Page 34 of Perfume Girl

My focus returned to the marble mortar before me. The Sonata lily petals I’d ground to liquid in the bottom had released the softest hint of lemon; this was innocence captured on the ray of the morning sun.

Lifting the mortar to my nose, I became lost in the essence of the flower that ancient Greeks had placed upon the heads of innocent brides as a symbol of their hope for a fruitful life. Its allure was purity.

This lily was free from pollen and kind on those with sensitive skin. It offered a light feminine touch, and with this watery droplet of bluebell oil I added with a squeeze of a pipette, I’d brought a hint of coolness to this sweet distraction.

I’d create concoctions only in my imagination if I had to…spend my days dreaming up twists on nature that were just as compelling. Stored inside my mind was a haven of gathered memories of the scents I’d collected over the years.

My happiness faded as I looked around the lab. Here, the pressure to deliver was on everyone’s mind, it seemed. The other ten chemists made little conversation. Although they always sneaked off at ten for their coffee break.

I’d not yet gotten invited into this clique. Even my supervisor, Arabella, with her turned up nose and pristine attitude, seemed to want to get to know me better before inviting me to join them.

Like clockwork, everyone headed to the break room except for Arabella, who was finishing up on a call in her corner office. In this sterile environment the people were colder. I couldn’t wait to get back to Perfume Girl where I belonged. For now, my beloved shop had a CLOSED sign on its doors and just the thought of it broke my heart. Still, I was doing all of this for a good reason and in the end it would be worth it.

Everything screamed superiority in this place, from the vast open-plan foyer that invited in light to chase away the shadows to the monitored entry points. My initial guided tour had included a brief visit to the upper level, but there’d been no sign of him.

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 theRiveting.

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.