February 2015

"I have to get a private jet." Nate was disgusted. The delays at Heathrow were horrendous.

"Sir, I'm sure you understand that it's a busy time in New York-"

"I do. That's why I have to get there. Tonight." In the event a few well placed phone calls bounced him onto a new flight, but he barely made it to The Palace on time – contributing to Jenny's rocketing blood pressure.

"Where have you – you know what, I don't care. Put this on." He eyed the burgundy velvet suit with chagrin.

"Tell me – why isn't Chuck doing this?" Jenny quirked an eyebrow.

"Because he's happily married with a son. Hardly the city's most eligible bachelor." He peeled off his shirt and noted the dilation of her pupils as she looked away. He decided to tease her.

"How do you know I'm a bachelor? I might have a secret stash of girls somewhere in Brooklyn." Jenny looked back at him, planting a firm, cold hand upon his bare chest.

"The Spectator has a wider readership and more subscribers than the Times or the Journal. Ain't no way you did that with a girl on your arm." She walked away, her touch branded upon his skin. He watched her go, a habit he'd carried with him for as long as he could remember. So he was looking when another male model, in an overt show of masculinity, stretched out an arm and slid it around her waist.

"Brody! I'm working."

"I am your work." Grinning, she peeled away, all the while avoiding Nate's dumbstruck gaze. Clearly he had been out of town for too long.

"Blair, Blair I need a word." The designer frowned at him.

"Is it about the show?"

"Yes," he replied unhesitatingly. She followed him into a walk in closet. "Who's that Brody guy?"

"Nate."

"What?"

"That is not about the show. You're asking about Jenny. And you might want to button your shirt." Was he so obvious?

"Blair. Please." Mrs Bass idly remembered that the closet was similar to the one in which they'd shared their first kiss aged thirteen. Nate might have forgotten, but the memory nonetheless softened her.

"Alright." She took a deep breath. "Brody Weston. Recent NYADA graduate-"

"Great, a theatre guy. That's all I need."

"Will you stop? He met Jenny in one of those odd coffee shops in Brooklyn, although I can't imagine why people linger-"

"Blair."

"Sorry. Anyway they've been casually dating for a few weeks and we were short on male models. Have you seen his pectoral muscles?"

"I have pecs." Her smile was a touch too kindly.

"I know Dan scared you off. But did you seriously think that while you were cooped up in those offices she would pine for you? After your history with Vanessa, with Serena?"

"Ancient history."

"The Egyptians built pyramids and they're still standing." Nate was confused.

"I built Jenny pyramids?"

"You gave her battle scars. I have to go." She moved to leave.

"Blair?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry if I ever scarred you." She smiled.

"Scars can be cute Nate. But I would never let you back in my bed, even if I wasn't married. Good luck anyway." He stood there until Rose, the model he was walking with, stuck her head around the door. Jenny caught them as they walked out, hands clasped, his shirt still unbuttoned.

"Hey Brody?" She kissed him fiercely. Nate averted his eyes and then without warning it was time to go on. The socialites salivated over the youngest Vanderbilt, though they wondered at his brooding. And as the lights came up on J for Waldorf's first show, as the bloggers hailed the collaboration as the most exciting partnership in fashion since Theyskens and Rosen, Vanya asked Nate why there were tears in his eyes.

"Tonight was all I had dude. All I had."