On The Devil's Path

2

Their house wasn't so big that Kurt could avoid running into Blaine Anderson. And it wasn't as if he wanted to, exactly-it's just that Kurt had never been very good at the whole business associate, free-for-all assistant relationship dynamic. He didn't need to be assisted or taken care of, but at this level of wealth it seemed an unavoidable entanglement. Remy had never given him a choice about it, at least.

He put his face on and got dressed and spent his morning attending to the usual correspondence and household management (arranging social events was a constant, ongoing process) until around noon, when he was served lunch poolside. After digestion and a swim that was more exercise than leisure, he showered, changed, and exited his and Remy's bedroom, only to walk straight into another person.

A person about two inches shorter than himself wearing an Armani suit and strictly styled dark hair.

Kurt stared into the prettiest pair of hazel eyes he'd ever seen, framed by triangular eyebrows and lush eyelashes. His gaze immediately dropped down to the plump pink mouth below, which was spouting apologies.

"Mr. Hummel! I didn't see you there! My apologies. I'm-"

Kurt exhaled. "Blaine Anderson. It's a pleasure." They shook hands. The bright eagerness in those eyes forestalled whatever awkwardness Kurt had anticipated.

"Your husband asked me to let you know that I'm in the blue guest room, in case you need me and can't get me on my cell, but I assure you that won't happen so you've got nothing to worry about." Kurt suppressed a smile. All of that on one breath was impressive, and Blaine's enthusiasm was contagious. His concerns about their introduction faded instantly. "Is there anything I can do for you this afternoon?"

"Well, if we're going to get anywhere, you might want to start with letting go of my hand," Kurt said, a dry flavor to his tone. He only said this in an attempt to relax Blaine with humor-he rather liked the warm, strong grasp of Blaine's fingers around his.

And oh, what a dangerous thought.

"Oh, um, yes, of course."

Both of their faces were flushed when they broke apart. Kurt led Blaine to the sitting room on the first floor with the piano and a sidebar stocked with cold beverages.

"I have to finalize arrangements for our anniversary party," he said. "I'd appreciate an escort, but you can stay in the car if you'd like."

"I'm not hopeless when it comes to that sort of thing. I'd love to help."

Kurt began to play a simple tune on the piano. "You should be sure of that." He smiled, but narrowed his eyes in playful challenge at the same time. "I'm known to be ruthless when it comes to event organization."

Blaine, on second glance, took a moment to settle around Kurt's expectations. Most of Remy's men were bulky, nondescript types, a range of races and ages and dispositions but always somewhat forgettable in terms of appearance. Blaine, though-Blaine was gorgeous. Classically handsome. Compact and lean and put together but not in an intimidating way. It was his face that truly drew Kurt in, its soft, sparkling openness coinciding perfectly with its inherent prettiness. Blaine had to be near Kurt's age but seemed like a boy, his fingers fidgety and his presence youthful.

"On second thought," Kurt said, "I have a feeling you'll do just fine."

Blaine smiled.

Kurt's heart raced.