He was officially her goddamned shadow.
What made it worse was that Nicolas was away (for God knows how long) to consult with designers and brand managers across the country...which meant that she had no fiancé to hide behind.
Chuck had her right where he wanted her: alone.
ONE WEEK EARLIER
The day after her "lunch" with Chuck, Blair accompanied Nicolas to the airport. An uncomfortable silence settled between them for the duration of the trip, making Blair wish she had stayed home.
When they finally arrived at the terminal, Nicolas turned in his seat to face her. "Tout va bien, chèrie?" he asked softly.
"Everything's fine," she responded, the tone of her voice echoing his.
Lies told in Paris: 0. Lies told in New York: 2 and counting.
Nicolas reached across the seat to take her hand. "I know it's sudden, but I thought about what we…discussed yesterday morning, and you were right. I got where I am today because I put in a great deal of effort, and putting off my search for designers is irresponsible."
Blair didn't answer him. With luck, he would assume her silence meant she was still annoyed with him.
"I know it's not an ideal time, since we just got to New York…but I won't be gone long," he promised. "And we'll speak every day, of course." When she remained silent, he squeezed her hand gently and said, "I'm sorry about my behavior yesterday, Blair. I don't know what came over me. You've been excited about moving back to New York for months…I should have been more considerate of your feelings.
"The Upper East Side is your home…and you have twenty years of memories here," he continued. "It's understandable that you would want to spend time with old friends, especially Serena. I get to see you every day…I shouldn't have been so selfish. Can you forgive me?"
Would you forgive me if you knew what I did? Blair wondered. She turned to look at him and regretted it immediately–his face was filled with remorse. Her heart twisted and her face burned with shame; she had never seen him look so contrite.
"Of course I forgive you," she managed to say. Her assurance sounded hollow in her ears, but he smiled at her.
A loud rapping on the window interrupted their conversation. "I'm sorry." Nicolas raked his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. "I don't want to miss my flight…but I will call you tonight, okay? We can talk more then."
Blair closed her eyes as he kissed her goodbye. She parted her lips instinctively, relishing the familiar taste of his mouth as he deepened the kiss. It was passionate and sweet…but there was something missing.
Nicolas pulled away and exited the car before she could pinpoint what it was, leaving her confused and a bit apprehensive.
Had Chuck done more damage to her relationship than she realized?
No, you're just feeling guilty because you lied, she reasoned.
Twice.
…fuck.
"That's quite enough of that," Blair declared.
"Is everything in order, Miss Waldorf?"
The voice of her driver startled her; she hadn't even noticed that he had gotten back into the car. Now he was staring at her in the rear view mirror, ready for her instructions.
"Of course everything is fine," Blair snapped in irritation. "Take me back to the city. Now."
She decided it was time for an extensive retail therapy session.
When she arrived home several hours later, her arms loaded down with shopping bags, she noticed a large vase filled with pink peonies on the table in the foyer. A note protruded from among the mass of flower petals, and she set her bags down on the floor and picked it up reluctantly.
The stationary was embossed with a large "CB" across the top.
Never again.–C
The arrogant Basstard.
Blair hastily shoved the note into a shopping bag and hurried upstairs to unpack her things. She stowed the note away in a box buried deep in her closet, where she could be sure no one would stumble upon its incriminating message.
Later she would wonder why she didn't just set it on fire instead.
On Tuesday evening, she entered the POSH fundraising event feeling more relaxed than if she'd taken a Lorazepam. She'd checked the guest list upon her arrival and happily found the Bass name lacking. After scanning the pieces up for auction, she came upon an incredible 1926 René Lalique glass chandelier and placed her bid. Then she spent a good deal of time walking around the room greeting acquaintances and exchanging pleasantries.
When she made her way towards the restroom later, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Chuck was leaning casually against the bar, swirling his scotch as he watched guests mingle nearby.
Great, Blair thought.
No other man cut quite the figure that Chuck Bass did in a tuxedo. His dark hair was perfectly styled, his strong jaw freshly shaved, and his lips were pursed slightly as he studied the crowd before him.
Suddenly he looked her way and caught her stare. A hungry gleam in his eyes ignited instantly. He raised his glass to her with a smirk and she felt like she was on display…like she was on stage at Victrola again and he was toasting her fearlessness. She held his gaze for a moment before slipping into the crowd and through the exit before he could approach her.
God, he'd ruined her night again.
Just before she climbed into bed hours later, a large package arrived at her apartment containing the René Lalique chandelier and a note on familiar stationary.
Stay for a congratulatory drink next time.–C
Well, maybe her night wasn't completely ruined.
The next morning, she opened the curtains at her bedroom window just to feel the warm sunshine on her face. Daydreams about summers past in the Hamptons filled her head, and she nearly called Dorota to tell her they were going to Central Park to enjoy the weather when a dark object caught her attention.
A sleek black limo that she knew all too well was parked on the adjacent street.
Immediately realizing she was wearing a lace negligee, she crossed her arms tightly over her chest and retreated from the window.
Exactly one hour later, a small package arrived containing a sheer black baby doll and a note that read:
Modesty doesn't become you.–C
She kept the curtains closed for the rest of the week.
Thursday evening was the annual Constance Billard-St. Jude's cocktail party. Blair knew from experience that Chuck would head to the bar as soon as he arrived (and he would arrive–she'd stake her life on it), so she kept a watchful eye on the corner of the room.
She didn't have to wait long; sure enough, he sauntered through the double doors and made a beeline to the bar. It wasn't a surprise when he appeared at her side minutes later while she spoke with a few other guests.
"Blair," he greeted her softly. He plucked the empty champagne flute from her hand and replaced it with a fresh glass. Their skin touched as she curled her fingers around the cool glass, and her heart leapt into her throat at the electricity that crackled between them.
She felt her skin heat rapidly and watched his eyes follow the flush that spread from her cheeks to her chest. She braced herself for a lewd comment, already mentally generating a retort. But instead of speaking he let out a low, ragged breath and shifted on his feet. His eyes darkened considerably, and he began to look…uncomfortable.
Just as abruptly as he had appeared beside her, he excused himself.
Blair blinked several times in surprise; she'd never seen Chuck act that way. Her eyes followed him as he walked stiffly to the bar and stood with his back to the crowd, shifting on his feet again. If she didn't know better, she'd think that he–
No way, she thought, suppressing a giggle. Could just brushing against her skin really make him hard? As a familiar feeling stirred low in her belly, she realized that it could. One touch could certainly ignite lust.
Shaking the thought from her head, Blair remarked to those around her that she and Nicolas were still undecided on where to spend their honeymoon. She hoped the easy tone of her voice would stifle any gossip about her and Chuck, but it was impractical to think that talk wouldn't circulate, no matter how indifferent she acted. Everyone in attendance tonight knew that there had only been one love in Chuck's life, and he certainly had no great affection for St. Jude's.
That night, the note that came was an invitation, a promise, and a warning:
And with just one touch…–C
She was completely prepared for him the following afternoon at Bendel's. He was blocking her exit from the changing rooms as she emerged with a dress draped over her arm.
"Bass," she said coldly.
"Waldorf," he responded, tilting his head to read the label of the dress she held. "Just as I thought…Dior always looked delectable on you."
Blair flushed a deep crimson to the roots of her hair.
"You–you were watching me in the dressing room?" she spluttered.
He smiled wryly in response. She shoved past him and threw the dress down on a nearby chair, outraged at his audacity.
The dress arrived at her apartment an hour later, wrapped in tissue paper and nestled in a large box. Another bouquet of peonies accompanied it, as well as a note:
I don't have to see it on to know it was made for you.–C
Her eyes fell to the dress peeking out from the tissue paper. That motherchucker was right—it was perfectly suited to her body shape. She lifted the Dior from its box and walked upstairs to hang it up, knowing full well that she wouldn't be able to resist the urge to wear it to the next event she attended.
The note went straight into the hidden box in her closet, joining four others written by the same hand.
Blair spent the next morning with her interior designer, Alena. The renovations on the new apartment had been completed early and Blair wanted to do a final walk-through before Alena got started on the decorating. Giddy with excitement, Blair turned the key in the lock and swung the front door open to find a sea of pink waiting for her.
Dozens of bouquets of sweet-smelling peonies blanketed the floor of the foyer, pooling around an elegant, exquisitely detailed white chaise lounge.
"Oh, my," Alena gasped.
Blair's eyebrows furrowed and she grit her teeth. She moved quickly to snatch up a note resting atop the lounge and stuffed it into her purse. There was no need to read it now—not when she already knew whose elegant script covered it.
"He's a keeper."
"What?" Blair whirled around to face her companion with narrowed eyes.
"Your fiancé is a keeper." The woman was too busy staring dreamily at the romantic scene before her to notice Blair's icy tone. "Look at these beautiful flowers! And the chaise lounge…that piece is gorgeous."
"Oh…my fiancé. Yes, he certainly is worth holding onto," Blair said with an artificial smile.
She gestured towards the rest of the apartment. "Shall we get started?"
When Blair awoke on Sunday morning, she was seized by an irrepressible urge to organize. She needed to add over a dozen social events to her calendar, collect information on a few more honeymoon spots, and whittle down the guest list for the wedding.
The hours flew by. Sheets of paper scribbled with notes littered the dining room table and a large planner covered with post-it notes lay in front of her. Having a busy life usually excited her, but today she found her commitments exhausting.
It was all because of that Basshole. He was making her crazy with all his gifts and random appearances. He'd taken advantage of the fact that Nicolas wasn't home–he probably had his PI watching her again–and wormed his way back into her life with less than a dozen words.
Well, that wasn't quite true. If she took into account his daily notes, then–
"Focus, Blair," she admonished herself, holding up the proposed catering menu for the wedding reception. "Entrée: choice between salmon with white truffle risotto, bourbon glazed top sirloin–"
"Miss Blair?"
Her head jerked up to see Dorota standing in the doorway, holding a long box. "What is it, Dorota?" she snapped.
"This come for you," the maid replied quickly, placing the box on the table and scurrying away before her mistress could unleash her obvious frustration on her.
Blair eyed the box warily, wondering what he could possibly be sending her now. For a moment she considered throwing the box out the window without opening it, but her curiosity got the best of her.
Inside was a chilled bottle of '97 Dom Pérignon wrapped in silk. It was accompanied by another note:
Relax.–C
She took his advice, too mentally exhausted to wonder how he knew she was stressed. In the words of Scarlett O'Hara, she'd think about that tomorrow.
By Monday morning, Blair jumped at every noise she heard. She yelped when her shampoo bottle fell over as she reached for her conditioner, and she half-expected Chuck to leap out at her from her closet when she opened the door to choose an outfit. When the elevator bell dinged downstairs, she flew into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. A few moments later, she sheepishly remembered that Dorota had placed an order for fresh strawberries to be delivered that morning.
"That's it," she mumbled to herself as flung the bathroom door open. "This is getting completely out of hand."
It was time to get a second opinion about how to deal with Chuck, because ignoring him obviously wasn't working. Not to mention the fact that her best friend needed guidance when it came to choosing an appropriate maid of honor dress anyway.
Twenty minutes later, Blair sat quietly on the couch at Serena and Nate's apartment, struggling to find the best way to speak her mind.
"B," Serena cooed, brushing a loose strand of hair from her friend's face. "You've barely spoken since you got here. What's going on? Did Dorota walk in on you and Nicolas having sex or something?"
Blair rolled her eyes at her best friend and fidgeted with the hem of her dress.
"Come on," Serena prodded, bumping her shoulder against Blair's playfully. "Is it the wedding?"
Blair shook her head and sighed. It had been nearly half an hour and she still couldn't bring herself to tell Serena about her "lunch" with Chuck.
The day he kissed her.
How could she explain to Serena that she'd done her best to avoid him and failed miserably? The man was literally everywhere.
The memory of his gentle kiss invaded her thoughts constantly, causing Blair to become short-tempered with Nicolas. During their daily phone calls, she'd begun picking fights with him and rolling her eyes at the little jokes that had always made her laugh before. When he'd finally asked what was wrong, she'd refused to acknowledge that anything was bothering her.
She imagined he was confused. She couldn't blame him; so was she. Keeping the kiss to herself was making her insane. Was it was possible to develop a personality disorder in seven days?
Whether it was or not, she had to tell someone about Chuck before she cracked and spilled her shameful secret to the wrong person…like her fiancé.
"It's not about the wedding, S," Blair began quietly, tugging on the end of her dress nervously. "It…kind of concerns Nicolas. But it's mostly about what happened the next day–"
Blair was interrupted by a door opening and Nate's familiar voice calling, "Serena?"
"Nate!" Serena leapt up from the couch and skipped towards the front door. Nate's arms were already pulling her into a tight hug. He lavished her neck with kisses, making her squeal with delight.
Blair's mind was abuzz as she regarded the contented look on Nate's face. His honeymoon period with Serena was long over, yet she had never seen him so…happy. With a pang in her heart, she wished that she could have been around to witness the beginning of their relationship; it must have been a sight to behold.
Her musings were interrupted when she saw him step into the room.
"Chuck!" Blair exclaimed, the alarm in her voice causing Nate and Serena to pull apart. "Why are you here? It's…well, it's Monday."
"Yes, and it's also the first of June," Chuck replied matter-of-factly. The way his eyes traveled over her body was distracting–it was like he was imagining the fastest way he could remove her clothing.
"I meant that it's Monday, as in a weekday," Blair explained. "Don't you have a multi-billion dollar company to run? Or somewhere more important to be?"
He smirked in response. "It's a pleasure to see you too, Blair." Stepping towards her, he leaned in to kiss her cheek, lingering there a moment before pulling away and greeting Serena. "I was at work, but Nathaniel came by my office and insisted I take the afternoon off to have lunch with my lovely sister."
Serena beamed at him, then her eyes widened and she looked at Nate. "Oh, I almost forgot! The architect delivered the plans for the spare room. Come look–it'll only take a minute."
"Okay," Nate replied, then shot a nervous look at Blair and Chuck. "No fighting, alright? We'll be right back."
The couple disappeared around the corner.
"We need to talk," Blair said. She thrust her arm through Chuck's and led him to the kitchen.
"Is that all you had in mind, Waldorf?" he responded with a wolfish smile.
"Ugh," she groaned, turning her face towards him. "Enough innuendo. I'd really appreciate it if you'd stop."
"I thought I made myself clear," he said patiently. "I'm not going to stop until you've kicked that French fry to the curb. If you think I'm going to give up after one virginal kiss–"
Blair cut him off with an unintelligible cry, panicked that Serena or Nate would overhear them.
"Blair?" Serena's voice called from across the apartment. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Serena!" Blair shouted, forcing pleasantness into her voice. "Just having a quick word with Chuck. I'll be right there."
"What exactly do you want me to stop doing?" Chuck prodded, cocking his head to the side with feigned confusion.
"Stop following me around," Blair enunciated through clenched teeth. "And just for the record, playing dumb is pointless when you've repeatedly acknowledged the fact that you're stalking me. How did you manage to finagle an invitation to the POSH fundraiser? You weren't on the guest list–I checked."
"Blair," he sighed. "I'm Chuck Bass. I don't need to 'finagle' invitations to events."
Blair smiled mockingly. "Oh, right. You can do whatever you want. I forgot you're New York royalty now."
"If you choose to quote the papers, yes," he answered. "But to answer your question, I donate to quite a few charities, including POSH. My name doesn't need to be on a guest list."
"What about the Constance Billard cocktail party?" she quipped.
He clucked his tongue and pursed his lips. "Now Blair, why wouldn't alumni from St. Jude's be encouraged to attend such an event as well?"
"I didn't peg you as sentimental," she retorted.
"I never had anything to be sentimental about," he said softly, fixing his dark eyes on hers. "Until I lost you."
His fingers reached out to touch her soft cheek, moving slowly to the corner of her mouth and down to her chin, and the muscles in her neck tensed as his fingertips grazed over her throat.
Chuck waited for her to protest. If his advances were unwelcome, she could call for Serena or Nate. But she was silent, and he didn't need any more encouragement than that. The devil inside him smirked at the low cut of her floral print dress and the way her breasts heaved against the fabric. No matter how calm her face remained, her body always betrayed the way he made her feel; he'd seen the way that her skin flushed when their fingers touched at the Constance Billard-St. Jude's party.
Emboldened by the memory, he pressed his palm over her heart. He smiled at her, and she barely flinched. But her heart was beating rapidly–she was obviously struggling to decide whether fight or flight was the better way out of the current situation.
"Admit it," he murmured. "You're just as affected by my presence as I am by yours."
Blair's eyes grew wide. She drew in a strangled breath and realized her heart had begun beating even faster.
She shook her head defiantly.
"Say it," Chuck commanded, letting his fingers journey dangerously close to the tops of her breasts.
"No," she spluttered.
His hand dropped even lower. The tips of his fingers slipped under the fabric that gathered at her cleavage and began teasing the skin there.
"No?" he repeated dangerously.
"Chuck, I love Ni–"
His other hand shot out and grabbed her waist, pulling her against his body. She trembled when his free hand dipped to cup one of her breasts, kneading it gently through her dress.
"Careful, Blair," he warned, watching in amusement as she stiffened. "If the next word out of your mouth isn't 'you', there will be consequences much worse than this."
Her eyes nearly rolled back in her head at the mental images conjured up by the word consequences, but she was bound and determined to resist him. Her hands rose to his chest in an attempt to push away, but he just gripped her tighter.
"Let me go," she implored. "Nate or Serena could see us."
He chuckled darkly. "Honestly, do you think I care?"
"You'd better, asshole," she said, glowering. "Unhand me."
"Go ahead," he urged. "Convince me you don't think about our last kiss…that you don't fantasize about my lips on yours."
"I-I…" Blair stuttered, struggling to find her voice as he leaned down. His lips hovered next to her cheek, his light breath tickling her ear.
"I know you do." His voice was husky; she felt her fingers curl into his chest. "And I know you think about more than just a kiss. What else do I do to you in your fantasies, Blair? Do I make love to you slowly…until you beg me to let you come? Or do I tear your clothes off before taking you on top of the kitchen counter?"
Suddenly, she was painfully aware of the open counter space next to her. Her heart skipped a beat. A voice in the back of her mind urged her not to give in to him, and she found herself regaining her resolve.
"Excuse me?" she said incredulously.
With a surge of anger, she pushed fiercely at his chest. The sudden force must have surprised Chuck, because he loosened his grip on her enough to allow her to break free from him. She backed away until she felt the cool metal of the fridge on her exposed shoulders.
"You're insufferable, Bass," she declared. "And I'd appreciate it if you kept your disgusting assumptions to yourself. I don't want to lose my appetite before lunch."
"It's true, isn't it?" His voice was thick with desire. "You couldn't stop thinking about me if you tried."
"No," Blair said firmly. "I don't think of you."
"You're lying," he said confidently, stepping towards her, never tearing his eyes away from hers. "You can't deny the way your body responds to me."
"I will admit, it's quite difficult to keep from feeling nauseous in your presence," she returned with a sneer.
He shook his head slowly. "What are you so afraid of, Blair?"
He was so close to her that she could feel his breath on her face as he spoke.
"I'm not afraid of anything," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her gaze sank down to his lips, and, instantly realizing her mistake, she flicked her eyes back up to meet his.
"Good." He tilted his head down to one side.
Blair's eyes fluttered shut. She knew that he was moving in for a kiss, but she couldn't bring herself to resist any longer. Surrendering to her desire, she parted her lips and wet them with her tongue. Her breath grew shallow…her heart was hammering in her chest…and Chuck's lips were hovering just a fraction of an inch away…
"Hey, we're gonna order some lunch from–whoa."
Nate had come around the corner of the kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks at the scene before him.
The guilty parties snapped to attention immediately. Chuck's arms fell to his sides, and Blair forcibly shoved him away and began to sidestep around his body.
"Nathaniel," Chuck growled. "What perfect timing."
"I'm going to find Serena," Blair said, quickly, maneuvering around them.
"She's on the couch," Nate offered. As she left the kitchen she heard Nate ask, "What are you doing, man?"
Serena was on her laptop in the living room, looking over a restaurant menu. Blair walked over to her quickly, but didn't have a chance to say anything before she heard Chuck's voice ring out behind her.
"If you'll excuse me, sis," he said, sounding a bit strained. "I just remembered a meeting that I can't afford to miss."
Serena lifted her head and regarded him quizzically. "Okay…but don't forget about brunch this weekend. You promised Mom."
With a nod, Chuck left the apartment.
Serena looked between her boyfriend and Blair, noting the tense atmosphere between them. "Alright, B," she said, closing her laptop. "What's going on?"
A few moments of silence passed before Serena spoke again. "It doesn't have to do with Chuck, does it?" she asked carefully.
Blair flinched at the name.
"What happened?" Serena demanded. "Nate?"
"I, uh, went to the kitchen to ask if they wanted take-out," Nate explained. "And Chuck was…" He trailed off.
"Chuck was what?" Serena probed.
"Chuck was trying to kiss me," Blair responded with a look that said duh. She let out a heavy sigh. "Again."
"Wait, again?" Nate repeated.
"Yes. That's why I came over today, S," Blair explained, turning to her friend. "I needed to tell someone. He kissed me the day after my engagement party and he's been stalking me ever since."
She described everything that had happened since she had dragged Chuck away at her engagement party, only leaving out her dream about him and her fight with Nicolas.
"Oh, B, I'm so sorry. Chuck's really gone overboard this time, hasn't he?" Serena said sympathetically when Blair was finished. "You didn't keep the notes he sent you, right?"
"No, I–I got rid of them," Blair lied.
Serena sighed with relief. "That's good."
"Do you still have feelings for Chuck?" Nate asked abruptly.
"No," Blair scoffed, looking offended. "Honestly, Archibald, where do you get such ideas?"
"You just didn't seem like you were putting up much of a fight in the kitchen," Nate pointed out.
Damn, Blair thought. To think that we used to be able to get away with murder around him…
"B?" Serena asked cautiously.
"Of course I don't have feelings for Chuck," Blair insisted. "I'm getting married in three months. And I love Nicolas," she added unconvincingly.
A heavy silence hung in the air as Serena and Nate looked at her with equally troubled expressions.
Blair was grateful for the interruption when she heard her cell phone chirp.
She jumped to her feet and rushed towards the sound, answering as soon as she saw the caller ID.
"Lottie," she greeted her caller enthusiastically. "How are you? I thought I wasn't going to start for another week or so- oh. Oh! No, no, that sounds wonderful! Of course it's no problem, I'd be more than happy to. Thank you!"
She turned back to Serena and Nate, a wide smile stretching across her face and her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"What was that about?" Nate asked with a chuckle.
"That was my boss, Lottie," Blair said. "She wants to cover some events in Paris over the next two weeks. Since I worked at French Elle, it makes sense that they'd send me…I know all the important designers already."
"B, that's great!" Serena exclaimed. "When do you leave?"
"Tonight," Blair squealed.
"What about Nicolas?" Nate asked warily.
"I'm sure he won't mind," Blair explained, waving her hand in dismissal. "He'll have plenty to keep him busy here; he's saving his search for New York designers for last. I'll call him on the way back to my apartment."
Serena smiled at Blair's zest. "Want me to help you pack? Like old times?"
Blair rolled her eyes dramatically. "Like you even need to ask, S. Come on, allons-y!"
Chuck went straight to his office when he left Nate and Serena's apartment.
"Maria," he barked as soon as he exited the elevator, startling his secretary. "I need you to set up a meeting immediately."
"Yes, Mr. Bass," Maria said quickly. "Who would you like to see?"
"Nicolas Faria," Chuck replied, throwing down the folder his PI had compiled for him detailing Blair's fiancé. "His contact information is in there."
Maria nodded and waited patiently for him to continue.
"Bring the information to me when you've set a time," Chuck instructed. "And make sure to book the meeting under Jennifer Humphrey, fashion designer."
Special thanks to terrabeth, whose beta skills are simply splendiferous, and Miss P, who helps me gauge how in character Chuck is by how much she hates him.
LeftWriter224, tiff xoxo, Rf, TriGemini, Maryam25, Temp02, chairfan, flipped, QueenBee10, Killer Newton, GGfan73104, AquarianAir, jamieerin, & annablake...thank you for your reviews. They always make my day.
Did you hate it? Like it? Are you Team Chuck or Team Nicolas? I'd love to hear from you!