Suits: A Lawyer Surviving TV Chaos

Although Penny warmly invited them to stay the night at her apartment, Martin understanding it as mere courtesy, declined politely.

There was no way around it—aside from the bed, Penny's apartment only had a two-seater sofa that could barely fit his legs. And add on top sheldon, who likely won't sleep anywhere except his bed without probably some kind of ridiculous background and hygiene check and what not.

All that didn't stop martin from wondering if had chosen to stay tonight, he would have been caught in an endless, ambiguous situation where every glance exchanged with Penny would carry countless thoughts. He'd also have to endure Leonard's resentful stares for at least a year. Why bother?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After leaving the apartment, Martin went to a well-known bar on Manhattan's commercial street.

A woman approached martin who was sitting alone, two glasses of champagne held delicately in her hands. "Excuse me," she said, her tone dripping with playful confidence, "but I couldn't help noticing you've been nursing that same drink for twenty minutes. Either you're trying to ration your tab… or you're waiting for someone far less interesting than me."

Martin smirked, raising an eyebrow. "And here I thought my brooding was working in my favor. Clearly, I need to step up my game if *you're* already calling me out."

A glass of champagne was handed to him by Blair. "Consider this a peace offering—and maybe a test. If you can keep up with me, we might just have something worth talking about."

Martin took the glass, clinking it against hers. "A challenge? From someone who looks like she knows exactly what she wants? Dangerous territory, Miss…"

"Blair Waldorf," she replied, leaning slightly closer. "But let's not get too formal yet—you haven't earned the right to use my last name."

Martin chuckled softly. "Fair enough. So tell me, Blair Waldorf, why are you wasting your time on a stranger at a bar when you could clearly be ruling the world instead?"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself," Blair shot back, sipping her champagne. "I'm not wasting time—I'm investing it. Besides, Manhattan has its share of kings, but very few princes charming. Care to prove me wrong?"

Martin tilted his head, intrigued. "Princes charming, huh? Sounds like you've had some experience with royalty gone bad."

Blair hesitated for a fraction of a second, her smile faltering briefly before snapping back into place. "Let's just say I spent the last year learning that fairy tales don't exist—and neither do happy endings. Turns out, even princesses have expiration dates."

Martin raised an eyebrow. "Expiration dates?"

Blair shrugged lightly, swirling her champagne. "Graduation caps go on, tiaras come off. Some people grow up faster than others."

After some playful banter at the bar, Blair glanced at her watch and stood, gesturing subtly toward the door. "Well, Mr. Broody-and-Mysterious, it seems my night is winding down. Unless, of course, you'd care to join me for a change of scenery?"

Martin stood slowly, matching her tone. "Change of scenery? That sounds suspiciously like an invitation."

"Who said anything about invitations?" Blair tilted her head, feigning innocence. "I simply mentioned a location shift. Whether you follow is entirely up to you."

A grin spread across Martin's face as he fell into step beside her. "Lead the way, then. Though I should warn you—I'm not great at following directions."

"Don't worry," Blair replied, glancing back over her shoulder. "I prefer men who take initiative… within reason."

The pair moved through the crowded bar, their steps synchronized, until they reached the hotel lobby. The transition from the noisy bar to the quiet elegance of the lobby was seamless, the air thick with unspoken anticipation.

Inside the elevator, Blair pressed the button for her floor and leaned casually against the railing. Silence stretched momentarily before Martin broke it.

"So, Blair Waldorf," he began, his voice low and teasing, "do all your late-night adventures end this dramatically?"

Blair played with the edge of her clutch, smiling faintly. "Only the ones worth remembering. What about you? Do you usually tag along with strangers so easily?"

Martin stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Depends on the company. Some people make risks feel… worthwhile."

Blair met his gaze, her smile sharpening. "Careful. Compliments won't get you everywhere—though they might get you further than most."

When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, Blair stepped out first, pausing to glance back at him expectantly.

At the door, Blair pulled the keycard from her purse, turning it over in her fingers. "Funny thing about hotels—they always seem to bring out the best stories."

Martin stood close now, his voice low. "Or the worst secrets. Which one are we aiming for tonight?"

Blair unlocked the door, pushing it open slightly before looking up at him. "That depends on whether you're brave enough to find out."

Martin paused in the doorway, meeting her eyes. "Bravery isn't the issue. It's knowing when to stop teasing and start delivering."

By Blair, a smirk was given, and a gesture into the room was made. "Then by all means…" She stepped backward, holding the door open. "...deliver."

He followed her in, and the door clicked shut behind them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunlight filtered through the heavy hotel curtains, casting soft golden streaks across the room. The faint hum of Manhattan traffic drifted in from outside. Blair stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open as she took in her surroundings. For a moment, she lay still, letting the events of the previous night wash over her—champagne, flirtation, elevators, and whispered promises.

 With practiced ease, she slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping figure beside her. She padded silently across the plush carpet, gathering her clothes from where they'd been discarded the night before. Her movements were deliberate, efficient—a queen reclaiming her composure.

Once dressed, she paused in front of the mirror near the dresser, smoothing her hair and adjusting her outfit until she looked every bit the poised Upper East Side princess she was known to be. Satisfied with her reflection, she turned her attention to the desk by the window, picking up a pen and a piece of hotel stationery.

Her handwriting was neat, elegant, as always—a perfect match for the sharpness of her words:

"Dear Stranger,

Thanks for the distraction—it was exactly what I needed. Don't worry about finding me; queens don't look back.

- B"

She folded the note crisply and placed it on the pillow beside him, ensuring it caught the light just enough to be noticed. A small smirk played at the corners of her lips as she stepped back to survey the scene. 

With one last glance at Martin—his face relaxed in sleep, unaware of her departure—she grabbed her clutch and headed for the door. As she pulled it shut behind her, the soft click echoed faintly in the quiet room, sealing the end of their brief encounter.

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(End of Chapter)