Read Online The Scent of Rain by Kristin Billerbeck - Free Book Online Page B

Everything about him seemed intense: with his shock of dark curls and mascara-length eyelashes that aimed the intense green of his eyes like a laser pointer, he looked more like a character actor than a scientist. Daphne would have cast him in the role of a CSI suspect because he simply looked too good to be true. Like Mark, he had that coiffed appearance that suggested he spent a fair amount of time in front of the mirror. His very look made her uncomfortable, and she shifted her hips. He was probably in his early thirties, though his receding hairline made him look slightly older, but she was immediately on edge. His smooth exterior seemed more salesman than scientist.
    He reached out a tanned, buff arm toward her as if he was flexing to make the movement. “You must be the infamous Daphne.”
    She giggled, then immediately regretted her reaction as Kensie stared her down. It wasn’t as if she’d planned it. John made her nervous. The way a seventh-grade girl feels on her first slow dance. Not because he was handsome, but because he was so much like Mark in his self-assuredness. On some deeper, insane level, she subconsciously felt as though he had answers for her. As if a perfect stranger could tell her why Mark had left her at the altar . . .
    â€œI’m Daphne.” She shook his hand, still thinking, Do you know why Mark left me?
    When had she become so dependent and pathetic? She was in Dayton to heal. On her own. She’d been perfectly healthy in Paris, with a bevy of friends. She hadn’t needed Mark then, and she didn’t need him now. Though knowing that logically and believing it emotionally were two different things.
    John looked at her with his piercing eyes as if he could see inside of her. She waited for him to speak.
    â€œWillard doesn’t like change. Don’t be offended.”
    â€œNo, it’s fine.”
    â€œCome on over and smell what I’m working on. It will be good to get a trained professional’s opinion.”
    â€œYou’re a trained professional,” she answered. “I simply have a few more years of developing scent based on the emotion it creates.” The pit of her stomach felt hard at this first query to use her skill set. A skill set she was without.
    â€œHumor me,” John said as he walked back to the metal fluted hood at his station.
    â€œHow do you design your scents now?”
    â€œMost of them are standard. We generally don’t create new scents for products. Do we, Willard?”
    â€œNo one cares what their floor wax smells like,” Willard grunted.
    Daphne wanted to retreat to Jesse’s office. She may not have a friend , exactly, in her new boss, but they’d struck a deal.
    â€œLet Daphne be the judge of that. Come here.” John led her by her wrist to his station and stuck a pipette in a beaker. He held it up to her nose.
    â€œDon’t you think your expectations might be high?” Kensie said. “She’s a nose, not a miracle worker.” She stuck her own nose in between them. “It doesn’t take a nose to tell you that smells awful. Like dirty feet. Do you even have an olfactory system?”
    Daphne wanted to come to John’s rescue, to tell him the formulation smelled wonderful, but she couldn’t say either way without lying. She’d like to think he knew enough that it didn’t smell like dirty socks, but then again, she couldn’t decide what motivation lurked behind Kensie’s fashionable front.
    â€œMaybe she is a miracle worker,” John said. “Beauty didn’t get her, and that’s a miracle in itself.”
    â€œBeauty already has four scientists,” Willard said. “We only have two. Do the math.”
    â€œYou’re that small?” She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but she’d hope to create a new family of friends in Dayton, and statistically things weren’t looking good.
    â€œWe are small, but