Next Stop: Love

by Miranda J. Fox

  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.

&
nbsp; “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—”

  “You don’t know that,” I broke in.

  “But those are the qualities that are important to my old man, and if I tell him that you’ve got what it takes, he’ll hire you.”

  I blinked at him uncertainly. “Listen . . . I don’t think my working for you is such a good idea.”

  Now his expression was one of genuine surprise. “Why not?”

  “Um . . .” I laughed awkwardly. “Maybe because we didn’t exactly get off to a promising start in terms of building a professional relationship?”

  “I don’t see a problem there. As my assistant, I expect you to demonstrate reliability and initiative and be able to work under pressure,” he told me. “What happened outside these walls has no bearing on any of that.”

  “But . . . I called you an asshole,” I persisted. I simply could not understand why he was so set on hiring me. Was it revenge? Was he planning on making my life as his personal assistant a living hell? I wouldn’t have put it past him.

  “No hard feelings, and I wasn’t your boss yet then,” he said with a grin.

  “I’m not so sure.” I lowered my eyes and made a face.

  “You realize I’m practically begging you to work for me here? This is seriously embarrassing.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. It really was bizarre . . . and that was exactly why I felt like I had to turn him down.

  When I still didn’t respond, he pushed a several-page document across the table toward me. “That’s your contract. Sign it and work for me,” he pleaded, as he laid the pen beside it.

  “Mr. Marcs,” I protested uncertainly.

  “Luca, call me Luca,” he suggested.

  Well, there was no way I was going to do that. “I think I’d better go now,” I announced as I stood.

  “Have you even looked at the contract?” he asked, holding it out to me.

  I sat back down with a barely audible sigh and let my eyes wander disinterestedly over the page. Then I nearly choked. “You . . . you want to hire me as your executive assistant?” I sputtered in astonishment, turning the page to check the salary. Five hundred euros a month extra—after taxes!—on top of what was already excellent compensation. Unbelievable.

  “You’ll enjoy a number of benefits as my assistant. You’ll be receiving an above-average salary as an employee of the largest event company in Berlin. Plus, you’ll be able to get into pretty much any club or event you like. And our employees enjoy plenty of other perks. Think you’d be able to handle all that?”

  My eyes slid from the contract to his face. I still couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Sure, except . . . what’s the catch?”

  My question earned me a nod of recognition, which I found a little insulting. What, he thought I would be so dazzled by the salary that I wouldn’t even read the fine print? “You’ll be on call at all times, and you might have to accompany me on business lunches or dinners, although that probably won’t happen very often. And, of course, you’ll have to maintain confidentiality when it comes to me and the company.”

  “Well.” I thumbed through the contract. “I’m afraid I’ll have to read this through carefully before I make any decisions. I want to be sure not to miss any of the fine print.”

  He was in no way offended and gave me a cheeky grin that was completely out of place in a job interview. “But Ms. Neumann, surely you’re not accusing me of foisting slave contracts on our employees?”

  The next words came out of my mouth before I could stop myself. “Well, from what I’ve experienced so far, I wouldn’t put anything past you.” As soon as I’d said it, I wanted to clamp my hand over my mouth, but he didn’t seem the least bit insulted. Did this guy take anything to heart? I laid the contract on the table. “You see? That’s exactly what I mean. I just can’t work for you and act like—”

  I broke off mid-sentence when his father came back into the room. Seeing that I had risen to my feet, he asked, “Is the discussion already over?”

  I was about to tell him that I wouldn’t be working for either of them when Luca said, “I’ve offered her the job as my executive assistant. You know I need a replacement.”

  The elder Marcs raised his eyebrows and glanced from me to his son. “Your executive assistant?” he asked as he shut the door. There was little enthusiasm in his voice. “Don’t you want to find someone with more . . . experience for that position?”

  I raised my eyebrows, too. Just what was that supposed to mean?

  “Ms. Neumann is highly qualified; you said so yourself,” Luca responded with a gesture in my direction. His father turned to look at me, and as I met his doubting gaze, I felt like I was back at home with my mother. She’d always given me that exact same look whenever she questioned my abilities. But I wasn’t under her thumb anymore, and it was time for me to prove it to myself and the rest of the world.

  “I’m confident that I’d be able to handle the requirements of the job, and I’m looking forward to demonstrating that to your son,” I blurted out, pulling the contract toward me. Even to my own ears, my voice sounded too strident. I glanced over at Luca, who had a surprised look in his eyes as he shrugged innocently in his father’s direction. I signed the contract and handed it back to him. He signed as well and then held it up to show his father, who still didn’t look convinced, but that only made me even more determined to prove myself to him. I wasn’t going to let trivialities like the ones on the train stop me. I was enough of an adult to deal with the situation, especially if Luca could do the same.

  “Do you have any other questions?” Luca asked as he rose from his chair.

  “No,” I said, picking up my copy of the contract.

  “Then I’ll walk you to the elevator. You start tomorrow at eight.”

  I nodded and put on my jacket, then bade the elder Marcs good-bye and followed Luca out. When we emerged from the office, all the other applicants were already gone, and I wondered which ones had gotten jobs, or if any at all had made the final cut. I still couldn’t believe that I was his executive assistant now, with that unbelieva
ble salary. But I was also smart enough to know that it wasn’t going to be easy, that I would have to earn every penny of it. After all, I didn’t know what had happened to the woman before me, but there was probably a reason that he’d been looking for a new assistant.

  “Your father doesn’t seem too sure about me.” The words slipped out of my mouth as we approached the elevators, and I immediately bit down hard on my lip. Is that really something you should discuss with your supervisor? I scolded myself. I had to stop treating him like he was just a guy I knew, because he wasn’t. He was my boss now, not some hot, arrogant bastard in a suit, riding the train—well, he was still hot, but now he was even more taboo than before. He was a forbidden zone.

  To my amazement, though, he was totally unfazed, and I wondered whether he was also having a hard time maintaining professional distance, or if he just didn’t want to. “Don’t take it personally,” he said, looking a little embarrassed. “Actually, he doesn’t trust anyone . . . even me.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said, because I didn’t know how else to respond, and because I wanted to drop the subject as quickly as possible. How his father acted was none of my business, and I certainly didn’t want to know about Luca’s family affairs.

  When the elevator was two floors away, he said, “Be here an hour early tomorrow so that Aileen can show you your desk and get you the remaining paperwork.”

  “Aileen?” I repeated in surprise.

  “We all call each other by our first names here, except when my dad is around.” He smiled. The elevator doors opened, revealing the brown-haired man from before—Mike, I remembered. He was carrying a heavy leather briefcase, and his attentive gaze was fixed on me.

  “Mike, may I introduce my new assistant, Sophia?” Luca said, gesturing to me.

  A hint of a smile appeared on Mike’s face as he stepped out of the elevator and shook my hand. “We meet again so soon. I wish I could congratulate you, but you’ve just signed a deal with the Devil. My sympathies,” he joked.