This Crazy Rich Boy

Three hours. But even now her mind says, "No!"

She'd love to have lunch with Gabriel. They'd never seen the sun for how many days now. Even now her heart longs for a little alone time, far away from all this toxicity. But the mere thought of dining while face-to-face with Miguel makes her stomach churn from the inside out. More and more, her disgust of him grows deeper.

She return-dials to get hold of Gabriel, but it only rings and rings on the other end. That leaves Claire in a sort of limbo: what should she do? Does she wait here until Gabriel picks her up, resigned to her fate? Has she become that sort of woman?

Three hours is a long time. Maybe she'll think about it. So Claire starts going about her morning ablutions leisurely, as though there's not a care in the world—although deep inside, her heart churns like a sea in a storm. She uses her will power to try to look at it not as an enormous thing, but something tiny—this Miguel problem is a small thing, not even worth bothering about. She's a strong woman. And she knows that there's a point in the near future when she would really have to make that decision.

Even Lucille, as she brings Claire's breakfast, notices her unusual quietude. "Anything bothering you, Miss Claire? Did you not like the food?"

Claire looks up from her plate and tries to smile. "Oh, not at all, Lucille. I'm just feeling a bit off the weather."

"Hmmm. Are you going to the office today?"

"I'm not sure, actually," Claire says, realizing that there's administrative stuff she has to take care of at the office. But those concerns seem so far away, like it matters to some other planet, and not here. "I don't feel like doing anything today. Do you ever get one of those 'spells' when you feel like you're sick and tired of everything and you just don't want to go on anymore?"

Lucille stares at her. "I'm not sure what you're getting at, Miss Claire. I don't think I've ever had that spell. I always wake up in the morning with my heart full of resolve. It's a beautiful world, and working here, surrounded by all these modern comforts, it gives me pŀėȧsurė. This place is so much better than where I used to live."

It's Claire's turn to stare at her, like a ċȯċkroach crawled out of Lucille's mouth. "That was a beautiful thing to say."

Lucille smiles. "Thank you, Miss Claire. But if I can guess, you're maybe just tired. We all know what you've been through with Mr. Tan's recent illness. Whenever I have feelings like that, I just take a break. Go to a nice place, Miss Claire. Somewhere to clear your mind. Somewhere happy."

"But where?"

"Anywhere but here," Lucille says, completely without irony.

That makes sense, Claire thinks as she stabs a sausage with a fork. Clear my head. That's it. She glances at the wall clock, and by her own estimation, Gabriel would be at her door in a couple more hours. Does she wait for him, like the usual? "What if you're facing a problem that you can't seem to solve? That either way, you're damned?"

Lucille shrugs. "If I can't solve a problem, then I just walk away and wait for it to resolve itself."

"Really?" Claire says. "Does that work?"

"If it's unsolvable, then we have no choice. We just have to let go."

Claire gazes at Lucille. She realizes for the first time that underneath the girl's seemingly child-like persona is a very old and wise person. She discovers a renewed respect for the girl who cleans up her suite. Maybe Lucille deserves a better job. A better position in the grand scheme of things here in The Residence. Or perhaps in any of Gabriel's companies.

But even as she thinks that, Claire realizes she seems to have started making decisions on behalf of the actual company owner.

"Thank you, Lucille. I needed those words." A pause. "Do you love this job?"

"Oh, this job suits me perfectly."

"But what if Dale gives you greater responsibility? Would you be up for the challenge?"

Lucille's face lights up. "Sure! I would love that."

Claire smiles. "Let's see what we can do. I'll speak with Dale one of these days."

Lucille is so grateful as she leaves the room, as though she just got a promotion. Claire feels for her; a good break or an opportunity rarely comes, even for those who obviously deserve it.

And the girl's right. She needs to clear her head. But where should she go?

She takes a quick shower and puts on some comfortable clothes. Nothing dressy, just enough to let her move freely. As she steps out of the room, she takes note of the hour: Gabriel might be arriving any minute now. She quickens her step—she doesn't want to face Gabriel today. At least not for the purpose of attending that lunch. Even now she's not sure how to face the whole thing. Maybe after her excursion to god-knows-where, she'd have a clearer idea.

Dale greets her at the lobby, looking as though last night with all those ċȯċktails never happened. "Good morning, Miss Claire!"

"A fine morning to you, too. Listen, Dale, can you do me a little favor?"

"Sure, anything for you, Ma'am."

"When Gabriel arrives and asks for me, please tell him I'd be out and won't come back for several hours. There's something really personal I have to take care of."

"Sure, Ma'am. Shall I tell the Big Boss to call you up on your phone?"

"I don't have a phone with me."

"What? But you should—"

"Dale, I'm done with smartphones for now. I just want to stay old school." She makes a disarming smile. "And please tell Gabriel to have a great lunch with his brother. I'll see him later, if I can."

Then Claire steps out into the bright sunshine. The city has fully woken up, now working toward the mid-day. And although Claire still has no idea where to go to do Lucille's suggested "mind clearing operation," she's thrilled at the rich sense of possibility. Here I am, world, she mutters to herself. Please help me find an answer—an answer to the immortal question of "how?"