This Crazy Rich Boy - Chapter 140
“What are you doing here?” Claire asks in a tone that sounds more like, “Will you please drop dead?”
Gary Smulders shrugs. “Duty calls. A little bird told me something’s afoot in this here medical establishment.” He squints as he looks at her sideways. “Say, what are you doing here?”
Claire glances at the door of the ICU, hoping Gabriel doesn’t come out; not yet, please. “Annual physical exam. But what is it to you?”
“Oh, is your fiancé making you work in his company now, with all the regular requirements?” His eyebrows arch in mock disbelief. “I would have thought he would simply flick a finger and every career obstacle in your way vanishes. Just like that.”
Claire makes a deep breath. She looks around; Gary Smulders seems alone. Maybe he’s just fishing for information. He probably doesn’t know anything. Except he asks a nurse here, and everything will spill out. It’s going to be a public relations nightmare, and completely opposite of what she’s just trying to do a while back.
“Are you still trying to get an interview with Gabriel?”
“Uh, isn’t it obvious?”
“Then why are you here? Try calling him up at his office.”
Gary shrugs. “Well, that’s the question I’m also asking myself. But a little bird told me—”
“Who’s that little bird?”
“Someone reliable.”
“Then that little bird, whoever he or she is, is lying. They just wasted your time by being here. It’s still early in the morning. You can still get back to sleep.”
Gary Smulders looks at her sideways, as though smelling something fishy. “Are you trying to make me go away?”
Claire fake-laughs, but he’s starting to get on her nerves. “You can hang around here if you want. I don’t care. I’m just trying to get some medical check-ups.”
“Then why are you so early?”
Claire bites her lips and stifles her growing spite. “Because this is how I am. I always want to be early, accomplish things early. There’s a lot of stuff to do. But then, why do I have to explain all these things to you?”
Gary grins. “Well, maybe because there’s something else. Something that I might be interested to know.”
Claire scoffs, trying to convince him that she doesn’t care about his presence. But she couldn’t leave him here and risk having him bump into Gabriel later. She looks at him. She needs to think fast. If he doesn’t leave right now, and still hangs around the hospital, he might see Miguel in the ICU, or get gossip from one of the nurses. That’s the critical part.
“Tell you what,” Claire flashes her sweetest smile. “I know you’re doing this to help your career. I understand, truly. But you know how Gabriel is, his temper and what-have-you. I’m telling you, you won’t get anything useful here. You’re just wasting your time. But because I still feel bad at how you were treated at the pool party, let me try to make it up to you.”
Gary’s eyes go big. “I’m breathless with anticipation. How would you ‘make it up’ to me?”
Claire has to gulp down the rising irritation in her throat. She smiles. “I could arrange a friendly interview with Gabriel. He would answer your questions, and I promise he won’t beat you up or throw you to his bodyguards.”
Gary stares at her dumbfounded, as though he’d just heard the most unbelievable thing in his life. “Are you not shitting me?”
“I shit you not,” she says, smiling like she really means it.
“But why would you do that? What do you expect in return?”
“Well, nothing, apart from your promise that it would be a fair, good interview. I don’t want mud thrown at him, do you understand?”
“Of course, no mud! Why do you think our magazine is called ‘muckraker’.” Gary smiles dumbly.
Oh, Jesus, yes, she remembers it. “Muckraker”, as the name suggests, makes it its business to “rake the muck” about the famous and the powerful. Maybe this is a bad idea, after all. And yet, Claire persists; she doesn’t have any other ace up her sleeve. “What if he reveals something ‘exclusive’ to you? That would still sell copies of your magazine, right?”
���Exclusive? Like what?”
She shrugs. “Let’s cross the bridge when we get there. But for now, you have my ȧssurance and promise. Now, if you would just let me go about my business, I would really appreciate it.”
Wait,” Gary runs after her. “Shouldn’t we sign a document or something. I don’t have anything to hold about your promise. How do I know you’d do as you say?”
“You don’t,” she says, her face deadpan. “What you’ll have is what I say you’ll have.” She winks, then walks away.
“But…” Gary scratches his head. He watches her walk away, her figure growing smaller in the distance. He looks around. Maybe his “little birdie” of a tipster has been mistaken; there seems nothing “juicy” here in this stupid hospital. His time has been wasted for nothing.
He starts walking around aimlessly, watching the people, reading bulletin boards. At one point his stomach grumbles; he hadn’t eaten anything. Last night, all he had was some lousy TV dinner that tasted like melted cardboard with ketchup. He figures all this late night work, this running after personalities who hated the sight of him, and the highly processed grub he consumes—all these would bite him in the ȧss one day in the future, maybe in the form of some terminal cancer.
His feet take him to the main lobby, intending to ask the girl sitting at the Information desk about the directions to the cafeteria. But the lobby’s surprisingly crawling with people, and they’re wearing different uniforms, like they’re from some hotel or something. Gary approaches the Information desk, just as a man from the group says something about “blood donation.” But one name from the seemingly meaningless chatter suddenly piques his interest: the mention of “Miguel Tan.”
“Hey,” he elbows a girl who obviously is among the crowd. “Is this some kind of medical convention?”
The girl laughs. “Oh, no, this is about our boss’s brother. We’re here to donate blood. But unfortunately, nobody’s qualified.”
“Blood?” Gary Smulders, ace journalist for Muckraker magazine, is instantly drawn. “How do you mean blood? And did you mention Miguel Tan?”
The girl gazes at him, wondering about the curiosity. “Yes, did you know him? He had an accident. He’s supposed to undergo a blood transfusion, and—”
“Wait, wait,” Gary says, almost breathlessly. “Can we talk someplace else? Just two minutes.”
The girl hesitates. She looks behind her, at her companions who are starting to walk out the lobby’s main doors.
“I’ll make your two minutes worthy of the trouble,” Gary says, searching his pockets for his wallet. He finds a few hundred bucks, which he yanks out and stuffs in the palm of her hand.
The girl looks at the money, smiles, and immediately slips it in her pocket. Then she looks up. “What do you need to know?”
“Just a couple of questions,” Gary says, finally smiling. “I’d just like to know the how, when, where, and why of that accident.”