The halls of W Magazine didn’t smell like paper and ink; they smelled of Jo Malone and desperation. Blair Waldorf adjusted her Organic by John Patrick pink shorts, her eyes narrowed at the pristine white desk that was supposed to be her solo kingdom. Instead, she found Dan Humphrey—Brooklyn’s finest export of flannel and unwanted opinions—already sitting there, looking far too comfortable.
"You know," Dan said, leaning against a brick wall as they waited for a delivery. "You’re terrifying when you’re motivated."
Back at the magazine, the competition between Blair and Dan reached a fever pitch. Tasked with finding a specific vintage accessory for a shoot, they raced through the city, each trying to sabotage the other's cab. But as the sun began to set over the skyline, the bickering softened.