Page 37 of Perfume Girl

What about the women?

“You already have it,” I blurted out. “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.