It wasn't a secret that Bijoux Skin was funded by the rich entrepreneur, who'd wanted to help his sister out—hence why their office was in the dreary Vandorf tower, but Helene hadn't ever seen him anywhere other than at Christmas parties. If he ever came to the office, he stuck to the meeting rooms on the top floor, and she'd never gone higher than the fourth floor. Bijoux Skin had the entire fourth floor, and could call the admin assistants on the second floor, or the IT techs when the need arose.
The other guys must be execs, or investors. Helene stepped farther away, practically pressing herself against the steel walls.
The elevator moved again, and door pinged and opened on her floor shortly after. Now cornered behind a wall of suits, she cleared her throat. "Excuse me."
The man closest to her looked down, startled, as though he hadn't noticed her until then. His coal-black eyes bore into hers, and didn't let go. He was tall—hovering several inches over everyone else in the elevator—and definitely didn't look like the kind of man who should wear a suit. She could imagine him half naked, sweating, with a great, big sword in hand, like an actor from Vikings. His dark hair was longer than what was fashionable in the financial district. But although the air he gave off was closer to barbarian than businessman, he owned that fancy suit. It must have been tailor made, to fit a man as broad and muscular like it did.
The elevator doors started to close. Panicking, Helene started to move forward, despite being blocked by the giant and all his peers. "It's my floor."
He reached out to the control panel and pressed a button. The doors opened up again. His black eyes still not releasing her, he stepped away to let her through, without a single word.
"Thank you," she said, practically running through the doors.
Passing by him, she was hit by a heady, unfamiliar scent that she wanted to bottle and spray on her pillow. Something spicy, with wood and leather tones.
Out of the elevator, Helene dared looking back, meeting those eyes again. They were still fixed on her, unabashedly.
Who was he?
The doors closed, and she shook her head, willing herself to focus. She was at work, for heaven's sake. Now wasn't the time to drool over a hot Viking. Or fantasize about his incredible scent.
Thankfully, she had plenty of distractions waiting for her on her desk.
Over the last few years, she'd established a relationship with several haute couture makeup artists, and they generally hit her up at the same time. She answered emails and returned phone calls, sorted out samples and sales, and before she knew it, it was three o'clock. She only had time to run to the closest cafe and pick up a nasty sandwich—all the good ones had been sold earlier. She ate it on her way back up to the fourth floor. There wasn't anyone with her in the elevator this time. Helene didn't know if she felt reassured or disappointed.
The next hour was a blur of admin tasks. Verona Dallas, a well-to-do socialite, came up to chat with her unexpectedly. She bought as much as the Chanel and Dior team every quarter, so it was her prerogative. Helene was glad for the excuse to catch a break. They had tea in an elegant client lounge, and chatted about Verona's nonexistent skin issues. At forty-seven, the woman didn't look a day over thirty-five. Having money meant being able to afford the best skin care, the best food, and personal trainers that kept her young and beautiful. Helene wasn't about to tell her that she didn't need any wrinkle treatments. Instead, she invoiced her for four figures of cream.
Verona wanted something fresh today. Clients like her could have a special batch of product made, with slight tweaks to fit their fancy.
"How about changing your usual scent?" Helene suggested. "Something a little more woodsy, perhaps, for the fall and winter months?"
Verona's face lit up. "Surprise me, dear. You always do wonders."
Helene smiled. "Hardly. I don't make the products, Ms. Dallas, I just tell you what we have available."
The socialite shook her head. "No, Helene. You are no mere salesman. I come to you because you give me something more. You listen without judgment, though my issues may seem trite."
Helene took a moment to think it through. "Your life is fascinating to me," she admitted. "And issues are issues. Your concerns aren’t any less valid than anyone else's."
True, she would certainly prefer to worry about wrinkles than having to find a place to live on her salary, but Verona was a kind lady who didn't mean any harm.
"Thank you, dear. I'll let you get back to work. Send me the invoice when you're ready."
She was glad to have a reason to head to the lab, rather than return at her desk. Placing her order for Verona, she found Emily in her lab coat, her huge glasses taking over most of her face.
"Woodsy?" Emily repeated.
Helene nodded. "Yeah, you know. Something more wintery. Dark, musky, with wood and maybe leather tones."
The woman lit up. "That might be a great idea, actually. We could play on that and make it a Christmas batch. We're already tested most of the tones I'll need, but if we're mixing something new, I'd feel better if it went to trial first."
Helene nodded. "We wouldn't want Verona to have skin problems, that's for sure."
Emily laughed. "We might as well lock down the doors if we mess with her skin. I'll have it done by the end of the week, tested in lab within the next couple of weeks, then we can move to human trials. Do you think she'll mind a month’s delay?"
"No, she knows the deal. If she changes the formula, we need one or two months. Put me down for the trial, if you'd like!" Helene often volunteered.
Their base formula underwent longer tests, over the course of months or even years, but for smaller tweaks in scents, using ingredients they'd already tried, it wasn't much of a risk. And she could always use the thousand-buck bonus that went with trials. Especially now.
"You're a sweetheart, Helene. By the way, do you want the new makeup palette?" Emily was very generous with freebies.
Eagerly, she made her way to the display her boss was motioning to. In a rose gold box with a black bow, the metallic eye shadow palette with six colors made her squeal. "These are so nice! Are they for Fashion Week?"
Emily nodded. "Yep, we just got it from production. I'm happy with the packaging. A few stores want them, too, but they'll have to wait until after Fashion Week. I'm not sure I want to produce more than what we have. They need be exclusive and limited."
Helene grinned. Whatever her parents said, her job was amazing. "Can I take one for my sister, too?"
Emily shrugged. "Sure thing. Just don't tell Carrie. I only let her take one."
Carrie, her boss, didn't get along with Emily well, from what Helene could tell, but she wasn't about to fire her—they were cousins. The Vandorfs liked to keep things in the family.
"You're the best, Emily."
She truly was. Unfortunately, Emily seldom stepped outside of the lab, leaving the running of Bijoux Skin to Carrie, who had every intention of keeping Helene where she was, in a dead-end career.
Cade
Cade lived by few rules. One of the most important was to always ensure he was out of the house when his sister was throwing a girls’ night in with her pals.