Page 17 of Reckless Love

“Nancy just got divorced,” I say. “No one likes a rebound.”

Stephen barks out a laugh before shooting me a look of disbelief. “Jesus. Really?” He shakes his head and leaves the office before I can say anything else.

I circle the desk and slump into my chair. The ever-expanding hole of frustration and jealousy only seems to get bigger. He didn’t say he wasn’t interested in Nancy. And I could tell she is. When I hear her tinkling laugh through the door, I want to vomit into the garbage can next to my chair.

Instead, I take several deep, steadying breaths and get my noise-cancelling headphones out of my desk. Sliding them onto my head, I hit play on the girl-boss playlist, and I open my email again.

Before I click on the first one, I give myself a little pep talk.

My life is fine. No, my life is good. I’ve been happy enough. My company is doing well. I have a rich husband. My kid is amazing. This is the life I wanted.

Stephen Foster and some old memories won’t ruin all that. He can’t.

With enough effort, these old feelings will be buried again. He doesn’t seem to want any of our past uncovered either. Seeing him again is an adjustment, but I can handle some old memories. I will handle it.

Nancy orders in lunch for us from my favorite place in Rockdown, but unlike normal, she doesn’t eat with me in my office. She’s at her desk, presumably with Stephen and Datu.

My gut clenches with renewed jealousy, and the salad I love tastes so much like dirt that I can only finish half of it before tossing the rest in the garbage.

I’m just about to slide my noise-cancelling headphones back on to finish answering the rest of my emails when Nancy calls my desk.

I press the intercom. “Yes?”

“Jenny Williams is here to see you about the newest scent tests,” Nancy says.

Ah, yes. This is also one of my favorite parts—testing new fragrances, and the fact that we’re branching into a cologne line is my current passion project.

“Send her in,” I say, rising from my seat.

Stephen enters first, and then Jenny follows. Next to Stephen, Jenny looks like a tiny sprite of a girl rather than the almost fifty-year-old woman she is.

Instead of leaving, Stephen shuts the door and remains inside, his back to me, while Jenny approaches with scent samples.

She takes me through how the samples have tested with screening audiences, and then she gives me the two that scored highest with both staff and a random selection of our target market.

I smell the first one, with a profile dominated by sandalwood, and it’s pleasant without being overbearing. A subtle scent that’s scored well with the upper-class market on the island.

The minute the second scent hits my senses, I can’t help seeking out Stephen with my gaze, who’s still near the door. I take another deep sniff. This inhalation transports me immediately. Oak.

“Oh,” I breathe out. “This one.” I take it in for a third time, but the cologne isn’t quite right yet. There’s a note that’s missing or obscured that I want brought forward. “It needs…”

“Yes,” Jenny agrees. “We also think it’s missing a note to round it out.”

I close my eyes, and I try to pinpoint what I’m seeking. “Cedar, maybe?” Or citrus.

“The team also believes the profile needs another tree-based flavor. We’re going to try maple too.”

“Oh, good,” I say, wishing I could walk over to Stephen, drag my nose along his neck while breathing deeply, and then turn to Jenny and say, “bottle this—this is what I’m after” as though that would be perfectly normal.

Then the realization hits. The initial scent profile I gave her was Stephen’s smell. I didn’t even know I’d done that.

“I was hoping to speak to you about something else while I was here,” Jenny says, gathering up the other sample.

Reluctantly, I pass her back the small bottle and tester strips from this one. When it’s finished, maybe it’ll be enough to stop this wanting that’s sprung up inside me. A longing for something I can’t even name. I’ll douse Raul in a bottle of the stuff and hope that’s enough to quell the impending storm.

With effort, I tug my gaze from Stephen, who still has his back to us. “Something else?” I ask, looking at Jenny for the first time in several minutes. “What’s that?”

“My husband works at The Nile, in the warehouse, and I’m sure you know what’s happening over there.”