What I mean is - don't cover up. You look…" He trailed off, but the vulnerability etched onto my face must've pushed him to continue, "This dress was made for you. No other woman could wear this dress like you."

I don't know who this man is - this man who agrees to a cross-country trip with his bitchy neighbor, who knows how to make me blush a furious shade of red with his words, who seems to be so eerily attuned to my insecurities. I don't know him, and, yet, I find myself looking forward to the opportunity to get to know him.

A week ago, I hated him. I think I still do, but in a way, he's also growing on me. At least, I can stand being around him.

This is what men like him do, Blair, I scolded myself. They get into your head; they're charming and charismatic, and then they destroy you. He's the very definition of a playboy. Don't forget that.

"Okay," I said, biting my lip nervously, "I think we've made our selections."

"Looks like it." He shoved his hands into his pockets, and I returned to the dressing room to change into my own clothing.

"Can I ask you a question?" I asked, now that I was once again hidden behind the safety of the dressing room door.

"Shoot."

"Why haven't I seen you any in the past week? I mean, usually I can't get away from you and your annoying habits, but I didn't see you once last week."

His voice changed, and I could almost envision his body stiffening at my question. I didn't mean to pry, but I was genuinely curious. I started to worry that I had overstepped my bounds when his gruff reply traveled through the door, "I had some important business to take care of before leaving for a week." It was a vague half response, but I didn't dare ask for clarification. Apparently whatever had happened in the past week had struck a nerve, and I was in no place to force a topic that made him uncomfortable. He changed the subject before I had a chance to respond anyway. "Listen, I have to head to the office, but those dresses looked great on you, Blair."

The office? I didn't even know he had a job. The thought just reinforced the notion that I really know very little about this man, and I've gotten myself entangled in a very strange situation. "Thanks, Chuck," I replied softly, hoping that he knew how much I actually meant it.

"Anytime, Waldorf."

After gathering my belongings, I made my way to the checkout counter with three dresses, a scattering of accessories, and a new pair of pumps totaling a little over $6,000. I tried to hand the cashier my credit card, and I grew confused when she shook her head and refused to accept it. "You don't take Amex?" I asked in frustration. "I guarantee you my limit far exceeds this -"

"No, ma'am, that's not it," she answered quickly, "The gentleman that you were with left his credit card information and instructed us to charge whatever you wanted to his card."

My mouth fell agape and I took the garment bags from her without another word. Chuck Bass had stunned me to silence.

A/N: So originally I had no intentions of Chuck and Blair going shopping together, but when lnm8980 suggested it, I couldn't resist giving it a try. My next update will be for Come Rescue Me now that I've given this one a foundation. Come Rescue Me still has many chapters to go, but this one probably won't have a ton of chapters.