The Scent of Rain (9 page)

“Yeah, I'll be right there.”

Willard put down a pipette and ambled toward her. When he reached her, he stopped and pulled off his safety glasses. Misty gray, middle-aged eyes narrowed to focus on her, and she swallowed hard under his scrutiny.

“Go back to Paris, young lady. Or wherever it is you came from.”

John shifted his weight. “Willard, don't say that. She'll think we don't want her here.”

John gazed right at her with his intense eyes, and she wondered how a man with that much charisma had settled into a life of science. “We do want you here,” he said. “Dave was very excited about a real nose on staff.”

“It's for her own good,” Willard said and turned his attention back to Daphne. “Go back to Paris.”

With his gloved hand, John grabbed her and pulled her toward his station. “Come here, I want you to smell something.”

Her heart pounded and she tugged her hand, but he didn't relinquish his grasp. “Kensie's waiting for me.” She pointed toward the window to the hallway.

“I want to show you something first. Right now Gibraltar is living off royalties from our home dry-cleaning agents, but I think I may have something here.” He let go of her hand and lifted a beaker to her nose. “Here, smell.”

She sniffed but had no idea what her reaction should be. Should she be sickened or enthralled? “I, uh—wow.”

“Wow, good?” he asked.

“What's it for?”

His enthusiasm diminished. “Can't you tell?”

Her stomach swirled. “I—I'm getting used to all the new sights and sounds of Ohio. I think my sniffer's off. Nerves, you know?”

He set the beaker down. “I understand. I want you to come back and let me know, though, because the formulation is proved, tried and true, but I don't feel we ever had the scent right. New and improved packaging could remind consumers what it is they love about the product.”

Daphne had no idea what John was talking about, but she admired his enthusiasm and his implicit trust in her. She felt like Humpty Dumpty, and all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put her back together again. Part of her was left in Paris, another portion in Switzerland, and her heart? That she'd truly left in San Francisco, and with a man who'd never wanted it in the first place. The way John embraced her opinions as if they mattered so deeply created a sense of unworthiness in her. She felt like such a fraud. The great nose who couldn't smell a thing.

Closure and healing
.

Closure and healing
.

That would be her mantra until her sense of smell returned. Until Paris called. She'd find a new ministry at a new church and that would take her mind off her problems. No one ever got better by focusing on life's traumas. And she really had nowhere to run. Her parents didn't want her home. Sophie was getting married. And Paris was only a distant memory until she could prove to Arnaud that she was worthy of his loyalty and she wouldn't leave again. If only she'd placed that loyalty with her mentor rather than the young and charismatic Mark Goodsmith, she wouldn't be in this mess out in the wilderness of Ohio.

“If you don't like it, you can tell me,” John said.

“It's not that, John. It really is as I said. Nerves. Maybe I'm getting the rumblings of a cold from traveling. I'm going to see a doctor tonight. I promise, the minute I can distinguish one note from another at my usual skill level, I'll give you an honest opinion.”

If Daphne had hoped to find refuge in the quality of her work, she realized that probably wasn't going to happen. From what she could glean, Gibraltar was on the brink of bankruptcy, and it was hard to cover up the stench of failure with a signature scent.

Chapter 5

J
esse exhaled as Daphne left for the lab, and he cradled his head in his hands. Her presence was a diversion that his department didn't have time for. He had to find a place, a project, and a salary for her—all for the dog-and-pony show that was the shareholders' meeting. It wasn't enough to make and sell good products; he had to show constant growth and movement within his department. Under Dave's direction, most of that movement seemed to be backward. But maybe that was only sour grapes talking. Leaving his vice president position at Procter & Gamble hadn't been easy; answering to Dave only made things worse.

He tapped a letter on his desk, with its professional stationery and Mark Goodman's name emblazoned across the top. He wouldn't have remembered that Mark was Daphne's former fiancé until the letter arrived, and clarity with it. There was a knock at his door, and he shuffled the letter under another paper and looked up. “Anne, how's everything going?”

“Since I saw you ten minutes ago? Fine, why?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“No reason. Always want to make sure my pastor is taking care of his wife, that's all. I'm concerned like that.”

“You are,” she said, but her arms remained crossed in front of her, as if she wasn't quite buying it. “I wanted to let you know I made a reservation at the Spaghetti Warehouse. You sure know how to impress a girl.”

“I do my best.”

“Why wouldn't you take her to the lab yourself? You've taken every other new employee. Is it because you didn't want to hire a nose? Or because she's so pretty?”

He sighed, exasperated. “Look at my desk. You can't even see the wood. It's because I'm busy and didn't expect a new employee today. Nothing more to it than that.”

Anne looked past him out the window. “Is she very much like Hannah?”

“She's nothing like Hannah,” he said through a clenched jaw. “Nothing at all.”

“She's obviously artistic. Wasn't Hannah an artist?”

He loved Anne, but sometimes she overstepped her boundaries. Saying that Hannah and Daphne were alike simply because they both harbored artistry in their blood was like saying Winston Churchill and Hitler were alike because they were both leaders.

“Anne, I'd rather not talk about it. Daphne is no wilting flower who needs your support, I can promise you that much. If you'll excuse me . . .” He looked back down at his desk.

Anne gave him that consoling look he'd come to hate. “Fine, she's nothing like Hannah—only be nice to the girl. I wanted to keep this from becoming a sermon, but Dave is just looking for an excuse. He's been threatened by you since you came; don't give him the reason he needs to let you go. Just show Daphne the same respect you'd show any other formulator.” Anne walked out of his office, and he stared at the place where she'd stood.

Jesse had never heard her talk like that. To anyone. It served as a reminder that Daphne was probably brought in for the specific reason of becoming the cause for Jesse's firing. He'd get no credit for any of the financial troubles he'd solved, but he'd take all of the blame for what Dave deemed as his failures.

The new nose had waltzed into his office in her peacock-blue tweed suit as if she owned the place. The fact that she'd smelled baby powder upon sight of him made him feel about as masculine as a drag queen. And the way she plucked his family photo off his desk and offered her opinion. Daphne had no need of him, or anyone else for that matter. Life wouldn't overwhelm a woman like Daphne.

In that brief instant when she'd helped herself to his family photo, he'd connected to her—because he wanted a part of that confidence again. She'd reminded him of how proud he'd been of his accomplishments and his family. The way her soulful eyes lit up as she discussed powerful memories—as if she could swim deeply in their joy by pulling them up at will. He coveted that ability. Memories brought no joy for him, and that made him feel guilty. He had a lot to be grateful for.

The space Anne had vacated was now complemented by Daphne in his doorway. He drank in her appearance with fresh eyes. She possessed an exotic, alluring beauty with her long, silky dark hair and deep blue eyes . . . In spite of all she'd recently endured, her eyes sparkled with an inner light that reminded him joy did not come from circumstances.

He glanced down at the letter from her ex, a skunk of a man; now he folded it and shoved it into his top desk drawer. After reading the letter, she was a complete mystery to him all over again.

He and Daphne looked at each other in a silent standoff, neither of them certain what to say to the other, like a bad first date.

“Is this an inconvenient time? Do you want me to come back later, after lunch?” Dave, a foreboding man who never lost his high school quarterback swagger, had stuck his head in the doorway and tapped twice on the door frame, as was his custom.

Jesse's boss oozed what he would call a false confidence; at least it wasn't based on any accomplishments that Jesse could observe. Dave's father-in-law had started the company, and Dave's marriage apparently deemed him qualified to run it. His successes always came at the expense of others, but that wasn't how the man saw it. In Dave's world, he had done everyone else a favor by hiring them, and in return he expected unquestioning loyalty. Jesse did his best because, after all, God had commanded that he respect the authority put into place, but it was a struggle.

“So, I see you've met your nose. What say you on the matter?” Dave asked in his pompous way.

“I'm anxious to hear Daphne's amazing ideas. But we were just about to leave for lunch. You wouldn't care to join us, would you?”

“Me?” Dave said. “No, I've got back-to-back meetings all afternoon.” He towered over Daphne in a way that made Jesse want to get between them. “Daphne, welcome to Gibraltar. I assume you're getting all the help you need to get started and work effectively here.”

Daphne looked toward Jesse. “Absolutely.”

The woman's raw emotional state after a failed wedding made her a perfect target for Dave's entrapment mode of unfettered loyalty. Jesse himself had been a prime target because of his loss and desperate need of a different job at the time. His experience with the competition only made the snare that much more effective. He'd have to make sure Daphne didn't end up like him, stuck at Gibraltar.

“I noticed there were some ticks in your employee files at your former company.” Dave looked at the window as he spun his web. “Not enough to deter me, obviously, but enough where I thought you should be aware that we don't put up with that kind of thing here at Gibraltar.”

“How did you get a look at my employee file?”

Daphne appeared confused. Her employee file probably said something as innocuous as her French wasn't very strong. Dave wouldn't release the details. As was his custom, he'd let her wonder what terrible sins her former employer scribbled into her file.

“Nothing is secret in this day and age,” Dave said. “That's why it's always best to be forthright. I can't help you further your career if you're not honest with me.”

Dave was so transparent, Jesse could almost hear a sinister laugh emanate after his statement.

That was Jesse's true job: to entrap Daphne so she felt there was no option for a job elsewhere. Wasn't that Dave's modus operandi?
Make your employees desperate and grateful, and they won't leave you until you're ready to cut ties
.

Daphne swallowed, and Jesse stood up. “We're off to lunch, Dave. Anything else?”

Jesse didn't understand men like Dave. The man didn't accept input. He hired the best and the brightest, listened to nothing they had to say, and then when his plans failed, he'd fire the employees who did what they were told. The dynamic was maddening, and it kept the office in a state of paranoid turmoil. They were all so worried a coworker would turn them in, conversations were riddled with subtext and stealth.

Dave looked at Daphne. “You're going to see that Dayton isn't missing anything that Paris or San Francisco has. This is going to be home before you sneeze over a scent strip.”

Jesse couldn't stand to watch her confidence dissipate further. He had to get her out of there. “We'll miss our reservation,” he said. “You're sure you can't join us?” He knew Dave's schedule didn't have room for small talk.

“Now wait a minute.” Dave motioned his palm down to tell Jesse to sit. “Maybe we should discuss those marketing reports before you two go to lunch. I'd like to hear how you plan to utilize this nose here. By the way, did you hear we've got your nose insured?” Dave rocked back on his heels, looking pleased with himself.

Daphne stared at Jesse, and he wished he could read her mind. She gave a half smile. “Will you excuse me for just a minute?” She exited the room quicker than she'd done the time before.

“I don't think she's ready to work yet.” Jesse shrugged.

“You give everyone too much leeway. You give an inch, they take a mile. That's why your employees don't have the respect for you that's needed. Don't baby her, and she'll be fine. She has to sniff stuff, for crying out loud. How hard could her life be?”

Jesse ignored the part about his employees not respecting him. The dig had no merit; he knew it wasn't true. “Daphne says she creates on emotion. If her emotional state is not great, that's going to come out in the product. As it would with any artist.”