My Brother's Billionaire Best Friend - Max Monroe Page 0,115

though.”

“Well, it looks like RoyalAir calls you Catharine.”

Sheesh. This woman. She’s a real sweetheart, huh?

I glanced at her name tag. Carol, it read.

Well, Carol, you can blow me, I thought. You’re not the only one who’s had a long night.

“I’m supposed to be in Birmingham for a nine a.m. flight,” I explained, and Carol raised one eyebrow high on her forehead.

Looking more like black caterpillars than facial hair, those eyebrows of hers were distracting as hell. They had a power that rivaled the sun, and it took all of my willpower to not stare directly at them.

“Well…” She looked up from her screen and pinched her lips together in a firm line. “You’re not in Birmingham. You’re in Atlanta.”

Wow. Thanks. I hadn’t realized I was in a completely different city and state from where I was supposed to be. I mean, I had been on the flight that took the detour, but I just had no fucking clue what was going on.

I kept my sassy in check and bit my tongue. “I realize that.”

“I have no flights to Birmingham tonight,” she muttered and pursed her lips. “The next flight to Birmingham isn’t until noon tomorrow.”

“That doesn’t really help me,” I attempted to explain my dilemma…again. “I’m supposed to be on the nine a.m. Birmingham to JFK flight tomorrow.”

“That sounds like a problem.”

Ya think?

“Is there any way I can get off that flight, then?” I asked, too hopeful for my own good. This was why they had backup flight attendants stationed at various airports, for situations like this. Right? “I mean, I’m not sure how I’m going to get there in enough time…”

She shook her head, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off her eyebrows. Good Lord, those things were an anomaly. Big, bushy, and yet, well-maintained somehow. They were distracting. And ironic. And, considering I was in a bit of a situation, I honestly had no idea why I was even analyzing Carol’s fucking eyebrows like there was a quiz on them later.

“They need you in Birmingham,” she stated firmly. “There is only one other flight attendant for your flight to JFK, and all of the backups are accounted for thanks to the shortage. You’re just going to have to find another way to get there.”

And how in the heck was I going to manage that? A goddamn hot air balloon?

I looked at Carol, and Carol looked at me.

And, after another twenty or so seconds passed, I realized Carol and her eyebrows weren’t going to offer up any solutions. I glanced at the mess of paper on the floor behind her and then back to her cold eyes. Any fuck she’d had to give, she’d given out a long time ago.

“So,” I started in an attempt to carefully pry a solution out of her, “if you were me, how would you get to Birmingham?”

She shrugged. “The train, probably.”

There’s a train? Like, a real one? Or is she just bullshitting me?

“So, I could take a train?” I asked to confirm. Her eyebrows weren’t pleased, turning down on the ends. “A train from Atlanta to Birmingham?”

“Yep. Amtrak.”

Amtrak. Remember that, Cat…

“Okay… Well… Do you happen to have any information for me?” I asked and rested my elbows on the counter. “You know, like, where is the train located? How do I get there?”

C’mon, Carol. Work with me here.

She sighed, long and exaggerated, and then sat there, wordless, for what felt like an eternity.

Whose will would break more quickly?

To my surprise, I won that round, and she eventually opened a drawer on the left side of her desk and started to rummage through its contents.

“How long have you been with RoyalAir?”

“Six months.”

“That explains it,” she muttered under her breath.

Wow. Another point for Carol, I guess.

I bit my tongue for the second time. I feared if I didn’t get out of Carol’s office in the next five minutes, I might bite the damn thing straight off.

“Here,” she said and slapped a white envelope onto the counter.

Done with our game and done with me, Carol didn’t provide any instructions after that. I silently prayed she hadn’t just shoved an old Chinese food menu into an envelope, lifted my elbows from the counter, and grabbed the handle of my carry-on.

Fingers and toes crossed, I strode out of the office, sat down on an empty bench, and opened up the white flap of paper on the back.

My eyes scanned the text, and relief filled my stomach, heavy and warm. Carol had actually given me information that could help me find my way to Birmingham before my nine a.m. flight.

Hallelujah, praise Jesus.

Unfortunately, when I got a load of the nightly Amtrak train schedule, the relief quickly dissipated.

Next train to Birmingham: 12:00 a.m.

I looked at my watch. 11:30 p.m.

Google was my bitch as I typed in the train station and plotted a foot route from my current location. Estimated time it would take for me to get to the train: twenty minutes.

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered and hopped out of my seat at a dead sprint.