This Crazy Rich Boy

"I think he's angry," Mary whispers, looking around to make sure nobody's eavesdropping on them.

"I think he's only very hungry," Claire says. "He was gone so briefly. It's not possible that he'd already had lunch."

Claire considers going back to speak to Gabriel. She wants to make things clear. She feels something large—the elephant in the room—has not been addressed since morning. Miguel's right—Gabriel must have been nursing a grudge because of last night, and because they failed to talk about it this morning, it must have snowballed in Gabriel's heart. And now he's being cranky. Normal people talk about these differences, these conflicts; they didn't. They merely ignored it, acting like it never happened. Yet it did.

Mary notices her falling silent. "Would you like to go back?"

But they're already inside the elevator, and it's full of people. There are at least two layers of people in front of them, and when the doors finally slide close, Claire says, "No, it doesn't matter. I'll take care of it later."

"Are you sure?" Mary says.

Claire blinks. Of course, she's sure. What does Mary expect her to do, stop the lift and hassle everybody here? "Yeah, it can wait." She tries to smile.

The descent seems to take forever. Maybe she's just paranoid, but Claire feels as if people are giving them sideward glances, scrutinizing her, wondering why she's here, going among the "peasants." And the place is packed; the man in front of her has "accidentally" elbowed her brėȧst quite a few times already. When finally the panel dings to "2" and the doors slide open, Claire breathes a sigh of relief.

"The entire second floor is our dining room, Claire," Mary says, like a tour guide. "The menu is usually a well-balanced offering consisting of a chicken, beef, pork, or fish meal. And salads. And a variety of desserts."

"Is the payment deducted from employees' salary?"

"Oh, no," Mary says. "It's all free. You can eat as much as you want, as often as you want. In fact, the problem here is self-control—people are gaining weight, especially the new ones who didn't yet realize how much calories they are packing on their trays."

Noted carefully, Claire thinks, touching her waist. "That would be no problem with me. I only eat bird seed."

Mary giggles. "So that's why you have that killer figure!"

"Why is it free, by the way?"

Mary shrugs. "I'm not sure. It has always been free ever since the beginning. It's one of Mr. Tan's company perks. Everyone eats here, even the vice presidents or the directors. But of course, considering they have gigantic pay checks, they often choose to have some posh lunch elsewhere."

"Oh, I see."

"Which brings me to one important question: When are we dining at your place again?"

A beat, before Claire realizes what she's asking. "Oh, you mean at the Residence?"

Mary nods enthusiastically, picturing the exquisite meal she had when last she was there, courtesy only of Claire.

"We can dine there anytime you want," she says. "How about tomorrow?"

"Oh, wow! Really? Jesus, I won't eat breakfast so I'll have enough room."

Claire laughs. "I'll ask the chef to prepare something fabulous."

The entrance to the dining room is unassuming: just silver double-doors with safety signs and an access ramp for persons with disability. Mary opens the door for Claire, saying, "Welcome to the very source of all our weight problems."

The interior is nothing fancy. It look just like a huge restaurant, with rows of tables, each of which could seat six people. "Would you know the capacity of this place?"

"Seating capacity, you mean? Maybe around ten thousand people. And this operates twenty-four hours, seven days a week."

"How come?"

"Well, it's because almost half of the building's occupied by business process outsourcing companies operating under TXCI. Call centers. Mr. Tan's business never sleeps."

Imagine the burden of all that business, Claire thinks. And to think this is only one of several.

"This way, please, Miss Bella," Mary says, acting like a proper usherette.

To enter the area where food is served, they have to tap through a turnstile, much like on the subway. People get a tray, then fall in line. Claire looks at the selection of food served by the people clad in white chef uniforms. "Not bad," she says. "So this is like a daily buffet for everyone."

"Yeah," Mary says, as she directs the food server to put a slab of steak on her tray, along with a bowl of mashed potatoes. "We try to eat very minimally, you know, to avoid getting fat." She grins.

Claire decides to go for a salad, and an apple. Everyone on the line looks at her tray, and proceeds in gazing at her from head to toe, as though thinking, "Yeah, that makes sense."

They're ambling in the middle area, looking for a table, when a man's voice yells, "Mary, over here!"

"Oh, it's that group from Legal," Mary whispers. "They all look cute, no? One of them has the hots for me."

"Really?" Claire smiles, indulging her. "Keep him on a string, then."

One of the men stands up and offers Mary a seat, while Claire takes the seat opposite Mary.

Claire's seat has yet to warm and already the men take turns in interviewing her.

"Oh, how's working for Gabriel Tan so far?"

"Did you know Michelle Alcantara's coming?"

"You look live I've seen you on TV."

"Are you a freelance model?"

"Boys, boys, boys!" Mary says, upraising her hands. "Let my friend here have her lunch in peace, will you. And save all the naughty questions for me."

The men laugh. "Mary, we already know all the answers to the naughty questions about you."

"Oh, really," Mary says, her eyes squinting. "I'm sure you haven't heard about that one thing that's most important."

"What?" they ask in unison.

Mary shrugs. "If I tell you, I'll have to kill you."

Everybody laughs. Everybody, except the man sitting right beside Claire, who has been gazing at her sideways.

"Don't mind the boys," he says. "They think they're still in high school."

"I know," Claire says, tentatively stabbing a fork at her salad. "I'm quite used to that."

"Must go with the territory," he says. "I'm Anthony, by the way."

His handshake is firm and warm, Claire notes. And for some reason, she's transported back to that first moment Gabriel Tan interviewed her, when she signed the Red Contract: his handshake was also like this, warm, firm. She looks around on impulse, as though expecting Gabriel to suddenly turn up and save her from this crowd.

"You're looking for someone?" Anthony is quick to notice.

"Oh, no, just…Nothing."

"Anthony's one of the managers in the Legal Department," Mary helpfully offers, as she tries to cut a piece of steak. "Anthony, this is Bella Xavier. I'm sure you already know about her." Then she turns to Claire. "They almost lost their jobs recently, you know."

Claire appears shocked. "How come?"

"Didn't you know?" Anthony says. "It's because of Michelle Alcantara. The big boss thought we were all to blame for that big coup, so we were set to get fired. All of us. But thankfully, our CFO saved our ȧsses and enlightened Gabriel about the truth."

Claire is hearing about this only now. She knew about Michelle, but that's it. The intricacies of these business decisions and intrigue didn't trickle down to her, maybe because Gabriel wants to spare her from the agony.

She turns to Anthony. "May I be blunt, Anthony?"

Anthony takes a sip of water. "Yeah, sure."

"You all look very capable, very talented in your team," she says, weighing her next words. "But I find it hard to believe someone like Michelle could fool you. Tell me the truth. Were you all lying to Gabriel Tan?"