Daphne gave a nervous laugh and felt heat in her face. She could tell by the way Anne went on that she must know about the wedding. “You’re too kind.” She longed to get the niceties behind her. “I’m so embarrassed that I’ve brought my suitcases with me, but I was anxious to see the lab again.”
“What’s that in the bag over your shoulder?” Anne asked. “Something I could take to the lab for you?”
Daphne shifted the canvas bag. “It’s my bow. An archery bow. When I can’t think clearly, I go to the archery range. It helps me think.”
“Ah, isn’t that clever?”
Daphne had thought she’d find more support for her archery habit in Ohio than she had in California. Perhaps not.
“Well, we’ve heard so much about you from Dave. He’s gone on so about your credentials that we almost believe you’ve got magical powers.”
Daphne swallowed hard and felt her mortality. “I’m not sure I can live up to that kind of talk.” Or any talk, come to that. She looked around the office again, at the bank of cubicles that housed her coworkers. “Will any other new employees be starting today? Or soon?” she asked cryptically.
Anne stared at her as if she had three noses. “I don’t think so. We’re a small company. You’re the first laboratory hire in a long while. I’ll take your bags and put them in the storage room if you don’t need anything in them.”
She bustled through the office, past the glass bank of walls toward the cubicles, then suddenly stopped and dropped the luggage at her feet near the front desk while she focused intently on Daphne. “I’m so excited for you to meet everyone. We need some new blood in this office.”
Daphne stayed quiet, feeling the weight of expectations. If everyone believed she possessed the power to turn Gibraltar around with a single Superman-like leap, they were in for disappointment.
“Is Mark going to be here?” she blurted, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.
“Mark?”
“Mark Goodsmith. He was hired the same day I was— for the sales department—and I hadn’t really heard if . . . you know . . . if he’d be starting the same day as me.” She didn’t mention that she was nearly two weeks early, sans honeymoon.
Anne’s mouth moved into a round O position. “You mean— I’ll let your boss discuss that with you. Legally, I can’t comment on employees.”
The atmosphere suddenly had grown chilly.
“I just want to know if he’ll be here. You don’t have to tell me anything more than that.”
Anne stopped in the wide hallway before they entered the cubicle section behind the glass walls. She lowered her voice. “Your former fiancé—that’s Mark?”
Daphne nodded.
Anne pulled her into the nearby ladies’ room and waited for the door to close behind them. “They rescinded his offer. He lied on his résumé, so he won’t be here.” Anne took Daphne’s hand in hers. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no,” Daphne said lightly. “That’s fine. I just wanted to know, that’s all. I wanted to know what I should expect.”
“Of course you did.”
One of the bathroom stalls opened, and a tall, lanky brunette with flowing dark hair and an outfit straight out of Vogue emerged. An unfriendly smile overtook the gorgeous face, and the woman exchanged a look with Anne that Daphne didn’t like. She washed her hands and exited without saying a word.
“That’s Kensie. She’s in marketing, and you’ll meet her soon enough. The restroom didn’t seem like the place for a proper introduction. But if I were you, I wouldn’t mention Mark to her.”
At the sound of Mark’s name, Daphne plunged lower emotionally. “He’s not coming . . .” Her voice trailed off as reality sank in. Mark was gone. The man she thought she’d spend the rest of her life with . . . She might never see him again.
Anne put her arm around Daphne. “I promise you, the best is yet to come.”
Out in the hallway once again, they walked to the front desk. Anne rolled the luggage toward a door behind the desk, opened it, and the luggage disappeared from view. “Let me get you to Jesse. He’ll be anxious to meet you. And if you want a shoulder to cry on, you come to me. All right?”
Daphne nodded. “Who is Jesse?”
“Your boss.”
“I thought Dave—”
“You were Dave’s idea, but you’re Jesse’s formulator. He was at a conference when you were here before. Wait until you meet him.”
Yes, she thought. Just wait until he meets this magical nose who can’t smell a thing.
She sucked in a deep breath as she followed Anne. If she had known Mark wouldn’t be in Dayton, would she have come? Maybe this had only been her pathetic attempt to get him back. She wanted answers; knowing Dayton held none, she was ready to retreat. She wasn’t as ready for healing as she’d thought.
Anne turned briskly, and Daphne practically ran into the older woman.
“Sure you wouldn’t like something to drink?” she asked. “Some water maybe?”
“No!” Daphne lowered her voice. “I’m sorry. No, thank you. I’m a little nervous.”
“About Jesse?” Anne grabbed her wrist. “You really are nervous, aren’t you?” She motioned toward a chair in the office’s lobby. “Why don’t you have a seat and let me know when you’re ready. He’s got plenty to do.”
“That will only give me more time to worry. Let’s get it over with.” She prayed her sense of smell would miraculously be back before she met the man.
“As I mentioned, my husband is a pastor,” Anne said out of the blue. “I know you’re not likely thinking of dating yet, but we have an excellent singles’ group. I’m sure you’d enjoy it.”
Daphne gasped slightly. “Sounds lovely,” she lied.
Anne led her to an office door with its shutters to the hallway closed and its inhabitant a mystery. Daphne read the nameplate on the wall. Jesse Lightner. He sounded innocuous enough, but with the way Daphne’s life had been going, she knew better than to make rash judgments.
Anne tapped on the door. “We have an open door policy here at Gibraltar. Even a closed door isn’t off limits if you knock first.”
“Wonderful,” Daphne said, trying to catch a glimpse of Jesse when Anne opened the door. She only heard his deep voice.
“She’s not here already?” he said, before he noticed her presence. “Ah, you are here.” A tall man approached them with long, assured steps. He made a quick assessment of her, but she couldn’t tell what conclusion he came to.
His dark hair was cut close to his head, almost in military style, and his sharply cut features emitted an air of intensity that felt almost criminal. She shuddered unwittingly as he approached, but her eyes were glued to his form. His tailored suit did nothing to diminish the rough-hewn masculinity beneath. Her eyes fell to a tattooed wedding ring on his left ring finger.
Anne waved her in. “Daphne, meet your brand manager. This is Jesse Lightner. Jesse, this is Daphne Sweeten, the famous nose of Gibraltar.”
For a fleeting moment she smelled the essence of baby powder, and she filled with excitement that her nightmare had ended. “You’re a father!” she said too enthusiastically, as if no one on earth had ever parented before him.
“I am,” he said. “How did you know?” He narrowed his eyes and looked at her warily, as if he’d encountered the paranormal.
Daphne longed to grab her bow and find the nearest archery range.
“I—uh—I thought I smelled baby powder,” she explained. A frame on Jesse’s desk faced away from her, and without thinking, she turned it toward her and saw the future she’d lost. An infant was curled up in Jesse’s arms and a gorgeous blond woman stood next to them, looking at the two as if they were pure magic. The sight of the happy family made her stomach churn. If Daphne were blond, would she be more attractive? Better able to keep a man? She struggled to regain composure. “Your family is beautiful.”
Love does not envy, she told herself.
She searched for
words that would take that judgmental skepticism off Jesse’s face.
“Your wife looks like she’d wear Gucci’s Envy. Have you ever smelled it? Peonies, jasmine, pomegranate, and teak. It sounds like it would be really heavy, but it isn’t. The combination totally works.”
He stared at her darkly, and she scrambled to explain herself. Something about his intensity stripped her of composure.
“She seems to have the elements of the most feminine qualities, but she also seems so warm, so the wood would ground her. If you’re looking for a present, I’d recommend it.”
He reached for the photograph and planted it facedown on the credenza behind him. She was rattling on, she realized. And she hadn’t gained back her sense of smell; it had only been a fleeting gift, taunting her with the essence of baby powder.
She stared at her boss again. Most people had no idea how to select a scent for themselves. Jesse’s flavor would be a Hermes cologne with notes of berries, balsam wood, and dried mosses: manly and rugged, a protector with berry overtones hinting at accessibility under the gruff exterior. His type was true, she decided, not the sort to wander. The thought made her envy the blonde in the photo even more.
He was glaring at her now the way a wild animal stares at its prey. “We’re not big on perfume at my house.”
She cleared her throat. “It’s one of my gifts, sensing signature scents for people. By their personalities. Am I right?” She looked toward her feet. “About your wife, I mean?”
“I’m not married,” he said.
She wanted to point out the tattooed wedding band, but Even fools are thought wise if they keep silent, she reminded herself, and bit her tongue.
Somewhere during this disastrous conversation Anne had slipped out of the office.
“Please sit down.” Jesse motioned toward the chair, and she sat immediately like a well-trained dog. He closed his eyes for a minute as if her presence had already worn him out.
God, please. I can’t take any more. Help me out here.
When Jesse opened his eyes, she noted their color—a blue-green like she’d never seen. The blue parts were like a deep periwinkle, the green a soft, mossy earth color. She felt mesmerized by their uniqueness until he blinked and woke her from her momentary peace.
“I hope I didn’t—”
“I’m not married,” he said again, as if she might have missed it the first time. “What exactly can you do for Gibraltar?”
Jesse stared across his desk at his recently acquired liability of Daphne Sweeten. How was he supposed to keep such a worldly creation cooped up in the dank halls of Gibraltar? At the sight of her, he’d instantly had the image of trying to keep a hummingbird still. He’d expected her to be beautiful—after all, she’d come from the fashion industry in Paris—but he hadn’t expected her allure to have any effect on him. He thought himself above that weakness since Hannah’s death. But his reaction betrayed him. There was nothing inappropriate about her attire or demeanor; she wore a knit suit that hugged all the right curves and yet was the essence of modesty. But he struggled to find words to speak to her. Instead he barked everything he said in cold staccato.
He tried to redeem himself. “I hate to be unprepared, but I had very short notice you were coming today. I confess I’m not sure what to do with you.” He stared down at her portfolio that lay open before him on the desk. “You’re a perfumer, and as such I realize you’re highly sought after in the field. But you’re also overqualified for our needs here.” He rapped his fingers on his desk. “I make floor wax and dishwashing liquid.”
She gazed at him with wide blue eyes. With her dark hair and full red lips, she looked like a model on a magazine cover in the grocery store. But the picture came to life, and she came back at him with the same force he’d used himself.
“Perfume is no more glamorous than floor wax,” she said. “Maybe Switzerland and Paris are more glamorous settings, but the job is essentially the same. A little less art and a little more science, perhaps, but I assure you I’m up to the task. I have the chemistry background and am quite capable of formulation at any level. I’ve worked with the latest in formulation software and machinery.”
“The latest in software and machinery we don’t have,” he said bitterly. We do have . . . you.
She shifted in her seat but otherwise seemed unfazed by his forthrightness. “You’re getting me for a good price, since I’m fresh out of my internship. I’m sure you’re aware of what Givaudan graduates make.”
“I’m aware of it, but from my standpoint it hardly seems worth it. I’m just not sure we need a Givaudan graduate on staff.”
“Have you ever had one?”
“No,” he admitted.
“That’s because you don’t understand scent. All brand managers think they understand scent, but they don’t grasp the power that scent creates in a person’s life. Maybe when you’ve had a chance to see me work, you’ll think differently. Why don’t we wait and see?”
He tried to escape the pull of her blue eyes, but he couldn’t. “Tell me how you see the two connecting: dishwashing liquid and the professional nose.”
“I’ve changed my mind about you,” she said. “I think you’d have a musk foundation with cardamom. Maybe some teen angst in the form of sandalwood.”
“I think I’ve been insulted,” Jesse said. “But I’m not educated enough to know for sure.”
She laughed in a melodious tone. “See, I can help you with that.”
She wasn’t afraid of him. Maybe that’s all it was that intrigued him about her, but that would be his downfall.
The fact that Daphne could afford to lose this job was exactly why Dave shouldn’t have hired her. She’d probably already booked her flight back to Paris. She’d leave him in the lurch, with some half-designed floor wax no one else could formulate.
“Back to your question of how I’ll fit in here . . .”
She flicked her hair over her shoulder. He noticed its glimmer and forced himself to focus on her words, but then he found himself thinking again about how red her lips were.
“It’s the same job. Less romance, as you pointed out. But as the Bible says, there’s a time for everything under the sun. A time for sensual pleasures and a time for washing the dishes. This is my time to wash the dishes and make that job a more pleasurable experience.”
Her allusion to Scripture caught him off guard. Neither Paris nor California was exactly known for its faith. He saw his own prejudice coming out in his thoughts, and he wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. Which scared him. She was the kind of woman who wasn’t easily shaken, but he couldn’t afford to take his eye off the prize. He needed to make his department profitable this fiscal quarter.
“I see on your résumé that you worked on a perfume for a new movie coming out.” He tapped his pencil on the desk rather than meet her eyes.
She nodded. “I’m not into Hollywood, and the scent isn’t my favorite. It will tank eventually, but by then it will have sold too many for anyone to care. Sometimes it’s all about the marketing, not the quality of the product.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You created this product to fail?”
“We didn’t create something to fail. My team created something, and the top brass on the movie selected the final product. I assume you’ve gone against your own ideals to please the customer. Ultimately, we gave them what they wanted, and sadly, that dog will follow me around on my résumé until I have something to replace it.”
“And do you?”
“I have the scent I created for the men’s gifts at my wedding. I plan to market it myself.”
“Is it good?”
“It’s perfect. I named it Volatility! to reflect—well, never mind. I think I’ll be renaming it. Something manly.”
Jesse shrugged. “Afraid I can’t help you there. I’m not much of a cologne wearer.”
“Back to why I can help you,” she said curtly. “Most scientists create with an end product in mind, and t
hat is a completely reasonable way to go about product introduction. I am different, as are most perfumers, in that we create based on emotion. You, the brand manager, give me the feeling you want your customer to have when interacting with your product, and I create a scent around the emotion. Maybe you don’t even know what that feeling is? In that case, I can offer up samples, and you can tell me what they make you feel.”
She may as well have told him she got her ideas from the Ghost of Christmas Past; it would have made as much sense. He scratched at the back of his neck. “What kind of ‘memory’ does one want when washing the dishes? You’ve got your lemon-lime, your fresh apple, citrus—it’s like fruit salad in your sink. Most people just want their dishes done. They’re not looking for an aromatherapy experience.”
Did she just scowl at him?
“Fake scents only strengthen your resolve to get the dishes done. I’ve smelled your products, and quite frankly, I find them nasty. In fact, I might become a hoarder if I had to smell that every day—just let the dishes pile up in the sink, or start using paper plates.”
Daphne Sweeten was a spitfire. And he needed that in his life like Dayton needed another great flood from its four intersecting rivers.
“You’re not shy with your opinions, are you? Do you happen to know the market share we’ve got with our dishwashing liquid?”
“I know you can use more, or your boss wouldn’t have hired me.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.
The peacock blue of her suit highlighted her eyes, and he imagined she knew that. She understood how her fluid movements captured attention. She had to. Anyone that in tune with the smallest details in life knew the effect her appearance had on others.
“I’ll be frank with you.” He laced his fingers together on the desk. “I don’t want to count on you for a product, only to have you fly off to Paris midcycle and leave me high and dry.”
Daphne’s eyes softened, and for the first time Jesse realized she might not be as tough as the front she presented. She looked thoughtful, and he waited for her to speak.
“You don’t have to worry about me leaving. Presently, I have nowhere to go.” Those blue eyes looked directly into his own. “I’m as stuck with you for now as you apparently are with me, and I promise you that when I get the opportunity to leave . . . if I get the opportunity to leave, I’ll give you as much advance notice as I can possibly manage. Deal?”
The Scent of Rain Page 4
