She reached her arm across the desk, and he took note of her feminine hand and the soft pink nails, probably still manicured from her wedding.
He grasped her hand, and it felt small and vulnerable in his own. He quickly dropped it and cleared his throat. “I appreciate that. Would you like to visit the lab before I take you to lunch?”
She reached into her bag and pulled out a small, oddly shaped, cobalt blue bottle. She set it gently on his desk. “This is Volatility!”
“I don’t really wear cologne,” he said. Then he caught sight of the gold lettering on the bottle and realized it had been her wedding favor, and empathy welled within him. He uncorked the stopper. The scent filled his nostrils. Truly, he’d never smelled a cologne like it. It wasn’t heavy or overbearing, but it was distinctly masculine. “I think I get it.”
“I’d like to have a bottle designed and trademark the name. I really believe in this scent. It took a lot out of me. The ingredients aren’t overly costly, so it’s something that can be mass-produced pretty easily. And I have reason to believe it will be—with or without me.”
What did she mean by that? He couldn’t figure her out. Of course, he’d never been able to figure women out, which was why he’d been such a failure as a husband.
“Maybe you should talk to Ken. He heads up beauty and grooming. He could help you.”
“Won’t you help me?”
Were her eyes starting to swim with tears? He lifted the bottle. “I told you, I don’t know the first thing about cologne.”
“I don’t know the first thing about Ken, but this scent, you’re exactly who it’s designed for. Manly men, men who wouldn’t be caught dead spending more than five minutes in front of the mirror,” she said. She glanced about his office. “You may not know cologne, but you know how to market products. How to package them.”
He laughed. “Laundry detergent. I know how to package laundry detergent and get it to market on time.”
He looked at her eyes again and was afraid she’d break into sobs at his desk. That tough exterior really was nothing more than an act. And Lord help him if he wasn’t a sucker for a crying woman.
“You’re trustworthy. I can see it in your eyes. This may sound ludicrous to you, but this fragrance is about taking back my power. I need this. And if we can help each other, why not?”
He knew he’d regret his words, but they came tumbling out anyway. “I’ll do what I can.”
She smiled all the way to her eyes, and Jesse knew his troubles with Daphne Sweeten were a lot bigger than his budget.
Chapter 4
Daphne had laid all her cards on the table and realized shortly thereafter that she had far fewer reasons to trust Jesse Lightner than she did Mark . . . and look how that had turned out. Mark used to tell her she tended to give the game away in negotiation, offering up too much information up front. How ironic that his best advice would echo in her ear a moment too late.
She’d always found his take on negotiation, and people in general, to be slightly paranoid. He’d certainly kept his cards close to his chest when it came to his wedding escape.
“Maybe I should do this myself,” she said as she lifted the cobalt bottle from the desk.
“You made this scent for your wedding?”
She nodded.
“The one that didn’t happen, I’m assuming.”
“Yes.” She supposed that was the only thing that could be worse: having two weddings that didn’t happen. She wished she could run from view and hide the red heat she felt on her face.
“Well,” Jesse said, stacking papers on his desk, “I’m sorry that happened, but it appears you and I are meant to work together for this season.”
He looked sincere, and she appreciated that. Though at this point, alone in a city she didn’t know, she’d probably cling to any port in her current storm.
Jesse wasn’t hard on the eyes. His soft smile implied empathy, but not pity. As her superior he was off limits, but it didn’t hurt to look.
“I just need you to stay until Christmas,” he said.
When she looked at him, he shrugged.
“You were straight with me. I figure being straight with you is the least I can do. It will build some trust between us. This is how trust is formed.”
“By being bad negotiators?”
He laughed. “Why not? It doesn’t appear either one of us has a choice presently, so we may as well prove our combined worth.”
She never should have shown him the cologne, nor let him know she had nowhere to go. She could apply for other jobs. She had options. Why did she make herself sound so completely pathetic?
“I’ll do what I can for your cologne. Bob’s our packaging expert. I’ll tell him this is private; you can trust him. In return, you’ll stay through Christmas. Is it a deal?”
Jesse reached out his hand, but her eyes were locked on the tattoo wedding band.
“It’s a deal.” Christmas was only six months away. It would take her that long to find a decent placement.
The phone in his office rang, and he looked toward the display. “Excuse me, I need to get this.” He lifted the phone. “Jesse Lightner.” He paused and twisted around in his chair so he faced the window. “Sure, send her in. I’ll have her take Daphne to the lab.” He turned back around and put the phone down. “Good news. Marketing has arrived and is going to tour the lab with you while I get some paperwork done. We’ll meet for lunch and talk about your first assignment. Maybe we can find an emotional aspect to dishwashing after all.”
He tried to hand her the cologne bottle.
“Don’t you need it for packaging?”
“Right.”
He curled his hand around the bottle, and she tried to decipher if he’d ever pick it up again. Six months wasn’t a lot of time; she’d make good on her word even if Jesse wouldn’t. She only hoped that he was a man of honor who would do as he said. She needed that at the moment, if she was ever to believe in love again. She needed to believe a man could keep his promise, no matter how trifling it seemed.
There was a light tap on the door, and then it opened to reveal the beauty queen of epic proportions whom Daphne had seen in the bathroom earlier. She had to be nearly six feet tall in her heels, but even if she’d been five two, Daphne would have felt looked down upon. The woman looked very French and very elegant in her white, high-waisted nautical pants with a stylish blue rope for a belt. Her look was both impeccable and timeless. She tossed her long, dark tresses as if she knew the cosmic disturbance she’d cause with the action.
Discouragement gripped Daphne. Not because she wasn’t the belle of the ball—she hadn’t been the belle of her own wedding— but because she wasn’t even the most elegant woman in a small office in Dayton, Ohio. Maybe Arnaud never had wanted her back and had been relieved at the opportunity to let her go.
“Kensie Whitman,” the woman said from atop her Barbie waist and under her Kardashian-worthy mane. “You must be Delilah.”
“Daphne,” she corrected. “Daphne Sweeten.”
“Isn’t that sweet? I knew it was something biblical.” Kensie smiled.
Daphne thought it useless to correct Kensie on Greek mythology versus the Bible. Something told her it would fall on deaf ears.
Kensie seemed young for her marketing position. Maybe twenty-four at the oldest, Daphne surmised, but the confidence she showed in what must be five-inch stilettos said that Kensie wouldn’t be held back by anything, much less age.
Daphne couldn’t stop staring. She wished she possessed that kind of spark that gathered attention like flowers gathered bees. A woman like Kensie would never be left at the altar, and that made Daphne feel sorry for herself all over again.
“What’s that?” Kensie asked, noticing the bottle on Jesse’s desk.
Jesse opened a drawer and put the bottle inside. “It’s nothing. A sample from a company wanting to do business with us. You know how they are.”
Daphne looked to Jesse, and then
to Kensie, confused. If Kensie was marketing, wouldn’t she be involved in a discussion about packaging?
“What time should I bring Delilah back?”
“Daphne,” she and Jesse said together.
Daphne didn’t think for a minute that Kensie didn’t know her name. The woman didn’t get to be marketing products by forgetting people’s names.
“Have her back by noon,” Jesse said, barely acknowledging Kensie’s presence. “Do you like Italian food, Daphne?”
“You’re not going to take her to the Spaghetti Warehouse!
Jesse! That’s where he took me when I started. Now he knows better than to take me to that dump.”
“I like Italian food,” Daphne murmured.
“Jesse, look at her suit. She does not want to sit in a vinyl booth in that suit.” She turned toward Daphne. “St. John, right?”
“Yes,” Daphne said, not adding that it was from her trousseau and she’d never owned anything like it before and probably never would again. It was the one and only thing she owned with a label that she hadn’t picked up at a Paris flea market. Working in chemistry, one rarely invested in clothing for work. And now that she’d learned that formulation at Gibraltar was done by hand, she never would again.
Jesse looked bruised.
“I’m fine, really,” Daphne said. “I like comfortable restaurants. We don’t even have to do lunch today if you’re busy. You can just let me read over the product information on what you want me to start working on. I’m very much a self-starter.”
There she was again, making excuses to be ignored. She’d allowed it with Mark, she supposed. Best not to get in that dynamic again.
“Make him take you to a nice lunch. Trust me, it’s the only perk you’ll get around here. Moths fly out of Dave’s wallet—but first you’ll have to fill out a requisition form to get him to open it at all.”
“Kensie, take Daphne to the lab, will you?” Jesse said.
“Your wish is my command.” She saluted Jesse in unspoken homage to her nautical outfit. “The lab’s upstairs. I’m sure Jesse plans to get you out to the manufacturing plant at some point.”
Daphne grabbed her handbag and briefcase, and struggled to keep up with Kensie’s long strides. “How do you walk so fast in those shoes?”
“I’ve been wearing them so long, I’d probably have more trouble in flats. Shoes aren’t important to you, huh?”
Kensie looked down at Daphne’s shoes, and they suddenly felt very cheap and last year. In truth, they were just practical, and they weren’t cheap. Comfort didn’t come cheap.
“I have to be able to walk around the lab all day and protect my feet from any toxic chemicals. Friday night, sure, I’m all for heels.”
Even as she said it, she sounded ridiculous. As if Kensie would believe Daphne had any nightlife to speak of. On a Friday night, Daphne was either at the archery range or testing scents in her home office—maybe if she was really feeling wild, she’d knit. She wondered if it showed, how incredibly boring she was. Yet another reason Mark probably escaped.
“Well, don’t spend your money for good suits in our lab. Even if the guys are neat, they’re easily sidetracked.” Kensie smiled. “I should know. I’ve had a few chemicals splashed on me giving tours to prospective customers. Wear your lab coat and keep some distance.”
Daphne finally caught up with Kensie at the elevator. “I have a chemistry background. I know my way around a lab.” The comment sounded full of herself, and she tried to recover. “When I was in Paris, I only used to dress up when we met with a client. I suppose that’s your area of expertise, so I won’t need suits here.”
“Did you ever meet anyone famous?” Kensie asked as though she might hear a chewy morsel of gossip.
“I did, but we’re under strict confidentiality rules at Givaudan. I can’t give away proprietary information.”
“Please. You’re kidding, right? Tell me who!”
She leaned in, giving Daphne an up-close view of her absolutely flawless skin. So flawless, in fact, that Daphne forgot what she’d been asked.
“Didn’t they fire you? I mean, that’s why you’re here, right? I doubt it matters if you tell me who you met there in your secret building.”
“I wasn’t fired,” Daphne clarified. “They offered me a position, actually, but I left of my own free will.”
“I’ve never left a company that didn’t beg to get me back.”
Daphne wanted to ask how many jobs she’d had in her infinitely short career, but she bit her tongue. “That’s great. I hope it stays that way forever.”
“Why wouldn’t it? That guy you toured with the first time didn’t get the job, by the way. Turns out he lied on his résumé. I didn’t think you science sorts were sly enough to do that, but I have to admit, I was intrigued when I found out. A bad boy scientist is, you know, kind of intriguing.”
“That’s too bad,” Daphne said.
Kensie pressed a slender manicured finger toward the elevator’s button. “I know, right? Because he was hot and he was totally flirting with me, and this office could use an influx of good-looking men. Well, what office couldn’t, right? The bores we have around here are not worth a second glance. Jesse would be hot if he wasn’t so hung up on his dead wife.”
Daphne gasped at the callous comment. “Jesse lost his wife?”
“Some say ‘lost.’ Some say she did it on purpose. I suppose with as quiet as he is, we’ll never know.”
“That’s terrible!” Daphne felt suddenly very protective toward her new boss and didn’t want to hear any more. “He must have been crushed. Any rumors are just that, I’m sure.”
“Are you for real? Or did Laura Ingalls Wilder just get off the train from California?”
“I just think . . . I think it’s none of my business.”
“Rumors are usually based on something, in my experience.” Kensie turned and looked into the mirror on the elevator as the doors opened. “Fine. We’ll talk about something safe. What’s your favorite perfume?”
Daphne followed the elegantly timed clicks of Kensie’s heels across the wide hallway and into the bright white lab. “I guess it’s—”
“Mine is Toxic Love,” Kensie said. “Have you smelled it?”
“Yes,” she said without commentary. In truth, she might have picked the scent for Kensie without asking.
“It’s, like, got pheromones or something in it. All I know is when I wear that stuff to a club? I’m, like, irresistible to men.”
“I’m sure that has something to do with the way you look, Kensie.”
“Why? You don’t like Toxic Love?”
“No, it was a compliment. I meant because you’re so pretty. That’s why men find you irresistible. But I bet if you smell great, it only adds to the allure.”
“Sure,” Kensie said. “So this is the lab.”
The pristine white room was lined with windows overlooking the city of Dayton. “Wow, it’s amazing. The lab and the view.” She loved how the lab was expansive and allowed the scientists to work together, but separately.
Kensie looked at her. “You’re easily impressed, I’d say. Are you planning to live downtown?”
“Um, I’m not exactly sure. It seems my fian—father purchased a house here, but I haven’t seen it yet. I plan to stay in a hotel first and get situated.”
“Your dad . . . your dad bought you a house?”
“As an investment. He does real estate development for a living.” She longed to change the subject. “So tell me about the lab.”
“It’s a lab.” Kensie shrugged her delicate shoulders. “I don’t see how it’s any different from any other lab. It’s got scientists who are all brains and no street smarts, certainly no chivalry or dating sense. That’s what I’m here at Gibraltar for—to bring common sense into your world so you can focus and I can get your products to the market.”
Daphne couldn’t find her voice, as two of the scientists were within listening distance. Luckily, t
he roar of the hoods probably drowned out Kensie’s running commentary.
“Here’s a lab coat. Put it on.” Kensie tossed her a coat and slipped out of her heels and into hard-toed shoes. “Nylons aren’t acceptable as leg attire when you’re working. You’ll need to bring pants. Oh, and no jeans.”
“I think I’ve got the lab rules down.” Chemistry was chemistry, and the rules didn’t vary that much from lab to lab.
One scientist stood over a centrifuge in his safety glasses and gloves, but without her nose, Daphne couldn’t tell what he was mixing. There was a pang in her stomach from all she missed. The roar of the fume hoods filled the lab. There were only two scientists in the room, and neither looked up or took notice of their arrival. She didn’t want to draw their attention anyway, since without her sense of smell she had no way of knowing the volatility of the chemicals they were using. And she didn’t need any questions.
It dawned on her that her job might be more dangerous without her nose. It wasn’t just the matter of measuring proper values in a pipette. Now she’d be working with more cleaning agents. But she hoped with the loss of one sense, her others would only get stronger until scent came back to her. As she took in her surroundings, Kensie patted her on the shoulder and yelled over the noise.
“This is the formulation lab. Fragrance is down at the other end, but both Willard”—Kensie motioned toward a man who wasn’t old enough for the name Willard; he was maybe fifty and stood with a volumetric pipette measuring solution— “and John”—she pointed to the younger man at the centrifuge machine—“count on fragrance to work well with their formulations. If they don’t, trust me, you’ll hear about it in the staff meeting. They can’t confront, so they have to tattle like second graders. Around these parts, the scent doesn’t come first. Marketing is first, product second. Scent is discussed in marketing. Beauty works out of its own lab and has four scientists on staff. They don’t usually mix. I suppose you’ll be in the fragrance lab by yourself.”
The Scent of Rain Page 5
