Blair stared at him. He wasn’t holding a phone, and if her mom was out, then who the fuck had he just been talking to? She stood blinking at him with her hands on her hips, tempted to peek inside his dressing room to see who he was hiding in there.
Does she really want to know?
Instead, she stumbled out of the master suite, clomped her way across the penthouse, grabbed her blood orange– colored Jimmy Choo treasure chest hobo, and ran for the elevator.
Outside it was breathtakingly cold, and fat flakes fell at random. Usually she walked the twelve blocks to Nate’s house, but today Blair had no patience for walking—she had just discovered that her father was a lying, cheating scum-bag, after all, and a cab was waiting for her downstairs. Or rather, a cab was waiting for Mrs. Solomon in 4A, but when the hunter green uniform–clad doorman saw the terrifying look on Blair’s normally pretty face, he let her take it.
Besides, hailing cabs in the snow was probably the high-light of his day.
“Let me in!” she yelled into the intercom outside the Archibalds’ elegant wrought-iron-and-glass front door as she swatted the buzzer over and over with her hand.
Before Vanessa filmed her first movie,
Dan wrote his first poem,
and Jenny bought her first bra.
Serena left for boarding school,
and before Nate came between them. . . .
it had to be you
the gossip girl prequel