A/N: I am indebted to N. I wouldn't be able to write this without her. And all her great ideas lol.

To say that the vision before me is un-irresistible would be a lie.

And if you do know me, yes, it is a girl.

A five four, model thin brunette with clear blue eyes, dressed in fashionable clothes—and, is that a Burberry hat?—is sitting on my couch. In my suite, to be exact.

Well, look what the cat dragged in.

"Monsieur Bass?" she starts to get up as soon as I enter, her tone professionally confident.

And accented. Ooh la la.

Whirling around mid-whistle while strolling into the room, I take her offered hand, kissing it, "Who let you in, chéri?"

She smiles, a model smile lovely and attractive close to that of Serena's electrifying one. "I need to see you, for business."

Business. Ah. Then we can move to something more…profitable later, perhaps.

If I weren't so—ahem—committed, that juicy French lips would be kissed in—

Another vision, this one of Blair, flows back to mind.

"Prove? I…" Haven't all I done for her been enough? "What do you want me to do, then?" I have to ask her this. I really do. I'm getting a tad bit annoyed. Yes, for love. (Isn't that ironic?) Like what, go into rehab and satisfy Queen B? "Actions speak louder than words."

That sentence seems to get to her the way she did me with the proving. Blair starts biting her lips—a noticeably clear sign, whenever she has scheming plan in mind. "How about you and I make another bet?"

Another bet? My expertise, Waldorf. (Not to mention the swe-et sound of 'you and I' in her question)

"Why not?" I give her my best grin. "Bring it on."

"If," our chocolate eyes meet each other, "You can be with me, and only me—and that means no seeing other girls—"

That's a tough one. Not to mention potentially dangerous. Aw, is she not going to allow me to have any fun?

Just kidding, of course.

"—for the next two weeks," she continues. Always the manipulative one, Blair, "I'll…" the words seem to come out after a pause, "Marry you. If not," Boy, do I know the stakes on me, "You," her index finger jams on my chest—just like old times, "Stay out of my life."

"Uh, no, you're kidding me, right?"

If that wasn't Serena van der Woodsen's light, cheery voice reaching my ears, I'd love to karate-chop the asker.

No, this is not funny.

Serena gives that carefree little laugh of hers, hands fumbling with her perfect blonde hair before sitting down beside me on the sofa.

"You mean Chuck, Chuck Bass, my ex-stepbrother." I hate it when people emphasize. Especially with that name. "Wants to marry you?" Serena repeats, processing in the information I'd just briefed her minutes ago when texted to visit the Waldorf's for a Chuck emergency discussion.

I scoff. "Well, not necessarily—"

Needs to marry me is more like it.

"And you've asked him to prove his love?" she continues with a smile, arms around me. "Blair," I know she's up to something with that tone and the twinkle in her eyes, "Have you been watching Audrey Hepburn movies again? You know Chuck's not Prince Charming."

"It should be challenging for him, then," I grin, Serena clasping her hands together, glad to be in on the conspiracy—ha. "And fun, too. I mean, what have I got to lose?"

I'm too lost for words.

This horrifically pretty French girl sitting next to me—within a touching distance, of course—is going to be my personal assistant for the next three weeks?

"Oui," she confirms, "I'm Aimée, an intern, just moved in here—"

Carefully and gentle as I've done with most of my girls, I jerk her chin up so I could get a better look at those blue sapphires that are her eyes, saying in my best husky voice, "Aimee, just wonderfully like your name, 'loved,' isn't it? Well, with me, you definitely will be."

But darn, she pulls away with a polite grin. "You know French—"

"The language of love, chéri," I return her grin, "How could I not know?"

Aimée gives a small little laugh. "Then, I'll…see you tomorrow, Monsieur Bass," she starts to leave, making her way to the door and ignoring the close space between us completely, "You can show me how things are done around here, then we can get going with our jobs."

I can promise you they're going to be the most interesting tasks…

As she turns on the doorknob, I call, "And Aimée?"

She spins around, "Yes, Monsieur," putting her Gucci coat on.

"Just call me Chuck. Chuck Bass."

A/N: Short, yes. Lots of Blair/Chuck scenes coming….YES!

Jan 5, Jan 5, D'Day, people! :)

Thanks to all of you for everything,

Your ever humble fanfic writer:)