Perfume Galore Novels & Stories

Handing Jules one of the original necklaces, Beatrice said: “This is the sample one. Only use this one when people want to smell the scent. All the others need to be put in the cases. Got it?” Jules nodded, and Beatrice grabbed her purse. There, that job was done. All the necklaces were filled with her own special, disgusting perfume. People would smell the original, purchase the product, and then take the tampered with necklaces home, only to discover they smelt so bad, they were gag-worthy. With a sly smile, Beatrice left the store. She deserved a reward. Maybe it was time to get herself a pair of cowboy boots after. Because as they, when in Dallas…

Just outside beyond the torch-lit balcony, white-foamed surf rolled in peacefully leaving a darker stain on the pale sweep of sandy beach visible as it retreated. Noting the direction of her gaze, Andrew leaned closer merely for the pleasure of doing it. So recently out of the bath, the Ivory soap florally scent he loved clung to her, subtly enhanced by the sparing application of Jean Patou's Joy. Formulated as a result of the ‘29 Crash that hit so many of Patou’s American clientele hard, the fragrance wasn’t one of his particular favorites, precisely for its reminder to that horrific event, but something about it on Evelyn had him re-evaluating his original distaste for it. “You smell wonde

Like so many unfortunate she-wolves who assume wealth is the same as class, my ex-husband’s mistress filled her store with the most gaudy, extravagant items she could find, regardless of whether they hold true artistic value. My perfumes, anonymously designated with the french word for she-wolf: La Louve, line her counters. I’m sure Eve has no idea the exclusive scents she’s given prime placement on her shelves are my creations, and though I can’t criticize her taste in perfume, I know she’s only selling them because they’re so in demand. When I try to enter the atelier, dressed casually in the same clothes I don in the laboratory, the snooty sales women look down their long noses at me. “Mi

Kristel lifted one brow upward, then snorted. Galvin did not reply. Thus, she went on. “Can’t you smell how you were reeking with someone else perfume?” After she said this, Kristel covered her mouth. Now that Galvin was too close to her again, she just realized that she suddenly felt discomfort because of the perfume stuck on his suit. Gloria didn’t wear perfumes that were too strong in the nose. She mainly uses flower oil essentials she rubs on her wrists and neck, not having a shower with it.

Rhian Monteclara, a lively and charming 25-year-old entrepreneur, is the face behind the popular fragrance brand Glam Perfume—known for its tagline: "One scent, one story." Her magnetic presence easily captures attention wherever she goes. People are often drawn to her confidence, but some become unexpectedly put off once they see her bubbly and playful personality.

The waitress disappears, and I pick up the package balancing on the top. Five minutes later I am flabbergasted at the staggering array of gifts on my lap. I run my fingers over a gorgeous Stella McCartney chemise, I take in the sight of my new Valentino cocktail dress and Valentino Garavani high-heeled boots, and I inhale the gorgeous scent of Miss Dior, my favourite perfume. The last, and my absolute favourite, is a framed picture of the outside of Bread & Cake, complete with the new signage. “Wow, Taylor, this is all…it’s too much,” I say, my voice trembling with emotion.

“You. Shelby Cobb. You had a milk bath last night. You’re using Chanel’s No.5 perfume, but you’re thrifty enough to use expired leftover perfume… “You. Jemma Lee. You were with two other men last night. One of them is a handsome young man with cheap cologne. The other one had a high status with the Land of Hermes on him. “You were too tired to shower, so you came here with both perfumes mixed on you. “You used a thick perfume, Ohana Mahaalo, to cover the scent, but the smell of hormones on you is still pretty apparent.” The prideful stewardesses were showing horrible expressions on their faces.

"You should take care of yourself. At the upcoming GT gala, people will be trying to get you to drink." Melanie blinked and forced a smile. The GT gala was a major event in the fashion world, attracting anyone with some standing in the industry. Originally, this had nothing to do with her, but recently the "Wedding Dress" perfume her father left behind had made waves in the luxury markets of Delfino and Medonia. So, both the Jones family perfume department and Melanie were on the GT gala invitation list, ranking quite high. For the sake of the Jones family and the perfume department, she had to attend.

They stopped showing me a wall of perfume all on a row of shelves that were filled top to bottom with bottles all with different colors and labels. “Wow know that’s a collection.” I said in amaze having to look up to see all the perfumes, there were all so different narrow, skinny, curvy, heart shaped, wide. With unique colors amber, baby pink, coral, lime, etc. “COLLECTION! " Clover screamed offended. “It’s not a collection it’s a legacy.” Oliver stepped in front of the wall flying across it with her wings gesturing her hand to the perfumes. “This is where all the famous fairies make their perfume which determines how their life will be.” Clover said, they held hands admiring the piece of a

“But wait until you’ve started your cycles. You’ll love it.” Her perfectly manicured hands held up a bottle that indeed proved to be the source of the delicious aroma. She gestured to my wrist, which I put up, and then sprayed a little on my skin. I swear it actually tingled. “This is the latest in the She-Wolf Delights line, from Galimard. We only carry a small amount, but it’s the perfect gift for a woman to give herself.”