Chapter 35 - The Impending Doom (1/2)

Inside the elevator, alone with Gabriel, Claire's heart is beating so madly she's afraid the man beside her could hear all of it. And it's so confusing: why must she feel this way? It's only work. It's only a job. And—as she keeps reminding herself even in her dark moments of honesty—it will end in less than a month. So she must always manage her own expectations. And yet. Here she is. With her boss, her fake fiancé. And he's still holding her hand.

”Uhh, Mr. Tan,” Claire mutters, the faintest of whispers. ”You're, uhh, you're…still holding my hand.”

”Ohh,” he says, and releases it with a jerk, as if he just woke up from a dream. But did she feel a reluctance to let go just right there? ”I'm sorry.”

Claire instantly regrets why she had to call him out like that. She could have just let him hold her hand. For as long as he wanted. You stupid girl. Why must you always open your mouth?

The elevator ascends at its leisure, as though it moves underwater. Claire closes her eyes, wills her heart to calm down, to shut up. And to please clarify what the hell is this about? Why the excitement? But the heart knows what it wants, and right now, it wants to jumps out of her ċhėst, and maybe die right there, on the elevator floor.

”We're going to the conference room on the tenth floor,” Gabriel says.

Claire nods in ȧssent.

Tenth floor. She closes her eyes. Would she want this to last forever, this moment? Then the elevator sways, and ever so faintly, gently, her arm brushes against his, and this time, she lets it like that. She lets him feel it. If that matters.

”Did you enjoy your lunch?”

Claire nods.

Her eyes are closed but she knows he's looking at her, smiling.

”Why are you so quiet today? Are you sleepy?”

Claire nods. And opens her eyes. ”Yes, I feel a little…lazy. What's the meeting about?”

Gabriel says nothing. He looks at the floor number. Claire waits—she feels something would happen now, anything—but when the elevator doors finally slide open, her hopes—or whatever ridiculous thing she's feeling—subsides. They emerge out on the sunlit landing all business-like, as though that moment inside the elevator never happened. They're walking toward the conference room, and Claire wonders: was that true? Was that moment really true? Or did she simply imagine it?

Gabriel Tan opens the door to the conference room, which is the room right next to Claire's suite. It's lavishly furnishes, and again with that expansive floor-to-ceiling wall that either gave you direct views of the city or front row seat to whatever cataclysm could befall on mankind—but why is she thinking like this?

Like in a previous meeting a few days ago, they sit on the opposite sides of the long table, Gabriel looking crisp and powerful in his suit. He looks even prettier than Claire, with his long-ish hair that ever-so-slightly touches his shoulder, the way some strands are neatly tucked behind an ear. The way he looks at you from the other side of the table like a tame puppy, even though they both know what kind of claws he's hiding. He looks like he can easily have a million Claires at the flick of his finger. But not this Claire, she thinks, if it comes down to it.

”Uhh, Claire,” he begins. ”I have some sort of a big problem.”

Her eyebrows rise. ”Really?”

”My mother is coming to town. She wants to meet you.”

There's a lump that lodges in her throat. ”What?”

”My mother,” he repeats. ”She wants to—”