Butter's spine arched up. With his face pressed against a rock-hard chest, he couldn't think straight...or at all. He was suffocating.

"Oh, I recognize you now." The man smothering Butter and responsible for giving him a heavy dose of anxiety was none other than Brandon Bolt. "You are Pepper's cat. What was your name again?"

"Butter, you imbecile, my name is Butter. You stink, by the way. Unhand me right now, Sir," said the kitten as politely as he could before realizing the blunder he had committed; he snapped his mouth shut.

Oh, nooooooo! What have I done!?

Apprehension filled the kitten's every paw. Yes, it was true that Felicity had told Brandon she was a witch, but the man had just taken the news in jest. When the former had tried to explain that she was being serious, the latter had presumed that she was a human practicing Wicca. Brandon didn't have a problem with that, so Felicity had gotten away without telling him the whole truth. Technically, she should have come clear, but it was clear enough for the higher-ups, who, in Butter's opinion, just wanted The Bolt's in their fold. Now that Butter thought about it, the pervert was pretty open-minded.

But that was not the point now, was it? Butter had unwisely opened his wise mouth, and instead of the standard meow that he (by default) offered the humans, words had poured out of him. What if Brandon freaked out, called off the wedding, and kicked everyone, including Pepper, out? In which case, there would be nothing to make his mistress stay in Polpom. And Butter needed her to stay put, at least till her birthday, the day after tomorrow.

"Meeeeeow," Butter did the best kitten impression he could, hoping Brandon was too excited or too drunk to notice he had heard an animal speak.

The man, almost a foot taller than Pepper, with a thick stock of vibrant red hair and blue eyes, swayed on the spot before laughing like a maniac. "The cat spoke. Makes sense... if FiFi's a witch, why can't the cat talk?"

Brandon swayed again and narrowed his eyes till they resembled the crescent moon. "Oh, yes, I remember now. It was Butter!" he drawled, eyes glinting like he had cracked The Da Vinci Code.

Butter cocked his now slightly-less-restrained head. Glad that the man was too drunk to believe what he had witnessed, he purred and meowed again.

"What are you doing out here? Did you like the room your gorgeous mistress was assigned?" Brandon scratched the top of Butter's head.

As Brandon rambled on and on about how his room was just down the line- a suit, third one to the left on the fourth floor- and how Butter should persuade his mistress to visit him, preferably late at night since she was all by herself in this big bad world, the kitten grew more and more apprehensive and restive. With the sick pervert holding him in his iron-like grip, Butter was sure he would not make it to the summit of Mount Balsh by 5.00 pm.

But just when Butter was about to lose all hope, someone interrupted Brandon's drunken rambling.

"Excuse me, but I think you are holding something of mine, mister..." a calm, mellow voice said, tapping the groom's shoulder.

Brandon turned around; his grip on Butter slackened a little as he raised one of his hands to shield his eyes, "I am Brandon Bolt. This is my resort."

"Oh, a pleasure, Mr. Bolt." As the new arrival extended his hand towards the latter, Butter tried to catch a glimpse of his supposed master's face, but sunlight hit his eyes, blinding him for a moment. "I am Salvador Hart. Perhaps you have heard of me."

What!?

Brandon nodded his head fervently. "Mr. Hart, what a pleasant surprise. Felicity is a fan, and so is my mother."

Salvador raised a brow. "Felicity?"

"My fiancé."

"Oh, I see."

Butter watched the two morons shake hands. If this was his savior, he was better off with the pervert. At least, Brandon hadn't made his mistress's job- and by extension, her life- difficult.

"You are even more handsome in person, Mr. Hart."

"I get that alot." The jerk threw his head back and laughed like Brandon had said something truly funny. "You are strikingly good-looking yourself. Your fiancé is a lucky woman."

Butter rolled his eyes. How fake can one get?

Brandon winked. "I can't agree more."

Lord Satan, save my furry butt, please.

"Anyway, as I was saying, I think you are holding my cat. Would you mind?" Salvador added, reaching for Butter.

Interesting. I can't hurt the pervert, but there is nothing to stop me from mauling this jerk and escaping.

Butter took a calculated risk and jumped into the man's open arms.

"Oh, it seems I have confused it with another."

"Heyyyy, sweetheart." Salvador grinned at the kitten before catching Brandon's eyes and adding, "It's easy to get confused. But I am glad it happened, Mr. Bolt. At least this gave me a chance to meet you."

It was Brandon's turn to laugh. "Yes. Yes." He bobbed his head and almost tripped on air. "By the way, how long are you here for? I am getting married the day after tomorrow." He patted the front of his black, three-piece suit and retrieved a card-his wedding invite- from the inside pocket of his west. "Consider this an invite, Mr. Hart," he said, trying to hand it to the celebrity but dropping it on the ground instead. "Oops."

Lifting the kitten to his face, Salvador whispered, "I know you are in a hurry, trust me. Just let me bid farewell to this gentleman."

Butter felt like he was in an alternate dimension. This Salvador Hart didn't seem like the jerk he had come to know and despise.

Salvador shook his head; refusing the invite he said, "I don't need that. I am already attending."

"But, I don't remember-"

"That is likely, Mr. Bolt."

"Call me Bran."

"Got it. As I was saying, Bran, I am attending your wedding as a lady's plus one," Salvador said, making Butter wonder who the unfortunate human was, but the pompous ass did not offer anything else. Butter found it curious that Brandon had not followed up with, 'Spill, who is your date?' or something to that accord, leaving the conversation abruptly without bothering to excuse himself properly.

To Butter, the future of The Bolt empire didn't look very bright.

"Hey." The gentle voice made the kitten gaze into the celebrity's pale, gold eyes; it reminded him of honey.

Butter took this chance to get a good look at the man who drove women crazy and made them fall to their knees, whatever that meant.

This close, Butter could see his appeal. His jawline could cut diamonds, and his thick, arched brows were to die for. His lips...oh my. They were sonnet-worthy.

It was like Satan had taken the year off to make the mold Salvador Hart was cast from. The human was the very definition of sin. He had what humans referred to as Devilish charm. Hypothetically, of course, for Butter couldn't sense a lick of magic in him.

But again, what was the point? He was clearly a jerk, or so Butter thought, till the man walked over to the footpath away from the prying eyes of humans, placed him gently on the concrete floor that received ample shade, and whispered, "You are safe now little one. Go do your thing."

Chapter word count: 1271