2. Kurt's POV

I hated Sue Sylvester. So much. She was the worst excuse for a boss I've ever had, and she had no regard whatsoever for anyone's feelings. And I think she knew I felt that way about her, too, because she always gave me the crappiest restaurants to scout. So much for an enjoyable career, huh?

It wasn't like I started out wanting to be a food critic anyway - actually, Ididn't. It started way back in high school, when I was doing just about everything to keep my Dad from having a third heart attack. I researched foods that were healthy but tasteful, and I spent my weekends going between restaurants and grocery stores, trying to find anything my dad would like that wasn't fried and dipped in something. I gained a considerable amount of weight before I realized that I was sacrificing my health for his, and backed off. By then, my dad's eating habits were improving steadily, and he had Carole to keep him in line. But my interest in food still remained strong.

When I moved to New York to attend college at NYU, there was a student magazine that talked about the best places to go in the area, and when the head of staff graduated and everyone moved up a peg, a spot opened. I was more than willing to fill it.

It was great. I got to rate different eateries in the area, I made a bunch of new friends. I rarely had to purchase my own food. But it didn't last particularly long. I soon finished college and found myself back in Ohio, moving my stuff into a crappy apartment on the outskirts of Columbus. But, you know. Shit happens and life sucks. Nothing I wasn't used to.

I found Sue Sylvester one day when I was looking into a new cafe in the area and suddenly, there her website was.

It was fairly small and poorly designed, but it had a lot of potential, and they were hiring. I applied. I got the job. And suddenly, it began to grow as a company, and I was going to different holes-in-the-wall all throughout the area. I wrote my thoughts down when I got home and sent them off to Sue, who critiqued, criticized, ranted, beat me down until I promised to make the changes she wanted, and then finally published my review.

And so, yeah. I hated her. I was also pretty terrified of her, which is why my heart jumped into my throat when I saw an email from her in my inbox one morning, with the subject line:URGENT - Come into the offices for a meeting at 2 PM.

I very literally fell out of my chair in surprise, landing flat on my ass in the middle of my living room. "Crap," I muttered under my breath, "Crap, crap, crap,crap."

My eyes fell on the clock, its blinking face informing me that it was nine-thirty. I blindly reached for my phone, plugging in a number I'd known by heart since I was a freshman in college with shaking fingers.

"Hello, you've reached Rachel Barbra Berry, writer for "How Sue C's It", the popular webzine. I can't come to the phone right now, please leave a message!"

There was a quick beep shortly after, and I groaned. "Okay, um,shit, Rachel, Sue wants to talk to me and I'm really freaking out because she hasn't wanted me to come in to work since I gothired, and I'm just...you don't have an email from her, do you? Thanks. Call me back. Please."

I pressedendand sprawled out on the floor, my breathing heavy. "I'mscrewed."

*

I spent the next hour running circles around my apartment before I decided that I couldn't stay stuck inside any longer, got dressed, and left to wander the streets.

They were fairly busy, as they always were mid-morning, and I shuffled around, weaving in and out of popular shops, window shopping,anything. I couldn't keep myself from looking again and again at my watch, from getting antsier with every passing minute. Finally, I settled on grabbing some lunch and reflecting on my imminent doom.

I found my restaurant of choice tucked into a worn street corner of the entertainment district; a sagged brick building with a gnarled, fenced-off patio and sad-looking window shutters. Gold lettering above the patio covering proclaimed the placeBella Vita, and according to a sign stuck to the front door, it had been bringing delicious Italian food to Columbus, Ohio since 2021. I had my doubts, but one thing was for sure - Italian restaurants almostalwayshad cheesecake on their dessert menus.

I sighed, shook my head, and pushed the door inward. I was greeted almost immediately by a perky blonde girl with a strange look in her eyes. "Hi, welcome to Bella Vita! I'm Brittany! I'm guessing a table for one, unless you're meeting someone?"

Something inside my chest twisted, but it was barely noticeable. I smiled. "Yeah, table for one."

Brittany smiled and waved me back into the dining area, which was dimly lit save for the windows that were hanging open to let in natural light. It made the place feel homey, somehow, in a way that most restaurants were lacking. Brittany set me at a table in a corner and left with a flourish, telling me that my server would be right with me. I didn't doubt her, because there were only four other tables being occupied.

My waitress was named Sugar, and her voice was high pitched, overly-enthusiastic, and somewhat whiny, but she was as sweet as her namesake and made sure she had everything I ordered written down perfectly.

"Just to clarify," she said, "You want a lunch plate of linguine and clam sauce, and a piece of the cheesecake, substitute the strawberry topping for raspberry?"

I nodded gratefully, and she scurried off with my order slip in hand. I settled in my chair, and I had almost -almost- forgotten about my plans for the afternoon when my phone rang and Rachel's picture lit up my lock screen. "Hello?" I answered hesitantly.

"Kurt! Hi. I got an email, too, and so did Jacob and Becky, so whatever it is can't be that bad..."She trilled, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh, that's great. I was so afraid she was gonna fire me," I groaned, leaning my head against the heel of my hand. "I actually just ordered some cheesecake. I was about toeat my feelings.Oh god, I really should stop doing that."

"Well..."

"Rachel Berry, professional people don't fire their employees in flocks!" I hissed.

I could almost hear her hold up her hands in defense."Since when have you consideredSueof all people to be professional? I'm just saying, be prepared for anything..."

That was when Sugar showed up with my food, and I cut Rachel's ramble off by saying, "Stop bringing logic into the conclusions I make! Okay, I've got to go. See you at two," when the aroma hit my nose. It all smelled fantastic. I hung up and looked up at Sugar apologetically. "Sorry about that."

She shook her head and set my plates down in front of me. "No, no big deal! This is my job, remember? I'm supposed to let you have your phone conversations. You're more polite than some people I've waited on before."

I grinned at her compliment - I always tried to be polite as possible at restaurants,becauseof those very people Sugar had "waited on before" - and swirled a collection of noodles around my fork, promptly putting it in my mouth.

It was absolutely delicious. Everything about it was perfect - the texture, the flavors and the accents...I think my eyes rolled into the back of my head before I let out a moan that was not evenremotelyappropriate for the setting. "Oh my god, this isawesome. Whoever made this is agenius."

Sugar smiled broadly, and I didn't catch it then, but there was a glint of mischief in her eye. "Do you want to talk to the chef? He wasn't busy when I was back there."

My back straightened in surprise, and I put my fork down. I tossed the idea around in my brain for a minute before saying, "Yeah, yeah. Actually, that would be great." The restaurant seemed so unknown, the poor guy probably never got praised for his talent as he so clearly deserved. Sugar flitted off, and I picked up my fork and continued to eat, savoring each bite of garlic and smooth sauce.

"I take it you're enjoying the pasta?"

My head flung up and I looked into a pair of deep golden brown eyes. I gaped for a minute before I realized I'd been asked a question by thechef, none the less. I blinked a couple times, focused back on the guy's face as a whole, and smiled.

"Yeah, yeah, it's really great," I babbled, distracted. The guy was attractive, ridiculously so, and I was having a hard time thinking straight. His hair was dark and curly in the way that I knew would be crazy messy if he were to grow it out, but was actually reallyawesome-looking as it was. His skin was just...ugh. And his body? Damn. Don't even get me started on his lips, though, because they looked so damn kissable that I had to refrain from jumping out of my seat and trying it right then and there.

The chef's face lit up. "Thank you, so much. You know, it's not often we get new people in here, so I do like to know what they think when we do. It means a lot."

"Well," I said, "It's good! You deserve the acknowledgment. I know I'd go crazy if I didn't get recognized for my work," I said, shrugging and taking another bite of pasta. I assume that the face I made was very obviously blissed-out, judging from the way the chef's face split into a grin.

"I'm glad you're enjoying the food, but I really have to get back to work." He frowned a bit, and his regret seemed very genuine. I felt the same. "My name's Blaine - feel free to come back whenever. We're really fond of our reoccurring customers here." The chef -Blaine- reached out to put his hand on my shoulder for a split second before turning and hurrying back to the kitchen.

I sat there in a stupor for a minute, mulling the conversation over in my head before I finished eating and waved Sugar down for the check. I felt...I don't know,light? Almost? I never dated in high school, so I don't know how it feels to be a teenage boy with a crush, but I'd think, that to some extent, that's how it would feel. When you meet someone you instantly like, or are attracted to, it's like you've struck gold if they give you the time of day.

But I told myself that Blaine was just a cook. He made my lunch. I enjoyed my lunch. I'd probably never see him again. If I did, I might not even remember him.

I walked out of that restaurant without the intention of going back.

*

The office was dead quiet when I stepped out of the elevator, which was unusual. Whenever I'd gone into work, Heather, the secretary, usually greeted me, and I could hear the low roar of the in-office reporters before I even turned the corner. But that wasn't the case today. And it was unnerving, to say the least. I followed the weaving path back to the main conference room, and sure enough, the entire company was packed in. I released a breath of relief - sure, Sue was certifiably insane, but she wouldn't just fireherentirestaff in one go.

I spotted Rachel wedged into a corner, and tried to make my way over to her. My breathing slowed and my heart rate relaxed and I was pretty sure I was going to be okay. Until it occurred to me that we might be in the room so Sue could tell us the company was going under.

I smothered the idea before I gave myself a panic attack, and tapped Rachel on the shoulder. "Hey," I whispered, squeezing in close. We weren't a big site, but the conference room was small, and therefore cramped, and I really didn't want to end up with someone I didn't know well's ass in my general vicinity.

"Okay, people, let's get to work!" Sue stormed in a few moments later and walked to the head of the room where a giant projector screen was set up, and slammed a thick folder onto the conference table. "Before anyoneraises their hand," she glared down one of the mail room workers that had his arm half-way in the air, "no, I did not call you in here to fire you. I'm notcrazy."

No one was stupid enough to dignify that comment with a response.

"Anyway," Sue continued, "something was recently brought forth to my attention that might be of interest to you all. There is another critic-blog being run out of central Ohio, andthey're getting more hits daily than we are."

Everyone in the room turned and looked at one another, the silent shock evident on all our faces.

"Take a look at some screenshots if you don't believe me!" Sue said, and she clicked a button on the ancient projector to unveil her slides. The site itself was fairly standard, except for one thing - all of their reviews seemed to have low star ratings.

"Tough crowd," Jacob murmured beside me. I nodded at that - I don't think I'd ever seen a site that negative before, and I had to wonder what Sue was worried about.

"Why are they getting more views?" I asked. "Shouldn't they be driving viewers to our site, where all the positive stuff is?"

"You'd think so, Porcelain, but no! Studies show that people are likely to be more satisfied with sites that produce negative content, because they then feel like they are getting what they're paying for."

A man in the corner asked if Sue had actually seen studies, or if she was just making up statistics again. She threw a dry erase marker at him and continued.

"My point is this - no more positive reviews. We need to up our ratings!"

The room erupted into chaos, worse than it'd ever been before. The last time she'd pulled a stunt that caused this much commotion, she'd wanted us to wear uniforms so restaurants saw us coming. But this? This could shatter our credibility as a website.

"You can't do this!" Rachel and I repeated over and over in unison, along with the twenty-odd other staff members in the room.

"It's notfairto the customers, or the restaurant staff! They want to be told the truth!" I yelled, and everyone else, to some degree, was trying to convey the same thing. But Sue,Jesus Christ, she wasn't having any of it.

She climbed onto the table, stood ramrod straight, and shouted at the top of her lungs. "ENOUGH! My word is final!"

The room fell silent, and Sue spoke loudly, waxing poetic about how her plan was the most god-damned beautiful thing since the wedding ring she gave herself. "I don't care what you guys think about it - no more complaints from now on. Do whatever you have to do to downplay a restaurant's quality. Say the bathrooms are nasty. Maybe the wine is 'watered down'. I don't really care. Justdo it." She took a deep breath. "Alright. You're free to go."

No one argued, and we all simply filed out into the hall, muttering profanities under our breaths. I stuck close to Rachel, and ushered her over to an empty cubicle when we'd made it past the crowd. "How could she do this?" I hissed.

Rachel nodded in agreement. "We're going to lose our jobs! And aside from that...it just doesn't feelright. Can you imagine the hell this puts restaurant owners through, wondering what they could possibly do differently when theyaren't doing anything wrong? I don't think I can do this!"

"I don't either," I sighed. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know?" Rachel shook her head. "But I'm not going to do this. And if we want Sue to respect that, we're going to do something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know yet, but whatever it is, it's gotta be big."