Page 29 of Tell Me What you Think

"Ready?" she asks, nodding toward the door.

Olga blinks and turns off the light as they step into the hallway. She walks a couple of paces behind Marina with the feeling that there's a noose around her neck tightening with every step closer they get to the elevator — that small box where she'll be trapped with her, no escape, as they descend twenty-two floors.

The vice president steps in first and moves to the back, and Olga presses the button and stays at the front, her eyes fixed on the doors while she tries to find something to think about until they reach the bottom. The urge to turn around is unbearable — she's surrounded by Marina's perfume, and if she concentrates, she can hear her breathe.

Marina is calmer, maybe because she's in the back and doesn't have to hide anything if she wants to look. She blinks and frowns. She's never looked at a woman like this — never analyzed one the way she's analyzing Olga right now. She's watching the low ponytail her hair is pulled back into and the tiny sliver of neck visible above her collar. She's also taken in the shape of her shoulders, and even though her coat covers her from behind, Marina can remember exactly how her hips curved under the jeans she's wearing today. The thought unsettles her. She shouldn't be thinking about this — and she concludes, with a certain satisfaction, that it's simply a product of the situation. Suspecting that Olga might feel something for her is what's triggering this sudden curiosity she can't quite account for.

She looks away and fixes her eyes upward, on the numbers marking the floor they're passing. Twelve — ten more to go — and when she glances back at her assistant, she hears her draw a sharp breath, as if she'd been holding it the entire time they've been in here. She watches her shoulders shift as she goes rigid all at once, and without knowing why she moves or even remembering deciding to, Marina takes a step forward and comes to stand right behind her. What she means to do is calm her — to tell her nothing happened, that they're two grown women and they can handle this without any trouble — but then the scent of Olga's hair reaches her, lavender mixed with something citrusy, and it carries her straight back to the kiss. That she remembers with the same intensity as the pressure of her lips: the warm, soft smell that washed over her when Olga came that close.

She goes very still, mouth slightly open, trying to focus — and as her eyes drift upward again, her body tilts forward just a little and she speaks.

"It was just a kiss, Olga," she murmurs. "It didn't mean anything. Let it go, or this is going to get way too uncomfortable."

Olga feels like lightning has struck her and shot through her entire body. Marina's breath slides between her ear and her neck, and her voice — impossibly low and warm — slips into her ear and goes straight to her chest. She exhales, then fills her lungs again, and nods. Hearing Marina call it meaningless hurts — but she was the one who insisted on leaving it at that, and it's for the best. She feels some relief that the subject has come up again, and she's grateful that her boss made it easy, speaking to her from behind so she doesn't have to turn around and look her in the face.

"You're right, I'm sorry about today. I've been kind of ridiculous."

The elevator doors open and they both step out at the same time.

"See you on the fifth, Olga," the vice president says.

"The fifth, yes. Everything's confirmed," Olga replies, a little too quickly. "I sent it all to your email."

Marina, two steps ahead, turns slightly to look at her.

"I know. I saw it," she says — and one corner of her mouth lifts for just a moment before she turns away and walks out, leaving Olga's heart somewhere on the floor.

Her assistant stands there for a few seconds, cursing herself for missing the chance to say something coherent, something that might have started to make things feel normal again.

Marina's New Year's Eve goes exactly as she described it to Olga the day before. She talks to her mom for twenty minutes and makes dinner in her pajamas. She eats at the coffee table in front of the couch while watching a movie she's had on her list forever, and when dinner's done, she stretches out to get more comfortable and finish it.

Any other year, she'd already be asleep by now and she'd wake up to the noise of the midnight countdown or the fireworks people set off after the clock strikes twelve. That would be the moment she'd drag herself to bed and go right back to sleep — but tonight she's wide awake, and midnight catches her sitting up, scrolling through options for her next movie.

"Happy New Year," she says to herself, under her breath.

Her phone lights up and she sees two messages from her mom that make her smile. The first is a happy new year, and the second is one of her videos — even before opening it, she can see a kitten in a Santa hat surrounded by confetti. Marina sends her wishes back, taps a heart on the cat video, and closes the conversation just as another message comes in. This one is from Álex, her occasional hookup, who wishes her a happy new year and suggests getting together the second week of January.

She replies that she'll let her know, and just as she sends it, another message slides down from the top of the screen with Olga's name. She opens it immediately.

Happy New Year, Marina. Thank you for not being upset. I promise I'll act like an adult starting on the fifth. Have a good night.

The vice president can't help smiling. She starts typing a reply, then deletes it several times because she suddenly isn't sure what's appropriate. In the end she goes with the last thing she typed — she means it, and it doesn't seem like anything that could confuse her assistant.

Happy New Year, Olga. May this year give back everything last year still owes you. Get some rest.

Chapter 13

Marina arrives at El Prat Airport just before eight in the morning. She's never flown on Three Kings Day before, and she's surprised by how empty it is compared to other times of year.

"Good morning." Olga's voice reaches her from behind, and Marina isn't startled by it, but she does feel a strange flutter in the pit of her stomach—something like the hollow rush of vertigo when you look down from too great a height, a tightening that makes her draw in more air than she needs.

"Hey," she says as she turns around, and her half-smile appears automatically when she sees Olga's cheeks reddened by the cold.

"I'm freezing," her assistant announces, as if she'd sensed the reason behind the smile Marina has already filed away as one of the best she's ever seen on her.

"We're too close to the entrance." Marina gestures for her to follow. "Let's go through security now if you're ready and sit down for something—I need coffee. How were the last few days?"

Olga rolls her suitcase alongside her, glancing from side to side, because she needs a few seconds to take several slow, deep breaths that, according to the videos she'd been watching online over the holidays, help with nerves. And she desperately needs a trick to be able to stand next to this woman without looking like she's losing her mind.