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Book Description

Perfumer Portia Ross, once renowned for her scented artistry, struggles to recover from the grief shadowing her life since her husband’s death. With her career stalled and loneliness consuming her, she takes a bold step and travels to Egypt, determined to uncover Cleopatra’s legendary perfume. Following an ancient scent trail hidden within temple walls and desert flora, Portia confronts her deepest fears—with a man who kindles desires she thought were lost forever.

Nadir, weary of the monotony of his tour guide business, steps in when his archaeologist friend declines the job. Though not the expert Portia expected, Nadir guides her through Egypt’s mesmerizing temples and desert landscapes, offering insights and strength reminiscent of Cleopatra’s greatest love, Mark Antony. As their connection deepens, his childhood trauma and unwavering faith resonate with Portia, forging a profound emotional bond. But as their feelings ripen and more discoveries are made, Nadir’s secret threatens to unravel the romance blossoming between them.

In the sands of Egypt, where ancient fragrances linger, will Portia unearth Cleopatra’s long-lost perfume, or will a new scent—love—bloom in the desert?

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Read an Excerpt:

Chapter One

A misty rain slipped from the sky, infusing the air with an earthy scent that teased Portia’s nose. Yet as she walked across the parking lot, clutching a black umbrella, she resisted the urge to slow down and smell the peaceful fragrance, and walked stoically toward an impressive colonnade leading to Tulipe Cosmetics.

After six months on leave, returning to the Vancouver office came with a heavy responsibility—composing a new perfume.

She wasn’t ready.

As Portia gripped the cool steel of the door, memories of that fateful morning came flooding back: Michael, his laughter echoing in their kitchen as he prepared a bagged lunch. The fog in his eyes and the one meaningful pause in their conversation should have sent a warning. He had made his decision. Why hadn’t she seen it coming?

Stop it. Collect yourself! It’s not your fault. No one could see the future, let alone change the past. The rhythm of life marched onward and she must move with it. She entered the building, her black Aquatalia heels striking against the polished white marble floor.

Pink armor today, again? His voice still haunted her.

Portia left her coat and umbrella in her office and made her way to the boardroom, a glassed-in meeting space with a rectangular oak table. She whispered a hesitant “hello, good morning,” to her three colleagues, hoping they wouldn’t embarrass her by replying with one heavily loaded question: How are you? To escape an emotional response, she’d have to lie and say everything was fine.

Adjusting her hot-pink shirt dress, she sat beside Sophie, who offered a reassuring smile. “Good morning, Portia. It’s great to see you.”

Portia’s lips barely curved into a semblance of a smile, though a glimmer of gratitude flickered in her eyes. “Thank you, Sophie,” she replied quietly.

Tasha’s furtive glance at Ashley did not go unnoticed. Portia sensed the tension simmering beneath the surface. Is it because of me? Or Tasha’s presentation?

“When Logan gets here, I’ll begin,” Tasha said.

Portia opened her mouth to speak, but as if on cue, Logan, the president, strolled into the boardroom.

Women were drawn to his lumberjack appearance, from his shoulder-length brown hair to the casual attire that defied corporate norms. His too-long beard was cringeworthy, but something else caught her attention. A hint of cologne wafted from him, assaulting her perfumer’s nose. An ambery blend of cardamom, saffron, and intensely fragrant Szechuan pepper, momentarily rousing memories of her late husband’s aftershave, prompting a bittersweet pang of nostalgia.

Damn it! With a deep breath, Portia fought to anchor herself in the moment.

“Welcome back, Portia,” Logan said, placing a tray of coffee on the table, the aroma of coffee beans and cinnamon altering the room’s ambiance. “Lady, we missed you. No one has a nose for this business like you.”

“I appreciate your confidence in me.”

Logan rubbed his hands together, glancing at her as if he was staring into the deepest reaches of her soul. “Let’s celebrate the return of an important member of our team,” he said. “A round of cinnamon dolce for everyone.” He gave each team member a latte, then added, “We have a new concept. Tasha can’t wait to share it with you.” He gave Tasha a conspiratorial wink, then took his seat. “Let’s get started.”

Tasha rose from her chair. She was dressed in a farmhouse-style buttercup dress. A white belt embellished with a decorative bow-knot accentuated her petite waist. “I’m excited about this proposal. As far as I know, Tulipe has not engaged in a bold concept before.”

Bold? Portia wondered what was coming and questioned if she had the stamina to work with the team, let alone a daring idea. She watched Tasha hesitate, heard her heave a sigh. Silver bangles chimed on Tasha’s wrist as she inched toward the presenter’s screen, holding a white clicker. Sweet, but ill at ease. If Portia wasn’t mistaken, Tasha’s fingers were trembling.

“Portia, before you took your leave of absence, we were searching for an original scent—one that would capture our consumers’ imagination through a key historical figure. We’ve come up with a great concept.”

Portia pulled a pen and notepad from her purse, suspecting Tasha had aligned herself with the boss. She glanced at him. “It must be good. I sense support for it.”

“Just wait,” Logan said, smiling like a king. “It gets better.”

Tasha gestured toward the screen. “Without further ado, I present the sacred scent of Cleopatra.”

A woman appeared on the projector screen—an Egyptian beauty with midnight hair, sensual brown eyes lined with black kohl, peach lips, and olive skin. A gold necklace with amber gemstones circled her forehead, while multicolored beads of blue lapis, turquoise, gold, and sunlit orange lay enticingly on a silk embroidered gown at her neck. The model was young, likely in her early twenties. Her eyes shimmered with desire, a potency that reminded Portia of her youth, a time when life stories could still be rewritten.

“Stunning,” Portia said, opening her journal. “Who designed the bottle? A red ball with flecks of gold? I’d rather see the model holding a heart.”

“A heart?” Ashley flinched. “Don’t you think that’s a bit overstated? A circular design hits the mark. An object similar to an apple would harvest more olfactory notes.”

Portia sipped her coffee. “What does an apple have to do with an Egyptian queen? Do they grow in Egypt? To my way of thinking, an apple evokes images of the Garden of Eden, of Adam and Eve and innocence lost. Why hint at religious symbolism?”

“I don’t understand where you’re coming from. There’s no religion here,” Ashley said.

“Ladies,” Logan said. “Please, focus.”

Portia took a breath, searching within herself for patience. “A ball provides customers with something tangible. But a heart is something to covet and adore.”

Tasha frowned, her mouth falling open as if she didn’t know how to respond. She openly sighed, then said, “I’m disappointed. I thought you’d approve.”

Portia crossed her arms, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut, wishing she’d stayed at home in bed. In the wake of life-changing circumstances, none of this mattered. “Tasha, I’m not trying to be difficult. I applaud the initiative, but the design is too simplistic for a queen like Cleopatra.”

“There’s no need for melodrama,” Tasha said curtly.

Clearly, decisions around the concept had already been made. So why was she here? Did they value her opinion, her contributions? Everything in her wanted to get up from her chair and leave, but a stubborn dedication to her job and years of perfume knowledge kept her engaged in the conversation. She reached for her pen and wrote Cleopatra? on the paper.

“I understand,” Portia finally said, hoping to ease the tension. “Look, I’m not at my best. Ignore my comments. Forget I even mentioned the design. Please, continue the presentation.”

Tasha inhaled deeply, then pressed the clicker. The next slide depicted the perfume bottle, inscribed with the words “Femme Fatale.”

“Interesting,” Portia said, dropping her pen, clasping her forehead.

“What’s wrong now?” Tasha asked delicately.

Portia took a breath. “Femme Fatale? While the name intrigues me, it sends the wrong message.”

“Does it?” Ashley asked.

“Cleopatra had a historic life as a queen. It feels like you’re focusing on her death. Why not her life?”

Logan raised his hand for silence. “You’re not usually this difficult.”

“I’m not the same person. My life has changed.”

“You need to live again.”

Portia shrugged. What did he think she was doing? Standing still? Barely surviving? Whether his point had some semblance of the truth or not, getting on with life wasn’t easy. Everyone managed grief differently.

Logan sipped his coffee, then said, “We see Cleopatra as seductive and beautiful—a formidable woman comfortable with her sexuality.”

Portia narrowed her eyes. “As far as I’m concerned, Femme Fatale sends a grave message. One that offers ominous scent notes and does not link to a sacred scent. Who will purchase a perfume that offers a negative impression, even before it enters the market? I must pose the question: How does fatale seduce the consumer?”

Logan drummed his fingers on the table. “That’s a great question, one you’ll answer as you dig deeper into the concept.” He leaned toward her. “It’s up to you to fit the pieces together. We’re just trying to highlight the greater story, one that attracts the opposite sex.”

“Similar to a bottle of love potion Number Nine? Of course,” Portia said carefully. “If that’s the goal, why not choose something rosy, or optimistic, like Eternal Desire? A love that transcends time.”

“Portia, seriously, we’re getting off track. Your input is critical. We don’t have your nose. We lack the means, the due process and expertise to research the raw materials.”

“Logan isn’t always right,” Tasha said earnestly, “but he’s bang on when he speaks of your involvement. We’re lost without you.”

A new image emerged on the screen of the model holding the perfume bottle accompanied by the tagline: “An electrifying tension between feminine potency and masculine desire.”

Despite the resignation letter tucked away in her purse, Portia rose from her seat with a sense of restlessness and a yearning for peace. As she gravitated toward the illuminated screen, an urge swept over her to delve into the enigmatic world of Queen Cleopatra.

Who was this legendary figure that history had immortalized? How had the ancient Egyptians perceived her presence and power? Portia realized how little she knew about Cleopatra, and was curious to unravel the mysteries that surrounded this iconic queen.

Yet she couldn’t shake the nagging question: How could immersing herself in this research, no matter how alluring, illuminate the path to a brighter, more fulfilling life? Everything inside her knew she must find a way to cast off her blanket of sorrow.

“It’s brilliant. I like the theme, but the name would not inspire me to purchase the perfume.”

Logan frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Femme Fatale—I mentioned this before, the current theme amounts to a female fatality, it almost has a disastrous undertone. We must respect how a fatal theme could impact the business and influence our consumers.”

“It’s not that at all. Femme Fatale imparts a romantic archetype: power, beauty, charm, and sensual attraction.”

Portia disregarded his angst. “It’s inappropriate. How will the Egyptian people perceive the use of their queen’s legacy? Could they see our ‘sacred scent’ as an intrusion? Another instance of historical appropriation? Are we dumbing down Egyptian heritage?”

Tasha paled.

Ashley shook her head.

Sophie tried to speak, but Logan raised his hands in an imploring manner. “Snap out of it,” he said to Portia.

Snap out of it? “Did you really just say that?”

“Dear woman, I don’t want to offend you, especially on your first day back, but, it’s been six months. Isn’t it time to think about living again?”

“We’re not discussing my personal life,” Portia said wearily, her face flaming red.

“Nothing’s written in stone here. Everything is open for discussion.”

“If you mean that, then get off your high horse and listen to me,” Portia said, exhaling heavily. “Tweak the design elements. Address the perfume notes. ’Cause this concept, that imagery, it’s phenomenal. When you pull everything together in the right way, you’ll have a winner.”

For several seconds, no one said a word. Tasha glanced at the floor, tapping the clicker against her leg. She finally said, “Welcome back, Portia. You have no idea how much we’ve missed your enthusiasm.”

Portia sighed, regretting her outburst. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe I spoke like that. I shouldn’t be here. It’s too soon.” She returned to her seat but remained standing.

“I understand where you’re coming from,” Tasha replied gently. “Honestly, we didn’t want to develop the idea without you.”

Portia waved off the concern. “Unfortunately, my absence couldn’t be avoided.”

Logan interrupted. “I’m sorry, Portia. I should have been more sensitive. The project can wait. We can delay the launch until next year if that timing is better.”

Tasha seemed about to speak, but Logan’s regard prompted her to remain silent.

“Can it wait?” Portia focused on the screen, staring at the likeness of Cleopatra. She projected a powerful persona, almost daring the viewer to sample the perfume. That fiery link spurred an interest within Portia to research the queen’s royal perfume, to travel to ancient Egypt and uncover her authentic scent. But was such a discovery possible? And did she have the wherewithal to do the work?

Portia shook her head. “Aim for a Christmas launch, or at the latest, Valentine’s Day. If a competitor learns about this concept, they might use it.”

“Thank you, Portia,” Tasha said gratefully, taking her seat. “I was hoping you’d see it that way.”

“Congratulations, Tasha. I suspect the Cleopatra concept was your brainchild.”

“Well, yes. It was. I hope you’ll support it.” Tasha nibbled at her lip. “We need you. The concept requires research.”

Portia had no issue with supporting the project, but did she have the mindset to pursue the necessary work? “That’s a big ask.”

“We understand,” Tasha said sympathetically. “You’re the one with the nose for this business. You understand the dynamics. We’ll fail without you. We can’t finalize the perfume without your contribution.”

Portia sat down. “I don’t have the strength to take on a project of this size. And I confess, each day is … difficult without Michael.”

Logan regarded her thoughtfully. “I was concerned it might be too soon, but our work has a way of keeping the mind busy.”

Ashley intervened. “Portia, without your research, the concept can’t progress.”

They looked at her expectantly.

“What are you getting at?” asked Portia.

“We want to send you to Egypt,” Ashley said cautiously.

Portia shook her head. “No, that’s impossible. I can’t travel.”

“Why not?” said Sophie, who had been silent until now. “Travel might be a good distraction.”

“I can influence scents without getting on a plane.” If I don’t quit my job, that is.

Sophie added, “We hope to market the perfume as the sacred scent of Cleopatra. That requires authenticity—a perfume that Cleopatra may have worn.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Portia, this project requires travel, as well as consulting with a local expert.” Logan leaned forward slightly, his eyes locked on hers. “In Egypt, you could collaborate with an archaeologist or someone well-versed in history who might offer us scent options we can’t find online. I’ve heard that Egyptian perfumers guard their recipes closely. Maybe they’d share their secrets with you.”

“Why would anyone part with an ancient recipe for me?”

“Well, you have the magic touch,” Sophie said.

“Not today, apparently.” Portia ran her hand through her hair. “Team, I don’t want to disappoint anyone, but I need to consider this carefully.”

“How much time do you need?” Logan asked.

Portia breathed deeply, torn between the job she had once valued and her plan to resign. Should she quit? Or could she do the work? As she grappled with the decision, the gravity of the moment was enough to give her a headache.

“Please, give me some time,” she said. “You’ve given me a lot to consider.”