Page 31 of Tell Me What you Think

"Everything was perfect, thank you," the vice president replies.

They spend the entire afternoon working, going over the structure of the Portuguese office, the local contracts, and the real org chart—the one where Marina always finds discrepancies and tries to work through with the team.

The vice president feels comfortable with Olga beside her in these meetings, because the moment someone asks a question, mentions a client, or brings up a piece of data, Olga finds it immediately in her documents and turns her screen so her boss can see it. They work well together, complementing each other so remarkably that it makes Marina wonder how she ever managed without her.

At one point, one of the Portuguese directors mentions a figure they haven't tracked down yet, and out of the corner of her eye Marina sees her assistant locate it in the original document and, again, turn her laptop toward her—except this time, as Olga leans in, their shoulders brush, and it's not only Olga who holds her breath for a moment. Marina does too.

By the time they leave, it's dark out and they're tired, but also hungry, so they settle on one of the two restaurants Duarte recommended for dinner.

They walk toward the area through cobblestone streets that shine with dampness under the streetlamps and Christmas lights, and they end up going into a restaurant they come across on the way that catches their eye—one with paper tablecloths clipped to the tables with binder clips, vaulted stone ceilings, and wooden beams.

The first ten minutes of dinner are spent talking about the meeting, but eventually neither of them feels like continuing with the subject, and an awkward silence falls, which prompts Olga to say the first thing that comes to mind.

"Tomorrow when we get back I need to call Andrea," she mentions as the server leaves a basket of bread on the table. "I'm dying to know if any of the documents she requested have come through."

"Try to relax about that, Olga—bureaucracy is a nightmare," Marina advises.

"Yeah, I know." She smiles. "If I'm calmer now, it's just—well, this whole thing worries me a lot. Though Andrea told me to sleep easy, that even if it's a long process, my cousin isn't going to take anything from me."

"Then why don't you listen to her?" the vice president asks, resting her forearms on the table and holding a piece of cutlery in each hand.

Olga smiles again and shrugs, the way someone does when they've been caught doing something they know they shouldn't.

The conversation drifts to Three Kings Day, with Olga noting that while all of Spain has been eating rosca bread, the two of them are in Lisbon for work, and because she's nervous and can't stand silence, she starts sharing memories from when she was little and her parents took her to the parade.

Marina listens and chimes in from time to time, but mostly she does one of the things she does best, which is observe. She sees that when Olga relaxes and feels comfortable she's very expressive with her hands when she talks, but that there are moments when she tucks them away suddenly, as if her mind is reminding her that she can't fully let her guard down in her presence. She's also picked up on the way her assistant looks everywhere when she laughs—at the table, at the painting on the wall, even at the server, anywhere but at her. But the worst part is that Marina catches other things too, like how the warm light of this place reflects off Olga's dark hair and makes it shine, or her permanently colored cheeks, or the two freckles along her jawline that Marina finds remarkably attractive.

"Can I ask you something personal?" Olga says.

"Sorry?" Marina says, trying to find her way back to the conversation.

"I asked if I could ask you something."

Olga is already blushing, because it took her a while to work up the nerve, and having Marina make her repeat herself adds another layer of nerves to the situation.

"Yeah, of course. Whatever you want."

Olga's eyes go wide. Whatever she wants? She's convinced Marina would take it back if she knew how many questions she has for her, but she forces herself to breathe slowly—like the guy in the video—and focuses on what has been gnawing at her curiosity for years.

"How did you get the scar on your lip?" she asks, pointing to her own.

The corner of Marina's mouth shifts slightly, and Olga has the feeling the floor is vibrating beneath her feet.

"What would you guess if you had to?" What Marina is going for is suspense, but her tone comes out too playful, and Olga's cheeks warm for a couple of seconds.

"Umm," she says thoughtfully, lowering her eyelids slightly with a mysterious expression. "Did you fall and hit something?"

"Cold, cold."

Olga laughs. Suddenly she's nervous—not because of how much she likes this woman, but because of the situation itself, because it feels too intimate, and she doesn't want to ruin it and have it end.

"Okay, let me think…" She takes a few seconds, though she's not really thinking at all—she's just watching the sharp brightness of her boss's gaze, which will finish her off with a heart attack if it keeps this up. "You were sleepwalking and walked into a doorframe."

Marina lets out a short laugh and shakes her head.

"Still cold, Olga. You're going to freeze at this rate."

"Damn it. Okay." Now she's starting to feel anxious. She's terrible at guessing games, and everything that comes to mind is too far-fetched to be real. "God, I have no idea. Just tell me, please," she begs with a grin, and Marina feels an inexplicable lurch in her chest in that moment, because Olga seems to have forgotten the embarrassment or caution with which she always looks at her, and Marina feels her gaze everywhere.