Кевин Кван - China Rich Girlfriend

“Can you just sit down and chill? Your pacing is making me nervous.”

“Sorry,” Nick said. He took a seat across from her and started flipping through the tea menu too.

They sat in silence for another ten minutes, until Rachel could take it no more. “Something’s gone wrong. Do you think we’ve been stood up?”

“I’m sure they’re just stuck in traffic.” Nick tried to sound calm, although he was secretly fretting as well.

“I don’t know…I have a strange feeling about this. Why would my father book a room so early when no one’s showed up for more than half an hour?”

“In Hong Kong, people are notoriously late to everything. I’m thinking Shanghai must be the same. It’s a matter of face — no one wants to be the first to show up, in case they look too eager, so they try to outdo one another in lateness. The last one to arrive is deemed the most important.”

“That’s totally ridiculous!” Rachel snorted.

“You think? I feel a similar thing happens in New York, though it’s not quite as overt. At your department meetings, isn’t the dean or some star professor always the last to show up? Or the chancellor just ‘drops in’ at the tail end, because he’s too important to sit through the whole meeting?”

“That’s not the same.”

“It isn’t? Posturing is posturing. Hong Kongers have just elevated it to an art form,” Nick opined.

“Well, I can see that happening for a business lunch, but this is a family dinner. They are really quite late.”

“I was once at a dinner in Hong Kong with my relatives, and I ended up waiting over an hour before everyone else got there. Eddie was the last to arrive, of course. I think you’re getting paranoid a little too quickly. Don’t worry — they’ll be here.”

A few minutes later, the door slid open, and a man in a dark navy suit entered the room. “Mr. and Mrs. Young? I’m the manager. I have a message for you from Mr. Bao.”

Nick’s heart sank. What now ?

Rachel looked at the manager anxiously, but before he had a chance to say anything, they were distracted by a commotion in the hallway. They poked their heads out of the doorway and saw someone surrounded by a crowd of gawkers. It was a girl in her early twenties, strikingly attired in a figure-hugging strapless white dress with an ornately sequined red matador cape flung casually over her milk-white shoulders. Two burly security guards and a woman with a faux-hawk hairstyle wearing a pinstriped suit attempted to clear the way, while proper teenage girls who had minutes before been enjoying polite, posh dinners with their families had suddenly transformed into shrieking fans taking pictures with their camera phones.

“Is she a movie star?” Nick asked the manager, staring at the girl as she posed glamorously with her fans. With long, voluminous raven hair piled up into a loose beehive, a perfectly sculpted ski-jump nose, and bee-stung lips, she seemed larger than life — like a Chinese Ava Gardner.

“No, that’s Colette Bing. She is famous for her clothes,” the manager explained.

Colette finished autographing some dinner napkins and headed straight toward them. “Ah, I’m glad I found you!” she said to Rachel as if she was greeting an old friend.

“Are you talking to me?” Rachel stared at her, utterly stunned.

“Of course! Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Um, I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else. We’re meeting some people for dinner here—” Rachel began.

“You’re Rachel, right? The Baos sent me — the plans have changed. Come with me and I’ll explain everything,” Colette said. She took Rachel by the arm and began walking her out of the room. The girls in the hallway started squealing again and taking more pictures.

“Where is your service elevator?” the woman with the faux-hawk demanded of the manager. Nick followed along, baffled by everything that was happening. They were shuffled into an elevator and then down another service corridor on the ground floor. But as soon as the doors opened onto Guangdong Road, they were met by the blinding flashbulbs from a pack of paparazzi.

Colette’s security guards tried to clear a path through the phalanx of photographers. “Back off! Back the fuck off!” they yelled at the jostling pack.

“This is nuts!” Nick said, almost colliding with an overzealous photographer who had jumped right in front of him.

The woman in the faux-hawk turned to him and said, “You must be Nick. I’m Roxanne Ma — Colette’s personal assistant.”

“Hi, Roxanne. Does this happen everywhere Colette goes?”

“Yes. But this is nothing — these were only photographers. You should see what happens when she walks down Nanjing West Road.”

“Why is she so famous?”

“Colette is one of China’s foremost fashion icons. Between Weibo and WeChat, she has more than thirty-five million followers.”

“Did you say thirty-five million ?” Nick was incredulous.

“Yes. I’m afraid your picture is going to be everywhere tomorrow. Just look straight ahead and keep smiling.”

Two large Audi SUVs suddenly pulled up, almost running into one of the photographers. The bodyguards quickly hustled Colette, Rachel, and Nick toward the first car, shutting the door firmly behind them before the swarming photographers could take any more shots.

“Are you okay?” Colette asked.

“Besides my barbecued retinas, I think I’m fine,” Nick said from the front passenger seat.

“That was intense!” Rachel said, trying to catch her breath.

“Things have really gotten out of control in Shanghai. It all started after my Elle China cover,” Colette explained in a carefully modulated British accent tinged with the staccato tones of a native Mandarin speaker.

Still on high alert, Nick asked, “Where are you taking us?”

Before Colette could answer, the car came to a sudden halt a few blocks away from the restaurant. The car door opened and a young man jumped in beside Rachel. She let out a quick gasp.

“Sorry — didn’t mean to scare you,” the man said in an accent that sounded just like Nick’s, before giving her a disarming smile. “Hi — I’m Carlton.”

“Oh, hi.” It was all Rachel could say as they gazed at each other, both momentarily transfixed. Rachel studied her brother for the first time. Carlton had the same perpetual nut-brown tan that she did, and hair cropped closely on the sides but thicker and fashionably mussed on top. Nattily dressed in tan corduroys, a faded orange polo shirt, and a Harris Tweed blazer with elbow patches, he looked like he had jumped right out of a fashion shoot for The Rake .

“My God, the two of you look so much alike!” Nick exclaimed.

“I know! The minute I saw Rachel I thought I was meeting Carlton’s long-lost twin!” Colette said breathlessly.

Rachel found herself at a loss for words, but it had nothing to do with her brother’s resemblance to her. She felt an instant, innate connection with him — something that she hadn’t even experienced when she first met her father. She closed her eyes for a moment, overcome with emotion.

“Are you okay?” Nick asked.

“Yes. Never been better, actually,” Rachel said in a slightly choked voice.

Colette placed a hand on Rachel’s arm. “I’m sorry for this madness — it’s all my fault. When we arrived at Three on the Bund, I got recognized immediately and a mob started to follow us up to the restaurant. It was so annoying! And things only got worse at the Whampoa Club, as you could see. Carlton didn’t want to meet you for the first time in front of three million people, so I told him to wait for us a few blocks away.”

“It’s totally fine. But where is everyone else?” Rachel asked.