Perfume Girl

by Vanessa Fewings

  “I’m not ready to do that.”

  “What did the police say, babe?”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  He shrugged. “Any leads?”

  “No.” I glanced at his co-worker self-consciously, and then looked back at him. “They stole my Orris oil.”

  “That’s expensive, right?” He lowered his gaze. “Well, how was the trip to Orlando?”

  “It didn’t work out.”

  Damien glared at his sous-chef. The man headed for the door, leaving us alone at last.

  “So you didn’t get the money from licensing?”

  I let out a shaky breath. “I had to reschedule the meeting with Anna Rosenthal.”

  “You went all that way for nothing?”

  I refused to tell him I’d lost my perfume. I was already feeling vulnerable because this was the man who had always made everything better—right up until he made everything worse.

  “What are you cooking?” I asked.

  “Beef Wellington…your favorite.” He gave me a sympathetic smile. “You doing okay?”

  “Not really.” I squeezed back tears.

  He rounded the counter and got closer to me…too close…and that familiar waft of his soft cologne clouded me in memories.

  He was wearing one of mine.

  “It’ll be okay.” His touch turned into a caress on my upper arm.

  “I need it to be.”

  He dragged me into a hug and I felt the crush of his chest against mine—that familiar scent of home.

  I peered up at him. “We were good together once, weren’t we?”

  His gaze roamed over me. “We were.”

  “Where did we go wrong?” I whispered.

  “Don’t.”

  “It’s all a blur.”

  One minute we were the kind of couple our friends envied, the type who took romantic boat trips out on the bay, enjoyed candle-lit dinners we cooked together, and had the kind of PDA that made our friends blush. It all ended too soon.

  Damien leaned down. “You smell amazing,” he whispered.

  “It’s not finished. I’m wearing it to inspire myself.”

  And you’ve lost the formula.

  “God, what I wouldn’t do to taste you one more time,” he said huskily.

  I glared up at him.

  “Yeah, don’t give me that look. You love it when I talk dirty.”

  He was so right. My flesh tingled, nipples tightening, my core responding to the way he pressed his chest to mine.

  The ache in my heart suddenly returned, and I stepped away from him. “I want…”

  “Yes?”

  “I want to forget seeing you with Embry. There’s no erasing it.” I blinked back tears.

  He frowned. “Wanna know why we didn’t work out?”

  “I’ve met her,” I snapped. “Mid-fuck, so I can guess it has a lot to do with her body.”

  “What I have with Embry isn’t superficial. She’s smart and funny—”

  “Great at guessing when there’s a storm coming!”

  Quite literally, because Damien had fallen for Miami’s TV Weather Girl—excuse me—meteorologist. With her tight dresses and suggestive smiles, the bombshell had a knack for flirting and had stolen my man with a wave of her manicured hand.

  Why no one had named a hurricane after her was beyond me.

  “You were never spontaneous,” he replied tersely. “You always needed advance warning to do anything fun.”

  “Sometimes it’s good to be cautious,” I reasoned.

  “You can’t live like that.”

  “And what you did to me proved I was right to be wary. You betrayed me in the worst kind of way.”

  “May I make a suggestion?”

  “No.”

  “Hit the gym.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “This is my kitchen. You fuck off.”

  Inhaling sharply, I forced myself to calm down. “I need more time to come up with the funds so I can keep my store.”

  “We’re buying a house,” he bit out. “I want the money I put in.”

  “You never did anything for the store.”

  “Did more than enough.” He strolled back behind the counter.

  “You hung a few pictures.” I gestured in frustration.

  “I built those shelves.”

  “That’s right, but you weren’t there for the opening. And now I know why.”

  “Next time go through my lawyer.”

  I wanted to spew insults and accusations, but no words came out. I was too full of heartache to convey what I wanted to say.

  I headed for the door.

  “Babe,” Damien called after me.

  I turned and glared back at him. “What?”

  ‘“When a storm’s coming?’” he quoted me.

  “Karma,” I replied with a nod. “It always finds you.”

  He gave me a smug little smile. “You’ve lost everything, Raquel. So how did being cautious work out for you?”

  “I was going to surprise you for your birthday. I was taking salsa classes.” So I could wow him…match the bastard move for move when he partied hard.

  You left it too late.

  He smirked. “You’d have surprised me all right.”

  I bit my cheek in frustration. “You know what your problem is? You underestimate me. Always have.”

  “You think so?”

  “Just reminding you that I’m a fighter. I always bounce back and I always find a way.”

  “Good, because I wanna see that two hundred and fifty K in my bank by the end of the month. That store was a waste of time.” He reached for the knife and began slicing.

  His words cut deeper.

  I turned and made my way back through the restaurant with my heart racing and my mouth dry with panic, realizing that the storm had already made landfall.

  Damien was right…I had lost everything.

  All I had left was me.

  “WHAT THE HELL ARE THESE?” I stared into the box at the pair of shoes and cringed.

  “Crocodile.” Taylor held out my tie. “Jasper thought they’d give you a millennial edge.”

  I accepted the tie from her and wove it around my neck while staring at the monstrosities that were meant to pass as footwear. “I can’t wear these, Taylor.”

  “They’re y.”

  I gave her an incredulous look.

  “Maybe try them on.”

  “Maybe I’ll fire everyone.”

  She looked unfazed.

  Taylor had been my personal assistant for over a year and I appreciated her professionalism. She’d followed my instructions flawlessly, booking a suite in The Setai, Miami Beach Hotel, and inviting Katy Kittredge over, the award-winning journalist from TIME magazine.

  I didn’t want this interview conducted at my home.

  Earlier today, Katy had toured The House of Beauregard and then requested a more in-depth interview with me. I’d relented to her request but on my terms. I wanted a place I could walk out of if I had to—though I was determined to sit through this one. The coverage was good for business, and good for my image.

  I’d come straight from Bridgestone ready to discard my jodhpurs and riding boots and take a shower. Getting ready here had been a stellar idea—or so I’d thought.

  “Well, at least the suit fits,” I said.

  She looked at her phone. “Penelope can’t make it.”

  I fastened my jacket. “Does she say why?”

  “She has a meeting that clashes.”

  Relief washed over me. “We need to do something about these shoes. Take the elevator to the top floor and throw them off the roof.”

  “They might fall on someone’s head.”

  “Hopefully Jasper’s.”

  Taylor whispered something under her breath and it sounded a lot like Tagalog, her first language. Though born in the Philippines, she had come to the States as a child with her family. Her studies in Florida had landed her with a degree in communic
ation, and for that I was eternally grateful. Right up until the point she’d presented me with these Crocodile Dundee shoes.

  I narrowed my gaze. “What did you just say?”

  “Just thinking how handsome you look.” She gave me a mischievous grin.

  I looked down at the shoes again. “Do we have time?”

  “I would need to delay the meeting.”

  “Fine.”

  “I’ll call Katy and push it back an hour.”

  “Otherwise I’ll look like a gangster! What the fuck, Taylor.”

  She suppressed a chuckle. “They definitely make a Mafioso statement.”

  The last thing I needed was to be immortalized on a magazine cover wearing these ridiculous shoes. “Make it happen.”

  I spent an hour alone lounging in the suite and flipping through TV channels as I waited for Taylor to drive the short distance to my home and back with my stylish leather shoes. I snacked on peanuts and M&M’s and downed a bottle of Perrier.

  By the time Katy Kittredge arrived, I was ready to get this interview behind me, feeling confident in my bespoke suit and black leather Armani dress shoes. Taylor guided Katy into the luxury sitting room and the tall, slender journalist took the seat opposite mine.

  I stood to shake her hand and guessed her age at around fifty. Katy had an enduring beauty and an easy elegance with a warm smile that lit up her face. Her deep blue eyes reflected kindness, an attribute that usually got her “victims” to open up, I assumed.

  She set a recorder on the table between us.

  “I would’ve loved to have visited your home, Astor,” she said, flipping open her notebook.

  “Maybe next time.”

  “I’m wondering how such a private man feels about being interviewed?”

  I crossed one long leg over another and leaned back. “It’s a pleasure to talk with you, Katy.”

  She glanced at her notes. “The House of Beauregard is close to becoming a goliath in the industry. What secret strategy will you use to take your company to the next level?”

  “Perfume is our passion. It’s where we begin and end. What we do is not for the accolades, of which there are many, or for financial gain, for which we are deeply grateful. Our main focus remains on creating accents that inspire, soothe, and transcend what others create. We will never lose sight of that goal.”

  “What makes The House of Beauregard stand out as a front runner?”

  “We don’t test our products on animals. We use a scientific approach that keeps our customers safe and guilt free. We are constantly placing high quality products on the market that have longer shelf lives, thanks to our patented formulas—some of which take years to perfect. The process can’t be rushed.”

  “Like a fine wine?”

  “Very much so.”

  Katy revealed an impressive understanding of my company and the industry at large. She asked intelligent questions, including where we saw ourselves a few years from now and how much input I offered for the invention of our dazzling scents.

  “How involved are you?”

  “I’m a chemist, Katy, so very.”

  She gave me a quizzical look, tilting her head. “Are you dating?”

  “How did we go from science to that subject?” I quipped.

  “No personal questions,” Taylor piped up.

  Katy gave a nod of acknowledgment. “Revealing more of yourself to our readers will provide a personal connection.”

  I leaned forward. “What you see is what you get.”

  She gave me a thin smile. “The world wants to know more about you.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “You use your mother’s maiden name, Beauregard, for the business. Not your father’s. Why?”

  “It suited the company.”

  “You adopted it as your surname as well. Sure there’s not a compelling story behind the reason?”

  “You want to know more about me?” I paused briefly. “I’m involved with several charities. I’m a passionate polo player—”

  “Vedado is your favorite horse?” Katy glanced at her notes.

  “I rescued him as a foal. He was mistreated.”

  “That’s nice, but I’m more interested in you.”

  I glanced at Taylor; this interview had landed a PR touchdown for our company, but the message about keeping my personal life private had fallen through the cracks.

  “What is your usual routine?” Katy asked.

  “I work out, read the news, ride in the late afternoon—”

  “Horses?” she said, smirking.

  I ignored her innuendo. “We have plenty of land at Bridgestone to exercise my horses. I head back to the office after having a break in the afternoon and work late into the night—”

  “No dating?”

  “That again? Why don’t you ask me something else?”

  “What are you reading right now?”

  “Sophie’s World by Jostein Gaarder.”

  “So you consider yourself a philosopher, Mr. Beauregard?”

  “Are we not all philosophers?”

  “We are not all elusive.” She sat back. “Tell us a little about your childhood.”

  “A happy one.”

  “You went to live in Cuba at thirteen and yet your sister remained behind?”

  I drew in a wary breath. “It was a decision my mother made after my father’s death. I respected it.”

  “Your father’s death…how did it affect you?”

  I leaned forward and pressed STOP on the recorder.

  “Sorry.” She looked apologetic. “I forgot.”

  “I remembered for you.”

  She didn’t seem deterred. “How did you cope with being so young when you were sent away? Separated from your family…no time to grieve.”

  “Admirably.”

  “Was it because your mother was grieving? Or something else?”

  “My heritage was important to my family. It still is. I visit Havana often.”

  “What about Penelope?”

  “I’ll let her answer her own questions.”

  “She’s not here.”

  I forced a smile. “I was allowed to experience and appreciate my heritage at a very young age and, as such, it shapes my work and influences my creations.”

  “Were you lonely?” she asked softly.

  I glanced at the window, feeling suffocated. “Turn the air conditioning up, please, Taylor.”

  She rose and headed across the room. “I’ll take care of it.”

  I looked over at Katy. “Where were we?”

  “We were talking about the Cuban monastery where you lived as a boy?”

  “Sir,” Taylor got my attention and raised her phone. “Sorry, this email just came in and it says it’s urgent.” She threw Katy an annoyed look.

  Katy’s skeptical expression let me know she saw through our ruse.

  I stood and walked over to Taylor, taking the phone from her.

  “Will you excuse me, Katy? I have to deal with this.” Not waiting for her reply, I strolled into the bedroom and shut the door, then turned and leaned against it.

  With my breathing finally under control, I continued into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bathtub. After loosening my tie, I rested my face in my palms.

  I just needed to take a moment.

  A trickle of sweat snaked down my back as the heat of a Cuban sun scorched into my consciousness. The brunt of a punishment I hadn’t earned.

  Vaguely, I became aware that Taylor stood in the doorway.

  She came in and knelt beside me. “It was the crocodile shoes that started you off on the wrong foot, wasn’t it?”

  I chuckled.

  “You okay, Boss?”

  “I’m fine.” Or I would be eventually.

  Taylor rose and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Want me to cut this short?”

  “Let’s get the photo shoot over with.” I pushed myself up. “Katy will no doubt offer to continue the interview over dinner. Ma
ke sure that meeting never happens.”

  “Got it.”

  I followed Taylor back into the sitting room.

  THE BLUE LIQUID WHOOSHED WITHIN its glass bottle…and I didn’t have the heart to tell the young woman that what she was holding would set her back hundreds. It was by Rene Rue, a high-end, renowned product.

  She put the bottle down, picked up another, and then sprayed some of the scent on her wrist.

  I froze when I saw what she was holding—a Lalique bottle containing my most treasured creation. The same bottle I had mislaid for that Ann Rosenthal meeting. What the hell was it doing amongst the others?

  I hurried over to her. “That one’s not for sale.”

  She placed the bottle in my hand. “I’ve been looking for this one.”

  “It’s never been on the market.”

  “Are you sure?” She looked surprised.

  Yes, I was, because what she was holding had never been out of my store. And it wasn’t unusual for the untrained nose to confuse a scent. The art was a gift few possessed.

  “What do you have that’s like that one?” She pointed to the bottle in my hand.

  “This is one of a kind.” I set it on the countertop.

  She looked thoughtful. “Do you have Angel’s Quest?”

  “La Vida es un Angel’s Quest?”

  “I was told that’s a nice one.”

  “We don’t carry it.” It’d probably cost her a week’s salary. “I’m Raquel.”

  “Skye.” She looked sheepish. “Someone told me my perfume’s nasty. So I saw your store and thought I’d treat myself.”

  “Good for you. We’ll find you something special.”

  “This one’s pretty.” She reached for a square bottle.

  “Lilies & Freesia, it has soft summer notes. It’s youthful and yet sophisticated.” And it was one of mine. I took the sample and squirted it onto a paper stick and offered it to her.

  Skye sniffed. “How much?”

  “I want you to have it.”

  “For free?”

  “Yes.” I reached for a paper bag stamped with the shop’s logo. “I’m closing my store.”

  “Early?”

  “For good.”

  “Oh.”

  I couldn’t believe I’d even spoken those words. “We have plenty more over here.”

  She pointed to the small Lalique bottle on the countertop. “Sure I can’t have that one?”