That Girl On a Motorcycle

O n e

YAWN.

Ulric loosened his tie the moment he stepped out of the cab, breathing deeply the fresh night air that he had been unduly deprived of. Underneath his sneakers, the pavement was damp with rain. From where he came from, it barely rained, and even if it did, it did not smell like this.

A welcomed change. It marked the start of an adventure.

He stretched his long legs before taking leisurely steps towards his destination. Being cooped inside a car for two hours had been torture enough; he should have guessed it sooner given his tall frame. However, the SUV he ordered last weekend was yet to be delivered. For now, commuting would have to suffice. If he could not manage that, then God bless his soul, he would have to walk to and fro work.

Not something to look forward to.

His phone beeped again. He ignored it until he could do no more and finally decided to turn it off. No use answering it. He already arrived. 

Standing outside a black iron-wrought gate, he checked his Rolex and yawned again. He was dead tired, just climbing off board a plane several hours ago. If it was up to him, he would be sleeping off his jet lag right now in a hotel room somewhere, probably one far from his new house. Unfortunately, duty calls and he was needed here to attend a party.

Yeah, to attend a fan-fucking-tastic party.

It was fifteen past ten in the evening, and he was more than an hour late. From the sounds of it, the party was in full swing.

Good for ‘em.

One hand inside the back pocket of his jeans, he looked up at the three-storey mansion that was to be his home for the rest of his stay. For how long, he had no idea, but he would do his damnest best to make it the shortest possible. 

The mansion did quite look like a giant cage with its high walls ligned with wires as well as its enormous gate matched with Doric columns. Huge, lavish, but a cage, nonetheless.

He had yet to wrap his head around the idea that he was here in Manila for real, that this was not the nightmare he feared it would be. The longer he stared, the deeper his frown became.

Currently, it housed the party he was supposed to be attending. Considering that it was his welcome party, he should be inside a long time ago, greeting guests and being the good host he was expected to be.

Too bad he did not care, not even a measly bit.

A mousy-looking man was pacing furiously just outside the gate. The moment his eyes landed on the newcomer, his sweat-beaded face brightened and a wide, nervous smile broke across.

“Director Sebastian! Finally, you’re here!” he squealed as he quickly approached the tall American. He looked like he just ran ten marathons. Poor guy. “I-I’m Harold Perez, the senior manager for foreign affairs. Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Just Ulric,” he grunted in response, already looking bored. This was way too stuffy for his taste. He was only twenty-four, yet the man addresses him as if he was some middle-aged plutocrat. “The flight was delayed.”

A trouble that could have been avoided if only his stubborn father allowed him to take the private jet.

“I'm sorry I couldn't cancel the party.”

"So I've heard."

Due to bad weather, his plane had to take a detour and had to land in the nearest hub at that time, which happened to be in Riyadh. From there on, it was one bad thing that led to another. He would rather not remember any of it. Better leave those ugly memories to be forgotten.