AMARA
I can’t stop repeating it in my head over and over again, all morning long.
Nice.
Nice.
Nice.
Jasmine. Rose. Patchouli. It’s nice.
Ransome Rozanov smelled me… and helikedit. It was the most suggestive thing to happen between us since the day he hired me. After the workday ended, I became determined to find a perfume with those notes.
If the faint scent of those flowers from Eliza’s body wash is enough to stop him in his tracks, I can only imagine what a real bottle of the stuff would do.
Something fancy, though. Something not from the bottom of a bin with a red sticker on it.
I beeline home after work, stopping only to pick up takeout from a local sushi place I love. I change into leggings and an oversized Chappell Roan t-shirt, then wipe off my makeup and tie my hair up into a messy knot.
After I am comfortable, I grab my laptop and my spicy tuna roll and cozy up on the couch. “Alright. Perfume with jasmine, rose and patchouli. Aaand… search.”
I pop a bite in my mouth and narrow my eyes, chewing pensively. What even is patchouli? It sounds like a candle you’d buy at an outdoorsy store. Something for warding off mosquitoes.
Whatever it is, Ransome liked it. And if he liked it, I’m wearing it.
The first thing to pop up on the screen is Sweet Seduction by Gucci. “La di da…” I hum, clicking on the link. Sure enough, it has all the notes in it I am looking for and then some. “Add to cart and…Sweet mother of Jesus.”
I nearly choke on my spicy tuna when I see the price. But I still click to checkout. If nothing else, my sisters would tell me to do it. Eliza gives me a lecture about self-care every time I Venmo them. I tell her it’s nothing, that it’s like a quarter of my paycheck. She says I’m lying and I change the subject.
Iamlying. I give them almost everything I have. But as long as they’re living in that rundown house with our piece of shit dad, I’m going to give them what they need to be okay.
But just so Eliza would be proud of me, I also pay for same-day shipping. I’ll be able to wear it to work tomorrow.
And who knows? Maybe he’ll even look at me when the jasmine ropes his senses and stops him dead in his tracks.
“Good morning, Mr. Rozanov,” I say as usual.
One, two, three, four seconds go by before he is standing behind his desk, picking up his printed schedule. I tap my fingers on my thigh as I count the passing time in my head.
His eyes graze the page. His face is still and stony. No expression to show how he feels about any of it, from meetings to lunch plans to anything else.
Except…
They flicker back up. Middle of the page. He blinks. Sets the paper down. Picks up his coffee.
But his face stays the same. Whatever caught his attention will forever be a mystery because he won’t show it.
Ransome turns to look out the window behind his desk overlooking the city. He stares and I count off again,One, two, three, four…
Takes a sip. Exhales.One, two, three, four…
Then he turns back around. He heads for the door, coffee in hand. He’s wearing white today, which means no important business meetings—that would require black. And it also means no family lunches—for those, he typically wears blue or red.
White means a somewhat uneventful day. White is good.
He’s speaking already as he approaches my desk. “Amara, I won’t be going out to lunch today, so?—”
“I’ve already preordered thepelmenifrom Red Square Diner, sir. It will be here at noon.”
