Page 32 of Tell Me What you Think

"A fight," she confesses out of nowhere, and Olga's jaw drops.

"No way," she says, barely holding back a laugh. "I don't believe it. I can picture you in a thousand different ways, but fighting?"

Marina keeps smiling.

"It's definitely not something I'd do now, but I was seventeen and pretty stupid."

Olga's laugh breaks free all at once, like a rush of cool water from a fountain, and Marina sits there with her own smile frozen on her face, watching Olga's shoulders bounce with it and her bangs shake—details she'd paid no attention to before the kiss and that she now analyzes without control or any apparent reason.

"What happened?" Olga's curiosity has doubled.

"I was outside a bar with some friends and another group showed up from a nearby town, looking for trouble. I honestly don't remember exactly how it started. I know one of them got very mouthy and I decided that was a good idea too. I don't know what I said to her, but the answer was a punch I never saw coming—though I'll admit that even if I had, I wouldn't have been able to dodge it." She pauses to take a sip, enjoying her assistant's full attention. "I went down flat on my back. I was dizzy and seeing little white lights everywhere," she explains, laughing now, caught up in Olga's laughter. "But the worst part was when the bar owner took me to the bathroom to clean up the cut. When I saw my lip was split open it shocked me so much I fainted, and the next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital. That's the whole story."

"Oh my God, you were such a troublemaker."

"I'd call it a teenager in the process of developing social intelligence."

Olga laughs again.

"Wow, I never would have guessed. You're so…"

"So what?" Marina's eyelids lower slightly and Olga finds herself staring at her impressive lashes.

"I—I don't know," she stammers. "Elegant, polished, poised." She shrugs. "I could come up with a lot of adjectives, but picking fights is definitely not one of them."

"Fortunately, I figured out early enough that fighting wasn't for me," she says with a smile, and lifts her water glass in a toast.

The hotel Olga booked isn't far from the restaurant, and when they reach their floor, they both stop in front of Marina's door before Olga continues on to hers, directly across the hall.

"So," her assistant begins. "Want to meet downstairs for breakfast tomorrow?"

"Eight thirty?" the vice president suggests.

"Perfect. Yeah. So… good night."

Marina smiles at her.

"Good night, Olga. Get some rest."

Olga gives her a small smile in return and turns to press her key card against the reader on her door, and Marina doesn't move from her spot until she watches her disappear inside.

Chapter 14

When Olga comes downstairs for breakfast, Marina is already at a table with a cup of coffee, her hair loose and still damp from the shower. She's reading something on her phone. The assistant freezes in the doorway, pulse spiking, something burning low in her stomach. She's never seen her boss like this — freshly awake, yawning because she hasn't had enough time to clear her head yet — and it feels so intimate that Olga isn't sure she has any right to witness it.

"Good morning," she says when she finally makes herself walk over. "Have you been down long?"

"Hey, Olga." Marina sets her phone face-up on the table, a WhatsApp conversation open on the screen, and Olga can't help glancing at it. She doesn't try to read anything — she wouldn't — but she catches the name because Marina has it typed in all caps: Alex. A small knot tightens in her stomach, and she forces herself to breathe slowly.

"Five minutes. I needed coffee," Marina says, and gets up to go grab breakfast.

Olga gets a café con leche and a couple of slices of toast with butter and jam. Marina comes back with another coffee and a serrano ham sandwich.

They eat going over the day's schedule — the wrap-up meetings still left this morning, a final review with Duarte, and the obligatory lunch with the partners.

"I want to nail down the local contracts today," Marina says, watching Olga spread butter on her second piece of toast. "Yesterday I got the feeling the Portuguese side is less documented than the Barcelona side."

"I'll take care of it," Olga says, making a note on her phone.