kay by me。 I mean； I have to wear a uniform anyway；
so？？
？Yeah； whatever。？ Blair cut her off。 Did sheask for this kid？s life story？ ？I？m going down to ask
the doorman to hail a cab。 Mom； you better be ready in five minutes or I？m going without you。？
Blair rode down to the lobby alone and stood in front of the building smoking and keeping time
on her Chanel watch。 After precisely five minutes had passed； Eleanor breezed out of the building
in a grapefruit…colored Bailey Winter shirtwaist dress and beige Tod？s flats。 But she wasn？t alone：
Jasmine was scurrying excitedly next to her like a three…year…old before her firstNutcracker
performance。 Blair was unfazed。 There was a movie playing in her head： the waifish muse was on
her way to visit her genius couturier。 Even Jasmine couldn？t fuck it up。
When they reached Bailey Winter？s grand Beaux Arts mansion on Park Avenue； Blair was first
out of the car。 Her mother and Jasmine followed behind like ladies…in…waiting。 When it came time
to edit her little film； the bit players could easily be removed。
They were greeted at the door by an honest…to…God English butler； in a morning suit and
everything； who announced them by name after he led them to the second floor parlor： ？Miss
Eleanor Rose； Miss Blair Waldorf； and Miss Jasmine James…Morgan；？ he cried in his booming
voice。 It reminded Blair of Lord Marcus； but all thoughts of him were erased the second she
stepped inside the grandest room she？d ever seen。 The walls were paneled mahogany and hung
with massive oil paintings of beautiful； aristocratic women in incredible confections of lace and
silk； smiling peacefully。 There were marble pedestals toppe