Chapter Text
We can do this, Kurt. It’s only half a day. Yes, yes, we know we hate going into work on Sunday, which is typically our day off after a crazy weekend of wedding celebratory chaos, but let’s keep our chin up! This could be big…really big for Kurt Hummel, wedding planner extraordinaire!!! Ok, so we were their second choice and, thankfully, it wasn’t us who fell down the flight of stairs and will spend the next two months in a body cast…bad luck for the previous wedding planner. But Gwendolyn Haversham Celebrates! has been stealing all the classiest clients and most expensive weddings for years and making sure that every other event planner in the city is well aware of the fact. We do not feel an ounce of guilt about the social media posts we immediately sent out after hearing of her…misfortune. Surely, she has other weddings that she won’t be able to handle now, right? Oh, we are next to giddy today! Gwendolyn’s loss is surely our gain!
“Oh! Excuse me…” Kurt said, startled from his inner monologue as he nearly ran over an elderly woman on the sidewalk in his haste to get to his office. He reprimanded himself and tried to keep his head on his surroundings and the people around him. The morning was crisp with deep blue skies, much of which was hidden by all the tall buildings, but he didn’t mind. He was in his city, and it was the only place for Kurt.
The phone call had come in that morning, a frantic, hysterical and high-pitched drama queen dragged him from his long-awaited slumber, wailing that her wedding planner had taken a little tumble, and would not be able to fulfill her duty to the self-described next Barbra Streisand. She had screeched in Kurt’s ear for nearly six minutes straight before allowing him to get a word in edgewise and he was still trying to get his shoulders out of his ears an hour later . Money is no object kept running through his head as he picked up his pace to nearly a sprint on the street. Back to his pep talk!
A little sprucing up in the office today will make a world of difference for the meeting tomorrow and even Santana has agreed to come in for an hour or two to help us, so don’t panic. Even if she has one condition, which is yet to be revealed, we’ll live with it. This is totally do-able, and we had planned to do it all anyway, but now we have reason to! A coat of paint, some new window treatments in the conference room, a few pillows for those rattan chairs that aren’t exactly comfortable, but oh so chic, make sure the coffee maker is ready to go, pods stocked, pastries ordered for the meeting, clear our day of everything that isn’t an emergency…this is do-able, even last minute. Six weeks…we only have six weeks to pull off this wedding and by gods, we’ll plan the wedding of the century for little Miss MoneyIsNoObject. We probably should have gotten her name, really…
He scoffed at himself, rolled his eyes and gave his head a little shake for his immediate response of “absolutely, we would be thrilled to plan your wedding!” as soon as she gave the date. He knew that weekend was open. He knew right away that there was nothing planned for that Saturday because, up until three days ago, he was supposed to go home to surprise his dad for his birthday. Perhaps he should have let Carol in on the surprise sooner, because now she’d sprung her own surprise that she was taking Burt on a cruise for 10 days. Yes, that weekend was definitely available, and Kurt was suddenly not so annoyed at his own canceled plans. Happy Birthday, indeed! At least he’d have something on which to expend his time and energy instead of pouting about missing Burt’s 50th birthday.
The afternoon was sunny with a slight breeze and Kurt was thankful for it. Summer in the city wasn’t always comfortable, especially if you had a profession in which shorts and t-shirts were frowned upon. Kurt had such a position, and even if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing shorts and a t-shirt in front of clients. With that, he rolled his eyes at himself and continued his jaunt down the New York City sidewalk, making sure to avoid…yep, there it was. One day someone would fall and be lost in that damn crack in the sidewalk, but today was not that day and he was not that someone.
Whipping through the front door of Porcelain and Lace, Kurt spotted Santana at her desk with an annoyed look on her face, as usual. She was straightening up the paperwork that was generally everywhere, piled here and there and exactly where it was supposed to be, if you asked her, which he rarely did because she got angry. He didn’t care, because she was fantastic at her job, and he paid her well to be his right hand ma…woman. Her daily irritation, snark and outright orneriness were like…hmmm…croutons and bacon bits on the salad of their relationship. Kurt rolled his eyes at the thought and took a deep breath.
“Thank you for coming in,” he said, his sly grin in place because he knew she left her bed in a hurry if her hair was anything by which to judge.
“Who the hell IS this woman and why do we only have six weeks??” she bellowed, still “straightening” her desk.
Kurt paused, unsure how to answer, as he was so bowled over that morning after her phone call that…he hadn’t really asked her name. He just knew she’d be here on Monday at noon, barely 24 hours from now, and he had to be ready.
“I’m…not sure. She’s a Broadway actress, though, and she said they’re recently engaged and, because of her show, and her future husband’s schedule, the date is imperative, and most importantly, money is no object, so…I’m calling her M-I-N-O, for now. After tomorrow, I’m sure we’ll have a better idea of who and what we’re working with for the next 6 weeks. She literally called me and started squealing into the phone, carrying on about Humpty Dumpty and her great fall—”
“Oh my God, Kurt!” Santana cackled. “That’s so mean! Even I wouldn’t have gone there! Ok, I would have, carry on!”
“What…she’s a large, egg-shaped woman and I’m more than a little bitter that she gets every fantastic client in town, I’ll own that, Tana,” Kurt answered as he looked at her down his nose. “This woman we’re meeting with tomorrow, though…she’s…intense. I mean, really, I need for you to reign it in for me, please, because I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that you’re going to want to kill her with your bare hands. You won’t even care if you mess up your million-dollar manicure, but Tana…this is important for us. This could be the biggest thing we’ve done since Isabelle’s wedding and have the most lasting effect if we pull it off. She’ll be in the position to sing our praises to people in high places…Broadway people, Tana! Please promise me you’ll behave?” Kurt asked, beseeching as he gave her a truly earnest, pleading face.
She barely raised her eyes to him before rolling them dramatically and heaving out a huge sigh.
“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try. ONLY because if it weren’t for you and this crazy place, I’d still be couch surfing with randoms and I’m never doing that again if I can help it, not even on your couch.”
“Whatever, you know you love working with me,” Kurt said as Santana stood, and he bumped hips with her.
Kurt had made it to New York, but that’s as far as his grand plan went in terms of his dreams and goals. He had gotten into NYADA and promptly decided it was not for him, so he’d worked at the diner and actually scored an internship with Vogue.com under his now previous boss, Isabelle Wright. It was Isabelle who had decided she was absolutely going to plan her own wedding and then had a complete and utter meltdown trying to do so. She had nearly worked herself into a state of canceling said wedding when Kurt stepped in and offered to help. Anyone who knew Kurt Hummel knew that there was nothing more to say. The wedding was fantastic, the reception was absolutely amazing and the whole thing went off without a hitch thanks to one fabulous wedding planner, Mr. Kurt Hummel. Isabelle had sung his praises to everyone, and Kurt had found his true calling. He’d gained a few highbrow clients because of it. He truly enjoyed the planning and execution of such events, so much so that he accepted Isabelle’s offer to fund the opening of his own business and he paid her back with interest within two years. Yes, Kurt Hummel was on his way, and he had his old friend Santana Lopez by his side to make sure that he wasn’t lonely at the top…as soon as he arrived at his destination.
“What’s the game plan for today, anyway?” Santana asked, already flustered and ready to head home.
“Well, you know I’ve been wanting to paint that conference room—”
“I’m not painting—”
“Shut it.”
“Kurt, it’s a closet with a tiny table and six chairs—”
“…CONFERENCE ROOM…” he continued, louder, “and I bought the paint three weeks ago when it was on sale and it’s just been waiting for me to find the time, so…today’s the day! I also found some fantastic, vintage lace sheers for the windows to maybe soften the look of the room without taking away the natural light. They really work with the lace table linens we already have. I mean, we’re Porcelain and Lace, I had to go with the vintage lace sheers, and they’re fantastic if I do say so myself.”
“Pretty, yes, I’ll give you that,” Santana commented as Kurt pulled the sheers from his carry all that he’d lugged from home. “And they’ll look amazing against the natural wood. And speaking of natural wood, they’d make fantastic panties, too—”
“Oh my God, Satan, STOP!” Kurt hissed, turning beet red. “I never wore those, so stop bringing it up!”
“They were in your drawer—”
“So were you , without permission, I might add, and I told you that they were a gift and I never had them on my body. Just stop. Can we get back to what needs to be done today??”
“I’m not dressed to paint, Kurt.”
“I’ll paint if you’ll tidy up the kitchen, stock the coffee, just touch on all the things that we probably don’t notice because we’re here every day, but someone else will. We have to be on our game tomorrow, or she could convince her fiancé to go somewhere else. Not that there’s really any other option at this late date, and we’ll prove that to her, I’m sure. Money is no object has become my favorite phrase!”
“She had better be worth it, that’s all I have to say. With only six weeks to get this pulled together, we need to be at the top of our game. Have you talked to Brittany? Please tell me she’s got a spot that weekend.”
“I think she’s worth it, we both know it’s not, we will be, I have, and she does…does that cover everything?” Kurt winked and set off to pull his paint supplies from the closet in the back of the shop.
************
Two hours later Santana had cleaned the whole shop, organized every catalog, cleaned every window and light fixture and stocked every cabinet. As Kurt rolled over the last square foot of bare wall with the new paint, the two of them took in the space and gave their nod of approval.
“Well?” he asked, proud of their work.
“Much better. The soft ivory paint brightens up the room, it’s fresh and clean, and it looks fantastic with the new sheers…very feminine and just a touch of old world, and they’ll definitely be comfy with the new pillows on the chairs. Well done, Kurt,” she said, and even Kurt was surprised. Santana wasn’t generally very forthcoming with her compliments. “Now…as for my condition…” she trailed off with a wicked grin.
Kurt took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Of course, she was swooping in for the kill now. “Ok, hit me with it.”
“That girl I met last weekend at the Hart wedding wants me to meet her at a club tonight to go dancing and I don’t want to show up alone. That’s so lame.”
“Lame is you dancing the night away with someone while I sit alone at the bar! Santana, c’mon…really? I’ve been painting and climbing a ladder all day!”
“I had one condition and you knew it when you asked me to come in today. I said I’d give you two hours and it’s been four. Pay up, boss man!” she grinned wickedly. “Besides, when’s the last time you went out? And how long has it been since you got laid?”
“I go OUT every weekend, Tana!”
“Weddings of clients do NOT count as going out, Kurt. Lame. And as for question number two?” she smirked.
“That, my lovely, is absolutely none of your nosy business, and we’re not discussing it.”
Kurt took a deep breath and considered his options. When he came up with nothing, he relented. She had been pretty helpful today, so he figured he owed her a few hours of his time.
“Ok, I’ll go, but I’m not staying late, and if you abandon me, I’m going to make payback so sweet, Tana, I swear.”
“C’mon, Kurt. It’ll be fun. You haven’t been out in ages! Don’t go into it thinking about how miserable you’ll be. Maybe you’ll meet some fine man-candy and make the night truly worth it!” she said, winking as she sashayed to the door.
“Yes, because Sunday night is always the best night to go out dancing and searching for a guy I wouldn’t have time for anyway because of my job. Sure. Can’t wait,” he deadpanned.
“You’re on the way. I’ll swing by and pick you up around ten.”
“Let me reiterate that I’m NOT staying out late and I’m not getting drunk. We have a very important client tomorrow, Santana, and I don’t want to be hungover for this meeting with MINO and her fiancé, and I would greatly appreciate it if you didn’t stagger in hungover either.”
“See you at ten, Grumplestiltskin!”
At exactly 10:15 pm Kurt and Santana had walked through the door of the club and exactly 10:18 was the last time he’d spoken to his friend and coworker. It was now after midnight, and he had been sitting at the bar listening to three women next to him berating someone’s husband for almost two hours. This guy must have done a number on one of them, because they had called him every name in the book and come up with plans to ruin his life. And Lord help the girl he’d cheated with, because she was clearly someone they all knew and hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…and her friends. He might kill Santana after their meeting tomorrow for leaving him in this mess. He tried, repeatedly, to block them out but there was no way that was happening. The only other open seat at the bar was the one next to him on his other side and that wasn’t going to make anything better, so he stayed put. And apparently, he drank more than he’d thought he had. Why the hell had Santana left him alone for so long anyway?
Oh, he knew she was still there. She was on the dancefloor with a beautiful blonde girl, shimmying to her heart’s content, dancing the night away as Kurt nursed yet another drink and wondered why the hell people got married. Oh wait…his livelihood depended upon people getting married! With another loud sob from the seats next to him he took a deep breath and considered ordering another drink. He wasn’t going to get drunk tonight. He wasn’t. This was only his thir—fourth drink. Maybe. The special tonight was a Louisiana Leg-spreader and Kurt could barely tell there was alcohol in the damn thing. They just went down so smoothly
“Men are the worst!” one of the women whined, downing the rest of her fruity drink with a tiny umbrella sticking out of it.
“They are…they suck!” another joined in.
“The fun ones do!” Kurt thought, grinning to himself. All three of them turned to him with wide eyes and Kurt realized he’d said that out loud. All at once he couldn’t stop giggling.
“May I buy you a drink?” an equally smooth voice asked from his left. He spun on his barstool, uncertain that the man was speaking to him and nearly fell right off the damn stool when he met the man’s beautiful, caramel colored eyes.
“Holy shit…” he whispered to himself, but apparently not nearly as quietly as he’d thought. The man pulled back a bit, obviously uncertain after hearing Kurt’s comment.
“I’m…sorry?” he said, tilting his head just a smidge.
“No, I’m sorry, I…you’re just…wow. Ok, I’m going to attempt to use my words now because I’m an educated man and I know how to put together a sentence…I think…” Kurt said, but that spin on the barstool had knocked him for a loop and now he was a tad bit dizzy and boy was this guy handsome.
“Are you ok?” he asked, reaching out for Kurt’s elbow as he tilted precariously on his stool.
“I’m good, yeah, don’t worry. Just had one too many of these, I guess. I mean, when the bartender offers you a Leg-spreader you don’t turn him down, right?” Kurt giggled, then thought better of it when the cute guy gave him yet another uncertain look. “I should shut up and let you move on with your night and hope that I can make it home without further embarrassment, I think,” Kurt said, hands up and over his face. He was ready to cry and hoping against all hope that the guy didn’t walk away.
“Ok, so…maybe not another drink, but…is this seat taken?”
“No, it’s not, please sit down!” Kurt said, with way too much enthusiasm.
“The bartender won’t care?”
“If you sit there? Why would he?”
“Is he trying to pick you up or…?” the cute guy asked. “I mean…spreading legs and…I’m not really sure what you meant by that, and if he’s--”
“Oh my gods, no. NO!” Kurt said loudly. “The drink…the drink special tonight is a Louisiana Leg-spreader! He made me a few and they’re so good, you really should try one!”
“I just might. Should you have another?” he grinned, getting the bartender’s attention at the other end of the long bar. Kurt just shrugged, grinning at being the focus of this beautiful, handsome stranger.
“One more won’t hurt. The night is young, and so are we, right?”
“We are,” the cute guy agreed as the bartender approached. “Another drink for my friend…?” the man trailed off, waiting for Kurt to supply his name.
“Kurt.”
“And I’ll try what he’s having, please.”
“Thank you for the drink…” Kurt said as the bartender set it in front of him. “Am I allowed to ask your name as well?”
“My name’s—”
“And let me tell YOU something, Eric…” the drunk woman next to him yelled at the top of her lungs as she stumbled over and nearly crashed into Kurt. She was holding her cell phone out in front of her and participating in what was probably the most epic drunk dial of all time. “You and that SLUT, Amy, can have each other! And I think you should know that there are photos…lots and lots of photos—”
“AND a video!” another of the women screamed toward the phone.
“AND a video…and I already sent the video to your mom, you man-whore! I’m calling my lawyer in the morning, and I want a divorce, you stupid pig!” she rambled on. She stumbled back from her friend who was desperately trying to extricate the phone from her hands and bumped into Kurt’s arm, causing him to dump half of his drink into the handsome stranger’s lap.
The gorgeous man glanced down at his damp pants as Kurt panicked.
“Holy shit, oh my word, I’m SO sorry…I…it was completely an accident—”
“No worries, Kurt, worse things have happened,” gorgeous guy said as he wiped at his lap with cocktail napkins. Kurt barely resisted the urge to help by pressing a few napkins into the guy’s crotch to see what he was working with. Barely. Gods, he was so cute!
“Oh! And guess what you ass, I poked holes in your brand-new box of condoms that I found in the glove box of your work truck!” the woman cackled, knocking back the rest of her drink before her phone was finally freed from her now sticky hands.
Kurt’s newfound friend took a drink and gave Kurt a wide-eyed stare over his glass as he did so, shaking his head from side to side, uncertain as to what in the world was going on next to them.
“Please say you’re not married,” Kurt said in a stage whisper, trying to keep from laughing at the craziness around them.
“Nope. No way. No, not even close,” he laughed. Kurt sagged in relief.
“Wanna dance?” Kurt asked.
“With you? Absolutely!”
“Please…oh gods, please…right there, right there, right there…don’t stop…” Kurt whined, his back arched as he reached up to grasp his headboard and hold on tightly as the beautiful man from the bar tucked his arms under Kurt’s bent knees and pounded into him with wild abandon. “I’m…I’m gonna…please…” Kurt whined, and with one last push his world went white, and he made sounds that probably had his neighbors blushing two doors down.
“Holy fuck you’re stunning when you come…almost there…just let me…just a few…more…YES!!” he nearly screamed, pulling Kurt’s hips toward him as he lost all rhythm. He ground his hips forward, emptied into Kurt and collapsed on his chest, heedless of the mess.
Between the two of them they were breathing so hard it was difficult to imagine that there might be any oxygen left in the room. It was nearly dawn and they had just finished round three of what had been the most fantastic sexual encounter of Kurt’s young life. At twenty-five he’d had his share of dates, a few boyfriends, even a number of one-night stands, but this…holy sweet mother of all things glorious…this guy had done things to and with his body that made Kurt’s entire being sing at the top of its lungs. Three times.
“That…that was…my God…the most amazing…”
“Uh huh…” was all that Kurt could articulate.
“You ok, babe?”
“Yeah…give me a…a minute to remember…how to string vowels and consonants together…wow,” Kurt panted, heaving in air as his heart pounded in his chest.
“Do you want me to go?” he asked, and Kurt’s eyes shot open.
“What?! No…you don’t have to go…I’m…it’s late…or really early. Sleep…just sleep.”
Less than a minute later Kurt heard the deep, measured breathing of a man in a much-needed state of slumber, and he followed quickly behind.
He dreamed of something buzzing and swatted at it so it would stop. Half awake, he realized the guy from last night was turning over and Kurt nuzzled up behind him, slinging an arm over his chest. He was so warm, so firm and smooth and…sleepy. Kurt was so sleepy.
The next time he awoke it was to the sound of his front door closing and he sat bolt upright, knowing that the guy had left. The ache in his chest wasn’t quite a surprise. He’d really hoped to have round four before he had to leave. With a glance at the clock he realized that his alarm would be going off in less than 15 minutes anyway, so he sat up against the headboard and thunked his head back. That certainly didn’t help his headache at all, and he knew he’d need some water and painkillers to function, so he slid out of bed and headed for the shower.
With a heavy heart he soaped himself up and washed well, enjoying the little bruises on his body just a little too much. “Man, that guy knew what he was doing in bed,” he thought out loud, pushing on the fingertip bruises on his hips. The memories brought everything below his waist to life and Kurt quickly took care of it, thinking vividly of his visitor from the previous evening. He was absolutely gorgeous with his dark, tousled curls, barely tamed and topping off the most handsome face he’d seen in an age. He had long lashes that framed golden, honey colored eyes that were so expressive, especially in bed. His body was a thing of utter beauty, and he very clearly took care of himself. He was well groomed in all the right places and Kurt made sure to explore all of them hours earlier, top to bottom, and he grinned recalling that hottie’s top to bottom was a little shorter than his own top to bottom.
He groaned as he jerked himself off, remembering how the guy had taken such care to work him open, touch him tenderly and when they were both at that point, fucked him six ways to Sunday until they were both sated. It was in Kurt’s top three nights, for sure. Oh hell, who was he kidding? It’d been the best sex of his life, hands down. The guy was gone. And he hadn’t even gotten the guy’s name. He frowned in annoyance at himself, remembering the short timespan from the barstools to the cab to his apartment to his bed. If his mouth hadn’t been otherwise occupied trying to steal the breath from his bar hottie, he may have remembered to ask his damn name. This was becoming quite the habit of his, apparently; first, the new client and now his hottie from last night. As it was, though, he felt odd asking the guy’s name well after he’d already made Kurt come twice. He quickened his pace, remembering his schedule for the day, and it only took a brief recollection of the handsome man’s mouth on him to send him over the edge with a sensual moan reminiscent of the night before.
Stepping from the shower he quickly dried himself off and styled his hair. He dressed to impress for his meeting and packed the bag he always carried to work. Santana had ordered doughnuts, but Kurt hated eating in front of clients, so he’d have to leave a few minutes early to stop at the local bagel shop for his favorite, a cinnamon crunch bagel with honey walnut cream cheese. He’d given himself plenty of time and he knew he’d be a little early to his office, but he hated being late, hated rushing even more and he wanted to be able to give the place a once-over before his clients arrived.
As he moved to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, he noticed a piece of paper taped to the kitchen cabinet and moved toward it.
Kurt,
I’m so sorry to run out like this. My brother texted me with an emergency and he needs a favor. I would much rather still be snuggled up next to you…I hope that’s not weird. If it is, forget I said that. If it’s not, then I’d like to see you again…if you’re ok with the idea? I don’t normally do that -- go home with guys -- so please don’t think that’s how I am. You were just so adorable and I really (oh my GOD, REALLY) enjoyed last night (and this morning – wink wink). If I haven’t creeped you out too much, text me or give me a call.
Blaine
His name is Blaine. Blaaaaiiine…he said again, trying it on his tongue. They hadn’t gotten around to that last night with the dancing, the sweating, the grinding, the giggling and the groping. Then there was a breezy night, a cab ride and…blessedly…Kurt’s bed. Blaine had left his number. Holy shit…he left his number, and he wants to talk…or go out…and…or…more? Is this real life? Am I still sleeping?? Oh my gods!
Kurt did a cute little shimmy around his apartment and packed his essentials for the day before heading out.
“Double toasted with extra cream cheese, please,” he asked Ben behind the counter.
“Gotcha, Kurt! Coming right up!”
He collected his breakfast and headed out to make the long trek to the train.
As he walked, he munched on his breakfast, trying hard to concentrate on his upcoming meeting and not so much on the hot guy – Blaine – who completely and utterly rocked his world the previous night. How long should he wait to text him? Should he call instead? Was texting him too impersonal? Would Blaine think he was being standoffish if he texted instead of calling him?
He texted Santana while he was on the train and waited patiently for a reply. Service was sometimes spotty underground. He’d lost track of her the previous evening and texted her that he was leaving. She texted back “ok” but that was it. He hoped she had a fun night and was in a good mood this morning. He texted something else, hoping her phone would notify her of his messages, but received nothing in return. When he reached his stop and climbed the stairs to the street, he immediately received her reply. And panicked.
He hit call without a second thought, and she answered on the first ring.
“Porcelain and Lace, where WE DO everything but the I DO , how can I help you?” Santana said sweetly, and Kurt could just hear how uptight she was.
“What’s going on? What do you mean they’re already there?! The meeting isn’t until noon!” Kurt nearly screeched but held back uncertain as to who might be standing close by his coworker.
“Yes, I’m very well aware, thank you, but it seems that didn’t work this morning for…her…and so she was here with her entourage when I walked up to the door, weighed down with my purse, my bag, donuts and a more comfy pair of shoes for later,” Santana ground out.
“Entourage??” Kurt asked, already exasperated.
“Yes, sir , it seems that way, and they apparently all want to kill each other, so…be prepared,” she said with fake enthusiasm, and Kurt could tell she was already gritting her teeth.
“How? WHY?”
“I don’t know, Kurt!” she hissed. “Just freaking get here, would you? These people are insane…all except the husband who’s pretty hot, appears level headed, very kind and clearly knows that everyone else has a few screws loose!”
“I’m almost there…I’m on my way, please just…play nice and hold down the fort. See you soon,” and with that, he clicked off and increased his speed…somewhat. It wouldn’t do to show up sweaty and out of breath.
When he reached the corner near his shop, he paused, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
You’ve got this, Kurt. Go in there and show them what Kurt Hummel is made of. This will be the best thing you’ve ever done. You work best under pressure and Santana, for all her crazy, has your back! Let’s do this!
With that, he strode around the side of the building to the door that opened into his office and breezed in as he did any other day. He could see down the short hallway that the conference room was chock-full of people and that concerned him a bit. The more people who accompanied the bride, the harder it was to come to any conclusion. Everyone had an opinion, and those opinions were seldom the same as the bride’s…or the couple’s…and, in the end, it was their day, and Kurt’s job was to make them happy.
He walked straight over to his desk and dropped his things in his chair. He checked the mirror on the inside of the miniscule closet door and found himself to be in top form, if you didn’t linger on the puffiness under his eyes, and even though his headache still hung on just a little bit. What in the world had he been thinking, going out on a Sunday night when he knew he had to work the following day?! Oh well, it was too late to lament his poor choices, and he had a client to wow. With a pinch to his cheeks and a smile at himself in the mirror, Kurt turned and walked out front into the barely controlled chaos.
There, before him, on one side of the table, sat a small dark-haired girl with wide eyes and an even wider mouth. She was wearing a very unfortunate sundress that was white with a random pattern of gold stars. She wore a glittery, gold headband in her hair and she was very obviously the diva that Kurt had spoken to on the phone if her tone, now, was anything by which to compare as she flipped through the catalogs on the table while simultaneously scrolling through websites.
Next to her sat two men, one in slacks, a dress shirt and a blazer, the other in jeans and a button up shirt, one or both of whom were probably the diva’s father. They were speaking loudly over one another, trying to get the girl’s attention as she spoke to everyone at once, clearly having three different conversations, all of them quite loudly.
On the other side of the table was a beautiful raven-haired woman of perhaps 50 years. She was meticulously dressed, her hair and makeup probably professionally done, perhaps even that morning. She sat in her chair casting glances at the two men across from her and her expression as she scrutinized them screamed “insufferable.”
And next to the lovely lady who Kurt could only assume was the mother of the groom, sat the most handsome man Kurt had laid eyes on in a decade. He was snuggled up to the tiny bride-to-be, smiling widely and pointing at something in the catalog when he glanced up toward the doorway and noticed Kurt standing there. And because the universe was obviously conspiring against him, Kurt’s inner monologue spilled out in a breathless Oh, shit…
There, in his small conference room, cozied up to Kurt’s MoneyIsNoObject bride…was Blaine.
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