Perfume Girl

by Vanessa Fewings

  Thank goodness.

  Glass sculptures from famed designer Dale Chihuly were strategically positioned throughout to catch the sunlight flooding in from the tall windows; these brightly colored pieces of glass-blown flowers were easy to fall in love with.

  Astor was hailed as cologne royalty, and if it wasn’t for the fact I believed he—or his sister—may have stolen from me I may have been proud to work here. This luxurious place with its flashy light fixtures and dark furniture was a reminder of his exquisite taste, which was clearly Astor’s only redeeming feature.

  I was getting used to my quiet corner; though it was impossible to forget I’d once been my own boss with all the perks of independence. At least I could still create freely, but anything I came up with would be owned by The House.

  From my comfy barstool I could see straight into Arabella’s office. She rose out of her seat and shuffled a few papers on her desk. As predicted, she headed out to join the others without looking my way. The hiss of the air-controlled door signaled she’d left for the east corridor.

  I rushed over to her office.

  Inside, I rounded the desk and grabbed the mouse to her iMac, moving it back and forth to prevent her screen from locking. With my heart hammering, I searched the desktop for the link to their database.

  A thrill ran up my spine when I found the icon for The House of Beauregard’s formulas. With a click I had the file open. As I scanned the document titles I realized I would need more time. There were hundreds of combinations and all of them were listed under codes.

  This will never work. I’ll have to find another way.

  My gaze shifted to the left side of the desk where a stack of envelopes lay waiting to be opened. On top was a gold-embossed card sticking half-way out of its cream envelope. I pulled it out and read the personalized invitation. Arabella had been invited to join Astor at the Key West Yacht Club for a party aboard the Riveting.

  I slid the invitation back inside its envelope. Anyone working here was a suspect as far as I was concerned. On the chance that I might find my ledgers, I yanked open Arabella’s top drawer and looked inside, but I was disappointed.

  What they might have discovered by now was that the final ingredient hadn’t been added—the formula was incomplete. I had been days away from adding the final touch when the bottle was stolen. This meant I was working against the clock. If they completed the formula it would be officially stamped as theirs.

  The elevator pinged to announce someone had arrived on my floor. The air-controlled door slid open. I rushed to leave Arabella’s office and froze in the doorway.

  Astor Beauregard was standing beside my workstation. His gaze locked on mine and I strolled towards him nonchalantly, feigning business as usual.

  “Hello, Raquel,” he said darkly.

  The tone of his voice sent a shiver up my spine as I moved around him to sit on my barstool.

  He looked around. “Everyone at break?”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t join them?”

  I looked down at my mortar. “I’ve had a breakthrough with something special.” I swiveled so my back was to him again. “I’m going to keep going.”

  It meant I didn’t have to look into those intense hazel eyes or be distracted by his chiseled features, though I still felt the heat of his gaze.

  There was a kick to the rung of my barstool and I felt myself being spun around to face him.

  Astor removed his foot. “Elaborate?”

  His scent reached me and it was like the aura of an Arabian night, the full glare of a midday sun, a forbidden spice that made my clit tingle.

  Damn him.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I folded my arms to hide my beading nipples.

  “What are you working on?”

  I crooked my neck to look back at the counter. “An instant classic.”

  Taking a step forward, he lifted the mortar to his nose and flinched. “Jesus.”

  My cheeks flushed as I watched him set the bowl down with annoyance.

  I raised my chin with pride. “I’ve yet to add the Madagascar ylang-ylang—”

  “Please don’t.”

  “But—”

  “Ms. Wren, you vowed to create a product I could market to distinguished gentlemen. Gentlemen of good taste. Something I could wear.” He pointed. “What the hell is this?”

  “It’s for women.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “I was going for innocence.”

  “Well, you’re halfway there. This is for a nubile—one too timid to attend her own prom.” He waved his hand through the air. “She’s scared to admit what she wants. She remains unfulfilled. Frustrated…”

  Was that a bloody accusation?

  He tutted. “This isn’t worth my time.”

  I slid off my barstool and rested my hands on my hips.

  “So you were serious when you asked if I could create a scent for fuck-boys, then?”

  “Leather and sex.” He didn’t blink. “That is what you promised me.”

  “I would need—”

  “This lab contains all the ingredients you would require. Now deliver.”

  “Where’s the leather?”

  “You have a memory don’t you?”

  “I need reminding.” Asshole.

  His expression turned provocative. My gaze shot to his shoes as though he was hinting for me to kneel and whiff his Brogues. This man was incorrigible.

  He unclipped his belt buckle.

  Oh, no.

  I stared as he began weaving the belt out through the loops of his pants and tugged it free.

  “Leather,” he said, offering it to me.

  My fingers tingled when they brushed against his as I took it from him. I lifted the leather strip to my nose and breathed in raw earthiness. A stirring of erotic pleasure surged through me.

  “Raquel?”

  “I would need to keep this for a while.”

  “I have others. I keep a spare suit in my office just in case.”

  “Oh, an extra belt in your office?” I winked.

  “Let’s keep this professional, Ms. Wren.”

  I suppressed a smile and thought it was cute the way he tried to hide his amusement. I’d gotten to him, made a crack in his steely armor and it felt good to see his human side. Thank God no one was around to watch us flirt.

  He stepped closer. “What reaction does the scent of leather evoke in you, Raquel?”

  “A primal need. Carnal, even.”

  “In what way?”

  “It awakens the senses.” I went for it. “Causes a delicious arousal.”

  “I see.” He looked intrigued.

  “Though I have a cold coming,” I said, sniffing. “I’m probably way off.”

  “Ah.”

  “I’ll grab some vitamin C on the way home.”

  His gaze locked on mine. “I’m interested in collaborating with you on this.”

  “I usually work alone.”

  “So do I, but I’d like your help in creating a sensation of craving.”

  A shudder ran through me and reached my core. The husky way he’d spoken those last few words made my breasts ache for his touch.

  “In a bottle,” he added. “I have a feeling you know how that feels.”

  “I can do that.”

  “What inspires you, Ms. Wren?”

  “Um…a place, a person, a memory…”

  “Let’s start by you imagining the perfect man, Raquel. Someone loyal, distinguished, wealthy, well-traveled and intelligent, of course. And above all…honest.” His gaze darted to Arabella’s office.

  I didn’t flinch. “Are you describing yourself, Mr. Beauregard?”

  “I haven’t finished.”

  My throat tightened.

  He stared at me. “I want to create a cologne that gives fuck-boys the advantage.”

  What about the women?

  “You already have it,” I blurted o
ut. “I mean, they do. Not that you’re like them.”

  The warmth of his smile threw me for a second.

  I sighed. “Okay. How would it work?”

  “Us working together?” He stepped back. “We both come up with the desired effect we want to arouse and reverse engineer our outcome as we merge…a product we can be proud of.”

  “I’m not used to collaborating.”

  “You work for me. So the answer is clearly, ‘Yes, Mr. Beauregard’.”

  He tucked his hands into his pockets and turned and walked away with that usual swagger.

  The hiss of the air-tight door came and went.

  I sat on my barstool and watched him ascend in the glass-walled elevator. His intense gaze stayed on me until he disappeared from view.

  Arrogant bastard.

  I took another whiff of his leather belt, thinking this wouldn’t be a punishing assignment. I was willing to believe I could learn more about the cologne industry from him. It would also give me an excuse to visit his office, and maybe I would find myself alone in there so I could search for my ledger.

  Running my nose along the strip of leather, I absorbed his scent which spoke of haughtiness and danger. A jolt of inspiration hit me…

  I’d flip his desired outcome and create a twist of chemistry that would have the fuck-boys on their knees and begging for it.

  Challenge accepted, Mr. Beauregard.

  “IT’S HAPPENING.”

  The call came in around 10:00 p.m. I closed down my iMac, changed into jeans and a sweater, grabbed a bottle of water and headed out. This was going to be a long night—there would be no sleep.

  I drove across town and soon arrived at the beach. After parking, I saw the conservation team at our checkpoint and headed toward them.

  My concern rose as I approached Lawrence, a student and assistant to Dr. Garcia Rena, our senior marine biologist who was heading up this project. Lawrence looked panicked, which was a change from his usual cheerful demeanor. Sierra, his girlfriend, stood beside him, looking just as worried.

  “Hey, Astor,” said Lawrence, coming over to shake my hand. “Thank you for being here.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” I smiled at them. “Where is everyone?”

  Sierra sniffed. “They’re doing a garbage sweep before the hatching starts.”

  “I’ll join them.” I scanned the beach. “Where’s Garcia?”

  “He’s at Romero’s across the street,” said Lawrence. “The restaurant owner is refusing to turn off his lights.”

  My attention snapped to the stores and restaurants lining the street opposite. Romero’s was lit up like a Christmas tree.

  Shit.

  Things were about to turn deadly. Thousands of sea turtle eggs were about to hatch and the babies would be making their way toward the ocean in droves. The moon and stars would lead them to the brightest horizon, but right now the lights of the restaurant would confuse and disorientate them.

  I gave a nod. “I’ll handle it.”

  “The owner won’t budge,” said Lawrence. “We’ve all tried to reason with him.”

  “I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be.” It didn’t take me long to jog across the street and enter Romero’s. It was a decent-looking place, clean and buzzing with guests, the kind of place I might even have joined friends for a cold beer. Rounding the tables, I made my way toward the back.

  A waitress hurried over when she saw me heading toward the kitchen. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for the owner.”

  “He’s talking with someone right now. Why don’t you grab a drink at the bar—”

  “I believe he’s talking with a friend of mine, Garcia Rena? He’s the head biologist over at South Beach Marine Center.”

  “Oh, okay. They’re chatting in Hank’s office.”

  “Where’s that?”

  She pointed me in the right direction. “What’s this about?”

  “Time is of the essence.”

  She led me down a short hallway and I followed the raised voices. Garcia Rena was going at it with the restaurateur. This was not like him—Garcia was a quiet spoken man who had dedicated his life to his work. He led the conservation volunteers with integrity and a sense of fun. I was proud to call him a good friend.

  For years, I had joined his team on their quest to save the turtles, clean the beaches, and offer both financial support and time. It was a great distraction from business and a worthwhile course that had me feeling like I was giving back.

  I hated seeing him like this. “Hey, Garcia,” I let him know I was here.

  The office was small and dank and the man on the other side of the shabby desk had a red face and a bad attitude. Both of them looked riled up and equally backed into a corner.

  Garcia’s kind eyes were full of worry as he held my gaze. “Hey, Astor. He refuses to cooperate. He’s keeping his lights on no matter what.”

  “May I?” I stepped into the office. “Garcia, why don’t you go join the others? The turtles have started hatching.”

  He glared at the man behind the desk. “This is the law. You know that.”

  The man’s jowls wobbled. “Fine me.”

  “Garcia.” My tone was insistent. “I’ve got this.”

  He gave a nod of acknowledgment and I watched him leave, right before he gave me a look that told me he needed this done.

  I faced the man, resting my fists on his desk. “Thousands of sea turtles are about to hatch. They will crawl toward the brightest horizon which happens to be this place, which means they won’t survive. Turn off your lights.”

  “I’ve been over this with Garcia.”

  “It’s Dr. Rena, to you. Why won’t you be reasonable?”

  He reached out to shake my hand. “Sorry, didn’t catch your name?”

  I stood straight, not falling for the attempted distraction. “My name doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re using a long wavelength light for the front of your restaurant. The law says your walkways need to be shielded. What the hell is the problem here?”

  “Speak to my lawyer.”

  I pointed toward the beach. “This place is about to cause a massacre.”

  “So what if a few sea turtles get turned around.”

  “We can’t afford to lose even one.”

  “Birds are picking them off all the time.”

  “You do realize sea turtles take care of the grass bed that millions of fish, crustaceans, and shellfish depend on to survive. No sea turtles, no fish.”

  He leaned back. “I’ll serve steak.”

  I relaxed my hands so they didn’t form fists. “We can call the press to cover this. How about they feature this place and match it with photos of hundreds of dead turtles outside. Imagine the headline…customers having to step over the bodies of baby turtles when they arrive. That will dull their appetites.” I folded my arms across my chest. “Alternatively, and by far the best offer I have, is having the press cover the story of how every restaurant complied with the law and saved the lives of thousands of turtles. We can feature Romero’s and bring you more customers. Choice is yours.”

  “Are you threatening me with slander?”

  “Only the truth. I can have the news team down here with their cameras focused on your clientele, asking if their lobster dinner was worth the burden of knowing what it really cost them. Cut to a dozen dead baby turtles and you have your story.”

  He pushed to his feet. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Astor Beauregard. And I’m leaving. We have a long night ahead. We don’t have time for this. When I reach the other side of the beach your lights will be off. Am I clear?”

  “Who’s going to cover my lost profits?”

  “Visit every table and explain to your customers why you’ve turned out the lights. Be the hero here. That will have them showing their loyalty and coming back.” I turned and stormed out.

  When I made it to the other side of the street, I turned and waited, counti
ng the seconds as I reached into my pocket for my phone. Calling the news station wasn’t an idle threat. I brought my iPhone to my ear, ready to make the call.

  I’d shut that place down in a heartbeat.

  Romero’s lights went out

  I turned to face the others and we raised our fists in triumphant cheers.

  Sierra came over and wrapped her arms around my waist. “What did you say to him?”

  “I told him I was going to send you in to deal with him.” I smiled at that.

  She smiled too. “I’d have burned the place down, only that would’ve just lit the place up worse.”

  “Defeats the objective really.” I gave her back a pat. “Let’s follow Garcia’s lead and proceed as peaceful warriors.”

  “That’s a better idea.” Sierra took my hand and led me across the sand. “Come see. They’re so cute.”

  With the moon lighting our way, Garcia and Lawrence joined us and we stood a little way back from a mound of golden sand and watched a hatchling wriggle to the surface. Soon he was joined by his siblings rising out into the evening air with their shells soft and their eyes bright.

  They waggled their way down the beach toward the ocean and we stood guard, all of us ready to redirect the ones that were drawn to car headlights or other distractions of light or noise.

  I kneeled next to a baby turtle that had rolled onto his shell and was struggling to right himself, his legs waving in the air.

  “I know it’s tempting,” said Garcia from behind me.

  I wanted to give the edge of his shell a nudge to turn him right side up. “Hardest part of the job,” I admitted.

  The turtle flipped himself over and we watched him scurrying to catch up with the others.

  “Thank you for being here, Astor.” Garcia knelt and we shared a smile. “I don’t think you quite realize how many lives you saved tonight.”

  I shot him a look. “You’ve saved far more, Garcia.”

  “We’re a team.” He tapped my back with affection.

  “It’s because of you we’re here.”

  And here was where I was meant to be.

  I HAD DRIVEN TO KEY West all the while reassuring myself I could back out of gate-crashing this work party at any second. I was close to blowing everything up and my plan to remain beneath the radar at The House of Beauregard was in jeopardy.