This Crazy Rich Boy

Ever since he closed the door, Gabriel has been standing by the glass wall, staring at how clouds form over the city. It's going to rain, Jesus. Dark rain clouds tower over their world, like the overfed tentacles of some floating monster. Gabriel grinds his teeth: there's Michelle coming over tomorrow, there's Miguel trying to get in his way, there's Claire getting heartbreakingly beautiful by the day—which of these pressing concerns should he attend to?

Hundreds of years ago, a priest developed a simple way to know which is true: the simplest solution is most likely the right one. Or if there are many explanations about a single thing, the simplest explanation is most probably the correct one. It's called "Occam's razor," and Gabriel is thinking about it now, having learned it in college years ago. He's always used it when interviewing people, or talking to his subordinates. It's not perfect, but so far, it has been a good help in helping him make his decisions.

He's trying to use Occam's razor now in deciding what he should do first? He tries to feel it in his heart, in his gut, and what he feels tells him one thing: Solve the Claire Monteverde problem.

He would have solved it, but he felt it was too immature. He'd only known Claire for a week, and now, he seems to be head over heels for her. Is this feeling real? Is this real enough to be out in the open? Occam's razor tells him one thing: yes.

But add to that is what he overheard earlier: "I won't fall in love with the person I work for," Claire had said. So what did the past few days mean? Was she just playing? Or was she just trying to let him because he's the boss, the employer, and Claire the vulnerable, desperate job seeker.

Now it begins raining; the big, fat drops of rain bombard the glass wall by his face. He gazes at it, at the world being blurred behind a curtain of water. The torrential drops seem to accentuate the emotional gravitas of this moment. And for an instant, he entertains a crazy thought: what if he tells her he loves her? Like today? Like before this day ends, regardless of the circumstances?

He gazes at the wall clock, and the hour surprises even him—it's not possible that four hours have passed! It's almost near punch-out time. He wonders why Claire didn't even knock and ask him about how he's doing? He's the boss, his secretary should always be checking on him, right?

Is she even at her desk?

Curious, Gabriel quietly opens his door just a little bit, just to take a peek at Claire's desk out in front of his office. But no one's occupying the workstation, and there's no one else around. People must have taken an early out on account of the rain. But still not contented, Gabriel stoops down to look below Claire's desk, where he sees the opened boxes of the gadgets he'd given her earlier, and her bag, an Hermes that must have been provided by Cassandra as part of Claire's outfit for the day. And there's the…

"Are you looking for something?" a voice says from behind.

"Oh, I'm just checking if my secretary's still…" Gabriel blinks, and looks behind her. His jaw drops. "Oh, Cla—Bella! I thought you're gone."

Claire smiles oh so sweetly; inwardly, she's laughing, as she finds this hilarious. Only a few hours earlier Gabriel found her in the same situation. Now the table has turned. "You know I always let you know whenever I'm going out. You'll always know where I am, Gabriel."

"Yeah, uhh, well…" Gabriel hesitates. He sighs. "Can you come inside the office. There's something I want to tell you."

"Sure," Claire says. She follows him into his office.

Gabriel paces about, as though trying to frame the words in his mind before blurting it out to her. Claire just stands there, waiting for him to say something. Meanwhile, behind Gabriel is the breathtaking view of the city being bombarded by what seems to be a rainstorm.

"It looks lovely," Claire says.

"What?" Gabriel is yanked from his thoughts.

"I meant the view behind you" she says, gesturing toward the floor-to-ceiling glass wall. "Doesn't the rain make you feel romantic?" She smiles.

Gabriel gazes at her. He wants to say a million things. But foremost of those million things is one single line: Do you really think you won't ever fall in love with me?

But at the last moment, the words don't escape his mouth and stays there, deep in his heart, among the growing pile of things left unsaid.

"So what is it?" Claire says. "You're supposed to say something, right?"

A beat. Then Gabriel, the huge gigantic coward that is bigger than Uranus, smiles nervously and says, "Oh, I just want to…To remind you to get in early tomorrow morning. We have some work to do. Let's be ready before Michelle comes."

Claire gazes at him for a few moments, before saying, "That's it?"

"Yeah," Gabriel says. He even shrugs.

"Okay," she says. "I got to get going." She's already by the door when she turns and says, "Can I borrow one of the office's golf umbrellas? The big red ones by the receptionist desk?"

"Why? Won't you call up the chauffeur to fetch you?"

She smiles. "I'd like to walk in the rain. I love this weather. If you don't mind?"

"Oh, no, please, go ahead," he says. He catches sight of his own unopened golf umbrella, a "signature gift" by TXCI to its partners during the last promotion, in a corner. "Actually, don't bother the receptionist. Take mine. It's a ceremonial umbrella, but it works and it's completely waterproof. It's wide enough to protect you from the sudden bursts of wind." He hands her the red umbrella, still in its luxurious faux-leather holster.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes, please, take it, it's yours."

Claire holds the umbrella like she has just been awarded with the Best Employee Award. "Oh, thank you."

Then she leaves. Just like that.

And like before, Gabriel stands there, the biggest idiot in the universe, the things he left unsaid now burning a huge hole in his heart. What should he do now? Can he wait a day, a week, a year? A lifetime? Before he takes a risk to tell her how much she means to him? He begins pacing the floor, weighing his hopes against his fears, trying to trim away all the bullshit he continues to make up, and to look at the true picture. Claire has left the building. Should he wait until tonight, tomorrow? Should he just call her on the phone? What if she, like last time, doesn't pick up? Oh, no. No. I can't bear this, he thinks. I can't sleep on this. I can't stand another night thinking about could-have-beens and would-have-beens and regretting everything that I didn't say.

He looks at his wristwatch. It has been many minutes since Claire left. She's only walking back to the Residence, she said. If he runs after her, maybe he'll catch up.

So in a moment of madness, in that split-second when Gabriel's mind whites out as he rejects all his fears and latches all his hopes on that single image of Claire smiling at him, Gabriel makes a dash out the door. He almost pounds the elevator buŧŧons to submission. He jumps out as soon as the doors slide open. There's no one in the building's lobby except the security officer, who greets him politely.

Outside, the rain is relentless. Instantly he experiences some sort of déjà vu, like this same exact scene has happened before, in the very same circumstances. He thinks of running down to the basement parking—surely, if he uses his car, he'll immediately catch up with Claire. He makes quick, desperate mental calculation: unfortunately, he parked on the third basement level. He takes the elevator, that delays him for a few minutes. If he runs and takes the stairs, maybe even longer. Driving out of that winding, torturous basement parking could take forever.

Jesus, no, he's not taking the goddamn car. So he leaps out of the building's entrance doors—the same entrance where he'd met Claire a lifetime ago when she was lining up for a job—and dashes out in the rain. He runs toward the general direction of the Residence, taking the main avenue. Claire won't take the alleys; she'd be walking down here, because it's safer and has more shops and restaurants and people.

The rain stings Gabriel's eyes, but he forges ahead, trying to make out in the distance the big red umbrella Claire is using. Not a few minutes and he's almost out of breath, but he's rewarded for this: more than a block away, he could make out Claire's red umbrella.

"Claire," he yells out, half-running, half-jogging, like he's just stabbing in the dark as he couldn't really get a clear view of where he is. And as if on cue, it even rains harder this time; in the distance, lightning crashes, thunder booms. It all feels like he's in a movie, and he's about to run into that scene where the main character either breaks it or makes it. He doesn't want to break it, so he summons all his remaining strength and forges on. "Claire! Claire!" He yells. And like a miracle, the red umbrella stops receding from his view; it just stops there, its owner rooted on the spot.

"Claire," Gabriel shouts, his voice drowned out by the rain. He's completely soaked, his Armani suit looking more like a poorly manufactured raincoat. But he doesn't mind; Claire's is only meters away. He's almost there. "Claire, wait!"

The red umbrella turns, its owner looking at him. "Gabriel?" Claire's voice sounds like the softest whisper. "Gabriel, is that you?"