This Crazy Rich Boy

The doorbell must have been ringing for minutes before Claire realizes it's actually happening. She opens her eyes. She had fallen asleep in the Jacuzzi, with still her dress on. Good thing the water's deliciously warm. She stands up from the jetted tub; the water sloshes and overflows and creates a micro-tsunami in the bathroom. "I'm coming," she yells.

She pads toward the front door, dripping wet. At the back of her mind, she promises to apologize later to the chambermaid, or whoever would be ȧssigned to clean up her room. When she finally opens the door, Dale's eyes are big and wide.

"What is it, Dale?"

"Uhh, are you okay, Ma'am?"

Claire rubs her eyes with the back of her hand. "I think so. I have fallen asleep. So I think I'm fine now."

"That's great to hear!" Dale scans her from head to toe. "But you seem soaking wet, Miss Claire. You'd get sick if you keep that up!"

"Nah," she says. "It would take much more than a wet dress to make me sick." A beat. "So…what's up?"

"Oh, sorry," Dale says. "Miguel sent me up here to request your presence at the lounge."

"Miguel?" she says. "We're talking of Miguel Tan here, right?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

That's odd, she thinks. What could be Miguel's business? And at this hour at that. He wouldn't have come here if it was not important.

"Sir Miguel says it's about something important," Dale says, as if reading her mind.

"At the lounge, you say?" Claire mulls it over. "Give me fifteen minutes, okay?"

But it takes Claire about an hour to fully get ready. She had to shower to "wash off the heartache," as she repeats in her mind, then it takes her thirty minutes to choose something to wear. Something that's casual enough so Miguel won't think she got ready just for him, but not too casual that Miguel would think she's a slob. And while she's at it, Claire realizes: Why do I care so much about what in hell Miguel thinks of me?

In the end, she manages to choose something classy from her limited wardrobe: a white slip dress that's so sultry it fantastically compliments her curves. "Thank you, as always, Miss Cassandra," she mutters as she looks at herself in the life-sized mirror. Then at the tail-end of that thought is this: Why is she trying to look good for Miguel Tan? Why should she even care?

On the way to the lounge on the ground floor, as the elevator descends, Claire tries to resolve her own motivations. Sometimes she does things without really thinking them through; at times she entertains feelings that are unjustifiable. Like today, for instance: how she's so emotionally vulnerable over things that other people would simply shrug away. She didn't even have to feel sad or depressed; it had been just a normal day at the office. Michelle Alcantara visited and dropped a "bomb," no big deal. She shouldn't have emotional attachments to whatever happens to Gabriel Tan's personal life, correct?

The lounge, as usual, is empty, save for its lone guest, whose back is to her. She knows that profile even from a distance. Miguel is very similar to Gabriel in many ways—in fact, if you blink fast enough, you might even mistake one for the other. Miguel is wearing a white long-sleeved shirt—would he think she's also wearing white because of him?—but there's something about how he carries himself, that air of confidence, that in-born sense of privilege, that somehow elevates whatever he's wearing into something that only a signature brand exudes.

Miguel stands up upon seeing her. "Hello, there," he greets. He acts as the perfect gentleman, ushering her to her seat.

Claire smiles sweetly as she takes the seat. "So," she says. "What earns me the pŀėȧsurė of your visit?"

Miguel laughs nervously. "Oh, well," he begins. "Would you like something to drink, at least, for starters? Your poison of choice?"

Scotch on the rocks, double, is what comes to Claire's mind, and inevitably, Jake Magno, too. She cringes inwardly. "I'll just have water, please. My throat is parched."

"Really?" Miguel says. "On a rainy day like this?"

"Well," she plays along, "the rain doesn't reach what's inside of me. So…"

"You look lovely tonight," he says.

Claire makes a face. "Don't I always?" She grins.

"Attagirl!" Miguel laughs. "That's the spirit. Always believe in yourself."

"Funny you should say that," she says, "because I'm not exactly feeling awesome about myself lately."

"How so?"

"Haven't you heard?"

"What have I not heard?" Miguel's curiosity is piqued.

Claire gazes at him, trying to guess if he's being truthful or just pretending ignorance. "Are you sure you don't know yet?"

Miguel holds his palms up. "I honestly don't know. If this concerns my brother, then I'm sure I have no idea. Haven't spoken to him, yet. Although I intend to, very soon."

Claire sighs. "She's back. And she has turned your brother's life upside-down, it seems, for the umpteenth time."

"Wait, are we talking about his ex-fiancée here? Michelle?"

Claire nods.

"How is that possible? And how do you mean 'she's back'?"

Claire tells him. All the details of the day's drama, or at least, as far as she knows. She leaves out the part where she sentimentally walked in the rain, though.

"Unbelievable," he mutters. "But I guess you can expect Michelle to fight back. I've always thought she'd never give up that easily. It's not in her character."

She shrugs. "How about you?" she says. "You said you have something important to tell me. What is it?"

Miguel stops. He takes a long pull of the beer, as though he's trying to channel some courage from it. "I don't even know how to break this to you, but I'll say this as simple as I can." He takes a deep breath as he gazes at her. "Claire, I know everything."

"What do you mean?"

"Everything. As in everything. Your arrangement with my brother. The whole plan. The Red Contract. Everything."

But all these questions, they lodge in her throat, and the only thing she manages to say is, "I guess the cat's out of the bag now."

Miguel doesn't speak for a while. He just gazes at her, as though weighing his next words. "Claire," he says, "that's just beside the point of why I'm here. I'm here because I like you." He reaches out for her hand across the table, and squeezes it gently. "I like you very much."