This Crazy Rich Boy

Claire thought she'd been dreaming. She heard the desk phone ringing and ringing, and it all seemed so far away. She thought she had gotten up from the bed and walked over to the living room to answer the phone, but like in all dreams, she moved so sluggishly, as though she were underwater. And halfway she realized that no matter how much she tried walking over to the phone, she couldn't reach it, like she's walking on a treadmill. She starts running, but to no avail as she appears to be running in place. The phone rings and rings and it would reach a fever pitch until, finally, Claire suddenly opens her eyes and sees the vaulted ceiling of her bedroom, softly illuminated by concealed pin lights.

She tries to decide whether she's still asleep or not. Sam the puppy stirs beside her in the bed, but the dog seems to love the luxurious fluffiness of her new place, so it promptly goes back to sleep with a yawn. Then she hears the phone, and it's ringing for real. She wills herself to get up, and gets rewarded with the beginnings of a headache. Along with the question "What time is it?" is the almost mechanical turn of her eye toward the wall clock, which shows that it's now three in the morning.

The phone rings and rings. Suddenly, she realizes this must be Gabriel. Something must have happened. No one calls up anyone at this ungodly hour if it's not incredibly good news or unbearably bad news. Claire drags herself from the bedroom, but even before she could reach the door, the phone stops ringing and the penthouse suite descends into silence.

She stands in the hallway as if stung by a bee. Who could have it been? She approaches the phone anyway just to look at the number of the one who was calling her. It was an internal phone call, from The Residence's front desk. Must be Dale. But as she starts dialing back, the main door buzzes. For a moment she's seized by a crazy notion: what if Miguel has somehow overpowered the bodyguards and he's now standing outside with murder in his heart?

Cautiously, she checks out through the peep hole the visitor. To her relief, it's actually one of the bodyguards posted outside.

"Miss Claire, the target is here," the man says, who's so tall and muscular he seems out of this world, like the next elevated step in human evolution. Beside him is another man of almost similar build, yet he's obviously of a secondary position. "He's waiting for you at the lounge."

Claire blinks. "Waiting for me? But what's the plan?"

"Aren't you supposed to talk to him?"

"I don't know. Am I supposed to? What did Gabriel tell you?"

The man looks at his companion and raises an arm, as though he's about to scratch his head in bewilderment, then remembers it's unbecoming for a tall, burly man like him to be scratching his head and not knowing what sh1t is. "I believe our commander has called up Mr. Gabriel and he's on his way here."

"Really?" Claire's truly doubtful. If Gabriel knows, he would have called her up first thing. It's out of his character to just proceed to driving here. "You better be sure about your information because I don't want to—"

"Don't worry, Miss Claire. There are twelve of us in this building, strategically posted to give your maximum protection. Mr. Miguel is not armed, and he's drunk. We would have let him get passed out in one of the building's suites, but he was so insistent. We thought seeing you might calm him down somewhat. We're under instruction to only keep him there while Mr. Gabriel hasn't arrived."

"Okay," Claire says. Then she realizes she's still in her sleep clothes. "Give me five minutes." She scoots back, rummages through the wardrobe for something appropriate, something casual, but not too casual. Miguel's drunk, and she's certainly not gunning to get his attention. And yet, she still wants to look presentable. In the end, she ends up choosing a little black dress, one of the clothes Miss Cassandra had lined up for her to wear for the week. She takes a quick touch-up on the mirror just to make sure there's not a hair out of place and she doesn't look like some goddamn idiot. Then out the door she goes.

Even the two men waiting outside unintentionally let out a sigh of admiration upon seeing her, their eyes going wide for a split-second before remembering who they are and who she is.

"Shall we go?" she says, closing the door. "What's your name, by the way?"

"I…uhh," the man stammers, not expecting the Big Boss's fiancée to be asking his name. "I'm Mike, Miss Claire. And my companion here is Luke."

"You've been working for Gabriel for how long?" Claire's curiosity is piqued. Also, she feels she should know the people upon whose shoulders her personal safety depends. She's read somewhere that it makes bodyguards more efficient when they care about you.

"I've worked for him ever since I got discharged from the Army," Mike says. "Honorably discharged."

"Do you usually guard his women?" Claire is fishing.

Mike's face reddens. He makes a dismissive laugh. "Oh, no, Miss Claire. Luke and me, we usually get posted in establishing security of Mr. Gabriel's businesses. Whenever he needs people he can trust, we're the first in line. We're actually a big team, and securing the safety of personnel is quite rare."

"You haven't really answered my question," Claire smiles.

Mike pauses. "We used to do errands for his ex, Miss Michelle Alcantara. But that's about it. Mr. Gabriel, as far as I know, is a one-woman man. I've never seen him play around. You're only the other woman, after Michelle, that I've seen him with." Mike presses the elevator buŧŧon and lets his companion step inside first, then Claire, before he closes the door. "Between you and me, Miss Claire, I've never seen Mr. Gabriel this happy. Would that be sufficient answer to your question?"

Clever, Claire thinks. She couldn't help but smile. "Thank you, Mike. I've never been this happy, too." Then she remembers why they're going down on the elevator in the wee hours of the morning, and she sighs. "But happiness comes at a price, no?"

"Don't worry, Ma'am," Mike says. "Miguel Tan is a non-problem. Everything will be alright."

But as they enter the lounge, and in the far corner, a man suddenly stands up, a man she easily recognizes as Miguel, wobbling as he stands, yelling like some common drunk, "Claire-Bella, isss sooo good to see you!" she realizes maybe Mike is mistaken. Maybe not everything is destined to be alright, after all.