He was recently referred in the press as the "enfant terrible" of niche perfumery, he literally has fans, there is a big hype around him. He is truly talented, his creations that went public were real game-changers, but he is also so obviously full of himself that I have decided that unlike every women at work, I am not going to be charmed by the less than average looking, openly egocentric man in his early 40s.
Though I was excited to start working with him, I didn't join the others in welcoming him collectively during the first coffee break. Mostly, because I am still working on those delicious sweets projects, and partly because I just really doesn't want to be among my female colleagues in their 50s behaving like teenagers.
This whole mess about his arrival, which turned into a extreme high level of excitement in the company got me overdosed before even meeting him for the first time.
(It's like the movie 'Titanic'. I refused to see that movie just cause all my friends were whining about Leonardo DiCaprio for months before the premiere, extensive promotion usually has inverse effect on me. )
Little did I know about him turning my world upside down starting just about hearing him talking to me the first time.
I have seen him passing by at lunch break, and he caught me looking at him. Great, now he thinks I am stupefied by him, but really I was just wondering how weirdly is his nose shaped, how small his lips are and that I expected somebody with less wrinkles and less sick looking eyes.
As I went back from lunch to my office, he was already outside smoking with some of the raw material buyers. I looked at his worn-out clothes, and wondered if he was really so much underpaid or simply doesn't have a taste for apparels.
I was in the middle of adding the final cristallized sugar scent to my crumble accord, when he came into my office with the Maître Parfumeur. My boss introduced us to each other, and while shaking my hand, he casually said 'how are you, love'? I knew I was lost. It took him not less than 4 words to have me among his fans. He had the sexiest English accent I have ever heard in my life. Not the posh one from Oxford, but more of the Southern London, hooligan-style.
I felt lust climbing up on my spine to my brain. What the heck is going on? Since when I am dreadfully attracted to this accent?!
He asked me something which I had hardly understood, and than a few seconds later, my Maître asked me to show on what I am working on right now. I was going to take the sample's bottle from my desk, but he got my hand, and said he could smell it on me. I like to try my creations on my skin, so I have put on my wrist a few drops from Crumble, but how would he know that?! Seconds later, he was smelling my wrist as if that was the most natural thing on an average Monday afternoon. He mentioned the few ingredients, corrected my formula orally and added that my skin smells like sweet pea.
Then he left. My Maitre after him, with a rather confused look.
I needed to sit down. How did he enchanted me in less than 3 mins? I am addicted to this man. I am back to 13 when I was painfully in love with some movie stars. Why he has to have that beautiful voice and why he has to talk me with his green eyes sparkling? Why he had to touch me? Why his touch felt like the pleasantest thunder striking me? How on earth I am supposed to concentrate on my job now?
No comments:
Post a Comment