Chapter 14 - The Kiss (1/2)
If this were really ”part of the job,” then it shouldn't feel so personal, so delicate. And for some reason, Claire realizes her eyes are closed throughout the duration of the kiss. As if she's enjoying it. As if it were real. When she opens her eyes, to her surprise, Gabriel Tan's eyes are closed, too. His lips feel so…Claire could not describe it. It's utterly weird. Weird and…and good at the same time. Great, actually, not just good. And in those three seconds their lips are entwined, Claire has a good, close look at the man everyone regards as ”the monster.” Gabriel doesn't seem to be as people make him out to be. He looks fine, angelic even. And he feels—and tastes—good.
Suddenly, Gabriel's eyes open, and even as he pulls her away from him, severing the connection, he says, ”Don't enjoy that too much. It's part of your job.”
Claire's mind whites out in rage. This is not part of the job, of any regular job, unless that job is whoring. She wants to say all that to his face, but people begin milling around them, congratulating them, and now they're asking her questions, too. Where is she from? What's her family's business? How did she dethrone Michelle Alcantara from being Gabriel's girlfriend? What does she have that Michelle apparently doesn't? Is she also a billionaire?
The questions fly over her head. But one thing stands out: who the heck is Michelle Alcantara?
”Who's Michelle?” Claire manages to whisper in Gabriel's ear. But the man ignores him, swipes a couple of champagne glasses from a passing server, and thrusts one in her hand.
”Drink,” he commands quietly, through his teeth, while trying to smile to the crowd.
How does he does that, Claire wonders. To be so efficiently two-faced. To be both sinister and ”nice” at the same time?
Claire takes a sip of the champagne. The warmth courses down her throat, and settles in her belly, somewhere underneath the delightful folds of Balenciaga's lace and well-combed fabric. ”Who's Michelle?” she whispers again. ”Is she your ex-girlfriend?”
Gabriel turns to her. ”She's nothing. Just some whore.”
”What?”
”Just some whore,” Gabriel says.
”Who's the whore?” One of the reporters thrusts a phone recorder to their face.
”No one,” Gabriel says and smiles. ”Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming to this party. As much as I'd love to chat with you all, my fiancée and I would love some alone time. So please excuse us.”
The crowd parts like the Red Sea as Gabriel Tan's security escort carve a path for them.
Claire gulps down the rest of the champagne in her glass. Everything begins to feel a bit woozy. The name Michelle Alcantara keeps stabbing her brain, and there seems to be no amount of prodding Gabriel to say anything about her would make him so. They reach a relatively private space in the mansion. Gabriel looks around, as if waiting for someone. ”Look, Claire,” he says. ”You're here for one thing only: to pretend to be my fiancée. Or my new fiancée.”
”How do I even do that?”
”You're smart. You can talk. I've read your profile, your achievements. I know you can do this.”
”I'm not rich, Mr. Tan. I don't know how to behave like one.”
”I'll help you,” he says, then grabs a couple more glasses of champagne from a server. ”Drink more. It'll loosen up your tongue.”
Claire is about to protest, but Gabriel almost shoves the mouth of the glass to her lips. She sips, likes it, then sips some more. Before she knew it, the glass is empty, and she's starting on the next one.