Yale club. She and Lord Marcus had met in the elevator, and his hot accent and neatly ironed jeans
had gotten to her right away. Fate had it that their rooms were side by side, and she could imagine
the feel of his sexy English breath on her neck even before they?d kissed?which had happened that
very night. After pouring her heart out to him over six or seven cosmos, Blair was so sure she?d
found the love of her life, she practically threw herself at him. She was too tipsy? and he was too
much of a gentleman?to do more than kiss. But allthat was about to change.
Blair draped the sheets over her body and lit a cigarette, striking a pose that said,I?m on my
honeymoon and worn out from doing it, but what the hell, let?s do it again . She grabbed the
newspaper off of the floor and propped up the front page so it looked like she was reading it.
There. Perfect. An intellectual sexpot. A worldly woman who read all about international
crises?and preferred to discuss said crisesin bed . If only she had a pair of vintage fifties reading
glasses to perch on the tip of her nose.
All the better to see you naked with!
As if on cue, Lord Marcus flung the bedroom door open and Blair turned her head slowly, as if
she could barely stand to break away from the current poultry deficit in Asia. He was wearing a
perfectly tailored charcoal summer suit with an olive James Perse T-shirt underneath that made his
striking green eyes look serious and deep and oh-so-promising.
?What?s this, then he asked, furrowing his golden-brown eyebrows. ?Remember I said I had a
surprise
?I?ve got a surprise for you too,? Blair cooed sexily. ?Come look under the sheets.?
?Right,? he continued a little impatiently. ?Well, put on your clothes, love.?
?I don?t want to,? Blair complained, pouting.
He hurried across the room and kissed her quickly on the nose. ?Later,? he promised. ?Now
throw on some clothes and meet me downstairs in the lobby.? Then he turned and left the room,
leaving her perfumed, well-moisturized, and depilated body naked and alone.
This better be a good surprise.
Blair emerged from the wood-paneled elevator in a hastily chosen ensemble: a chocolate brown
Tory Burch tunic (thank you, Harrods), a favorite pair of old True Religion jeans, and clunky gold
Marc by Marc Jacobs clogs. She looked like a jet-setter on holiday. Just right for a weekend jaunt
to Tunis in Lord Marcus?s private jet. Couldthat be the surprise?
The grand, chandelierlit marble hotel lobby was abuzz with activity, but Blair noticed a hush fall
over the crowd as she crossed the tiled floor, her clogs clopping noisily, to the overstuffed black
velvet chaise where Marcus sat waiting for her. He was so goddamn handsome Blair couldn?t help
admiring him, like he was a painting or some rare piece of sculpture, and it was hard to resist
plunging her fingers into the thick waves of his golden-brown hair. She was so busy mentally
rhapsodizing over her gorgeous English lover that she barely noticed he was holding hands with
someone who wasdefinitely not her.
Ding, ding. Hello?
Forgetting the romantic jaunt to Africa, Blair?s eyes narrowed at the horsy blonde holding her
boyfriend?s hand.What the fuck?
?Blair, at last,? Lord Marcus greeted her smoothly, standing but not letting go of his
companion?s hand. ?This, my dear, is my darling cousin Camilla, the one I told you about. My
soul mate. She?s in town for a couple of weeks. We were practically twins growing up! Isn?t that
the most marvelous surprise
?Marvelous,? echoed Blair, throwing herself onto a nearby armchair. She didn?t remember
hearing anything about any cousin Camilla.
But then, listening had never been her strong suit.
?I?m so delighted to meet you,? said Camilla, staring down her long, prominent nose?the kind of
schnozz even the best plastic surgeon couldn?t fix. Her pale English complexion was layered with
comical amounts of beige powder and primary-red blush. Her legs were clownishly long and
skinny, like she?d been stretched on one of those old-fashioned lengthening machines Blair had
tried to find on eBay.
?Mimi just turned up yesterday morning, unannounced,? Lord Marcus explained. ?Imagine, like
a lost waif, with bags in hand.? He chuckled.
?Yes, well, thankfully I can count on my dear Marmar to open up his home to me,? Camilla
gushed, casually running her free hand through her long, flaxen hair. Hair that could easily be cut
off in the middle of the night.
Wait?hishome ?
?You?re staying at his place demanded Blair rudely, already hating the crooked-toothed
Camilla and her ugly yellow Indian silk sundress, which probably cost thousands but looked like a
tablecloth. ?But I thought there wasn?t room.?
?There?s always room forfamily ,? Lord Marcus answered, squeezing Camilla?s talonlike hand
before turning back to Blair. ?Not to worry, sweetheart. We?ll all have a grand time together.?
Sure they will.
money isn?t funny, honey
Blair couldn?t tell if the pounding was in her head?she?d put away quite a few whiskeys on the
plane?or if it was real. She lifted her head: no, it was real, and it was coming from the door to the
bedroom where she?d crashed last night, the room formerly occupied by her hippie stepbrother,
Aaron Rose.
?Blair Cornelia Waldorf!?
There was more pounding. It was her mother and her voice sounded . . . different. Was she sick?
Did she have something in her mouth?
Eleanor Rose pushed the door open and stomped into the dark bedroom, perching on the edge of
the mattress. She was carrying a mug of coffee and was dressed in her summertime sleep outfit, a
flouncy, way-too-short peachy Eberjey slip and matching robe.
?Wake up!? she shrieked hoarsely.
Blair pulled the covers over her head and moaned. Why was her mother carrying on like this so
early in the morning?
?Blair Waldorf,? her mom hissed. ?I?m serious, young lady. Come out from under there. We need
to have a little chat.?
?I hope you know I barely slept,? Blair snapped, sitting up and snatching the coffee from her
mother?s hands. She took a long sip and tugged at the flimsy white Hanro camisole she?d chosen
to sleep in.
?First,? Eleanor ranted, ?what are you doing home Gripping her robe with one hand, she
leaned in and studied her daughter?s face. ?You?re supposed to be in London!?
For a fiftysomething-year-old who?d just had a baby, Eleanor looked pretty good in the morning.
Blair wondered if her mom had had something done to her face while she was away, or maybe it
was some new eye cream Blair would eventually steal.
?Something came up.? Blair reached for the green-tea-soaked eyepads she kept in a drawer in her
bedside table, placing one over each eye.
?Well, next time you might think to give me a call and let me know what you?re up to.? Eleanor
snatched the eye pads away. ?I had a call this morning from American Express. I don?t like it
when my credit card company knows my daugh-ter?s whereabouts before I do.?
?What Blair demanded, sitting up a little straighter.
?American Express called because someone charged a $4,000 plane ticket to my account,?
Eleanor scolded. ?I was about to call the police. Then I noticed the new blue leather Herm?s
luggage set in the foyer.?
?I came in late,? Blair explained. ?I didn?t want to wake you.?
?That?s only part of the problem.? Eleanor stood and paced around the room. ?Blair, it?s about
time you learned some responsibility. You?re not a child anymore. You?re going tohave to learn
how to manage your money.?
This from the woman who bought each of her children a private island in the South Pacific!
?Mom,? Blair whined.
?Don?t ?Mom? me,? Eleanor ordered sharply. ?You know I never say no to my children, you
know that, don?t you? I?ve always given you whatever you wanted, haven?t I
Well, wasn?t that her job?
?Yes, I have.? Eleanor had never given a parental lecture before, and Blair could see she was
getting into it. ?But this is too much. I talked it over with Cyrus and we agreed that something has
to be done.?
Excuse me, why was her mother discussing her private business with Cyrus Rose, her stupid,
red-faced, tacky-assed stepfather? ?I don?t even know what you?re talking about.? Blair yawned,
draining the coffee cup. She wondered how long this particular chat was going to last. The whole
thing was just so ...boring . She needed more sleep, and a long bath, and a facial to get rid of all
the London grime, and maybe a haircut and a few face-framing highlights to go with her cleansed
and exfoliated face.
?What I?m talking about, Blair, is this American Express bill.? Eleanor shook a wrinkled fax. ?I
had them send it over as soon as the woman on the phone told me about your . . . shopping
exploits.?
Oops.
?Well, Mom,? Blair admitted, ?I might have gone alittle overboard on the wedding dress, but
once you see it, I know you?ll agree
?Wedding dress her mother gasped. ?I guess that explains the eighteen-thousand-dollar charge.
What is this about a wedding She sat down on the bed and fanned herself with her
diamond-encrusted fingers. ?I feel like I?m going to faint! You?re getting married? Oh, Blair! I
don?t know what to say!? She threw her arms around Blair and burst into noisy tears. Then she
abruptly sat up. ?No, wait, I do: over my dead damn body you?re getting married! Have you lost
your mind?!?
Blair rolled her eyes. ?No, Mom, I?m not getting married. At least, not right away. Anyway, that
dress was only ten thousand, not eighteen.?
Oh, yes, that?s much better.
?No, my dear, innocent child.? Eleanor shook her head. ?Didn?t you realize that the exchange
rate is almost two to one
?Look,? Blair declared hurriedly, ?I?m sorry, okay? I only bought a few things, and they?re all
for school.?
Yeah. We all wear wedding gowns to freshman orientation.
It didn?t look like she was going to escape any time soon. Blair picked up the new issue ofW
she?d left on the night table. She?d bought the oversize magazine to keep her occupied on the long
flight, but the complimentary Maker?s Mark bourbon had ended up being a much more interesting
diversion.
?Blair.? Eleanor sighed and squeezed Blair?s knee through the purplish-brown hemp-blend
bedspread. ?I don?t mind you buying a few things?but a wedding dress She paused. ?Still, I bet
it?s quite a dress.?
?It is!? Blair exclaimed.This was the mother she knew and sort of loved.
?Even so, I?ve talked it over with Cyrus, and I?m going to call your father this afternoon, but I
think he?ll agree that, since you?re home now, presumably to stay
?I?m definitelynot going back to London,? Blair inter-jected, trying not to feel emotional about
her dramatic departure from Marcus?s hometown. Had he even noticed she was gone?
this is the perfect opportunity for you to find some work for the summer. A job.?
Awhat ? No comprende, se?ora.
The room was spinning. ?What did you just say, Mom? Ajob
?Yes, dear. A job.?
Blair fell back onto the pillows and threw her arm over her eyes. ?But I?lldie if I have to work.?
?Don?t overreact,? Eleanor insisted. ?It?ll be a terrific experience before starting school.?
?Haveyou ever worked Blair demanded. She began to flip through the magazine angrily,
almost tearing the pages as she turned them. She?d just fled a country, having been spurned by the
love of her life. A lecture from her never-worked-a-day-in-her-life mother on the merits of
employment and pulling herself up by her bootstraps was the absolutelast thing she needed.
?That?s beside the point,? Eleanor replied evenly. ?We?re not talking about me, we?re talking
about you helping to pay some of these exorbitant bills. If you?re going to spend this much,
you?re going to have to earn something.?
Workfor the summer? Blair closed her eyes?no one she knew was working during this, their last
summer vacation ever. No one! Well, except for Nate, but that was a punishment. There was
Serena, too, but that wasn?t really a job?it was a dream come true.
Blair?s eyes suddenly came to rest on the page in front of her.Speak of the fucking devil . There,
smack-dab in the middle of Suzy?s latest reports on all the society gossip, was a photograph of
Serena van der Woodsen arm in arm with the designer Bailey Winter. Blair remembered when that
photograph had been taken, at Winter?s runway presentation the previous season. She and Serena
had been seated in the front row?naturally?and when the designer had come out to take his final
bow, he?d noticed Serena in the audience and pulled her up onto the runway with him.
Tuning out her mother?s relentless drone, Blair scanned the page to see whether there was some
news about Serena. And indeed there was: Suzy?s column was all about how Bailey Winter had
signed on with Ken Mogul to provide the costumes for Mogul?s new film project,Breakfast at
Fred?s. It wasn?t enough that Serena got to star in a movie with Thaddeus Smith; she also got to
wear custom designs by one of the best living American designers?
?I just think it?s a matter of responsibility, Blair,? her mother declared. ?You know, when you
turn twenty-one you?ll get access to your trust fund, and your father and Cyrus and I need to know
that you?ll handle the money responsibly. We feel very strongly that a job is the perfect way for
you to learn to manage money and carry out other people?s wishes, not just your own.?
Blair glared at the ugly eggplant-colored bedspread. Fine, she?d get a summer job. But she was
not going to settle for anything less than the most glamorous summer job imaginable.
?You know,? she mused, ?maybe you?re right. Maybe a job is just what I need to keep myself
busy this summer.?
?Yes!? her mother cried happily. ?I knew you?d come around!?
?And maybe you can help me get one Blair asked sweetly.
?Of course!? Eleanor agreed. ?I?m sure we can make some phone calls and find you something
wonderful in no time at all!?
There was, of course, only one telephone call she needed her mother to make. Being the daughter
of Eleanor Rose, Bailey Winter?s most loyal couture client, would surely come in handy when it
