For once, Carter thanked god that Chuck was a Bass. Bart Bass seemed like a cold bastard, but he was an effective one. And for once, his wealth and resources would be of benefit to Carter. He hadn't realized that sticking close to Serena would pay such dividends.
"A fucking helicopter," he repeated reverently, a slow smile finally breaking out across his formerly grim face. "Now that's what I call a rescue operation. Good thing for me you two move in such rarified circles." He rocked back on his feet, hands shoved into his dress pant pockets. He figured he'd see how this hand played out. Who knew what kind of pandemonium was going to break out? Better to be safely ensconced in a luxury hotel until he could assess the situation and figure out his next mood.
It struck him suddenly that unlike these two, he hadn't thought to text anyone. Really, there was no one for him in New York to text, or anywhere else for that matter. Frowning down at his shoes, he found himself almost bothered by the fact.
"So Chuck made it out of there... wouldn't have put my money on that one," he muttered, trying not to notice that bitterness had crept into his voice. He couldn't believe these four were still playing in the same sandbox after all these years.