A/N: This chapter is part 1 of 4.

"Bass!"

The shrill voice nearly sent Chuck tumbling off the couch in surprise. His eyes flew open and saw Blair standing in front of him, her arms crossed and her foot tapping out an impatient rhythm on the floor.

"Yes, Waldorf?" he groaned, making it clear that he disapproved of her less-than-tactful method of waking him. He pushed himself into a sitting position and squinted at his watch, noting the late hour with a groan. When he looked up at her a moment later, Blair had cocked her head to the side and her eyebrows were raised expectantly.

"Well? What are you still doing here?" she demanded. "I ordered breakfast this morning so you could nurse your hangover and leave. Not that you deserved breakfast, after what you did."

Chuck ran his fingers through his hair, hoping to counteract his bed head. "Thank you for that," he replied. "For breakfast, I mean. Not for the rather demanding note I found attached to my coffee, instructing me to vacate your room before you returned."

Blair scoffed and crossed her arms. "And yet, here you are."

"Here I am," he echoed, grinning in amusement. "And to show my gratitude for your…hospitality last night –"

"I never should have let you in to begin with," she interrupted.

There was something about her voice that made Chuck's heart thump wildly in his chest. His smile faded and cursed himself for not noticing the murderous tone sooner…and judging by her body language, her narrowed eyes would probably be the last thing he ever saw.

"Blair, about last night –"

"No." She held up a finger to silence him. "You've gone too far this time, Bass."

Fuck.

She was going to kill him. If he wasn't so terrified, he would have chuckled at the inevitable headline in the papers the next morning: The Beauty Murdered The Beast.

TWELVE DAYS EARLIER

The glass doors at Charles de Gaulle slid open and Blair heaved a sigh of relief. She was back in Paris, where she could breathe again…away from Chuck and his stalking. And if he was going to follow her – she hoped he wouldn't – then he wouldn't show up for at least a day. That gave her plenty of time to relax: she would check into the suite Elle had reserved for her at the Montfleuri, text Nicolas to let him know she had arrived safely before ordering room service, then hit some of her favorite boutiques before they closed for the evening.

Her first assignments from New York Elle – overseeing photo shoots, meeting with nearly a dozen designers, and writing a few short pieces on the translation of Parisian into American fashion – might make some people cringe, but she was Blair Waldorf. The pressures of deadlines only served to make her more efficient and driven. She would finish her tasks and still have plenty of time to pursue her own pleasures.

In anticipation of such down time, she had already called her father and Roman. They were in Tuscany at the moment, but they were returning to the vineyard in a few days. Her mother was busy with show preparations and her upcoming winter line, but promised lunch or dinner when things calmed down in a few days.

As soon as she arrived at her hotel suite, she fell onto the bed with a contented sigh and stared at the ceiling.

Two weeks away is perfect, she thought. Plenty of time to sort out this mess you've found yourself in with that Mother Chucker.

MEANWHILE
New York City, Lower Manhattan

"Bass?"

Chuck smirked in answer. The shock on Nicolas Faria's face as he entered his office delighted him; after all, the element of surprise was his favorite tactic to employ during war.

Because his pursuit of Blair was war. He didn't understand how much he still needed her, loved her, until he saw her again…and he had vowed to do anything in his power to get back the only woman he had ever loved. This pompous Frenchman standing before him was merely an obstacle in his path, one that he would eliminate as soon as he was given the opportunity.

But today, Chuck was willing to grant him mercy: he was prepared to offer his adversary a way to retreat unscathed.

Mostly.

Nicolas glanced at his watch. "I'm afraid that even if I did have the desire to speak with you, I can't right now. I have –"

"A meeting," Chuck cut in, stepping further into Nicolas' office. "Yes, I know. With Jennifer Humphrey of JTH Fashion, correct?" He crossed the room lazily as he spoke, stopping an arm's length from his adversary. "She won't be here. I set the meeting under her name so that you'd be sure to keep the appointment. After our last…run-in, I knew you wouldn't be terribly inclined to see me."

Nicolas snorted, remembering when he'd met Chuck at his engagement party just over a week ago. He'd found him in a deserted hallway with his fiancée, running his hands all over her body…

"Why are you here, Bass?" Nicolas asked, forcing the image from his head.

Chuck's mouth twisted into a smile. "I have a proposition for you," he drawled. "One that I hope you'll be most receptive to, especially once you hear it in its entirety."

Nicolas eyed him for a moment, trying to decide if he had the balls to kick him out of his office. He hated Chuck after everything he'd done to Blair in the past, and he'd like nothing more than to wipe the smarmy grin off his face with a well-landed blow to the jaw…but Chuck Bass could make a formidable enemy. The brand he was building in the States was too young to survive with Bass Industries as an enemy.

Realizing that his situation was a bit of a catch-22, he clenched his jaw and restrained himself. Perhaps the opportunity to show Chuck just what he thought of his past with Blair would present itself again in the future.

The thought nearly brought a smile to his face.

"Très bien," Nicolas acquiesced, taking a seat behind his desk and motioning for Chuck to sit across from him. The implications were not lost on him, as he used the exact tactic many times in his business dealings. The desk implied an unconscious power split, with the man sitting behind the desk wielding more power than the man sitting in front of the desk.

Chuck didn't like the feeling, but he was doing his best to ignore it.

"You'll find the necessary documents in here," Chuck said, producing a thick file from his briefcase and dropping it onto the desk. "Projections, explications of expansion plans, more…effective marketing strategies. In about four years, your profits would allow you to buy and sell your brand several times over. Your company would thrive under the Bass name."

Nicolas blinked as the implications of his words sunk in. "You want to…buy my brand?"

Chuck nodded. "I'm a businessman, Faria," he explained coolly. "I'm looking broaden my company's horizons. What better way than to start making my mark in the multi-billion dollar fashion industry?" He leaned forward and splayed his hand across the file. "The information in here tells me that your brand brings in a significant amount of revenue. More than significant, I should say."

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs casually. "But with my company name endorsing you, you'd never have to worry about scouring the world for designers again; they would come to you. And I wouldn't have to worry about grooming a company into something worthy of the Bass name, as your brand is already celebrated in Europe's upscale fashion niche. Your company would be the flagship of the new sector of Bass Industries. My proposal would benefit us both."

When Nicolas' eyes dropped and lingered on the file, Chuck knew that he had delivered a solid pitch. He imagined that the paperwork would be signed within a week and from there, he could begin the swift process of removing Nicolas from his position as head of the company. Then Nicolas would be left with nothing…and having no company and no personal fortune guaranteed that Blair would leave him.

Chuck knew as well as anyone that Blair was materialistic; that status, fashion, jewels and money were just as important to Blair as the air she breathed. She was raised in the same world that he was: if you couldn't attend absurdly lavish parties clad in the latest designer clothes, send your children to the most exclusive private schools of the country, or employ a small army as staff, then you were nothing.

Therefore, in Chuck's eyes, there would simply be no competition if Nicolas had no fortune. Blair would leave him in an instant and then Chuck would have all the time in the world to win her back.

Chuck was so lost in his scheme that he almost missed Nicolas drag his eyes up from the file. "So?" Chuck raised his eyebrows in expectation. "Do you need more time to consider my offer?"

Nicolas remained silent.

"The contract is just inside, if you would like to read over it," Chuck prodded, eager to conclude his business. He reached across the desk and opened the file to the front page: a short description outlining the terms of acquisition. A space for Nicolas' signature lay below the signature of the owner of Bass Industries, where Chuck had already signed. "If you have any problems with it, you may call your lawyer, of course."

A long silence stretched out between the two men as they regarded each other. Chuck was almost worried - would Faria refuse his offer? - but then Nicolas nodded and plucked the contract from the pile of papers. Chuck smile was victorious as he folded his hands across his lap.

Nicolas echoed the smile, eyes never leaving Chuck's as he grasped the pages and tore them swiftly in two, then in half again, dropping the ripped sheets on the desk. He picked up the next page of the contract and repeated the process, then did it again.

Chuck forced himself to remain stoic through the process, though he was fuming inside. How dare that French bastard deny an offer from him, an offer of mercy? Didn't he realize that Chuck Bass had ruined better men for lesser offenses?

As Nicolas laid down more mutilated pieces of paper, Chuck found himself incapable of restraining himself further and shot to his feet.

"I think you've made your point, Faria," he said, his voice low. "And I hope you understand the mistake you've made. Chuck Bass doesn't give second chances."

In response, the Frenchman calmly picked up the last remaining sheets of the contract and ripped them clean down the middle. Chuck clenched his jaw in anger and turned to leave, his hand just turning the doorknob when Nicolas spoke.

"I know all about your history with Blair," he announced. "She told me everything."

Chuck turned and raised his brows questioningly, still seething. "Did she now? And did she mention that I'm the love of her life?"

"She didn't exaggerate when she said you were delusional." Nicolas chuckled and shook his head, as if finally understanding a joke that Chuck wasn't privy to.

Chuck's expression blackened further, a dangerous look taking shape in his eyes as he began stalking towards Nicolas. "Just…how well do you know Blair?"

"Better than you ever did," the Frenchman growled.

Chuck nodded, expecting a similar response. "I see," he said. "And did she –"

"Ça suffit, Bass," Nicolas barked, holding up a hand. "I know why you're here, and it isn't because you want to buy my company. You're still in love with Blair and you'll go to any lengths to get her back. But she confides in me, and I in her. We have no secrets. And you can't say anything to break my trust in her.

"Besides, why would she want you after all you've done to her?" he continued, his voice growing more disgusted with each word. "You are the infamous playboy of Manhattan, going through more women in a week than most men do in their whole life. You treated Blair like a piece of property, and she accepted it because she believed that you loved her. But the darkness you infected her with is gone now, and she'll never love you again."

Nicolas paused to take a deep breath, then adopted a formal air not unlike the attitude Chuck assumed when speaking to someone he hated but couldn't afford to insult. His words were polite but contrasted sharply with the strained tone of his voice.

"I apologize for my frankness, monsieur Bass, but I feel that it is the only way to make myself clear to you. I haven't the slightest intention of giving up my company, nor my fiancée, to you. As such…I believe that concludes our business here. I assume you can show yourself out."

For once, Chuck was at a loss for words. He was surprised by Nicolas' anger, but more so by how suddenly his anger had flared and diminished. Clearly, Nicolas was a man who had exceptional control over his emotions.

The tone of his dismissal made it clear that he wouldn't tolerate further antagonizing, but Chuck still had another card left to play. The devil inside him smiled at the seed of doubt he was about to plant. He turned as if to leave, going so far as to open the door before spinning on his heel and addressing the Frenchman.

"Oh, I forgot to mention," Chuck announced with a finger in the air, as if he was only now remembering an important point he had neglected to bring up. "She came to see me a few days ago. In fact, she's been seeing a lot of me since your engagement party. You've been out of town, right?"

He smirked at the double meaning of his words. Nicolas wouldn't know that he had been watching Blair and putting himself in her path whenever he could, but he might think that she had been seeking him out. And if that thought yielded even the tiniest shred of doubt…well, Chuck could certainly work with that.

His dark eyes remained fixed on Nicolas' unnaturally green ones, watching with excitement as they reflected surprise, denial, and finally anger.

"Hmm," Chuck taunted. "Since I'm not leaving with a black eye, I assume she didn't tell you that."

He dipped his head towards Nicolas as a parting gesture, but the simple motion spoke volumes:

Checkmate, it said.

And then he was gone…leaving Nicolas alone to contemplate who was lying to him: his fiancée or Chuck Bass.

FRANCE, THREE DAYS LATER

"Daddy!" Blair squealed as she beheld the breakfast laid out for them. "How did you know?"

Harold Waldorf beamed at his only daughter and wrapped an arm around his partner. "It was Roman's idea, actually," he announced.

Blair turned her shining eyes on Roman and gave him a wide smile.

"I thought you might be missing brunches at the vineyard," he explained with a wink.

The long table was swathed in a cream colored cloth and adorned with Blair's favorite china. Rainbows bounced off intricate crystal centerpieces and blossoms of the multicolored bouquets of peonies fluttered in the wind, creating a chic-romantic atmosphere. The ever-present bottle of wine from Harold and Roman's vineyard sat on a nearby cart with empty goblets, open and ready to be served. The champagne for their traditional mimosas chilled in a titanium bucket atop a similar cart.

Blair skipped over to her usual seat, the one that looked out over the picturesque vineyard that brought her father and his partner so much joy. Rows of stakes covered with lush green vines stretched out and rolled will the hills. Tuscan cypress trees lined the road that wound through the crests and valleys to the paved road beyond the property line. If the open space didn't seem freeing enough, the closest neighbor was a few kilometers away; if Blair squinted hard enough, she could just make out the stone walls of the distant estate basking in the sunlight.

The view had always soothed her overactive mind and given her a sanctuary to retreat to when her life became too much for her to handle.

But now, a painful memory began clouding the perfect scene before her: the night before her wedding months ago. Nicolas had showed her the manor she was staring at now, a nearly 300 year old home bursting with French history, and announced that it was his wedding gift to her. She'd been so angry with him for his assumption that they would live in France after they were married – though, to be fair, they hadn't ever decided not to live in France – and the resulting fight had nearly been the end of their relationship.

Blair cringed at the memory and promised herself not to look up at the still-vacant home in the distance. She reached for her mimosa and took a generous sip, then smiled brightly at her father.

"How is it treating you?" Blair asked, gesturing towards the vineyard stretching out before them.

Harold lit up. "I was just going to tell you, Blair-bear," he said. "We've sold over 25,000 bottles so far this year, and we've still got six months to go."

"Daddy, that's great!" Blair exclaimed. "How did you get so many orders?"

"Earlier this year, Roman and I discovered this enchanting restaurant built into the hillside nearby," Harold explained with a smile. "We went so frequently that we got to know the owner. The details are quite boring, but he started selling our wine in the restaurant.

"Before the month was out," he continued. "We got a call from a food and wine critic. He'd tried our wine at that restaurant and wanted a case of it for his collection. Apparently, he's also been recommending it everywhere he's traveled, because the orders keep coming in. We had to expand the vineyard to accommodate orders for next season."

"And we added nearly a dozen to our staff," Roman said proudly.

"What began as a passion became something else entirely," added Harold. He was smiling happily, but there was something in his eyes that Blair hadn't seen before. She suddenly realized how much he had aged in the last couple of years.

"Daddy," she said gently, setting her fork down on her plate. "Are you alright? You seem tired."

"I'm fine," he answered, waving off her concerns. "I just didn't expect it to be this much work. The days are quite long, and I'm getting older –"

"You're absolutely not!" Blair interjected.

"– so it takes a harder toll on me. But I promise I'm fine. Thank you for asking, Blair-bear," he finished. "Now, tell me all about your new place in the city with Nicolas."

Though she was still concerned, Blair couldn't help but return his encouraging smile. She launched into an enthusiastic description of the apartment and the décor she chose, but her instincts had put her on alert. She made a mental note to ask Roman why her father seemed so different, but for now, she was content to bask in the beauty of the vineyard and the French countryside.

Blair had succeeded in completely taking over at her old desk at Paris Elle by the end of her first week back.

She spent hours scouring through look-books and articles to put the finishing touches on her article, tossing aside papers and binders she had no need of and forming piles of material she wanted to revisit later. If all went well, she could have her assignment done a couple of days early.

Then the intercom on her desk buzzed.

"Excusez-moi, Blair?"

Blair sighed in annoyance. If Colette didn't keep interrupting me, I could have had my work done days ago, she thought.

She ground a finger on the intercom button. "Oui, Colette?" she snapped. "What is it?"

"Je suis désolée," came the flustered response. "Someone is here to see you."

Blair groaned. Just what she needed: another designer who saw her at one of the fashion shows she'd attended since she'd been in town, desperate for a mention in Elle.

"Fine. Give me a minute," she replied, removing her finger from the intercom. Immediately, she began clearing her desk. Her experience at Elle had taught her that if she looked like she was on her way out, the meeting time would be cut exponentially shorter. She could head back to her hotel and finish her work in peace, away from Colette and that damned intercom on her desk.

But what she didn't take into account was a certain dark-haired, billionaire playboy from the Upper East Side appearing like a conjured devil.

"You!" Blair gasped, her surprise causing her to shove a handful of photos into her bag. She should have winced at the sound of papers tearing and bending, but she had bigger things to worry about…

Chuck Bass stood in her doorway with his hands in his pockets, staring innocently at her.

I'm embarrassed at how long it's been since I updated...this insanely long chapter has been mocking me from my computer desktop for months!

I'd like to give a massive thank you to ivorykeys09, who really pushed me to hurryupandfinishalready, and is proof that Chair and Dair can get along :)

Thank you again to my reviewers (Maribells, annablake, tinamarie333, tiff xoxo, QueenBee10, SaNaa.91, TriGemini, D (thank you, I'm so glad you like it!), Krazy4Spike, KillerNewton, Maryam25, LeftWriter224, GGFan73104, Temp02, AquarianAir, ggoddess, hummelchen, jamieerin, Arazadia, Astynome, ivorykeys09, and my other anon D (if you don't like the story, no one is forcing you to read it...and thanks for letting me know how my story's going to turn out! :)), you are all wonderful and I love hearing each and every one of your thoughts. To those who added alerts to this story: you rock, too. :)