Page 41 of Tell Me What you Think

Her second outburst is over the phone, while she's speaking with someone from the tax department about a second mistake she'd caught that morning.

Olga pushes the door open at that moment to say something, but when she hears her, she decides to come back later.

"You two sort it out — that's what you're here for," the vice president snaps, ending the call with a sharp click.

Olga is troubled by what she sees. Marina has never been rude to anyone, never spoken with that kind of arrogance, never had that icy look in her expression. She's tempted to walk in and ask if she's okay, but she reminds herself that the woman has every right to have an off day, so she keeps letting it go, staying out of her way until she has no choice but to go in and sit with her to go over the week's schedule.

The assistant keeps a straight face, as if her boss's mood has nothing to do with her. She pulls up the calendar and points out a few things, anticipating the questions she knows are simmering in Marina's mind, while Marina listens with her brow furrowed so deeply she has two lines pressed into her forehead.

"Should I schedule the Nauta session on Thursday at ten or eleven?" Olga asks gently.

"Whatever works," Marina answers without looking up from her screen.

"I'm just not sure, because at ten, if it runs long, it could overlap with the call you have at ten-thirty, but if I put it at eleven you'll barely have time to—"

"Olga, you decide. It's a meeting, not an international treaty," Marina cuts her off, impatient, with a sharpness that isn't like her.

For a few seconds the assistant stares at her, open-mouthed.

"Of course, sorry. I'll put it at eleven," she says, jotting something down quickly.

Olga closes her laptop and stands.

"I'll leave you to it. If you need anything, I'm right outside. Do you want me to close the door on my way out?"

"Doesn't matter."

Olga doesn't tell her boss to go to hell, which is what she's deserved since the moment she set foot in the office this morning. She walks out calmly, head high, laptop pressed against her chest, and the vice president listens to her settle back at her desk and start making calls in that even, steady voice that doesn't stumble once — except when she's talking to her.

Marina sets down what she's doing and leans back in her chair, turning toward the window. This isn't who she is — she gives feedback in private and doesn't snap at people the way she's been doing all day, and that makes her feel deeply uncomfortable with herself, which does nothing to improve her mood. She sits watching the thick gray clouds, wondering whether it'll rain again today or if the storm is only inside her, when she hears the door open and turns to see her friend Jordi walking toward her desk.

"Word going around is you're being a little unbearable — here." Jordi tosses something toward her and Marina feels a small flash of pride at her own reflexes when she catches it with both hands, finding a piece of candy that, somehow, pulls the first smile of the day out of her.

"Thanks, Jordi."

He shrugs, tucks one hand in his pocket, and walks back to the door, but pauses before heading out.

"If you need anything, you know where to find me."

Marina nods and says nothing, but her small smile says thank you and her friend takes it. When he's gone, the vice president unwraps the candy, pops it in her mouth, and crunches it between her back teeth, and in some strange way — like everything that's been happening to her lately — that calms her down enough to let her work through the rest of the afternoon without the noise in her head taking over.

When she finally calls it a day, she decides there's one more thing to do before she leaves, so she glances toward the door and raises her voice.

"Olga, can you come in for a second?"

She hears the chair scrape across the floor, and a moment later her assistant appears in the doorway, hands folded in her lap and her lower lip caught between her teeth, and the sight of her makes Marina's breath catch for a second.

"Come in and close the door, please," she says, clearing her throat.

Olga doesn't know whether to start shaking. She can't remember her boss ever asking her to close it, and after the day she's had, the most likely explanation is that what's waiting for her is a pink slip. When she turns back around, Marina has gotten up and come around the desk, leaning against the edge of it with her hands resting on the wood as she waits for Olga to come closer.

"Do you need something?" Olga doesn't sit; she'd rather stay on her feet in case she needs to make a quick exit.

"Yes — I wanted to apologize for earlier."

"What?"

The assistant raises her eyebrows, startled, and her heart nearly stops when Marina gives her a soft smile that tilts slightly to the left.