A/N: Hello, I know it's been a while, but it seems that a lot of you are still interested in this story. Before you start reading, please let me remind you of my note from chapter 1. This story is largely influenced by a lot of the more popular fake dating novels on the market right now. That said, this chapter is directly inspired by The Spanish Love Deception, so if the premise or dialogue seems similar then that's why. I am in no way trying to pass off these ideas as my own; I'm just combining a book I enjoyed with my favorite television ship. :)

Chapter 4

I studied my reflection carefully in the full length mirror in my master bathroom. I styled my hair into a loose French twist with voluminous curls framing my face. Instead of my typical red lips, I opted for a peachy pink with a dramatic smokey eye. I chose an orchid-colored Marchesa gown with a plunging neckline with a ruffled pattern cascading from one shoulder to the floor. Chuck said the charity gala was "quite formal" so I took his word for it and dressed to the nines. The gown flowed around my petite frame in beautiful waves of silk organza, and with each stride, the skirt parted to reveal a generous slit up my right leg. There's nothing subtle about the look, but after Chuck practically called my wardrobe dowdy, I'm not holding back. I grabbed my Jimmy Choo Cloud clutch and my Alexander McQueen four ring box clutch and held them up to my reflection one at a time, ultimately deciding the Jimmy Choo crystals brought out the rich tone of my dress. I slipped into a pair of silver Mach and Machs before spritzing Miss Dior on my wrists and adjusting my dainty diamond bracelet. I gave myself one last perusal in the mirror as a knock sounded at my front door. Inhaling deeply, I made my way to the living room.

If anyone had told me a month ago that I would be going to a society event as Chuck Bass's date, I would've laughed in their face. I couldn't explain how I got here, but I had to admit, my curiosity was getting the best of me. I'm still flabbergasted that he purchased thousands of dollars worth of designer items for me. I have so many questions, but I don't want to be rude, either. What does he do for a living? Where was he last week? Why did he really agree to my asinine proposal?

I opened the door, trying to squash the nerves rising into my chest. My hands felt clammy, and my heart pounded when I threw open the door to find him standing in front of me in a classic tuxedo with a twist. It seemed that Chuck Bass doesn't shy away from fashion risks either. He'd paired a lavender bow tie with his Ralph Lauren suit and shiny Dior dress shoes, and a black and gold printed Hugo Boss coat pulled the look together in the most surprising way. His thick hair was carefully combed into place, and his jawline was freshly shaven without a hint of stubble. I studied him for a moment too long, causing him to smirk at me knowingly. A soft blush crept its way up my neck. He looked…dapper. Handsome.

Really handsome.

His breath tickled my ear as he leaned in inhaling my perfume and whispered, "You look incredible." I shuddered visibly as he pulled back, but thankfully, he didn't comment on it.

"You look quite nice yourself," I smiled back at him.

"Only nice," his smirk grew teasing, and I felt a strange sensation flutter in my stomach.

"It'll do," I rolled my eyes playfully.

He extended his arm to me, and I took it graciously, unable to wipe the silly smile from my face. I couldn't figure out what was happening between us, but my fingertips tingled where they rested against his arm.

As we settled into the limo, he ran his hands over his suit pants, and for the first time, I could see nervousness taking over his features. It was alarming because since I've known him, he's never shown anything less than self-confidence bordering on arrogance. I tried to ease some of the tension by making small talk, "So, a charity gala? What are we benefiting?"

"Yes," he grunted, glaring straight ahead, as though he had X-Ray vision to see straight through the partition, "A benefit for Children's Hope Foundation, specifically the world's poorest orphanages."

"Oh, wow," I said in genuine surprise. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't that. I figured it was some kind of stuffy event raising funds for less-deserving causes than parentless children. "How is the money being raised? Donations? Tickets?"

His jaw tightened, and I could see the pulse throb in his neck. "Multiple ways: donations, the cost of purchasing a plate or a table, and…an auction."

"Ooh, an auction," I clasped my hands together. "Are you going to buy me something?" My tone was a little flirtatious, but I loved auctions. There's something entirely thrilling about battling someone for the item you want the most. I'm relentless when it comes to winning. "Maybe a salsa lesson or a weekend getaway?" I stopped talking when I realized that he is already taking me on a trip across the country in a few days, and my prattling was starting to sound obnoxious.

He let out an audible huff, and I couldn't quite figure out why his mood was so sour all of the sudden. "It's not that kind of auction," he scowled.

I turned my body toward his, and I could see the tension racking his entire being. His hands were clasped tightly against his thighs, his jaw clenched, his back so rigid it seemed uncomfortable. His mouth was set into a thin line, his nostrils flaring occasionally. He seemed to be in deep thought, and I suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable in the stuffy limo with nothing to do except stare at him. He looked incredible in the sleek lines of his tuxedo, but he also looked angry. As long as I've known him, I've never seen this side of him. He's been smug, rude, and sarcastic, yes, but never this simmering stoic rage that I could feel radiating from his body. I sighed dramatically, causing his eyes to cut to me. "If you're going to be so grouchy and short with me, I really don't understand why you wanted me to come with you," I snapped.

"I need you here, Blair. I thought I was clear about that."

"You told me you needed a date, but not why," I watched his shoulders roll back, temporarily mesmerized by the way the material clung to his arms. I wonder what he looks like under…No, no, focus, Blair. "Let's turn it into a game then. Let me guess why you brought me." He looked curious, less frustrated, as I tapped my finger against my chin pensively, "You brought me to ward off an ex-girlfriend who won't leave you alone?"

He furrowed his brow, "No, no ex-girlfriend."

"Ooh," I thought of something else, "I'm here to make someone jealous."

He shook his head, "No, not that."

"You're sure about that?" I goaded. "No ex-lover you want to win back? Reunite with the one who got away?"

"I said no exes, Blair," he snarled, but I couldn't help pushing his buttons. The tension seemed to be leaving his body, my game having the intended effect.

"I don't know then," I said slowly, and his eyes fell to my wrist where I absently adjusted the bracelet. "Wait, I got it," I shot my eyes back to his, an enormously cocky grin playing at my lips, "This is a case of unrequited love, isn't it?" I brought my hands to rest against my chest, batting my eyelashes against my cheeks, pursing my lips into a pout, "Someone you've got puppy dog eyes for…wait, no, you're incapable of puppy dog eyes." I laughed, and then tilted my head studying him inquisitively, "If there's a woman out there who melts the ice around your stone-cold heart, then you need to -"

"No," he growled in frustration. His chest rising heavily before exhaling a puff of air. "You're not here for anything like that." His eyes bore into mine so intensely that I almost shivered from the weight of his gaze. "If I'm interested in someone, she will know. In time, she'll know."

That made sense. In the months that I've known Chuck Bass, I've seen him with dozens of different women, but I've never seen him with the same one twice. I don't think he's the relationship kind, so my guessing game was kind of stupid, I suppose. I still don't understand why he's so uptight though.

"We didn't have to come," I said softly, sensing the tension returning to his shoulders, "You could've just made a donation without an appearance."

He answered quietly, "I have to make an appearance."

"Why?" I questioned, watching the discomfort play across his eyes.

"I'm…" he looked away sheepishly, clenching his fists once again, "I'm up for auction."

"You're not serious," I tried not to laugh, but those were the last words I expected to come out of his mouth.

He gave me an irritated glance and nodded his head in affirmation. "The main fundraising tactic is a bachelor auction; that's why I needed you here."

"I'm not following," I shook my head, "Why would you need me when women are going to be spending money to date you? Won't I just be in the way?"

"I want you to bid on me, Blair," he explained, his eyes serious and shining, "I will pay whatever the winning bid is, but I need you to win. Don't let anyone outbid you."

I was so confused; he was telling me something, but I still didn't really understand what all of this was about. "Why are you up for auction, Chuck?" God, that sounded like an insult. "I mean, not that you're not…you are, but…"

"You're exhausting," He shook his head, and that sounded like an insult, too. "My family has ties to New York real estate…they invite 'New York's Most Eligible Bachelors' to participate, and I am obligated because…" He trailed off as the limo rolled to a stop. "I don't want to get into the details, Blair. I'm obligated to be here, and I want you to bid on me. End of story."

"Will your family be here tonight?"

"No," his answer was terse, his countenance hardening as the chauffeur opened the door for us to exit, so I chose not to question him further. He offered his hand to me, his eyes shamelessly raking over my bare leg as I slipped my hand into his and exited the limo.

The tingles still didn't subside when he rested his hand against my lower back to guide me into the ballroom where the gala was being held. My mind was reeling as I considered the fact that this is the place where I'm going to fake-bid on my fake date who will soon be my fake boyfriend at my best friend's wedding. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

I could barely focus on anything besides the feel of Chuck's hand pressed against my spine when a woman who appeared to be in her early to mid-forties, possibly early fifties if she had a good plastic surgeon, approached us. I could feel Chuck's hand flinch, and his jaw was locked once again. "Good evening, Delia," he greeted politely.

"Hello, Charles," she leaned in and planted a kiss on his cheek, and while his eyes clenched tightly, he kept any grimace off of his face. Years of carefully practiced social graces, I would imagine. It wasn't hard to sense his discomfort with this woman, though. "I was delighted to see you when you walked through the door, but -" she glanced over at me, disdain clearly marring her sharp features, "I wasn't expecting you to have someone on your arm." My cheeks grew warm, and I wasn't sure if it was from anger or embarrassment under the woman's scrutiny. I wanted to tell her off, but I maintained my composure.

"This is Blair Waldorf," he massaged a soft circle into my back, and a small smile played at the corner of my lips, "My date."

"Date?" Delia scoffed, as if the very idea of Chuck showing up with a date was outside the realm of possibility, "I hope this doesn't mean that you've removed yourself from the auction list this year." She frowned, shooting darts in my direction.

"No, I'm still up for auction." He offered her a fake smile.

"Oh, good," she winked, holding up her clutch, "I'm ready." She arched her eyebrows in my direction, clearly meant as a challenge, "Hope you're ready for a little competition, dear."

I looked up at Chuck and turned back to the woman. "Oh, I'm not worried," I smirked, "I always win, especially where he's concerned." Chuck's eyes widened slightly, a mixture of amusement and curiosity dancing across his face, and I placed my hand against his arm. "Shall we find our seats?" I turned my back to her dismissively, putting on my bitchiest face as I glanced over my shoulder, "It was so nice to meet you, Delia."

Chuck nodded in Delia's direction, sliding his fingers down my arm until he could grasp my hand in his own, lacing our fingers together. When we were out of hearing distance, he leaned down and whispered against my ear, "That's why I invited you." I shivered as his hot breath tickled my ear. His voice was so raspy, so deep.

"So, you brought me to ward off Delia?" I surmised.

"Not just her," he answered, and I raised my eyebrows in question. "Bidders are a little…enthusiastic."

"Oh, so I'm warding off women who are throwing themselves at you? Throwing money on stage? Maybe their underwear, too?" I teased, and he glowered at me, a small smirk hiding in the corner of his lips.

"Gold-diggers. Social climbers." He turned his head away from me, and I wondered what was really bothering him.

"These women clearly have money," I shrugged. "Maybe they just think you can show them a good time."

"They have money, but…" he sighed. "Blair, I'm -" Whatever he was going to say died on his lips as a heavy hand clasped down on his shoulder, and he turned his attention to the man behind us. "Mr. Erikson," he shook the man's hand, "How are you?"

"I'm doing well, son," the man responded, "I was so sorry to hear about -"

Chuck cleared his throat quickly, "Yes, thank you."

"He would be so proud."

Chuck stiffened, dropping my hand. "If you'll excuse us," he said through gritted teeth, "We are going to find our seats. Dinner is about to start."

"Oh, yes," Mr. Erikson said, "My apologies."

I looked up at Chuck, silently admonishing his rude dismissal of the old man, but he didn't acknowledge my glare of disapproval as he guided me toward a table at the front of the room. We were seated with various couples, and he took the time to make introductions as our meals were served. For the most part, I sat silently listening to the discussion happening around me. Chuck wasn't very sociable with the other guests, choosing only to answer when he was spoken to. A middle-aged woman with a kind smile and enormous diamond ring on her finger reached across me and placed her hand on top of Chuck's, causing him to stiffen and then relax. "Charles," she patted his hand, "I'm so sorry we didn't make it to the funeral. We were in Spain and just couldn't make it back in time. It's all so tragic, but you're handling it so well. I'm sure your -"

"Thank you, Glenda," He nodded quickly, cutting the woman's speech off and dropping his hand to his lap to adjust his napkin. "Let's not spoil tonight with such a melancholy discussion. We're here for a good cause and to have a little fun while we're at it." He grinned, but I could see the strain behind it. "Besides, we have reason to celebrate. Congratulations on your engagement." He raised his glass toward the gentleman beside Glenda. "It's been a long time coming, Gregory."

The table chuckled, but I couldn't help glancing back at Chuck, unsure what everyone was getting at or why he seemed so desperate to avoid the discussion. Without thinking, I placed my hand on his leg that was now bouncing nervously up and down underneath the table. His movements stilled, but he didn't offer any other acknowledgement of my efforts to calm him. His eyes didn't meet mine for the remainder of the dinner, and I once again felt uncomfortable with the entire situation.

As dessert was served, Glenda, who was directly to my right, asked, "So, Blair, I'm sure you know that Charles is the most sought after bachelor up for grabs tonight?"

I grinned, "So I've heard."

"Will you be bidding on him?" There was a twinkle in her eyes, and I swear she was trying to tease him.

"Of course," I answered, between spoonfuls of creme brulee, "I am not letting anyone else get their hands on him." Not before I get my hands on him. Oh, God. Did I actually just think that?

"She's a keeper, this one," a tall, handsome man named John directed the statement toward Chuck, a glint shining in his eyes.

"She certainly is," he admitted quietly. I awkwardly adjusted my position in my seat to remind myself that everything about this evening is fake. His touch is fake, his compliments are fake, these butterflies are fake, dammit. "But we're here as friends." There it is, like a dagger straight to my heart.

"Is that so?" John asked. "Well, then, Blair. I'll have you know that I'm also up for auction."

"That's enough, John," Chuck growled, his shoulders stiffening.

"I'm just saying," he smiled arrogantly, "If Bass here is too expensive, or you know, too…popular with the other ladies, then I'll make your bid worth -"

"I said," Chuck scowled, "That won't be necessary. Blair is bidding on me tonight."

John narrowed his eyes, "You seem awful sure of that, considering you just admitted you're 'just friends.'"

Chuck's hand slipped around the back of my chair, his thumb grazing my shoulder, "I never said just friends."

My heart pounded against my chest as my eyes bounced back and forth between the two men as a silent power struggle played between them. I felt like I should intervene in some way, tell John that I was only interested in placing my bids for Chuck, but the feeling of his hand on my bare shoulder, the almost possessive quality of his touch had me shocked into silence. Fortunately, at that moment the emcee announced that it was time for the auction to start and all of the bachelors should make their way backstage.

"Remember," he whispered against my ear, "I'm yours, no matter what." He leaned in to place a kiss against my cheek, and electricity surged through my entire body when his lips connected with my skin. I stared at him, dumbfounded, as he stood and made his way toward the stage, John following with an obvious scowl etched onto his face.

XOXO

Chuck was the last bachelor to make his way on to the stage, and he wasn't kidding when he said that women went crazy for him. The moment he made it to the center of the stage, the crowd grew into a deafening cheer, and a multitude of manicured hands flew into the air. His entire demeanor was filled with haughty arrogance, but it was playful. He was so handsome and charismatic that I could understand why he was the most popular option. John, while traditionally handsome, hadn't garnered nearly as much attention. Even so, he went for over twenty thousand dollars. These women are not playing around.

"We'll start the bidding at five thousand dollars," the auctioneer announced. My hand rose aggressively, but I wasn't fast enough.

"Five thousand to the lady in green!"

"Eight thousand!"

"Ten thousand!"

"Twenty-five thousand!"

Chuck found me in the crowd and raised his eyebrows impatiently. "Forty thousand dollars!" I yelled out, causing several women in the crowd to turn and stare at me.

Delia narrowed her gaze in my direction and shook her head, "Fifty thousand."

"Seventy-Five thousand," I countered.

"Ninety thousand," she laughed, spurring me on even more. Stupid bitch.

"One hundred and fifty thousand dollars!" I screamed above the roar of the crowd. A collective gasp sounded through the room, and the auctioneer turned his attention toward Delia. She shook her head in defeat, and I smiled at her in the most taunting way.

"Sold for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars to the lady in purple!" The gavel hit the podium hard, and I dared a glance back at Chuck for the first time since the bidding war with Delia commenced. His expression was unreadable. Shit, did I overdo it? It is his money after all, and he did tell me to spare no expense. "Ladies and gentlemen," I heard from the emcee, "We have a new record. Never in the five years we've held this benefit have we had a bachelor go for over one hundred thousand dollars."

Cheers erupted in the room, and I could almost feel Delia's anger radiating from her seat on the other side of the room. Multiple hands clasped me on the back, and I smiled graciously, anxious to find out how Chuck would react to my generous bidding.

When he finally made his way back to my side, there was no smile, no warmth in his expression, and I grew nervous that he was angry with me. He should've given me clearer guidelines, I decided. I won't deal with his moodiness; I did what he asked. Once he was standing directly in front of me, a grin finally spread across his face, and I released the breath I didn't know I was holding. "Really, Waldorf?" He said, "A hundred and fifty thousand dollars for a date with me? You could've just asked."

A blush rose in my cheeks, and I shoved him in the chest, tensing when my hand made impact with the muscles resting underneath his suit jacket. "Shut up, Bass. I'm not entirely convinced that you're worth a $150,000 date."

He smirked and leaned in closer, "I guess we'll just have to find out, huh?"

"Uh," I stuttered, "I thought…I…it's a fake date I bidded on, right?"

His expression seemed to flatten a bit, but he nodded, "I meant in California."

"Oh," I choked, "Of course." An awkward silence fell between us, and I shifted from one foot to the other, studying all of the people milling around us. I found Delia staring us down, as though she could actually set me on fire with the intensity of her gaze. "She is going to poison my drink," I observed quietly.

Chuck followed my eyes to the evil woman, and he proffered his hand. "Let's give her something to really be angry about. Dance with me."

I stared at his hand for a moment, hesitating. We'd touched in subtle ways plenty of times tonight, even throughout the previous few weeks, but this felt decidedly more intimate. There was really no reason for us to dance. It wasn't necessary for the whole fake bidding date thing, so I guess I was thrown off guard by his request. I peered up at him from beneath my eyelashes and said, "Is this part of the deal?"

He frowned, "What do you mean?"

"Us. Dancing."

His hand hung awkwardly in the space between us, and he said, "No, Blair, this is just us dancing."

"But it's just for show, right?"

He exhaled, "Sure, just for show. Just to annoy Delia." Something flickered in his eyes, but it was gone before I could question it.

I slowly slipped my hand into his palm, and he led me to the dance floor. His arm snaked around my back pulling me close, and I almost stumbled over my stilettos as if I didn't have years of practice walking in them on a nearly daily basis. I trailed my trembling hands carefully up his chest, slipping them around his neck until our bodies were flush against each other. I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, and I dared a glance up to see his Adam's apple bob in his throat. He wasn't entirely unaffected by our proximity either. This knowledge helped me relax a bit, and I leaned closer into him until his jaw smoothed against my temple.

We danced in silence for a moment, and I allowed myself the chance to bask in the feel of his arms. He was stronger than he looked, firm and solid. I fit perfectly against him, and I found myself wanting to burrow my head into his chest. I resisted the urge and distracted myself with conversation, "By the way, thank you for the clothes. You didn't have to buy those for me."

"I know I didn't have to," his words rumbled in his chest, sending vibrations through my body, "I wanted to."

The music was so slow; we were hardly dancing, more like swaying to the beat. He smelled so good, and I couldn't reconcile the fact that this man holding me in his arms caressing patterns into the small of my back was the same stubborn asshole neighbor who has spent the last six months antagonizing me from across the hall. I looked back up at his face, and I could've sworn his eyes flickered to my lips for the briefest of moments. My heart had no business pulsing this way in my chest because of Chuck Bass. It has to be a natural response to his proximity. It's been a…while since a man has touched me like this.

"Chuck?" I prompted quietly.

"Yes," the movement of his lips tickled the sensitive skin of my temple.

"I know it's not my place to ask, and I don't want to pry, but -" I hesitated, not sure why I was asking this in the first place.

"But?"

"Everyone kept offering you condolences and mentioning a funeral. Is that why you were gone last week? Because if -"

He growled, his whole body stiffening against mine, "You're right, Blair. It's not your place to ask."

I pulled back, startled by the coldness in his eyes, "I'm sorry I didn't mean…I just meant if you're grieving, I don't expect -"

"Just drop it," his voice was harsh, and I dropped my hands from around his neck. "It's none of your business."

"See?" I narrowed my eyes, trying to blink away the hurt that I knew was shining behind them, "This is why this was a bad idea. This is why we can't be friends."

"Friends?" He asked incredulously. "Is that what you think we are?"

"Yes…" I started, but I backtracked, crossing my arms over my chest, "No, I don't think we're friends. Friends have to like each other."

"Trust me, Blair," he rasped, "Being your friend is the last thing on my mind."

His words filled the space around us as we stood staring at each other, our night ruined by the truth of our situation. I was enjoying myself; he seemed to be having fun, too. I had foolishly started to think that maybe we could be friends. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why he was suddenly so upset. I didn't know what else to say at that moment because a mixture of anger and hurt boiled into frustration in my stomach. I bit down on my lip and stared out into the distance until Chuck took a step back from me, shaking his head, for what reason I didn't know.

"C'mon," he said, cutting into the silence, "It's getting late, and I need to pack tomorrow. Let's head out."

The ride back was just as uncomfortable as the end of our dance, and I started to feel uneasy about spending an entire week in California with this man. I thought we could get along, but if we couldn't go a single night without arguing, then what were we thinking taking a trip together? I knew this was all my fault; I'm the one who proposed the whole stupid thing to begin with.

When he walked me to the door, he muttered something about leaving at six sharp Monday morning. There were no goodbyes, no words of gratitude or apologies. We both went into our separate apartments without another word or glance in each other's direction, and I wondered if he was as confused as I was about how the evening had gone downhill so quickly.