This Crazy Rich Boy

The workday is yet to be over, but Miguel is already back, but this time, none of the fake beer belly or any of that clowning around. He's the usual debonair, like the more relaxed casual version of Gabriel Tan. Everyone in the office stares at him when he appears by the door, winking at no one else but Bella Xavier. Many of the office girls, bitter over Miguel's lack of attention to them, whisper among themselves not very flattering things about Bella, which she merely shrugs off: none of this matters to her, anyway. It's all part of the game.

"You're too early," she says.

Miguel only grins. "The early birdie catches the worm."

"So you think I'm a worm?"

Miguel laughs. "Oh, no, no, no! It's just an expression, of course."

Claire makes a face, as she pretends to type very important things on her computer. She can leave now, but she wants to observe the exact time an employee here is supposed to clock out, or else people will talk. On his part, Miguel seems to behave well. He's browsing magazines in the reception lobby, sometimes chatting with Mrs. Gomez, presumably about nice things. Claire could hear Mrs. Gomez's laughter from where she sits.

She wonders about Gabriel. What does he think about all this? Why does she get the feeling that Gabriel's not saying everything, like he's hiding something, such as what he truly feels. But how does she even probe? She already said the right words. She was waiting for him to "command" her to say no to his own brother, to avoid him like the sickness. But all Gabriel kept saying is "Sure, go ahead," or "Yeah, that's fine," or "Yeah, okay." So how does she respond to that? If he doesn't care about her, then maybe she should really try and have a good time with Miguel.

When the clock strikes the right hour, Claire dutifully shuts down her computer, quietly arranges and cleans up her desk, and knocks on Gabriel's door. She doesn't wait for him to respond. She slightly pushes it open, finding him deep into the documents he's reading. Must be the legal documents concerning Michelle's thing. She must be giving him some terrible, excruciating headache.

"Hi," she says. "I'm running along. Miguel's already here."

Gabriel looks up from the paperwork. He gazes at her for a moment. Jesus, look at that. Wearing that thing. Why is everything that Claire wears looks so good on her? Claire, with that white pencil skirt and black sleeveless top, simply takes his breath away. He recalls that night at the pool party, when Claire wore a red two-piece bikini. Jesus, that was skimpy! What was Miss Cassandra thinking? Or better yet, kudos to Miss Cassandra for having the good sense to have her wear it. Claire's curves—they're all perfectly proportioned. Like some dude made a wish list long ago, and God listened, and unleashed someone like Claire upon the Earth. Now, as he gazes at her, he fights himself hard to not even go there and start imagining her underneath all this corporate attire. He tries so hard to convince himself that Claire's looks don't really matter as much as her personality; that he appreciates every little thing about her. That even if the looks should go, he'd still want to be with her.

"I said I'm running along," she repeats.

"Oh," he says, as if waking up from a dream. "Sure, go ahead. Run like the wind!"

So typical Gabriel, Claire thinks. He's always saying "Sure, go ahead." His middle name should be Gabriel "Sure, Go Ahead" Tan or something. Claire feels a pang of resentment because even at the very last moment, she's hoping that Gabriel would stop her. And he doesn't. It's like ever since Michelle showed up yesterday at the office, the world has changed, and Gabriel Tan along with it.

"I haven't said yes to Miguel, though," she says. It's true: Miguel's only here on his easy ȧssumption that she'd say yes, no matter what. Who says no to Miguel Tan, anyway?

Can't you really read my mind, Gabriel thinks. SAY NO.

"But what the heck," she says. "He's already here, and I don't want to send him home after all his trouble."

Gabriel smiles. "Okay. Stay safe."

"Alright," she says. She couldn't even smile.

By the door, Gabriel calls out, "Are you having dinner with him? Or somewhere else?"

She stops and turns back. "Actually, I don't know. Like I said, I haven't even said yes. Should I ask him then report back to you?" Claire's voice slightly quivers with emotion; did this stupid boy get her sarcasm? Probably not.

"Oh, no need for that," Gabriel says, smiling. "Go and run along, will you. And please stay safe."

Sure, go ahead, she thinks, as she slips out of Gabriel's office. Miguel finds her immediately.

"Are you free now?"

"Free for what?" she says coyly.

"Come on, Bella," he says, making a face. "I'm all set. Please say yes. And I promise, you're going to have a lot of fun."

"Alright," she mutters. "No monkey business."

"Yes, absolutely."

Gabriel could hear their voices inside his office. He strains to make out the words, until the voices grow fainter. He stands up, and paces the length of his office, deeply in conflict with himself. He told himself he won't spy on her again. She deserves privacy, like any individual. But then again, he'd only use it to protect her. But this is his brother—what protection are we talking about? Gabriel feels the onslaught of an oncoming headache.

In the end, he could not resist—he takes out his phone and runs an app. Claire's location blinks, in real time. They're still in the building, probably in the elevator lobby. There's usually a line of people at this time, as everyone clocks out and tries to go home. He stares intently on the screen. It's a good thing he never took out the micro-transmitter. Jesus, Miguel, he mutters. Don't ever do anything stupid, or I might forget you're my brother.