No Kissing on Duty!

“f**k me, master! Harder! Harder!” the parrot squawked, its voice a perfect, scandalous imitation of a woman in the throes of passion. I clapped a hand over my mouth, but the snort of laughter escaped anyway. Alestor, my bodyguard, did not find it amusing. He stood rigid by the floor-to-ceiling window of the sunroom, his reflection a grim statue amidst the manicured gardens beyond. “Can we just twist this parrot’s throat open and kick him out of his cage?” Alestor asked, his voice a low rumble of strained patience. I giggled, shaking my head and approaching the ornate brass cage where Morgan, a brilliant green African Grey, preened. “No way! He’s the sweetest.” Morgan adopted lewd words from his previous s*x-maniac owner. I only happened to adopt him when I was around freshman year. Morgan c****d his head, a beady black eye fixing on Alestor. He seemed to sense the tension radiating through the marble-floored mansion. He puffed up his feathers. “Ah yes! Cumming! Cumming!” “Sweetest?” Alestor’s jaw tightened. “I swear to God, Jade. I’m this close to choking him—” “Choke me! Choke me!” Morgan shrieked with glee. I lost it. Full-on cackling, tears in my eyes, while Alestor looked like he was reciting his own eulogy. Alestor, he was a mountain of a man, ex-military, and his current assignment—babysitting a billionaire’s daughter and here he was, defeated by a feathered pervert with a vocabulary worse than a sailor’s. “Jade,” he growled, low and lethal. “The shelter. Now.” I wiped my eyes, still giggling as I hefted the cage. “Fine, fine.” Morgan squawked in protest, then launched into a rhythmic creaking noise that sounded suspiciously like a bedspring workout. “Bet he’ll make some friends just in time.” Alestor’s sigh was a masterpiece of long-suffering. “Friends? That parrot is impossible, Jade.” I didn’t argue. I just scooped up the heavy cage, Morgan letting out a surprised “whoop!” and headed out of the sunroom, through the vaulted foyer, and into the crisp morning air. Alestor followed, a silent shadow. The sleek, obsidian form of my father’s Bugatti La Voiture Noire waited in the circular drive, a panther ready to pounce. The driver, another of my father’s employee named Magnus, gave a curt nod as Alestor opened the rear door for me and the cage. The car purred to life, a vibration felt more than heard, and slid away from the estate’s iron gates. I watched the mansions blur past, each one a monument to a different kind of wealth. I’d been volunteering at animal rescue owned by Miss Missy — a woman in her 40's with Maine Coon cat breed as her kid since she doesn’t like men. I've been here since my first year in college, a habit I’d clung to even after graduating and landing a modestly successful career as a writer. Living on pure luxury forever was… exhausting. The silence in the house was a vacuum. My father barely came home so I was surrounded by my bodyguard, maids, other employees. Here, with the parrots and the parakeets, the three-legged dogs and the one-eyed cats, things were real. Messy. Loud in a different way. We pulled up, a shop painted a cheerful, fading yellow. The familiar scent hit me as Alestor held the door—a warm, complex bouquet of hay, disinfectant, wet dog, and cat food. It was the smell of purpose. Alestor loomed by the car, arms crossed, scanning the street like he expected a sniper to take me out between the Adopt a Mutt signs. “I’ll be here,” he muttered, already dismissing me. “Have fun,” I sang, swinging the cage like it was a designer handbag. Inside, the cacophony was immediate. Dogs barked. A cat meowed imperiously from the top of a scratching post. And from the small-bird area, a chorus of chirps and whistles greeted me. Maxi Foyer, one of the other long-time volunteers and friend since college year, looked up from a clipboard. She was a vision of earthy vitality, with a cascade of red curls, plump lips always painted a bold red, and starry green eyes. Every single male volunteer, and several of the female ones, orbit around her. Miss Missy smiled brightly to my presence instantly. “Jade! You brought Morgan, I see,” Maxi said, her voice a warm, smoky contralto. She peered into the cage. Morgan, ever the performer, puffed up and let out a low, appreciative wolf-whistle. “Down, boy,” I laughed, setting the cage on the intake counter. “So,” Maxi started, leaning her hips against the counter. “I was invited to Anderson’s birthday party tomorrow evening.” Anderson Greer. The name hit like a glass of ice water to the face. I blinked. “Come again?” Her grin was all teeth. “You heard me. Cliff House. Black tie. Ocean views. His ocean views.” “I don’t care about that, Max. It’s his parent’s wealth, not his,” the words tasted bitter against my tongue, I could feel my blood run cold. I wanted to shake her, to wrap my hands around her neck and say, “That son of a b***h doesn’t drool, he calculates. He doesn’t feel envy, he tallies losses.” Instead, I saw the genuine, misguided delight in her face. She thought she was orchestrating a grand, romantic revenge spectacle. It happened five years ago, we’d never announced our relationship publicly; Anderson had always argued for discretion, which I’d mistaken for depth but was really just a cover for his lack of commitment. Maxi only knew the polished, public Anderson, the one who charmed deans and threw legendary parties, not the one who’d left my heart in tatters with a text message after years. My face morphed to serious as I added, “You’re going?” “Duh.” She flipped her hair sassily. “We are coming.” “Like hell.” “Oh, puh-lease.” She rolled her eyes. “Five years, Jade. Five years of letting that man think he won.” “I don’t care—” “Bullshit.” She stabbed a finger at me. “You’re wearing that dress—the one I forced you to buy—and you’re going to walk in there like you own the place. Let him see what he threw away.” “Max—” “No.” She crossed her arms. “You’re coming. End of story.” “I have plans,” I lied. “What, a hot date?” “A… plumbing issue.” She paused and really stared at my face. “My sink—” “Your sink is fine,” she deadpanned. “You live in a mansion. You have staff for sinks.” I groaned. “Max—” “Jade.” Her voice dropped, suddenly serious. “You deserve this. One night. One look at his face when he realizes he f****d up.” I wanted to scream. To flip the nearest table. To run. Because she was right.