Chapter 2

Blaine Anderson meant action. He was finally in town and gearing up for the biggest event of his career thus far. And a spectacular event it was going to be, regardless of its outcome. Newspapers screamed out the latest news about him, and they condemned and praised him in equal measures. While some said that he was the perfect symbol of equality and change, others were intimidated by his liberal policies. He was easily the most loved, and yet the most feared candidate. Those who supported him did so fiercely. The people who opposed him showed equally ferocity.

While Blaine was an energetic young man, he couldn't help but find it all exhausting. It was moments like these, when he took time out of his busy schedule to walk or listen to music, that he truly realized just how hectic his life was. He had little time for family or friends, instead throwing himself entirely into his campaign.

He sighed as he entered his hotel suite, still thinking in this vein. He kept a tight hold on his dog's leash in his hand while tiredly running his hand over his thickly gelled hair. He didn't even know if he was supposed to have dogs up here, but someone had yet to reprimand him. He decided to interpret that as silent permission. He refused to leave Rufus behind in a kennel. Blaine had truly grown to appreciate the sentiment that a dog could be a man's best friend in the last few months. Rufus wouldn't be upset with him if he messed up a speech or failed to appeal to a certain voting demographic. And Blaine truly loved him for that.

He shut the door behind him with a click and removed the leash from the Rufus' neck before sending him off with a gentle pat. He walked over to the mini bar, aware that Wes, his campaign manager, was brandishing a newspaper at him and lecturing him about something. He didn't even bother to pay any attention to Wes' constant nagging however. That was, he didn't until Wes hit him over the head with the newspaper he was carrying. Then he started to pay attention.

'Blaine Anderson! Do you ever listen to me?'

'I get it, don't give the press a reason to think I'm a playboy or untrustworthy, blah blah blah. I broke up with Jeremiah about three weeks ago, Wes. I'm hardly going to be out screwing every guy in New York. It's not like I did that even before I started a long term relationship.'

'Yes, but people will not willingly take your assurances about that. I'm serious Blaine! Some people will do anything to smear your campaign. You're going to have to be far more careful. Avoid anything that could lead to a scandal. Because if there is a scandal, your career is as good as over.'

'As is yours,' quipped Blaine.

Wes rolled his eyes. 'We're buddies Blaine; I'm trying to look out for you here. And not just because I happen to be your campaign manager.'

There was a silence for a moment, where Blaine felt slightly guilty for snapping at his friend like that. He cleared his throat awkwardly. 'So, what else are they saying in the papers these days?'

Wes skimmed through the article quickly. 'It appears that you are the sentimental favourite in the race. People were very fond of your father, the great Senator Anderson. And people like the idea of senators in the same family. You know, sons following in their father's footsteps as long as they have a brain and it's not nepotism or anything.'

Blaine shrugged off his jacket and knelt down to pet Rufus, who had come back to him and started whining at his feet.

'So what have you got lined up for me for this week? We're hardly going to that Sylvester's benefit dinner thing.'

Wes looked at his feet guiltily.

'You're not serious!' exclaimed Blaine. 'You know that I can't stand her! I told you that I wasn't going to do it. In fact, I vividly recall saying that I'd rather gnaw off my own hand than attend!'

'I know that Blaine, but we really need her to be on your side for the campaign. She's an invaluable ally, really. Even if it does result in the loss of your hand.'

Blaine did not deign him with a response, instead choosing to go to the bathroom and ignoring what Wes shouted after him. He couldn't sum up the energy to realize that he may be acting a bit petulantly.

He quickly closed the bathroom door behind him and moved over to the toilet. Just as he unzipped his fly, he heard a gasp from behind him. He quickly used his hand to cover the unzipped area and looked over to see a very embarrassed and flustered hotel worker.

'I –I'm so sorry sir,' stuttered the employee, who put a hand to the side of his face to avert his eyes in an attempt to give Blaine one last remaining ounce of privacy. Blaine couldn't help but think that the man's action was quite cute and innocent, temporarily making him forget his own mortification. The man quickly stumbled over to the door to make his escape.

'Thanks!' Blaine called out as the he closed the door behind him, trying to keep the embarrassment from his voice. He was now alone at last, and felt the blush that had risen to his cheeks subside. As soon as he had finished and walked back out into the suite, he began to think of his campaign again and forgot all about the incident and the man, whose face he had failed to take in.

As soon as the door to Mr. Anderson's suite was closed, Kurt let out an embarrassed giggle and tried to calm the fierce blush that had taken over his cheeks. He fanned himself quickly, dispelling the uncomfortable warmth that had temporarily taken over his body. He had just met Blaine Anderson, in a toilet. He groaned. Of all the possible ways to meet, this was the one that had to occur. He probably thought that Kurt was a complete pervert now. He made a mental note to never tell Mercedes about this.

He had little time to reflect on the meeting however, as he now had to meet with the most demanding client in the hotel. Although Kurt had never had to deal with him personally, he had heard many horror stories from the other staff. The stories were usually accompanied by harsh descriptions and a variety of strong expletives. With a sigh, or perhaps it was a suppressed shudder, he started to make his way back downstairs.

Five minutes later Finn, one of the porters, allowed his body to sag with relief when he opened the door to find Kurt on the other side.

'Finn, what are you still doing here?'

Finn groaned. 'Dude seriously, this guy is a nightmare! Thank god you're here!'

Kurt rolled his eyes. 'Don't call me dude. Anyway, I think you can escape now, I'll take care of everything from here.'

'Thanks dude. Uh, I mean… Kurt. You're a lifesaver!'

Finn scurried out of the room, and Kurt could now hear the sound of a heated voice from the bedroom. He approached and knocked cautiously on the door.

'Just hang on a second Shelby,' he heard the voice say from the other side of the door. 'Come in.'

Kurt opened the door tentatively to see an attractive, pale brunette, holding a phone away from his ear.

The man snapped his fingers at Kurt. 'Finally! I've been waiting forever for some proper service. That freakishly tall doorman was a nightmare. I need you to start unpacking those.'

The man went back to arguing down the phone. Kurt looked around to see a stack of suitcases by the opposite wall. He walked over and carefully unzipped the first one. He stifled a gasp. The clothes were simply exquisite. This was the kind of wardrobe he had imagined having a few years ago, rather than making do with cheap imitations and worn-out classics. The fabric, the designs, the perfect tailoring. It was exactly what he wanted but could never afford.

He put the clothes away efficiently. He was so absorbed in admiring them that he didn't notice that the guest had finished his phone call and was now watching him. He was startled when he spoke again.

'That needs to be pressed,' he said suddenly, causing Kurt to jump and nearly drop the trousers he was holding.

'S-Sure thing Sir.'

'You're much more competent than the maids they normally send up to me.'

'I'm not actually a maid, I'm –'

He interrupted him with a wave of a hand. 'I need you to do a favour for me, it seems like I can trust you to handle it. You look like you know you're way around fashion well enough.'

Kurt flushed slightly with pride, before he heard what the man went on to say. 'I need you take this suit somewhere to get tailored. They'll probably need to model it on you, just so they can pin it properly. They will already have my measurements.'

Kurt took in a stuttered breath. 'Um, well it's really the concierge's job to do that sort of thing.'

The guest sent him a stern look. 'But I am asking you to do it. See that it's done promptly won't you? And send someone else to finish the unpacking on your way out.'

With that, the man took out his phone once more and began to speak furiously with the person on the other end of the call.

Kurt ground his teeth together, frustration coursing through his body. He couldn't afford to be late for his son's speech and at this rate he would barely make it on time.

Kurt softly closed the door behind him, carefully holding the suit out in front of his body. 'Jesse St. James totally Jesse St. sucks!' he muttered mutinously under his breath. How could his day get any worse after this?