This Crazy Rich Boy

"I need you," the voice says. "Right now."

It takes a moment for Claire to respond. There's something surreal about the voice of someone you thought you're done with for today. "Mr. Tan? Is it really you?"

"Don't be silly. Who else could be calling you at this hour except your boss with an urgent professional matter?" There's not a hint of irony in Mr. Tan's voice. "Of course, it is me."

"I'm sorry," Claire still could regain her bearings. "But is it way after my office hours?"

"Yes, I know, but I need you right now. And as my personal ȧssistant, you should attend to my personal needs."

"Excuse me? Don't I have regular work hours, too?"

A pause. Then the voice, so confident and demanding, mutters, "Attend to this tonight, and this adds a whole month's salary to what you stand to gain at the end of our deal."

"What?"

"I said, this adds another month's salary."

"For just tonight's work?"

"Yes. Or should I say it again a third time?" There's a hint of cold irritation.

Claire makes quick mental calculations. Is this serious? If this is, then I should see a document somewhere, an amendment to the Red Contract or something, that states exactly that—that I stand to gain a year and a month's salary after all this ends. Because the thing is, everything's currently verbal—what if this man's just drunk and would forget all about this in the morning?

The prospect of monetary gain is well and good, but Claire's tired. Wasn't she just enjoying her "me time" a moment ago? How grateful she was that the day has ended, this long, tiring day of walking in her cheap shoes under the hot sun, and all that drama just for the coffee? She tries to "sense" her level of energy right now, and weighs it against what she feels is Mr. Tan's requirement. Can she pull this off? Can she meet his expectations? Isn't she too tired right now with no energy for anything except maybe sleep?

"Uhh, sir…"

"And no, you don't have to walk ever again," Mr. Tan says. "Each time I send you to do something, a car will chauffeur you."

"But…"

"Right now, I've sent a car to your place."

How did she know about my place? Claire peers through the window blinds, and sees a black sedan that's obviously a luxury car.

"There's a Bentley outside!" Karen squeaks as she's peering through the blinds of the adjacent window. "I wonder whose it is."

Who gets so excited over a vehicle, Claire thinks. It's just a means of transport, whether it's a Benz or some cheap knock-off. "I think it's for me," Claire says, her hand over the received so Mr. Tan wouldn't hear her.

"Really?" Disbelief is on Karen's face. After all, who would believe that Virgin Claire, boyfriend-less since birth and has been on a string of failed job interviews, would suddenly have a luxury car fetching her outside her dingy apartment? "You're kidding, right?"

Claire turns to the phone. "I'm tired, sir. You know what I've been through the whole day. At least tell me what I'm expected to do tonight."

"My butler will explain everything," Mr. Tan says. A pause. "Do this for me tonight, and I will appreciate it."

And how is that, is what Claire wants to ask. But what comes out of her mouth is, "Okay." Then an afterthought. "Do I have to dress up?"

"That's taken care of," Mr. Tan says. "Lopez, the butler, will provide everything you need."

At the back of her mind, she wonders what in the world is this, what have I gotten myself into? What activity is she supposed to engage in at this time of night, with everything—her ride, her dress, and who knows what else—is already taken care of. Like she's a puppet who must only show up, and everything proceeds as it is meant.

"Give me a moment," she says. But he has hung up.

She put on the most casual attire she could think of, a white sleeveless shirt, with a denim jacket, and a pair of denim jeans.

"Oh, denim on denim," Karen exclaims, sniggering, sweeping Claire with her eyes from head to toe. "I didn't realize it's the thing right now."

"Oh, no, this is nothing," Claire says, suddenly self-conscious of what a fashion disaster she must seem to Karen. "I just need anything to wear. They're providing me with…" Then she realizes she doesn't owe Karen an explanation. She is what she is. "This is just for work."

Karen is nodding, but condescension oozes from her eyes. "I see," she says. "Having to work at this time of night, being fetched by some fancy car. That must be some job."

"Don't worry," Claire says. "I'm just babysitting."

As she opens the door, Claire sees the Bentley sedan gleaming right out in front. A uniformed chauffeur and an older man in a suit stand by the car.

"Good evening, Miss Monteverde," the older man says. "I am Lopez, Mr. Tan's butler. I'm here to ȧssist you every step of the way." Lopez smiles. "You don't have to worry about anything."