And really, it would be fully within his right to do so. When he and Puck had first started working together as private investigators, they had divided their tasks in a way they had both liked: Kurt would handle the cases where there would be actual thinking involved. Cases where someone went missing, or someone got robbed or something like that. Puck would handle the cases where all that was needed was brawn, meaning the bodyguard cases.

Tonight, however, Puck had called Kurt away from the office where he was busy investigating a thrilling case (not really, he was just pretending to Puck, he couldn’t care less about another lost cat) to fill in for him. It was supposed to be a standard guarding job; keep an eye on the people you’re with, but mostly on the jewellery around the women’s necks and wrists. This is why he hated guarding gigs; all those rich people putting more value in their shiny jewellery than in their own lives.

Sure, maybe the rich needed protection. Maybe they got robbed every now and then. Probably never, though. The rich didn’t rent bodyguards for their protection. They hired them for the prestige in being able to say “Are you sure you don’t mind my bodyguard hiding behind that large potted plant all evening while we dance? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind finding a different place to hide.” And, if Puck was to be believed, their main job was really making sure they got home safely after one too many drinks.

No way he was able to get out of it now, though. He was already leaning against the limo destined to take the small family to some sort of charity event. And they were running late. Apparently, the youngest son of the family had the knack to run late whenever the family was going somewhere. Everyone else was there already: A woman was holding a tumbler of amber liquid, sipping from it every now again and throwing furtive glances at him, a younger man was running after his twin daughters who were dressed up adorably in little blue dresses while his wife edged her daughters on and the head of the family was trying to convince his wife that it really wasn’t necessary to change dresses again.

Quite frankly, this was not the glamorous life Kurt had envisioned for himself back in high school. When he was seventeen, all he had dreamed of was a life on Broadway in New York, not solving petty crime cases in Nowhere, Ohio. He had had big dreams of dancing and singing on brightly lit stages, belting out his favourite musical numbers and receiving a thunderous applause and a standing ovation in return. Instead, what he got was a slightly tipsy woman well past her forties trying to flirt with him and a kick in the shins from one of the ‘darling’ twin girls running past him.

“Emily, apologise to the man!”, their father scolded her, looking resigned, as if this had happened many times before already.

“Sorry mister,” the girl shouted over her shoulder before running of again. Her father, obviously needing a break from his children, came over to stand beside Kurt.

“I’m so sorry about her,” he said, leaning against the limo like Kurt, “I swear her mother is rewarding her with treats whenever she does something to make my life harder.”

Kurt did his best not to snort. “I’m sure that’s not true,” he replied, polite as could be, “Do you know if your brother will be joining us shortly? It’s just that we’re on a schedule, and we’re about twenty minutes behind already.”

“I’m sure he’ll be out soon. He’s probably stuck on which bowtie to wear or something. He’s got about ten dozen of them.”

Kurt didn’t roll his eyes – because that’s exactly how he was with his scarves-, but was saved from further conversation by the grand front doors slamming shut. He turned to see the culprit (half hoping and half dreading it to be the youngest Anderson boy so they could finally go to the charity event) and felt himself stop breathing for half a second. The man that just walked out of the house looked like he belonged on a runway, and if that was because of the extra twenty minutes he took getting ready Kurt was willing to give him the entire evening if he so desired.

He couldn’t give him the entire evening, though. They were already behind schedule as it was. He couldn’t stare at his client either, come to think of it, so he stood up straighter and stepped away from the limo.

“Mr Anderson, so glad you could join us,” he couldn’t help but give a jab, “May we continue on to the charity event now?”

The man (Blaine, he vaguely remembered from Puck’s file on the family) looked at him with icy eyes, as if no one had ever told him of for being late before. “We may,” he snapped, before striding over to sit in the limo. The little girls flew in after him, and the rest of the family followed.

Kurt sighed, closing the door behind them and walking over to sit next to the driver in the front passenger seat. This is why he disliked the rich.

----------------------------------------

Blaine was standing on the balcony, letting his eyes wander over the massive gardens that lay beneath them before looking up at the sky above. He and Sebastian had been there for about half an hour now and all his fianc� had talked about so far where his stocks and the cute ass on one of the waiters. Blaine started to wonder yet again why he was marrying him. He had been wondering about that a lot in the past few hours actually, especially since the conversation he had with his brother.

When Sebastian finally stopped talking for a bit to take a sip of his drink, Blaine took the opportunity to try and change the subject.

“Don’t you think it’s beautiful out here, Sebastian? Look at all the roses and lilies in the garden. They’re so fragile and strong at the same time. Their colours are magnificent and I swear I can smell them from here. I think their gardener must be doing a fine job with them.”

Sebastian didn’t answer him, looking at him from the side instead and taking another sip of his drink.

“You’re such a dreamer, Blaine,” he said at last. “Maybe you should try to focus more on the important things in life than on all these romantic ideas you have in your head.”

“What, like your stocks?” Blaine snapped at him, starting to tire of never being able to share his thoughts with his fianc�. “Or the amazing ass on the waiter you have been staring at all night?”

“My stocks on the market are what’s going to provide for us when we’re married, Blaine,” Sebastian snapped back at him, the superior smirk he always seemed to have on playing around his lips. “I’d say that’s pretty damn important.”

“What about the waiter?” Blaine glared.

“I’m allowed to look, aren’t I?” Sebastian answered.

“I’d really rather you didn’t look at other people when we’re about to get married in two weeks, actually,” Blaine said in return, not at all pleased with his fianc�.

Sebastian snorted unattractively. “I can try, but I’m not making any promises, babe. Besides, who’s to say you haven’t been doing the exact same thing?”

Blaine looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“For your information, I haven’t looked at another man since we started dating.”

“But that was three years ago!” Sebastian gasped, aghast.

“Exactly,” Blaine nearly sneered, walking back inside to re-join the party. “Think about that for a second.”

Maybe, Blaine thought while accepting another glass of champagne from a waiter, maybe I do need to get out of here while I still can.