Page 40 of Tell Me What you Think

Marina closes her office door and exhales. She would've liked to stay a little longer, find something to talk about that might distract Olga, but in the mood she's in right now, the best thing she can do for her is keep her distance.

Back at her apartment, her mood hasn't improved much — and that's despite a long bath with mineral salts and scented candles she hasn't allowed herself in months, which still didn't touch that burning feeling she's carried in her stomach ever since she saw them outside the restaurant. She's on the couch now, restless, not in the mood for TV, not tired, and not sure what to do with herself. She needs an explanation for this irritation that won't leave her alone, but no matter how many times she turns it over in her mind, she can't find one that satisfies her.

Her mom's usual goodnight video comes in, and when she opens the emoji keyboard to find the heart she always sends back, the only one that catches her eye is the little red angry face.

"Damn," she mutters, annoyed at herself.

She replies to her mom, and then she sees Alex's name right below, and something clicks in her head. She's sure that's exactly what she needs — one night of sex to cut cleanly through this impossible mood and get her back to her normal self. To switch off. That's all she wants. So she opens the conversation, confirms he's still in Barcelona, and texts him about getting together tonight.

As always, he says yes and sends her the hotel address. Marina gets up without overthinking it, calls a cab, and goes to her room to change. When she's ready, she grabs her bag and her phone and takes the elevator down, determined to let her mind go quiet after a day that's gone on far too long.

Chapter 17

Marina doesn't know how long she's been staring at the ceiling while Alex sleeps face-down beside her, his face smashed into the pillow and the comforter grazing his ear. She finally decides to check the time, and when she sees her alarm is about to go off, she disables it and decides to put an end to this disastrous night.

She glances sideways at him and makes a face of frustration to herself, because it wasn't his fault. Alex had tried, been patient, asked a couple of times if she wanted him to do something different; the problem was her head. At first everything was fine — Marina arrived with a goal, the usual one. No dinners, no conversation or warm-up, always straight to the point, and until last night she'd never had a problem with that. In fact, when she'd arrived, she'd managed to shake off a day that had left her in a foul mood.

Marina had focused on what was around her: a hotel room, the bed, and Alex. Everything was going fine, her pulse had started to race and her body was responding perfectly to touches she'd grown used to — it was when she closed her eyes that everything went to hell. The pleasure was building, reaching that speed that makes you dizzy when you're about to tip over the edge, but somewhere between one breath and the next, her mind filled with images and Alex's hands became someone else's. They were smaller, soft, with a silver ring on the thumb and delicate fingers that left notes on her desk every morning. The mouth sighing against her neck had a different voice — one that often stumbled over itself and apologized frequently — and then the full image of Olga appeared above her, looking at her with that flush that always kept her cheeks warm and those dilated pupils she'd had the day she kissed her. A jolt so violent tore through Marina that she let out a ragged moan so loud it didn't sound like her own. The problem came when she opened her eyes, startled by herself, and found Alex's face and the scratchy feel of his three-day stubble — which until then she'd found attractive, sexy, masculine. The sensation was like someone had flipped a switch. Everything went dark inside her, as if her body had disconnected all at once, and she went from being on the edge of coming to absolutely nothing. She felt like a whale beached on sand, lying beneath a perfectly nice man doing his best to hold on so she could get there.

Marina tried again. She closed her eyes and attempted to stay somewhere neutral where she wouldn't think about anything, but her mind did what it wanted and kept going back to the same place over and over: she'd picture Olga and get a rush, open her eyes and go cold, Olga would light her up, Alex would shut her down, on and on until her body felt like it was stuck in no man's land — switched on and dead at the same time — and for the first time since she'd been sleeping with him, Marina had to fake an orgasm. The worst part was that she pulled it off so convincingly it was depressing.

Alex collapsed beside her, happy and sweaty, kissed her shoulder, told her he loved being with her, and ten minutes later was asleep while she lay frozen on the mattress, so frustrated and unsettled she didn't even feel like going home.

The vice president pulls back the comforter and gets out of bed. She gathers her clothes carefully and locks herself in the bathroom to get dressed. On a normal day she'd shower here, but she's in such a foul mood the idea feels unbearable; what she needs is her own shower, her own apartment, her usual body wash, and to get back control of a life that lately has her stumbling from one thing to the next.

When she comes out, Alex is awake, turned toward her.

"Leaving already?" he asks, groggy. "Breakfast starts early, come on, we could—"

"I've got a brutal day ahead, Alex, and I still have to stop by my place to change," she says, and spares herself the reminder that they don't eat breakfast together, or lunch or dinner or talk. They only see each other to sleep together — but thinking about it makes her jaw tighten.

"Alright. I'll let you know next time I'm in town," he says, making a move to get up and walk her out.

"Don't get up," she says, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

"Good to see you, Cardona."

"You too. Take care."

As she walks across the carpeted floor toward the elevator, she thinks that she wasn't lying: it was good to see him, even if the night was a disaster for her. He's a good guy and it's easy to be with him, no strings attached.

When she steps outside, the cold hits her like a blade and her teeth chatter for a few seconds. She gets like this when she sleeps too little or too badly.

She hails a cab and just stares out the window as the car moves through the city. It's still dark, and on some streets the Christmas lights are still on, but not even the colors can lift her spirits.

When she gets back to her apartment, she strips and drops everything in the hamper, then turns the shower on as hot as her body can stand. It's standing under the stream, waiting for her muscles to unknot, that the anger hits her.

She's angry at herself for sabotaging a night that should have been simple and satisfying — designed to help her unwind, not wind her tighter. She's angry at her own mind, which until now has always obeyed logic and has suddenly started conjuring images on its own, and most of all she's angry at that rough, involuntary moan that burst from her throat and still echoes in her ears.

She scrubs her hair hard, trying to convince herself that all of this is nothing but the result of stress. The deal she's in the middle of has left her almost no downtime, no room to disconnect from work, and she knows better than anyone that a saturated body and mind can do strange things when pushed that far.

Marina walks through the office doors with a tight expression and a foul temper she can't keep in check. She's fully aware of how severe she looks and how barely audible her voice is when she greets the people she passes.

When she reaches her office, she says a quick "hey" to Olga — too clipped, no good morning, no stopping to ask her anything. She walks straight through, takes off her coat, and sinks into her chair as exhausted as if she'd already put in a full day.

The first to bear the brunt of her unfiltered anger is the analysis team, when during the first meeting they hand her a report she skims and then drops on the table with a complaint that it's too superficial.

"There's nothing I can do with this," she says without looking at anyone — but Olga looks at her, surprised.