Page 101

Of course, he was called Sin. I almost rolled my eyes. Instead, I nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

“It's been just awful, Sin,” Emma was still going. “I could have been killed! And the Police were no help. I had to turn to Diana. She came highly recommended.” She smiled at me before whispering, “A hostage negotiator for the FBI.”

“Oh, really?” Sinclair-call-me-Sin Maddox glanced at me.

“I worked in the FBI's CNU for four years,” I corrected.

“The Crisis Negotiation Unit. Impressive.” Sinclair held my gaze a moment before he turned to Emma. “But isn't your life more interesting now, dove?”

Dove? Who the fuck called a woman “dove” these days? I went to the window beside the door and focused on the street.

“Interesting?!” She pulled back.

“May you live in interesting times.” I kept my stare on the street.

“What?” Emma asked.

“It's an ancient Chinese curse.” Sinclair said. “Yes, I suppose interesting was a bad choice on my part. Come, let's get started.”

I glanced back and did a double take. He was holding her hands with his eyes closed. What kind of perfumer meditated with his clients? Then again, this was Portland. Keep it weird wasn't just a cute slogan. Emma used the opportunity to stare at him. She glanced at me, grinned, and shrugged.

Fair enough. He was stare worthy.

“Yes, I know just thing.” Sinclair let go of her and went to a shelf. Trailing his finger over the bottles, he spoke to himself too low for me to hear before raising his voice, “Yes, exactly.” He pulled down a bottle and went to another shelf.

With a mental shake, I returned to watching the street. I could still hear him muttering along with the sound of crystal clinking. A sweet scent wafted over to me. It smelled exotic, but too heady for me. I'd get a headache in a few minutes.

“Oh, my God!” Emma exclaimed. “What is that?”

“Tuberose,” Sinclair made it sound like bedroom talk. “And this is pikake, a type of jasmine.”

Emma groaned. “I love it!”

“They are the stars of your scent.” He stepped past me. “For you, I'd chose frangipani and night-blooming jasmine instead of the pikake.”

I swiveled my head to look at him. “Are you talking to me?”

“Yes, definitely frangipani.” He nodded and went to another cabinet, still talking to himself, “Though maybe not the jasmine. Italian bergamot. Yes! Damn it all! What was I doing?”

I'd met obnoxiously debonair men before. They'd been easy to ignore. Not Sinclair. He had an edge to him. It was like adding acid or salt to a dessert—it made an average treat into an exquisite delight. But I wasn't hungry for his treats. I loved myself too much to indulge in something so unhealthy.

An enchanting scent teased me, and I breathed in deeply. It was magical enough to make me turn around. “What is that?”

“That is what people pay me a lot of money for.” Sinclair decanted a golden liquid into a cut crystal perfume bottle and stoppered it. He laid the bottle into a velvet-lined wood box, and wrapped the box in tissue, securing it with a gold sticker.

“It's my scent!” Emma declared and beamed at me. “I told you it was worth keeping my appointment.”

“Yes, it's lovely.” I turned back to the window. No matter how lovely a perfume was, I wouldn't pay more than a hundred dollars for it, and I certainly wouldn't risk my—“Fuck!” I spun and grabbed Emma's arm just as she was pulling out her wallet. “Do you have a more secure room?”

Sinclair frowned. “The entire shop is secure.”

“Not enough.” I shoved her at him. “Take her and lock yourself in.”

“I assure you, we are perfectly—”

I grabbed his arm and yanked them both through the doorway he'd used earlier. “Where is it?” I looked around a storeroom full of wooden boxes, brass distillers, and tools I didn't recognize. “Where?!”

Sinclair motioned at a door.