Page 61 of Tell Me What you Think

"Yeah, I'm sorry," she says, embarrassed.

"Yeah?" Marina's eyebrows rise.

"Yes, I mean—no. I'm not sorry, sorry," she contradicts herself, and Marina can't hold back a laugh.

"God, Olga, why is it so hard for you to talk about this?"

"I don't know," she sighs, her shoulders rising and falling.

"Right, well, we need to talk about it, because in the moment I agreed to let it go, but now I want to know why you did it."

Olga opens her mouth and moistens her lips, but her tongue is so dry it nearly sticks to them.

"I need water," she says at the same moment she stands up and rushes to the kitchen, where she grabs a glass, fills it to the top, and starts drinking.

A second later, she hears the click of Marina's heels on her tile floor, and for a split second she almost fears that her boss has gotten fed up with her nonsense and decided to leave. She'd understand. Marina is a woman who doesn't have time for the foolishness of someone who can barely breathe in her presence, much less talk about kisses, about her lips against hers and the electricity she felt both times it happened. But Marina isn't leaving—she's walking toward the kitchen, and Olga's knees start to give out.

Marina crosses the room and stops right in front of her, leaving Olga with the counter pressing into the small of her back. There's nowhere to go unless she slips sideways, but Olga doesn't want to do that, doesn't want to run from Marina or from herself for once in her life.

"Why did you do it?" her boss asks, gently removing the glass from her hand and setting it aside.

Does Marina think she'll drop it? Of course she does, because Olga is the clumsiest person in Barcelona, possibly on the entire planet. Olga drops her gaze for a moment while she thinks about how to answer, but then she feels Marina's fingers under her chin and her mouth falls open in a soft gasp.

"Look at me."

Olga swallows and looks up, and she doesn't pull away—she manages to stay focused on that face she loves, losing herself for a moment in the scar on her lip before moving up to those blue eyes with their impossible lashes.

"I'm in love with you," she finally confesses, surprised that the words came out steady and not in a squeak.

Marina can't hide the surprise on her face. She'd been sure that Olga felt something for her, but in love? She didn't see that coming.

"Since when?" she asks, pulling her fingers away from her chin.

"A long time."

Marina tilts her head, unsatisfied with that answer.

"Olga…"

"Two years, give or take."

Marina's eyes go wide.

"Two years?" she asks, stunned. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

Olga shrugs again, but Marina won't accept that as an answer.

"Talk to me, please."

"How was I supposed to tell you?" Olga bursts out. "You were the regional director, you dated men, you brought them to company dinners, and I didn't stand a chance. I turn red when you look at me, my voice cracks, I knock things over, and to top it all off, I just spat wine on you—the only thing missing is poisoning you with dinner." Her eyes sting with tears from the stress and frustration and she blinks several times trying to keep it from showing. "I figured you'd never notice me, and I'd rather stay quiet than say something that would only put you in an awkward spot."

"Well, I have noticed you," Marina whispers, stepping a little closer.

Olga swallows.

"Maybe it was that kiss, which has had me thinking about it every day since, or maybe it was because spending so much time with you over the holidays let me get to know you better and discover that you're wonderful—and very beautiful," she adds, raising an eyebrow, "though that last part I've always known."

Olga reaches behind her and grips the counter, afraid her knees might buckle right here.