Next Stop: Love Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2014 Miranda J. Fox

  Translation copyright © 2015 Jaime McGill

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Previously published as Eine Zugfahrt ins Glück by the author through the Kindle Direct Publishing platform in Germany in 2015. Translated from German by Jaime McGill.

  Published by AmazonCrossing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonCrossing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503947306

  ISBN-10: 1503947300

  Cover design by Shasti O’Leary-Soudant

  CONTENTS

  NOT EXACTLY POLITE

  BAGUETTE AND CHOCOLATE

  ONE COINCIDENCE TOO MANY

  THE USUAL INSANITY

  CAFÉ CON LUCA

  QUEEN OF THE BALL

  A HARMLESS RUN

  A PREDATORY CAT ON THE PROWL

  A SOMEWHAT DIFFERENT DATE

  A WALK FOR LOVE

  UNPLEASANT SURPRISE

  BACK TO THE BEGINNING

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

  NOT EXACTLY POLITE

  “I’m sorry, but everything’s booked,” said the conductor as he wiped his brow for the umpteenth time. Although it was early, it was already an unpleasant eighty-two degrees outside, and inside the train it seemed twice as hot. No wonder, given the way the oppressive air stagnated inside the closed compartments. Opening the windows wouldn’t have helped, though, since that only would have let in more heat. In other words, there was no way to escape the infernal temperature.

  “But I reserved a seat,” I insisted, gesturing to the compartment in front of me. A big family had settled down inside and claimed all six seats.

  The conductor stared at his ticket reader as though expecting to find a solution to the problem printed on it, then turned back to me, running his hand across his brow again. Couldn’t he get a tissue or something? It was kind of gross watching him smear his sweaty fingers all over the machine.

  “So did this family. The system must have gotten confused somehow,” he said as he pulled a walkie-talkie out of his back pocket.

  Confused? How was that even possible with modern technology? All anyone had to do was log on to the train company’s website, pick a seat, click “Book,” pay, and voilà. It wasn’t rocket science.

  “Just a moment,” the conductor said and held the radio up to his mouth. “I’ll see if there’s another seat available, so you don’t have to walk through the whole train.”

  I took a deep breath and told myself to calm down. There was no point in getting angry at the guy. After all, it wasn’t his fault that the seats were double booked, and he was trying to help. But maybe he just wanted to get rid of me as quickly as possible—my murderous stare was more than most people could handle.

  As he stepped away, I let my heavy bag slide to the floor. The damn wheels had broken off when I’d been rushing to make my connection, so now I had to carry it. Stupid thing! But what did I expect from a suitcase that cost less than twenty euros and was hopelessly overstuffed?

  Though the conductor was no longer standing next to me, I could still hear him perfectly well. That was the advantage of InterCity Express trains—or the disadvantage, depending on how you looked at it. The trains hardly made any noise and almost never jolted on the rails. On the other hand, they raced along through the countryside so quickly that you barely got a chance to see anything.

  “And there really aren’t any other seats?” I heard him ask. “Well, he won’t be too happy about this.”

  Who? What? Who was he talking about?

  He released the button on the radio and approached me with a forced smile. “You’re in luck. There’s another seat—in first class, even.” He paused for a moment, maybe expecting me to jump for joy, but I didn’t care where I sat. First class, second class—what difference did it make as long as I arrived in one piece? I wasn’t a snobby, materialistic bitch. I wasn’t my mother.

  “Follow me, please,” he said when I failed to react, and I hefted my heavy bag over my shoulder. “I have to warn you, though: someone’s already got the compartment. He’s a regular customer, usually books the entire thing for himself.”

  I shrugged, unimpressed. “I’m sure His Lordship will survive a few hours with one of the riffraff.” Seriously, how stuck-up could a person be, claiming an entire compartment for himself? On a regular basis, too!

  The conductor grunted in agreement and led me into the first-class section. As I’d expected, the atmosphere there was completely different. In the back, kids were running around, tourists were chatting away, couples were arguing, and guys were shouting to each other across the aisles, but here the passengers were all focused on their smartphones and laptops, pounding away at the keys as though their lives depended on it. The mood was reserved: nobody was talking, nobody looked up. Everyone was in their own little bubble of important meetings, urgent business, and big contracts.

  I felt sorry for these people because, instead of enjoying the ride and watching the forests fly by, they were all glued to their screens. They were like caricatures of themselves, trapped in a world that consisted only of power, money, and prestige. Well, okay, I probably didn’t have much room to talk, now that it was a world I would soon be part of—if I survived the last interview, anyway—but I swore I’d never be like this. I would keep my business and personal lives separate, and I’d never take work home with me. I’d make sure I had time to live my life. You’re only twenty-five once, after all.

  I’d expected it to be cooler in first class, but I was sorely disappointed. What a joke. People paid hundreds of euros more to sit in first class, and there wasn’t even working air-conditioning.

  We pushed our way past the rows of seats toward a car that only had closed compartments. We stopped in front of the next-to-last one. The conductor knocked, waited a few seconds, and then slid the door open. “I apologize, but I need to put a passenger in here with you today. All other seats are taken,” he explained humbly, stepping aside to let me through.

  The man raised his eyes briefly, nodded, and turned his attention back to his laptop. I, however, took a good long look at him. His dark-brown hair was messy, but deliberately so, and the stubble lining his jaw was carefully groomed. His eyes were large and smoky green. He’d looked away almost immediately, giving me a painful twinge that was all too familiar. But why would someone like that be interested in me? Even though he was sitting, it was clear he was tall. Of course he was nicely dressed: sleek black pants, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows . . . And unless I was completely mistaken, that was a Rolex on his wrist.

  “You can come in,” he said, shaking me out of my trance. “I don’t bite.”

  Dammit. Had I just been staring at him like a drooling dog? I thanked the conductor, then heaved my bag into the compartment and maneuvered toward the window seat.

  “Again, please excuse the inconvenience,” the conductor said as he withdrew. “We’ll refund you for one of the seats, of course.” Oh, so I was an inconvenience, was I?

  The man nodded and began typing on his laptop. I sat down across from him, on the other sid
e of a table holding a cell phone and a pile of papers. I had a hard time finding a halfway comfortable position. His legs were so long that they stretched nearly to my side of the table, and he didn’t make any effort to make space for me. No, no, I was just a poor little creature from the underclass who ought to be thanking her lucky stars for this once-in-a-lifetime chance to ride in a first-class car.

  Well, that’s what I imagined he was thinking, anyway, because he didn’t look the least bit pleased to have me there. Or was his jaw always that tense? Such a powerful, masculine jaw it was, too.

  Once I’d found a decent position for my legs, I looked over at the closed curtain on my side, frowning. The harsh ceiling lights provided adequate illumination, but I didn’t want to miss out on seeing the trees rushing past. I mean, that was the nicest part about traveling by train. That, and the way the seats rumbled.

  “Do you mind if I open the curtain?” I asked in a friendly tone.

  “Yes,” he replied curtly without looking up.

  I stared at him in disbelief. I’d only asked as a courtesy, expecting a “go ahead” or a “not at all.” What kind of response was that? Arrogant jerk. “That’s a shame,” I replied, yanking the curtain aside. “I don’t want to miss the view.” Light flooded the compartment instantly, and a glaring sunbeam hit his eyes. Seeing him squint, I nearly laughed in malicious glee. Serves you right!

  He gave me a dark look for two seconds—that was as long as he could stand the sun. Then he lowered his gaze and pulled a pair of black sunglasses out of his briefcase. Clicking his tongue in annoyance, he put them on and turned back to his laptop.

  Well, this could get interesting.

  It made me nervous that I couldn’t see his eyes. Every time he looked up from his laptop and leaned forward to study the documents on the table, I got the sense that he was staring at me. I might have been mistaken, but I wasn’t sure, because the lenses were completely opaque. Too bad I hadn’t brought shades of my own—then I could put them on and make him nervous.

  Though I doubted anything ever made him nervous. He radiated a self-confidence that made me antsy, and his disapproving expression didn’t exactly help, either. The words “do not get on my nerves” were written all over his face—in bold, underlined, with three exclamation points.

  Plus, he was intimidatingly handsome. He looked like a guy who could have anything and, in all probability, already did. Including a Rolex that cost upward of six thousand euros. Naturally, I’d done my homework on the world of the rich and famous before applying to Marcs Entertainment, the largest event company in Berlin. I’d learned all about trendy designers, luxury brands, and the hottest clubs. They, along with my wisecracking friend Lisa, would soon be part of my daily life in Berlin.

  His cell phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen and cursed under his breath. Removing the sunglasses, he gave me a tense look, as if the call were my fault. Then he grabbed the phone and stood up.

  When he’d reached the door, he turned back to eye me suspiciously. “Can I leave my things in here unattended?”

  I stared back at him, mouth agape. How dare he accuse me of having evil intentions just because I wasn’t wearing a bunch of designer crap? Cocky bastard. “You’re joking, right? What exactly do you think I would steal? Your paperwork?” I snapped, gesturing to the pile of papers in front of me. “Asshole,” I hissed loudly enough for him to hear and turned toward the window. He would pay for that. In the window’s reflection I thought I detected a hint of a smile on his lips; then I shifted my focus into the distance, and the image of his face gave way to broad fields and trees.

  Without saying another word, he walked out and pulled the door shut behind him. Bah! Like I cared about his dumb documents or his laptop. Rich people automatically assumed that those of us who were less well-off wanted to take their stuff or resented their good fortune. But some people were perfectly happy with their average lives. He might well have worked hard for his expensive suit and watch, so I wasn’t envious. I didn’t begrudge anyone what they had. When people were this obnoxious to me, though, I could barely hold myself back.

  Even as quiet as it was in first class on an ICE train, I couldn’t hear a word of his conversation; apparently, he’d gone farther than just outside our compartment. Not that I gave a damn who he was talking to—God forbid!—but I hoped it was his mother, hammering some better manners into him.

  When he returned, he seemed to be in an even fouler mood, as evidenced by the dark expression on the face reflected in the window. Maybe my prayers had been answered, and it really had been his mother. When he sat down across from me again, the sun was no longer in his eyes, meaning he no longer needed the sunglasses. He didn’t put them on again, either. Instead, he cracked his neck and slid his legs under the table. But when he stopped and looked up at me, I had to bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from grinning spitefully.

  That’s right, jackass. This is my space now. I turned to face the window again. In his absence, I’d taken the opportunity to cross my legs underneath the table. Now, he had no place to put those stilts of his. Alas! But he didn’t say anything, just left it at a scowl, and positioned himself sideways so that he could cross his legs as well. Such sweet revenge. For some reason I was enjoying myself immensely.

  If I’d thought I’d heard the last from him, though, I was mistaken, because his next remark was an official declaration of war. “You don’t wear business clothing often, do you?” he mused, giving me a look of unmistakable derision.

  “Excuse me?” Reluctantly, I turned to face him.

  “Your jacket is buttoned wrong. As a woman, you should wear it either completely open or completely buttoned. Leaving one button undone is for men only, as you would have known if you’d spent any time considering the matter. And by the way, your collar is crooked.”

  Oh, was it? And just when had he been scrutinizing me so closely? “Are you just bored right now, or are you always this much of a smart-ass?” I asked angrily. “Maybe you should go stretch your legs; you’re not looking too comfortable there. And another thing: it’s none of your business what I wear or how.” If he thought there was no danger in messing with me, he had no idea who he was dealing with. I knew how to hold my own. I’d grown up with my overbearing mother, after all. And yes, my fingers were itching to straighten the collar and fasten the button, but I didn’t want to give him that satisfaction—it would have been admitting that he was right, that I was some backwoods yokel who didn’t know how to dress herself. Nimble-witted or not, he probably had a leg up when it came to business apparel.

  “You’re absolutely right.” He shrugged indifferently. “It’s none of my business. But unless that’s your everyday attire, which I very much doubt, then you’re on your way to an interview or a business lunch or something similar, and if you show up looking like that, they’ll either laugh in your face or throw you out on your ear.”

  That son of a . . . Come on, say something clever, I urged myself. A nice snappy comeback, one that will cut this guy down to size or at least show him you’re quick on the draw. Try as I might, though, I couldn’t come up with a single good line. Instead, I blushed like an overripe tomato, which brought a knowing grin to his face. He probably thought I was so embarrassed I wanted to die. Actually, I was apoplectic with rage, and that was what turned my face red.

  God, how I hated this utterly humiliating trait of mine. Lisa had complained once about how she always teared up when she was embarrassed. Seriously, cry me a river. What I wouldn’t give to trade in my red face for a little saltwater. Tears I could at least blink back, whereas the blush would only fade once I’d calmed down. Which obviously wasn’t happening, thanks to my travel companion’s continued provocation.

  “What, no vicious retort?” There was a taunting look on his face. “I thought those were your specialty.”

  His brazenness shocked me. How could someone be so gorgeous an
d so horrible at the same time? “There’s no point talking to you, since nothing but bullshit comes out of your mouth,” I snapped, staring out the window in resignation. Just a minute ago, I’d been chomping at the bit, but my heart wasn’t in it anymore. What was the use of spending the rest of the trip trading insults? I could have done it, by God—the verbal battles between me and my mother had sometimes lasted for days—but I needed to save my energy for my interview. Besides, the sweltering heat was killing me. No, I wasn’t going to let myself get dragged into this. I was going to sit back and watch the trees go by. They were sure to calm me down.

  “Well, at least she knows when to give up,” he murmured to himself. Loud enough that I could hear him just fine, of course. Absolutely unbelievable. I gritted my teeth and glared at his reflection in the window, but his eyes were back on his laptop.

  Calm down, I admonished myself. Don’t stoop to his level. But, God, it was so hard. Hey, he wasn’t laughing, was he? His tight face and quivering lips made it look like he might be. Oh, how I would have loved to grab his head and pound it against his laptop until he blacked out. That would have given me no end of satisfaction.

  We spent the next half hour in an oppressive silence that I found all too welcome. His fingers thundered relentlessly on the keyboard, and I stared out the window and tried to relax, which obviously wasn’t easy with all that annoying clacking. For the first time in my life, I hated someone I’d just met. Everything about this guy irritated me: his smart-ass expression, his Twilight-vampire-wannabe hairstyle, his long fingers that twitched around like little spider legs, and his stupid cologne that stank up the whole compartment.

  My phone vibrated every so often with texts from Lisa, asking how much longer I would be, but other than that, not much happened.

  Asking every ten minutes won’t make the time go any faster, I texted her.

  But it annoys you, she replied with a winking smiley.

  Not as much as this jerk across from me. Get this, he made fun of my jacket being buttoned wrong. What kind of asshole actually does that?