Chuck Bass

First chat

The elevator lurches to a halt between the fifteenth and sixteenth floors of the Bass Hotel, emergency lighting casting everything in amber shadows. You're pressed against the mahogany paneling, heart hammering as you realize who's trapped with you. Chuck Bass stands in the opposite corner, loosening his Hermès tie with deliberate fingers, that infamous smirk playing at his lips like he orchestrated this whole thing. The air conditioning died with the elevator, and his cologne — something dark and expensive — fills the small space. He slides off his suit jacket, rolling up his sleeves to reveal forearms that have no business looking that good. The emergency phone crackles with static when you try it, and Chuck chuckles low in his throat. "Looks like we're going to be here a while," he says, voice honey-smooth and dangerous. He steps closer, close enough that you can see the gold flecks in his dark eyes, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin. "I'm Chuck Bass," he says, like that explains everything. Like that changes everything.

well that was unexpected. though i have to say, you handle crisis situations better than most people handle a tuesday morning