This Crazy Rich Boy

"I can't believe this," Karen mutters. "You, of all people."

For a moment, Claire thinks Karen's referring to Russell. She looks around for anything to grab and cover her nȧkėdness, but the nearest one is a coffee table book titled, 'Inside Japan's Penis Festival: In Full-color Pictures'. It actually has a picture of a gigantic pėnɨs on the cover. Claire uses it anyway, more to cover herself from Russell's lecherous gaze than anything. "I've never been so glad to see you…"

"I can't believe you can do this to me," Karen says, staring directly at Claire, her face almost distorted in indescribable hurt. "How could you?"

"What?" This confuses Claire. "Are you being serious?"

"I've seen you giving my boyfriend 'The Eye', Claire! You cannot deny this!"

Claire is dumbfounded. Only now she realizes the magnitude of Karen's stupidity. "Which part of the struggle you saw indicated anything that was consensual, huh?" Tears begin welling in her eyes.

"Your stupid goddamn boyfriend tried to **** me!"

"Oh, no, no, no, no!" Russell buŧŧs in, laughing nervously. "Me? **** this girl? You've gotta be kidding me!"

"Yeah!" Karen says, her voice quaking. "Why would my boyfriend take any interest in you, Claire? You've never had a boyfriend, you don't know anything about the opposite sėx. And you dress like an old lady. Why, of all people, would Russell even take a second look?"

"Okay, genius," Claire hisses. "Did you see ME on top of this idiot? No? Because he's the one who was trying to overpower me. I would've thanked you for appearing right in the nick of time, but I realize this is all an exercise in futility."

Claire storms out and slams her bedroom door shut, leaving Russell and Karen in the wake of this toxic drama.

Claire is furious—and deeply hurt. She can't believe Karen would even make such a stupid ȧssumption. It was plain as daylight who was doing what to whom. And for pete's sakes, it's not like Russell's the finest specimen of manhood. He's just some successful entrepreneur—sure, a bit good-looking, but totally not Claire's type. And she wouldn't in a million years seduce a man, especially one who's currently dating a roommate!

Claire couldn't wrap her mind around what happened today. What in hell's happening with her life? All she wanted was a day away from the aggravation of her days, and yet, fate doesn't seem to be willing to grant her the smallest of favors.

She locks her bedroom door, turns off the light, and sulks in her bed. She decides she won't come out of this room for the next billion years. She hears the two having an argument outside, their voices rising. She could hear some of the words being thrown out in the open, and most of them make her cringe. At one point, Karen's slamming her fist on Claire's door. "Get out here, you bitch!"

Claire grits her teeth but stands her ground. She screams, "Get out of my face, you two idiots! Or I'll call the cops on you and your rapist boyfriend!"

She's always known that Karen is stupid, but only now she realizes Karen is really THAT stupid. And totally living in her own bubble of self-delusion. To witness such an attack and instantly craft a self-denying fantasy that your own roommate is trying to have some savage sėxytime with your boyfriend—isn't that the very height of stupidity? But really, what's surprising about it? Karen isn't exactly known for making good life decisions, so what can anyone expect?

Nevertheless, Claire is hurt. She's tired and hurt and sick to her stomach. The over-sized t-shirt she wears feels like flimsy armor against the ravages of the day, and there's only so much that she can take. Yesterday, she was slugging it out with the CEO of some cosmetics company, Michelle Alcantara, right in the infinity pool of Gabriel Tan's mansion, then today she was trying to fend off the sėxuȧŀ advances of someone she had thought to be a friend. What kind of life does she lead? Why and how has it all become this complicated?

In the darkness of her room, Claire tries to make a life-changing decision: what should be her next move? She has to speak with Gabriel, compel him to define the boundaries of her job. She feels she has been somewhat bamboozled into this fake fiancée role. Doesn't the Red Contract she has signed describe her job as a personal ȧssistant? So what's this? Despite the glamor and the action and the fun, this fake engagement should be part of the terms and conditions, and she won't let someone like Gabriel Tan take advantage of her like that. Gabriel can fool anyone else and make them dance on his palm, but not Claire Monteverde.

There are knocks on the door. Claire screams, "Go away! I'm just a heartbeat away from calling the cops, Karen. Don't you test me!"

"We have to talk," a man's voice says. It's eerily familiar.

"Who's there?" Claire's brow knits in confusion.

"It's Gabriel."

Claire flings the door open, her heart pounding. Indeed, it's Gabriel, and he doesn't look happy.

"If you're going to give me another task today, I'm going to kill myself," she mutters.

Claire gazes at him, a million questions running through her head. But she's tired and depressed and finding answers to her questions feels like the last thing she wants at the moment.

When Gabriel wraps her in his arms (in that totally boss-personal ȧssistant way, her mind insists), she lets go. She just cries. She cries like a baby. She cries as if she isn't the strongest woman she knows. Because for some reason, regardless of what kind of news or what trick Gabriel has up his sleeve this time, Claire doesn't care, not at the moment. Because Gabriel Tan, despite his flaws, seems spot-on this time: Indeed, all she needs is a hug.