Page 42 of Tell Me What you Think

"It was out of line. I've been snapping at everyone all day like they did something to deserve it, including you, and I'm sorry, Olga." Marina runs a hand along the back of her neck; she's embarrassed by her own behavior, and this is the first time she's had to apologize for something like this. "I know it's not an excuse, but I slept terribly last night, I woke up in a rotten mood, and… well."

"It's fine," Olga says, warmth spreading through her. "We all have off days."

Marina watches her. Her assistant is smiling and looking at her the way she always does — with that flush settled in her cheeks that Marina likes more every time she sees it.

"I guess so. Still, it wasn't okay."

"Don't worry about it. It's already forgotten."

"Thank you."

A silence stretches between them, and they both stand there looking at each other as if neither one can find anywhere else to look, and Marina starts to feel anxious because her pulse has picked up and she still doesn't understand why this keeps happening to her with Olga.

"Okay, I'm heading out. Don't stay too late — it's turning into a nasty day out there," she says, not knowing what else to say.

"I brought an umbrella," Olga smiles. "Yesterday it caught me completely off guard — if Andrea hadn't had hers, I would've been soaked."

Marina feels her pulse beating in her left eyelid and the heat rising in her chest again as she pictures her assistant pressed up against the lawyer, sharing her umbrella.

"Andrea's always prepared. Anyway, see you tomorrow."

Chapter 18

"You got a minute?" Andrea asks on the other end of the line.

Olga is on her feet beside her desk — she jumped up the second the lawyer's name flashed on the screen. Her heart is racing and her palms have started to sweat. She can't help it. Every time this woman calls, fear floods through her and her stomach twists, because ever since the last will certificate came back empty, she's been counting down the hours until Saturday, when she plans to lock herself in the storage room and not come out until she's gone through every last box.

"Yeah, go ahead. What's going on?" she answers, and heat rushes to her ears when she turns and catches Marina watching her through the open door.

She thinks about stepping into the hallway to keep talking, but she's so wound up she'd probably walk straight into someone — she can't stay still — so she throws a quick gesture to her boss to signal it'll only be a minute, as if Marina has ever once told her she couldn't take a personal call.

"Your cousin's lawyer got back to us." Andrea pauses; someone asks her something and she covers the receiver to answer.

Olga paces the anteroom, spinning the pen between her fingers.

"Sorry about that," Andrea says when she returns. "It's been a crazy morning at the courthouse and I grabbed a break to call you. Let me give you the short version, okay?"

"Yes, please."

"They're denying any verbal agreement ever existed—"

"What?" She stops dead.

"They're saying we made it up, that there's no way to prove it, and that their client isn't giving up a thing. And as a little bonus, they're pushing a timeline: either there's a financial settlement this month, or they file a partition lawsuit."

She crosses to her chair and drops into it, defeated, switching the phone to her other hand so she can wipe the cold sweat off her palm on her pants.

"But you said that without a will we still had options—"

"And we do. Don't panic yet. This is theater, Olga — their lawyer is playing his part just like I play mine. They know your grandmother died without a will and they're leaning on it. That said, if we want to keep this from dragging on, that document you signed at the notary's office goes from important to absolutely essential. Find it, and this wraps up fast. If it doesn't turn up, it's what I told you at the start — this could stretch on for years, because we'd need witnesses, we'd have to reconstruct old bank records, and you'd end up spending money you could put to better use. I need that paper."

"Tomorrow I'm going to dig through every corner of my apartment until I find it."

"Good. While you're at it, set aside anything tied to that apartment from back then — receipts, documents, anything. If the notary's paper doesn't show up, everything else we can find will matter."

"Okay. Got it."

"Perfect. Call me if you find it. Talk soon, Olga."