by Joanne Rock
Joanne Rock
SCENT OF A WOMAN
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
To my bookclub—Jennifer, Elizabeth, Karen and
Cathy—for sharing your ideas, stories, laughs
and many bottles of wine with me.
Thank you, my friends!
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
“YOU’D HAVE TO CASTRATE me before I’d spend the week on board a snobby cruise ship with a bunch of prissy perfume lovers,” Adam Burns barked into the cell phone he thought he’d turned off the night before.
Sun pierced the blinds of his luxury hotel room even though the hands on his old-fashioned alarm clock showed the time to be six-fifteen in the morning. Since moving their corporate headquarters to New York from Los Angeles two years ago, his family had rented half the penthouse floor of a midtown hotel for living quarters. His younger brother—Adam’s co-vice president at Burns Inc.—had a suite three doors down. Despite their physical proximity, Joe had woken him with a phone call demanding Adam take his place on a cruise halfway around the world.
“Castration is going to be a real possibility if you don’t haul your ass out of bed and get on that plane. I can’t go and Prestige Scents damn well needs a representative on Alexandra’s Dream.” Joe, the smooth-talking one in the family, had been scheduled to fly to Athens this morning for a fragrance conference on board a luxury Mediterranean cruise liner. “I spent last night in the ER by myself nursing broken ribs after a Jet Ski accident. Neither you nor dad picked up your freaking phones.”
Ah, Adam thought. Maybe his cell phone had been turned off last night. He must have switched it back on when he plugged it in to charge. Guilt pricked his conscience straight through his hangover as he pried his eyes the rest of the way open.
A half-eaten room-service tray lingered by the couch while a handful of coffee cups remained on the cocktail table around an overhead projector he’d brought in yesterday afternoon for an impromptu meeting. He had to quit this breakneck pace. He didn’t mind the business, but his personal life was such a disaster he’d been ducking all his cell calls for the past month.
“How many ribs did you say were broken?” Head still swimming from a friend’s bachelor party the night before, Adam regretted staying out so late. What right did he have to toast the guy’s upcoming nuptials when he wasn’t even sure he believed in marriage? Long-term romantic commitments were too fragile to withstand real life in his opinion, which was why he limited himself to women who were looking for the same no-strings relationships.
Or at least, that’s what he used to do when he had time. Lately he’d been working fifteen hours a day to keep his father’s vast network of business interests afloat. On the rare chances he had for some R and R, he pursued fun with as much ambition as he pursued a fat bottom line.
He’d been in relative hiding for the past couple of months to duck a persistent female, so he’d jumped at the chance for the all-male company of the bachelor party. Hell, he’d gone to school on a football scholarship. Darts and pool were his idea of a good time.
“Three ribs,” Joe repeated for emphasis, clearly annoyed at his brother’s slow mental processing. “But the busted leg and the painkillers are the more pressing reasons why I’m not getting on that plane today and you are. Your Jet Ski female admirer is a maniac on the water, bro. I’m not standing in for you with her ever again, no matter how important she is to the company.”
Adam didn’t argue the point. He’d been trying to duck the up-and-coming actress for months after she’d gotten the wrong idea about their relationship, but the situation was sticky, since she was the face of Prestige’s newest perfume.
“You still there, Adam? I’m faxing you over my notes on our goals for this cruise. There’s a major Dubai-based retail account up for grabs that you need to secure before Dad retires and sends all the Burns Inc. companies into a tailspin.”
It had been a running theme for the past six months: get their businesses in order before their father retired. Jack Burns might overcommit himself in every area of his life—sometimes to the detriment of the company—but he was a dynamic businessman with a charismatic personality, and people trusted him to get the job done. There was sure to be a lot of upheaval when he vacated the president’s seat.
A position Adam wanted no part of.
“Can’t we do the deal directly? I could fly to Dubai tomorrow instead of tying up a whole week on a—”
“Not everyone wants to conduct business like a competitive sport, bro.” Joe had used the same analogy a hundred times since they were kids. “Leave the New York attitude at home and seal the deal, okay? You owe me for yesterday.”
Adam couldn’t argue.
Crap.
He let his head fall back onto the pillows with a groan, realizing he was screwed. There was no point asking their father to go. The old man would lose his mind on a cruise ship—he hated feeling hemmed in. That was one of the reasons Burns Inc. held such diverse business interests. And the strategy had paid off, allowing the company to weather down turns in certain sectors of the economy. Fortunately, all the Burns men were very dedicated to increasing their earnings since a portion of the firm’s profits went directly to breast cancer research. The cause had been the deathbed dictate of Adam’s mother, a mission all the Burns men worked their butts off to fulfill.
“Fine. But I’m not spending ten days in a tuxedo.” His brother and the perfume industry could just deal with it. “I can’t believe you’re making me go to a fragrance conference.”
Of all the b.s. events. Their ambitious dad had dragged the family all over the world on business, and Adam had had more than his share of faking a good time at schmoozefests by the age of twelve. After his mother died, Adam had agreed to go into the family business only with the understanding he would never have to navigate corporate intrigue, make small talk with people he didn’t like or—most important—perform for audiences in a penguin suit. He had the feeling this cruise was going to bust that deal on every front.
“Hey, at least you’ll be safe from being stalked by Jessica Winslow and her publicity machine.” Some of Joe’s good humor returned to his voice at the thought. “And don’t forget Prestige is Burns Inc.’s top-grossing company.” Joe filled Adam in with a few details of his strategy, then signed off with a hurried, “Bon voyage, bro.”
Clicking off his phone, Adam closed his eyes. Joe was right about escaping Jessica Winslow. The young actress believed her endorsement deal with Prestige included using Adam as arm candy. How ironic that after making millions of dollars for his family’s company over the years, he’d gotten the most press from squiring around a spoiled starlet.
Hauling his butt out of bed, he slogged through last night’s dirty clothes on the way to the shower. Maybe some time away from the soap-opera drama his life had become would serve him well. Ten days on the Mediterranean wouldn’t kill him. He needed to check in with the family’s pilot once he drummed some of the hangover out of his head with hot water.
And then, by God, he’d do his best to pretend to care about perfume, and n
ot just the dollars the Dubai account would bring to Prestige Scents and the higher cause those funds would finance. He shook his head at the thought of sailing around Europe with a bunch of fragrance enthusiasts.
It was going to be a hell of a day.
DANIELLE CHEVALIER forced herself to read over the conference itinerary despite the allure of the dazzling Greek countryside drifting by her penthouse balcony.
She was here to work, not play. And with her brother’s parting words still resounding in her head, she wasn’t about to prove him right by spending the whole cruise “sightseeing and daydreaming.” She loved Marcel, but the man did not have a creative bone in his body, let alone a fanciful brain cell floating inside that financial mind of his. He would never understand that she could not bring any artistic inspiration to their exclusive fragrance company, Les Rêves, if she didn’t let the world—sights, scents, exotic places—inspire her in turn.
Then again, she did not want her selfish need for creative recharging to be the cause of Les Rêves’s failure this week when she sought their biggest account ever with a Dubai-based retailer attending the fragrance conference as an industry guest. She and Marcel had grown up in the business started by their mother, Monique, and they had inherited the Paris-based company jointly ten years ago. Danielle had thought it quite a coup when she was able to open a second store in Nice, where she now lived. But Marcel continued to grouse about the expense, failing to see the benefits of the business contacts she had made through the shop frequented by cruise line guests.
Of course, Marcel rarely saw anything her way. Their mother had named the company Les Rêves, meaning dreams, because she had always chased her dreams. Danielle shared the same starry-eyed outlook on life, but Marcel did not place much stock in dreams. He had long ago written off Danielle’s contributions to the business as frivolous, even though her frequent ventures into the social milieu of European jet-setters accounted for a huge portion of Les Rêves’s customers. Personal selling was her forte and came easily to her. She believed in her products with the same passion that she drew on to create them. But since Marcel had not seen a full return on her newly opened satellite shop in Nice, he had threatened to close the storefront unless she made up for her shortcomings by securing the Dubai account. Nothing like a little pressure for her trip.
“Au revoir, Piraeus,” she whispered as the ship sailed slowly past bright white houses perched on cliffs overlooking the sparkling azure water. It was no wonder the Greek flag featured those two colors.
Sighing, she turned her gaze back to the welcome packet in her lap, her wide-brimmed sun hat providing a thin slice of shade on the conference paperwork. Music drifted down from a deck above her, the cruise ship’s welcome party by the pool, perhaps. She could have attended the fete, but until she previewed her personal business itinerary and the fragrance conference’s meeting agenda for the week, she was not budging from her wide teak lounger. Not even for the martinis she had heard were all the more wonderful when made with fresh Greek olives.
Forcing her finger to skim down the list of conference attendees when she’d rather be salivating over the most beautiful coastline in the world, Danielle paused at the representative’s name for Prestige Scents.
Joseph Burns.
Marcel had asked her to seek out the Prestige rep this week in addition to pitching the Dubai account, since the larger U.S. company had expressed interest in buying Les Rêves in the past. Danielle didn’t want to sell the company her mother had worked hard to build—and to which she herself had dedicated the last ten years of her life—but she understood that it made sense to ensure Les Rêves continued to have an attractive profile within the industry.
The American businessman would be high on her list of proposed contacts. And didn’t that count as enough paperwork?
Bolting out of her deck chair, Danielle hurried inside to the suite’s bedroom to find something to wear to the poolside celebration. Her brother might think she was too fond of parties, but since drinking up life firsthand was Danielle’s greatest joy next to Les Rêves, she could see no problem in that. Besides, men did not understand that women in the beauty business ended up being walking billboards for their products. That also accounted for her need to have a certain wardrobe and to book a suite instead of the far more affordable stateroom. So much of her business was about projecting an image. Striking up conversations at parties had led to seventy-five percent of Danielle’s customers.
Still, her conscience niggled, so she decided immediately to seek out the representative from North America’s acknowledged leader in perfumes. She’d heard he was a smooth-talking businessman, but the rumor among a few of the boutique-style fragrance companies was that Prestige Scents had turned into a bloodless organization that knew nothing of its product since the Burns family had taken the helm.
Slipping into an understated sundress with a single poppy printed up the side, Danielle hoped to discover the truth about her competitor, if only to take some solace in the fact that she ran a company full of commitment and passion instead of a corporate business that spewed financial rewards and possessed no heart.
While she didn’t mind being sought after by such a company, Danielle would certainly never sell Les Rêves to that kind of slice-and-dice operation, even if she could retire with a sizable fortune.
Contrary to everything her brother believed about her, she wasn’t in business to play.
As she climbed the stairs up to the Artemis deck, Danielle felt herself relax now that she had a logical goal that would benefit Les Rêves. Inhaling deeply, she experienced the wonderful miniature world that would be her home for ten days, savoring the ambiance of Alexandra’s Dream the way her mother had once taught her to savor all of life.
Her heels clicked rhythmically up the final steps, her skirt swishing pleasantly against her legs as an electric door opened at the top of the landing and a fresh breeze filled the stairwell. A young couple clutched each other’s arms as they shared a bright yellow drink served in a glass the size of a fishbowl. They wore flowers around their necks, their giddy pleasure infectious as they laughed their way past her. But the sight also brought her a brief moment of pain, reminding her of her own former love and the sharp betrayal that had followed.
More eager than ever to join the welcome reception, Danielle hastened her pace, unwilling to let memories of Gunther cloud her day. She breathed in the intoxicating scent of the Mediterranean as they glided farther from Piraeus, the fragrance of the sea water clean and natural, stimulating her senses.
A small band played traditional Greek songs near a bar perched beside the outdoor swimming pool. She’d noticed on the ship floor plan that it was called the Coral Cove. At some point, the large swimming pool wound under the wall of caves at one end to become an indoor pool on the other side. But from this angle, she only saw faux rock covered with real plant life and a continual stream of water coursing down the stone facade into a mini waterfall above the pool. Some guests were in the water already, but most of the passengers milled by the railing, enjoying the scenery along the coast.
The perfume conference delegates were obvious in their more businesslike attire. They congregated in groups around a display of six-foot-tall perfume bottles that had been set up as a focal point for the conference attendees. Each sculpture was sponsored by a perfumer in attendance and was decorated by that company’s creative team.
“Can I get you a drink, miss?” A handsome young server in a white uniform held a notepad in his hand, his accent hinting at Russian descent.
“Sparkling water with a lemon, s’il vous plaît.” She would put off that martini for a little while to focus on business.
The server nodded and hurried away, leaving her to make her way to an empty spot at the rail. A soft wind blew her hair away from her face as she soaked up the moment, using all five of her senses to appreciate the day on every level—the way her mother the painter had said life should be enjoyed. Many perfumers took the same approac
h, a fact attested to by the wealth of workshops offered this week on the connection between fragrance and the senses.
“Monique?”
An older gentleman in a pin-striped seersucker suit paused beside her at the rail, forcing his friend—a younger man dressed more casually in khakis and a black polo shirt—to stop beside her, as well.
She recognized the older man as Jonathan Nordham, the retired owner of one of England’s few top-notch fragrance companies.
“It is Danielle, Monsieur Nordham,” she greeted him easily in English, knowing she looked a great deal like her late mother, “and it is wonderful to see you. Are you attending the conference with your daughter?”
“Forgive me for my mistake, Danielle. You look so much like your mother when I first met her.” He rapped his forehead. “My daughter says I live in the past more often than the present.”
“I consider it a compliment to be mistaken for my mother, monsieur. And how is your daughter?”
“She’s at home taking care of my first grandchild—at long last.” A wide smile broke over his weathered face as he retrieved a monogrammed handkerchief from his breast pocket. “I don’t tell her how to run the company now that I’m out of the business, but I can still lay down a few laws as a father, and I insisted she enjoy her time home with young Jonathan whenever she can.”
The old man beamed with pride as he mopped his forehead beneath a white straw hat.
“Congratulations.” Danielle spoke the word in the same breath as Monsieur Nordham’s younger friend.
His younger, extremely attractive friend, she noticed. The man was tall with wavy, dark hair and blue eyes that could have belonged to a European, yet Danielle would bet her new fragrance line that the man was an American. There was a restless tension about him even when he stood still, almost as if standing still was an occupation that was foreign or uncomfortable to him. Danielle had noticed the same restrained energy in many of her American friends and business associates.
Although none of them were quite as wickedly handsome as this man, even in clothing that was decidedly casual for the perfumers’ set.