This Crazy Rich Boy

Claire has been standing in front of the huge TXCI building, a brown envelope containing her references and curriculum vitae in her hand, wondering if she should actually proceed with this application. She has been so deep in her own thought, not realizing the tall, well-dressed man standing behind her.

A heavy hand falls on her shoulder. She turns and sees him.

"Are you going in or not?" he says irritably. He takes off his Rayban sunglasses almost theatrically, as if he thinks he's in a movie, and squints. The sheer beauty of his face takes her breath away; she dumbly stands there, looking up at him. "Well?"

"Errr, I..." she stammers. "I'm looking for..."

"If you're not going in, please don't stand in my way." He almost brushes her aside, and she's so stunned it takes her a few moments to realize what he just did.

"What the…who's that rude guy? He acts as though he owned the universe, this whole building!"

"You're still standing there, Miss…"

She turns around and there's another man, an older one, who's been trying to enter but couldn't because Claire's occupying all the space.

Claire blushes in embarrassment; she moves to the side to allow the growing line of people behind her enter the revolving doors of TXCI building.

"Should I still even try to give my application?" This would be her 23rd attempt to find a job. There's not a lot of companies that are willing to take on such an inexperienced applicant. The fact that Claire is prettier than your average fresh grad even works against her—people look at her cute face, and they somehow find it hard to take her seriously.

During one of those interviews, the HR person asked her if instead she would consider taking on a sales agent job selling condos. She scoffed at the suggestion—she didn't struggle through all those years of studying business management and marketing strategies only to sell cramped concrete residences to urbanites. But that was months ago. After almost two dozen interviews, each of them failing or never calling her back, getting a job as a sales agent is becoming less and less repugnant to her sensibilities. If that's what it takes to get a job in this city, then so be it.

The woman at the reception desk asks for her CV. She takes one look at Claire. She shakes her head, almost imperceptibly. "I hope you'd last a day with him."

"What do you mean?" Claire's voice is hoarse, her heart is in her throat.

"Mr. Tan is notorious for having a long string of executive secretaries who couldn't even last more than three days."

"How does he look?" Claire says for lack of anything to ask, as if it was relevant.

"Oh, he's good-looking, alright, if you're looking for that quality in a boss," the woman says. "But that's not the problem. If you're lucky enough to get hired after the interview, you'll soon personally find out why."

"What do you mean? What kind of a monster is he?"

The receptionist smiles. "The worst kind."

"Seriously?" Claire says. "Tell me. Give me a hint. Or should I even proceed with application?"

"Why not?" The receptionist scans her CV. "You seem competent. A good candidate. Maybe you'll break the spell. Maybe not. But you'll never find out if you don't try."

Just then they hear a commotion from inside Mr. Tan's office. The receptionist rushes inside. Claire could hear muffled voices. She could hear a man's angry voice, the thud of a heavy object hitting something wooden. Maybe the desk. A phone being slammed.

Fear clutches Claire's throat like a scared animal, yet she tries to strengthen her resolve. "You have nothing to fear if you haven't done anything wrong," her mother used to say. And she's right: she didn't do anything wrong. She's here to try to get a job. She's not robbing anybody. She's not stupid. She's beautiful, competent, and assertive. She was the champion debater back in college. She was the editor in chief of the college newspaper. She was a student leader. She has skills. And this man screaming behind these mahogany doors has no right to intimidate her.

After all, she's here for one simple reason: to see if her personality and skills fit the requirements of the job. And the job is supposedly simple: to attend to the needs of what she's heard so far is a very demanding tycoon. If he doesn't like her, then she'd go home, and try to look for possible employer No. 24.

Simple as that. No need for unnecessary drama.

Claire stands up and smooths out her skirt. She sees her reflection on the glass wall beside her, and she sees there a confident, voluptuous woman: someone who has sent men to their knees. At 20, and an over-achiever at school, Claire has never had a boyfriend. She never felt the need for a relationship. For her, boys are stupid and silly and do not deserve a goddess like her.

Muffled voices again. A man's voice says something like, "So who's the loser I'm interviewing this time?"

Claire hears this and instantly all she sees is red: Who gave this man the right to belittle her even before he even met her? He hasn't even spoken to her yet, but still he has the gall to judge that the person attempting to merely apply for this job is a "loser"?

Claire is outraged. She imagines a lot of sharp words she'd say the moment she comes face to face with him. Slapping him would be totally unrealistic—after all, she still aspires to get the job. But she'll let him know she's not someone he can easily insult like that. Not Claire Monteverde, Champion Debater of Xavier University.

When the receptionist finally sheepishly slips out of those heavy mahogany doors, Claire couldn't wait to face him. She doesn't really care if she gets this job or not.

But when she opens those doors and finds the man waiting for her inside, her jaws drop. She couldn't believe her eyes. "Oh my God, it is you!"