His Perfumes Had No Me, He Begged

The next morning, I put my medical report and contract termination letter in my bag and went to the studio as usual. The launch of Chloe was scheduled for that afternoon, and the opening video still needed one final skin test. It was the last job I had promised Matthew I would do. The test results from two assistants lay side by side on the lab bench. On a scent blotter, the sample dried down to nothing but a harsh woody note. On anyone else's wrist, the gardenia faded within 30 minutes. Only on my skin did it rise again from beneath the cedarwood as my body temperature climbed. The elevator doors had barely opened when Matthew looked up from the lab. Through two glass walls and across a room filled with fragrance ingredients, his gaze went straight to my right hand. "Pull your sleeve down." I looked down and realized the cuff of my sweater had rolled up, exposing the strip of skin the alcohol had left red and raw the night before. Matthew came over and pulled the sleeve back into place. His fingertips brushed the irritated skin, and his brows drew together. "Who told you to scrub your skin with cleansing solution?" "There were too many scents on my skin. I couldn't sleep." He took hold of my wrist and led me into his office. He kept a tube of fragrance-free healing balm at the very back of his drawer. He had commissioned it especially for me, and it wasn't sold anywhere else. He squeezed out a thin layer and worked it gently into my skin. He cradled my hand, supporting my palm with his little finger so he wouldn't touch the swollen area. He treated my wrists this way after every fragrance test. Once, the pain was so sharp that I pulled away. For three months after that, he turned down every order requiring high-concentration testing and even canceled contracts the studio had already signed. Matthew held my hand until the balm had soaked in, then let go. "The brand wants footage of the sample collection," I said. "Tell them to rewrite the script. Nothing goes on your right wrist today." He called Melissa Grant immediately, leaving no room for negotiation. "Cut the wrist-sampling shot. Grace won't appear on camera. I'll collect the sample myself. Keep the camera at least six feet away." Melissa said something on the other end. Matthew looked at me and added in an even tone, "Her skin-response data hasn't been cleared for public use." I pulled my hand out of his. Outside the office, Caleb Brooks, the lab supervisor, was waiting with two documents. "Mr. Reid, Grace's fragrance-testing agreement for next quarter is due for renewal." I took the termination letter from my bag and placed it over the old contract. "There's no need. I'm not renewing it." Caleb froze, but Matthew didn't even look up. He capped the balm and slipped it into my bag, ignoring what I had just said. "Her exposure level is too high. Give her two weeks off. Renew the agreement on the same terms, but cut the number of tests in half." "I said I'm not renewing it." He finally looked at me. The room went silent for several seconds. "Is this because of the perfume you saw last night?" Matthew could tell from changes in a person's sweat and body temperature whether they were tense, afraid, or lying. Over 10 years, I had kept almost nothing from him. I pushed the termination letter another half inch toward him, but he reached out and touched the skin behind my ear instead. "Your heart is racing. The lingering fragrance from last night is making you sick." He turned to Caleb. "Shut down all scent diffusion on the top floor. Keep only the fragrance-free zone open today." Then he took the letter from my hand and tucked it beneath a file at the corner of his desk. "We'll talk after you've recovered. Don't make a decision like this while you're worked up." High heels clicked toward us from the far end of the hall. Melissa opened the glass door, followed by a woman in a white trench coat. Chloe Parker walked toward us. Before she could say a word, Matthew released my hand. She smiled at him. "Matthew, it's been a long time." His gaze settled on her face. A draft from the window lifted one page of my termination letter, then let it fall again. He never opened it.