This Crazy Rich Boy

If this were really "part of the job," then it shouldn't feel so personal, so delicate. And for some reason, Claire realizes her eyes are closed throughout the duration of the kiss. As if she's enjoying it. As if it were real. When she opens her eyes, to her surprise, Gabriel Tan's eyes are closed, too. His lips feel so…Claire could not describe it. It's utterly weird. Weird and…and good at the same time. Great, actually, not just good. And in those three seconds their lips are entwined, Claire has a good, close look at the man everyone regards as "the monster." Gabriel doesn't seem to be as people make him out to be. He looks fine, angelic even. And he feels—and tastes—good.

Suddenly, Gabriel's eyes open, and even as he pulls her away from him, severing the connection, he says, "Don't enjoy that too much. It's part of your job."

Claire's mind whites out in rage. This is not part of the job, of any regular job, unless that job is whoring. She wants to say all that to his face, but people begin milling around them, congratulating them, and now they're asking her questions, too. Where is she from? What's her family's business? How did she dethrone Michelle Alcantara from being Gabriel's girlfriend? What does she have that Michelle apparently doesn't? Is she also a billionaire?

The questions fly over her head. But one thing stands out: who the heck is Michelle Alcantara?

"Who's Michelle?" Claire manages to whisper in Gabriel's ear. But the man ignores him, swipes a couple of champagne glasses from a passing server, and thrusts one in her hand.

"Drink," he commands quietly, through his teeth, while trying to smile to the crowd.

How does he does that, Claire wonders. To be so efficiently two-faced. To be both sinister and "nice" at the same time?

Claire takes a sip of the champagne. The warmth courses down her throat, and settles in her belly, somewhere underneath the delightful folds of Balenciaga's lace and well-combed fabric. "Who's Michelle?" she whispers again. "Is she your ex-girlfriend?"

Gabriel turns to her. "She's nothing. Just some whore."

"What?"

"Just some whore," Gabriel says.

"Who's the whore?" One of the reporters thrusts a phone recorder to their face.

"No one," Gabriel says and smiles. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming to this party. As much as I'd love to chat with you all, my fiancée and I would love some alone time. So please excuse us."

The crowd parts like the Red Sea as Gabriel Tan's security escort carve a path for them.

Claire gulps down the rest of the champagne in her glass. Everything begins to feel a bit woozy. The name Michelle Alcantara keeps stabbing her brain, and there seems to be no amount of prodding Gabriel to say anything about her would make him so. They reach a relatively private space in the mansion. Gabriel looks around, as if waiting for someone. "Look, Claire," he says. "You're here for one thing only: to pretend to be my fiancée. Or my new fiancée."

"How do I even do that?"

"You're smart. You can talk. I've read your profile, your achievements. I know you can do this."

"I'm not rich, Mr. Tan. I don't know how to behave like one."

"I'll help you," he says, then grabs a couple more glasses of champagne from a server. "Drink more. It'll loosen up your tongue."

Claire is about to protest, but Gabriel almost shoves the mouth of the glass to her lips. She sips, likes it, then sips some more. Before she knew it, the glass is empty, and she's starting on the next one.

"Why do we even have to do this?" Claire slightly slurs the words. "Why?"

"I'll tell you why," Gabriel Tan says. "Because I hate my mother. I hate all these A-grade a-holes here. And most of all, I hate Michelle Alcantara with all my heart. I hope she chokes on her caviar. I hope she gets dumped by the men she's chasing."

"She—what?" Now Claire's confusions mounts. "Who's Michelle? Is she an ex-girlfriend who dumped you for another man?"

"She didn't dump me!" There's actual pain in Gabriel's voice. "I left her when I found out about this other guy."

"Sheesh. Are you sure? What if it's not true? What if it's just hearsay, and you misjudged her?"

"I didn't." He fixes his gaze on her. "I caught them in the act."

"In the act of what?"

"Jesus," Gabriel Tan mutters in exasperation. "Do I have to spell out everything for you? The act of consummating their carnal dėsɨrės, is what."

"Oh, really?" Then Claire's eyes go round they almost pop out of their sockets. "Oh, really? Oh, I'm sorry! That must suck!"

"You don't have to mention it. It is what it is."

"When was this?"

"A long time ago," Gabriel says.

"Yeah, like when? Three months ago? Last year? Five years ago? When? All the people here seem to know her very well."

Gabriel glances at her sheepishly. "Two weeks ago."

"Two we—" Claire says. "Jesus, what are you, eleven? I'm sorry, Mr. Tan, but I'm finding this hard to process."

Gabriel says nothing. "That's why you're here. As part ofy my revenge."

"Revenge how?" Claire asks, but she hasn't even finished talking when a voice behind them jolts her.

"So who is this new bitch you're parading around town, Gabriel?"

When Claire turns towards the voice, she sees the most beautiful woman she has ever seen, all clad in black.