Page 11 of Tell Me What you Think

"Thanks for your honesty."

"I mean, I don't know what else to tell you." Silvia downs the last of her coffee and tosses the cup in a trash can by the corner. "I've spent two years listening to you say that whatever you feel for her is impossible, that you have no shot, that nothing will ever happen between you two—and the moment you get a chance to walk away, you run toward her instead of out the door. You know I think you should just talk to Marina and tell her how you feel, but if you're not going to do that, becoming her assistant sounds like the most spectacular emotional self-sabotage I've ever seen."

"I know." Olga grimaces. "But she came in and I just—" She stops herself when an overwhelming flutter spreads through her chest at the memory of the moment Marina shook her hand.

"And you could have said, 'Thanks, Marina, but I'd rather go in a different direction,' which is exactly what you wanted. Seriously, Olga, what is going on in your head?" Silvia crosses her arms.

The assistant looks at the floor again, searching for some explanation that might let her come out of this with a shred of dignity, but she can't find one—because the truth is simple and mortifying all at once: she's been in love with that woman for too long, and when the chance to spend time with her appeared right in front of her, every rational plan she had collapsed in a matter of seconds.

"I don't know."

Silvia's expression softens, and she puts a hand on Olga's shoulder.

"Well, it doesn't matter now. All we know is that your escape plan was a complete failure."

Olga laughs.

"Yeah, it was."

"When do you start with her?" her coworker asks.

"Not next Monday. The one after."

"Today's Thursday." Silvia does the mental math, counting on her fingers. "You've got ten days."

"I know."

Silvia can't help smiling.

"This could be a disaster. You're going to have her calendar in your hands every morning." She doesn't say it unkindly—in fact, she says it with warmth—but Olga feels her shoulders sink. "Two years watching her from a distance, and now you're going to know what time she wakes up, who she has lunch with, what puts her in a bad mood."

The assistant lets out a dramatic sigh, and Silvia's shoulders shake with laughter.

"So, are you ready for that?" she asks, an eyebrow arching with curiosity.

Olga doesn't answer right away. Her mind drifts back to this morning, a little over an hour ago, when she was still in the office with Marina, making a heroic effort to breathe and speak at the same time.

"No, but there's no going back now. I said yes, and I have to own that decision."

"That's the spirit," Silvia says, and she actually means it. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to my desk and prep for the four o'clock meeting."

"Of course."

When it's time to leave, Olga decides to walk home even though Barcelona is cold and damp today—the kind of wet cold that seeps into your bones and keeps you shivering the whole way—but walking usually clears her head, so she buttons her coat all the way up, shoves her hands in her pockets, and starts walking. By the time she reaches her apartment on Paseo de Gracia—which she can afford because she basically inherited it from her paternal grandparents and it's fully paid off—she's had plenty of time to regret the decision. Halfway there, on top of being frozen, a light drizzle had started to fall and soaked through her, because she hadn't brought an umbrella.

She strips off her clothes and steps into the shower, standing under the hot water until she can feel the blood circulating in her feet again—they'd been so numb she could barely feel her toes. She pulls on a thick pair of pajamas and heads to the living room to watch an episode of the show she's been following, killing time until dinner. But before she picks up the remote, she grabs her laptop and opens it, because she still has the email she drafted yesterday sitting in her drafts folder, and there's no point keeping it anymore. She opens it and reads it again, and her lips twist in a grimace of frustration as she thinks that maybe she should look into some kind of self-confidence workshop—because maybe then she wouldn't be so scared of doing something as simple as standing in front of the woman she likes, asking her for coffee to tell her how she feels, and taking the rejection with some dignity.

Chapter 6

Ten days later.

Marina is lying on her back, as always, taking those few minutes her body needs to come around after the alarm goes off, yawning while she tries to keep her eyelids from falling shut again.

Today is her first day in the new role, and she's hoping it starts more smoothly than the last several, when the few hours she had between meetings were spent either in her office handling the handoff with her replacement or in Ricard's office getting up to speed on everything already in motion when she'd take over.

She's surprised she slept so well, because last night when she went to bed she was pretty nervous—even though she has all the information she needs and isn't afraid of taking on the new challenge.

Once she's showered and ready, she heads to the kitchen—again with her heels in her hand—and checks her phone while she makes coffee. As always, her mom's message is there, a video of a teddy bear saying good morning that she answers with a heart without even watching it. She also has a couple of Tinder notifications telling her she's matched with someone. Marina takes a quick look and dismisses them right away.