Next Stop: Love (3 page)

“Are you really okay?” he inquired once again.

I looked up at him. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t seem to be totally coherent yet . . . Does this happen to you a lot?”

“Um . . . yeah, about once a year. Usually the first time it gets hot. It’s no big deal—my body just has its own way of celebrating the beginning of summer,” I explained in a weak voice. It was actually meant as a joke, but he didn’t laugh.

“Maybe we should call a medic,” he suggested, but I waved the idea away.

“No, really,” I assured him. “This will be over in a minute.”

“Okay, but I want you to stay in that seat while I go get you some chocolate.” He turned toward the door. “You need sugar.”

“You sure you want to leave me alone with your stuff?” I asked as he pushed the door open.

He turned back to me and arched an eyebrow. “Barely back on your feet and you’ve already started in with the snide remarks. You’re really unbelievable.” He went out, shaking his head.

Look who’s talking.
My stomach was fluttering, and for a second I wondered what had happened to change my feelings so suddenly. Hadn’t I thought he was a complete bastard before? I couldn’t possibly have gone from hating him to enjoying his company just because he’d caught me, right? Where were all the homicidal thoughts I’d been having a moment ago? Poof, gone!

A few moments later, he returned with a fistful of chocolate, and I blinked in amazement as he spread the candy bars out on the table. “I don’t have to eat all of those myself, though, do I?” I asked, amused.

“If you don’t, I will.” He shrugged. “But you’re welcome to pick first.”

What followed was typical for me—I never managed to have the same uninhibited approach to the subject of calories as men had. No, I went and turned it into a science. Should I take the big Snickers bar or the little Kit Kat? I wondered. The Twix looked good, too, though. But it was a Twix Xtra, 20 percent larger. If I took that one, he’d think I was a glutton, plus it’d be bad manners. The Bounty was the smallest and least ostentatious of the bunch, but I didn’t like coconut. And what if I chose his favorite? Why couldn’t he have just gotten me
one
candy bar? Then I wouldn’t be in this miserable state now. How many carbs did Mars bars have again?

“Is something wrong?” he inquired when a minute had gone by and I still hadn’t chosen.

“No, no,” I said, and reached impulsively for the Twix. I’d done it. Sigh of relief.

Brow furrowed, he took the Mars bar and bit into it. As he chewed, he regarded me thoughtfully. “That’s some kind of female thing, isn’t it?” he asked after a while.

I had to laugh. The question was apparently weighing heavily on his mind. “Yeah. But believe me, you don’t even want to understand,” I added—I didn’t really feel like explaining female quirks to him.

“I believe you,” he mumbled, and we ate our candy bars in silence.

When I’d finished mine, I folded the wrapper in my hand and said, “Thanks for the chocolate. I’m afraid I can’t pay for it, though. I don’t have any cash on me.”

He stopped chewing and stared at me with an almost insulted look on his face. “Do I look like someone who would charge you for a candy bar?”

I let out a snort of derision. Of course Mr. Super-Rich would get all offended about that. “Oh, right, I forgot,” I sneered. “You probably have enough money to buy the whole train.”

“That’s not what I meant. Charging a woman for a candy bar after she blacks out wouldn’t exactly be honorable. Don’t you agree?”

“So you consider yourself a gentleman?”

He rested his arms on the table and leaned toward me with a cheeky grin. “I admit we didn’t get off to an ideal start, but generally speaking, I’m a pretty nice guy.”

Don’t encourage him!
I reminded myself.
Forbidden zone!
But goddammit, it had been so long since I’d flirted with anyone. I risked a glance into his green eyes, but then—as difficult as it was—I decided to do the right thing: instead of responding, I leaned back with a smile and turned to look out the window. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

We spent the rest of the trip in silence—that is, I ignored his few attempts to start another conversation. Sure, it could have ended up being fun, but what good would that have done me? I was never going to see him again, and anyway, I still wasn’t convinced by this friendliness of his. My first impression had been negative, and it was how I was going to remember him: as an attractive, smart-aleck bastard.

And then the train pulled into Berlin’s main station. At last! “Well, thank you very much for your help,” I said as I heaved my travel bag over my shoulder and maneuvered toward the exit.

He reached out to stop me. “Where are you running off to so quickly?”

“I have an interview. The one where I’m going to make an idiot of myself, remember?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

He laughed a little self-consciously. “We could get some coffee together first, if you have no objections. Just to be sure that you really have your strength back,” he said with an inviting smile.

I stared at him for what seemed like an eternity, trying to decide whether he was serious, before finally turning him down. “That’s very kind, but I’m being picked up . . . by my boyfriend,” I lied to prevent him from making any further attempts.

He actually looked a little disappointed. “I see. Well, then, it was a pleasure to meet you.” He extended a hand. Was he serious?

“Um, thanks” was all that I could manage—the pleasure had
not
been all mine. And he seemed to get that message, because he gave me a knowing and utterly enchanting smile. This was a pity. Maybe if we’d met under different circumstances, and if he hadn’t been such an arrogant snob, I would have felt differently. As it was, though, I just couldn’t find anything to like about him.

Lisa was waiting for me right there on the platform. “Finally,” she said, giving me a tight squeeze. “I was actually counting the minutes out of pure boredom.” She scrutinized me. “And now we’re going to start by getting some food. You look gaunt.” She grabbed one handle of my bag.

“Very funny,” I grunted as I took the other handle, and we exited the train station together.

Lisa had black hair, a little extra meat on her bones—though not so much that I’d have described her as overweight—and, usually, a pretty big mouth. Like me, I guess. She was an old friend of mine from high school, and even back then, she’d been crazy about comics and fantasy role-playing games. I’d never quite shared her enthusiasm, but we’d gotten along great, anyway. She’d moved to Berlin five years ago to get started in the tech industry and make a career out of her hobby; now, she developed computer games and earned a lot of money doing it. She didn’t dress like a stereotypical gamer, nor did she live like a hermit. Usually she ran around in jeans and basic tops, totally down-to-earth.

It was nicer than hell of her to take me in. It wouldn’t be totally rent-free, of course. Her two-bedroom apartment had a large extra room she’d been using as a storage/laundry/junk/whatever area, so now she was renting it to me. Two hundred euros a month was really a joke, considering that she lived in the center of Berlin, just ten minutes away from Marcs Entertainment. Really, I couldn’t have found a better place. I’d be far away from my mother, and thanks to Lisa, I’d be living in a great part of town. I’d also have time to save up some money, so I could look around for my own place when I was ready. For now, at least, until I could afford something better, I planned to thank her by taking her to the movies—she loved 3-D fantasy films.

“Well? How’d your War of the Roses turn out?” she asked as we were sitting in Starbucks, lingering over coffee and pastries. “After a while, I quit hearing from you.”

I was so embarrassed about having collapsed that I thought about lying, but then I went ahead and told her.

As expected, she laughed at me. “No way. You fainted into his arms? He must have felt like such a superhero.”

Her laughter was contagious. “And just imagine: after that, he was totally nice all of a sudden and wanted to take me out for coffee!” I exclaimed.

“Of course he did. Fainting women arouse men’s protective instinct. You couldn’t have done it better if you’d tried,” Lisa assured me. “Trust me. No man can resist an unconscious woman.” She slurped her latte with visible enjoyment.

“Yeah, except I didn’t want him to invite me out. I mean, he was such a jerk, he actually
laughed
at me. I’m glad that’s over with.”

We took our time with our drinks, and when Lisa got up to order a second coffee, I did some people watching, letting my gaze sweep the area. Berlin was a hectic city—totally different from the little village where I grew up—but I’d always enjoyed visiting and was glad I’d finally moved here.

My mother hated big cities. She was the owner of a small fashion boutique, and she dreamed of some rich snob discovering her and whisking her away to live happily ever after among the rich and famous. As if someone like that would ever just wander into our town! I was sixteen when my father filed for divorce . . . And as awful as it sounded, I would have done the same thing.

My mother was a horrible woman who only cared about material things, and after my father had lost his well-paid job, she’d nagged him endlessly about finding another one. She would have sent him out turning tricks if it had been the only way to maintain her standard of living, and eventually it just got to be too much for him. Now he lived in Norway with his girlfriend, who was really nice and completely different from my mom. I wished I could get divorced from my mother, too, but unfortunately I couldn’t just give up my lineage.

Although, she hadn’t been all that bad before. I’d actually had a pretty decent childhood, but as my mother had aged, she’d gotten more and more bitter. After the divorce, she’d basically buried the human part of her in the ground somewhere and never dug it up again. Like she’d signed some pact with the Devil, trading her soul for that boutique. The place had done well and had always brought in plenty of money, so I’d never wanted for anything, but I’d paid for it with my own freedom. I’d gone to the schools she’d chosen, taken the classes she’d decided I should take, and even gotten degrees in subjects that didn’t interest me in the slightest.

Now I’d finished law school—and for what? So that she could stick me in her brother’s law firm, where I would follow in his footsteps and become a picture-perfect attorney. I still couldn’t believe I’d let her run my life all those years. I mean, I hadn’t really wanted any of that stuff for myself, but I’d still passed every test with flying colors. For her. Because I thought she’d leave me alone afterward. But finally I realized that it would never stop, that she’d already planned my entire life and would never quit making decisions for me. She’d even introduced me to Toby, my wealthy ex-boyfriend who had turned out to be a complete asshole, but it was my own fault I’d let myself be blinded by his money and his self-confidence.

But I was done with that now. With all of it. At twenty-five, I’d finally escaped my mother’s clutches, and now it was time for me to start making my own decisions and my own mistakes. To live my own life, goddammit. I’d waited long enough.

Once Lisa finished her second latte, we headed over to her car, and she stuffed my bag into the trunk. My interview was starting in an hour, which was why I’d arrived already dressed for it. I had to change my tank top in the car, though, because the one I had on was drenched with sweat. I redid my makeup, too, touching up my dark-red lipstick as Lisa drove me to my destination. I found the whole getup a little excessive, but I’d heard that secretaries around here went around all dolled up.

“Okay, honey,” Lisa said as she parked in front of the building. “Good luck, and we’ll celebrate tonight.” Marcs Entertainment. The shimmering structure was a lot more imposing in real life than it had looked online.

“If I even get the job,” I responded meekly, gazing up at the building through the window. All of a sudden, my knees had gone completely weak.

“Of course you will. I mean, you’ve already made it through two interviews.”

“Phone interviews!” I said, now sounding far from optimistic.

“Whatever, we’re celebrating one way or the other tonight, even if you don’t get it. This isn’t the only company in Berlin; you can find secretary work all over the place.” That was true, but Marcs Entertainment was the only place that paid their secretaries princely salaries, and if they went so far as to offer me a position as an executive assistant, I’d be able to afford my own apartment the very next month. That would be perfect.

“Okay. I am a confident, ambitious woman,” I said as I got out of the car. “I can do this.”

Lisa agreed and handed me my purse, and then I strode toward the building.

ONE COINCIDENCE TOO MANY

“Welcome to Marcs Entertainment,” the receptionist greeted me, managing to sound utterly convincing, as though she didn’t have to repeat that sentence three hundred times a day with a friendly smile on her face. She was good. “Who may I say is here?” she asked, looking me over politely.

As much of a bastard as Mr. Rolex had been, I was glad he’d let me know about my jacket, because the women here all had their blazers either completely buttoned or completely unbuttoned, so I’d have made a real idiot out of myself with my own variation. Sad that anyone had to rack her brain over something like that, but if I wanted to work in this kind of circle, I would just have to get used to thinking about insipid subjects like proper buttoning techniques.

“Sophia Neumann,” I said, holding out my ID. “I’ve been invited to an interview.”

She checked my name off a long list, and I felt my courage fading. I had thought I would only have to outshine a few other candidates, but if that list was any indication, I was just one of many who were being interviewed. “Please take the elevator to the fourth floor and find a seat there. Someone will call you in.”

I thanked the woman, took my ID, and walked to the elevator. Crap, crap, crap! How was I supposed to beat so many other applicants, especially without any secretarial experience? As I headed toward the elevator bank, I gazed around. As the most frequently booked organization in the city, Marcs Entertainment obviously had to maintain a certain image, and the grandiosity, though hardly surprising, was still impressive. The exterior walls were all glass, so even passersby outside could admire the interior decoration. The gleaming floors were of the finest marble, of course, and there were decorative columns and plants arranged throughout the space. The center of the reception hall held a goldfish pond with a burbling fountain; behind it, a door led out to a fabulous inner courtyard.

I stepped into the elevator. Just as the doors were about to close, a hand slid between them, and they opened again. A tall man wearing an absolutely captivating cologne entered and regarded me with his chocolate-brown eyes. He was wearing a dark-blue suit—like everyone else here, he was very well dressed—and his light-brown hair was styled fashionably.

Seeing the application portfolio in my hand, he gave me an encouraging smile. “Good luck.” He was good-looking, although his nose was a little too long and his features were a bit on the narrow side. He reminded me a lot of Adrien Brody, whom I found attractive precisely because of those flaws.

“Thanks, I can use it,” I replied with a smile as I pressed the button. Again the doors began to slide shut, and again they were held open. Good thing I was early. A few more people got into the elevator.

“If that woman . . . What’s her name again?” a long-haired man in a colorful outfit asked, gesticulating wildly with his hands.

“Wozniak,” replied a tall middle-aged woman whose neck was far too long and whose eyes were far too large for her to qualify as pretty. “She’s Polish,” she added in a whisper, as though that were a bad thing.

“I don’t care what she is,” the man groused. “If she turns up late to the photo shoot again, she’s out.”

The two other women in attendance scribbled some notes; they seemed to be watching every move the man made, as though they were his pets and he their master. At last, the doors closed, and the elevator began to move.

“Ugh, I hope they replace the air conditioners soon. These fucking elevators just kill me every time,” the man remarked, theatrically fanning his face. Okay, if I’d needed any further proof that he was batting for the other team, there it was. Straight guys didn’t fan themselves
that
dramatically. “What do you think, Mike?” he asked, looking at the brown-haired man at my side. “You must be just dying in that suit.”

“I’ve got no complaints, but if you’re unhappy, I suggest you talk to Mr. Marcs yourself,” Mike replied with a hint of a smile.

“Are you crazy?” the long-haired man squeaked, making a shocked face. “That old coot would eat me alive.”

Mike laughed; then the doors opened, and the mob got out. Only Mike and I remained. Wow, what was that all about? Seeing my knitted brow, Mike smiled and said, “I know what you’re thinking. Luis is our photographer, and he’s a species all his own.”

Seeing him smile, I allowed myself to grin as well. “Nice.”

Just as I was about to get out of the elevator, he spoke up again. “A word of advice for the future: don’t ever speak your mind in the elevator, the way Luis likes to do. The so-called old coot likes to listen in sometimes.” He waved to me as the doors closed.

I went to the reception desk—there seemed to be one on each floor—and was sent to the waiting room, where I sat down and took in my surroundings. This floor was just as modern and corporate-looking as the lobby. White and dark gray were the dominant colors, and there were plants and pictures everywhere to brighten up the cold atmosphere. I didn’t know what the layout on the other floors looked like, but this one was set up as a kind of roundabout. The secretaries’ desks were all in the center of the space, with each desk facing a door to a separate office, probably for some manager or other. So the desks formed the inner circle, and the rooms around them were the outer circle, which meant that the secretaries always knew what was going on.

I wondered how many managerial positions the company had, because I counted six office doors. Then again, Marcs Entertainment was a big company that did everything from real estate to press releases to event management. So, of course they’d need quite a few managers . . . and how convenient that each of them needed a personal secretary.

As I sat waiting for them to call my name, more and more candidates filed in, which made me even more nervous. Then, finally, they brought us into a large glassed-in room. It was a training classroom with a long table in the middle, at which we were invited to sit. Each chair had a glass and a water bottle in front of it, along with pens and paper. A test—what else?

First, we had to tell them about ourselves: what subjects we’d studied, what our strengths were, and why we’d applied for the position. Then there was a simple text for us to proofread, an activity I found ridiculous somehow. Although, really, it wasn’t all that ridiculous, since good language and writing skills are important as a secretary—I’d just assumed that they’d be a given for anyone applying for the job. The spelling and grammar errors practically jumped off the page at me, but more than a few people failed miserably and were immediately weeded out.

As the number of applicants dwindled from test to test, I started to wonder how many positions they were actually looking to fill. To finish off, we had to demonstrate our typing and computer skills. Again, piece of cake. I don’t want to sound arrogant, but the tests didn’t strike me as particularly challenging. At the end, only five or six of us remained for the individual interviews.

So it was do or die. My palms were sweating as I waited for the interviewers to call me in. But of course, they didn’t call me until last. It was like they wanted to stoke my anxiety even more. I know, I know, somebody always has to be last, but why did it have to be me? And what if they had already made their choice?

“Mr. Marcs and his son will see you now,” a woman said and led me into the office across the hall. I took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped inside. I was so nervous that I barely registered the men’s faces and felt like I’d lost control of my legs. So I just focused on closing the door and approaching the table without falling over.

Only when I was shaking their hands did I actually see them . . . And when I greeted Mr. Marcs’s son, I was thunderstruck. My hand was already outstretched, but when I recognized Mr. Rolex, I involuntarily withdrew it. The shock of seeing him here was too great. I mean, there was actually no way in hell, right? He’d stayed behind on the train and traveled onward. Although . . . hadn’t he tried to invite me out to coffee? He’d have had a hard time doing that if his stop had been further on. I’d just been so focused on getting away from him that I’d missed that tiny detail.

As far as I could tell, he was still wearing what he’d worn on the train, only he’d put a black jacket on over the white shirt—one button open. His hair was no longer wonderfully mussed, but styled neatly upward and smeared with a bunch of gel. I had to admit I’d liked his train hairstyle better—more natural, less cheesy businessman—but this look seemed to be part of the job, like spit-shined shoes.

He looked at me with his smoky-green eyes; unlike me, he seemed anything but surprised. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Neumann,” he said, grasping my hand unbidden.

I was still incapable of moving, let alone responding; only when his father cleared his throat did I snap out of my trance. “Um, right, pleasure’s all mine,” I mumbled as I sank into the chair . . . or rather plopped down into it, because I’d lost all motor control.

Clenching his jaw to suppress a laugh, Marcs Junior flipped through my application, which had my photo clipped to the front page. That’s why he wasn’t surprised to see me. How nice for him—he’d gotten the chance to scout his interviewee in advance. I’d have loved the same luxury. Then I simply wouldn’t have shown up, thus avoiding this horrifyingly embarrassing situation. But running out of the room screaming didn’t seem appropriate, either, so I just let the interview wash over me. Things couldn’t get any worse, anyway.

“Well, Ms. Neumann, we found your application very promising, and you are also one of only a few applicants with a graduate degree. Law—very impressive. But why is it that you are applying for a secretarial position now?” the elder Marcs inquired. “That sounds like a step backward to me.”

Wow, he didn’t mince words. I took a deep breath and let my gaze sweep back and forth between the two men.
You called him an asshole,
the voice in my head nagged me.
Now he’s going to get you back.
I cast a longing look at the door to my right.
You can still leave. You’ll never see him again, and you can just apply somewhere else.
I mean, how was I supposed to work for someone I couldn’t stand? Sure, most people couldn’t stand their bosses, but how many of them had fought with their bosses on the train and then collapsed into their arms?

Well? Marcs Junior was watching me with a knowing expression, as though aware of what I was thinking, but I looked away and concentrated on his father. “I . . . want to try something different,” I replied truthfully and felt like slapping my own face immediately afterward.
Try something different? Is that the best you can do?

“Ah, I see.” The old man furrowed his brow.

Trust me, Grandpa, this isn’t how I pictured the interview going, either,
I wished I could say. My spirits were plummeting; I was all kinds of not interested in finishing this conversation, especially since I had no idea where it was heading.

“Well, then, tell us: What are your plans for the future, and what do you expect working for Marcs Entertainment will be like?” The elder Marcs leaned across the table with interest.

After that, the job interview ran its course, and apart from the fact that Junior’s presence completely distracted and intimidated me, I held my own quite well—at least, I thought so. I was in the middle of telling them about my university studies when a cell phone vibrated, and the father stood up. “I apologize, but this is important. Please continue,” he told his son before withdrawing from the room.

Oh, please, no, don’t leave me alone with him!
I wished I could call out after him. I kept my eyes on the old man until the door shut behind him; then, reluctantly, I turned to face his son.

“So? Surprised to see me?” He was visibly amused.

“Sure am. What are you doing here?” I asked in an acidic tone. Enough of the polite banter. I wasn’t going to work here if it meant having him as my supervisor, so I didn’t have to bother with niceties anymore, either.

“It seems that I work here,” he replied, giving me a self-satisfied grin.

“I know, but . . . how did you get here? You traveled onward, didn’t you?” I asked, irritated.

“No, I didn’t. And if you hadn’t run away so quickly, you would have seen that I got off right after you did.” There was a note of admonishment in his voice.

“I didn’t run away,” I lied.

“Yes, you did. As though I’d been harassing you in there, when actually I saved your life. Some thanks, that is,” he added in a murmur. I wasn’t sure whether he was genuinely offended or just acting like it, but my guess was the latter.

“Now you’re exaggerating, though,” I protested. “I would’ve just gotten a bump on my head.”

“Or a concussion. Anyway, that’s one funny-looking boyfriend you have there. Long black hair and a purse?” He raised an eyebrow.

Crap, he’d seen us? “Um, yeah, my boyfriend had to cancel on short notice,” I improvised.

“Lucky for you that your friend was able to jump in so quickly,” he replied in a wry tone, playfully twirling a ballpoint pen. “She just happened to be in the area, I guess.”

Okay, these insinuating comments of his were starting to get on my nerves. I’d lied, and he’d caught me. New subject. “So how long have you known about this?” I asked.

He smiled. “Not much longer than you. Five minutes before we called you in, we went through your application, and then I saw your photo.”

“You seem to find the whole thing incredibly amusing,” I said, and folded my arms across my chest.

“I think it’s more like fate.” He winked at me and leaned in closer. “I mean, isn’t this an amazing coincidence that we’re seeing each other again so soon?”

“One coincidence too many for my taste,” I responded dryly.

He laughed. “Well, then . . . Sophia,” he mused, reading my first name from my application. Why did it sound like he was rolling each individual letter off his tongue? “Let’s talk about working hours and vacation days.” He folded his hands on the table.

I stared at him, wide-eyed. “You mean you want to hire me?”

He shrugged. “Why not? You’re intelligent, reliable, tough—”