Master's Flame (4 page)

“Because she’s crazy,” he whispered back. “Like I told you.”

Then came the wobble. Adei’s fault, not hers. Michel’s practiced eye saw it nearly before it began. A falter in balance and concentration, a shoulder dipped too low. Valentina came tumbling down, landing on her feet like a cat—even that happened gracefully. The look she turned on her partner, though, was the least graceful thing he’d ever seen.

“You beast,” she spat. “What’s wrong with you? How lazy and stupid can one person be?”

Adei offered his hands to propel her back up but she slapped them away. He scowled and walked off the performance floor with a shrug and few choice words of his own. Michel watched with a measure of patience. This was how the best acts grew and changed—and Valentina’s act would have to change. There was no way she could sustain that level of concentration and performance through eight shows a week. Even if she could, her partner couldn’t. That seemed obvious from the way he willfully tuned out her ranting.

“We should go save him.” Jason sighed.

“By all means. Partners must push one another to strive for excellence, but she may be pushing a little too hard.” Literally, pushing him. The muscular black man was twice her size, and to Michel’s mind, exercising laudable control in the face of her onslaught.

He crossed with Jason to the area where Valentina and Adei worked to settle their differences. Both men flinched as the petite woman let loose with a string of Italian curses.

Michel made a note of the ones he hadn’t heard before, even as he frowned in disapproval. “Our own Mount Vesuvius. Charming.” He made a sharp sound to get Valentina’s attention. “Miss Sancia, do not injure Adei. You’ll need him for future performances.”

She ignored his order, waving a finger in her partner’s face. From the looks of things, they weren’t lovers anymore. He wondered if they were still friends. It became clear that Adei would need backup if he was to continue working with Valentina.

Michel turned to Jason. “Why do you not use spotters for the act?”

At those words, she left off Adei and turned on him. “Spotters?” she snapped. “I do not need spotters.”

“Don’t you? I could have sworn I just saw you fall.”

“That was not my fault.”

He couldn’t remember the last time a performer had used such a tone with him. And here, in front of dozens of people. “It was your fault and that of your partner,” he said with brisk authority. “You should not incorporate skills into your act that you can’t replicate perfectly every time.”

She straightened her shoulders, turning her wagging fingers on him. “I will perfect that skill, I just need time to do it. I don’t want spotters milling around and getting in the way. There are lines that must be seen, movement that would be ruined by spotters lurking here and there. I know how to fall and not get hurt.”

“You say ‘I’ a lot, Miss Sancia. You are not the only member of this act, nor the only person whose wishes must be taken into consideration.”

“Perhaps,” she said, “but I am part of the act, unlike you.” At that retort, Michel heard gasps from the gathered audience of artists and directors.

He stared at her. Strong personality or not, she had crossed a line. “Miss Sancia—”

“Don’t ‘Miss Sancia’ me—”

He held up a hand to silence her, then scanned the room. “Someone bring Andrew from the other studio to act as spotter. He’s warmed up.”

“No!”

Michel turned back to her with his iciest stare. “Are you speaking to me? I sincerely hope not.”

The warning in his voice worked. She deflated a little, the blaze of her fury downgrading to billowing embers. “You’re not listening to me,” she said.

“I am listening to you. We can all hear you, but in this, you’re not going to get your way. I won’t stage this kind of act without spotters. At least, not the kind of act I envision.”

“But—”

“I’m the director of this circus.”

“Genevieve is the director of this show, not you.”

Astonishing, the backtalk, the inability to show respect. Genevieve, slight and dark-haired, sent him an apologetic look. She looked terrified on Valentina’s behalf, but Michel was rather enjoying the drama. He hadn’t experienced this kind of mutiny in years. Ever, really. Was Valentina crazy, as Jason claimed, or only exceptionally brave?

He walked closer to her, inches away. She held her ground, vibrating with indignation. When he spoke, it was in a biting and resolute tone. “Miss Sancia, Genevieve might be the director of this show, but I am the director of all things Cirque du Monde. Perhaps you were unaware of this. Perhaps you are unaware of too many things. Let us proceed to my office, where I can explain these important matters to you.”

Genevieve blanched and Jason got in his way as if to impede him. What did they think, that he would take her there and wring her neck? As tempting as the prospect might be, he’d worked too hard to get her here to choke the life out of her. It was only time to lay down some ground rules and teach her who was in charge. Without physical force, hopefully.

The only person in the room who did not look at all alarmed was Valentina. She stormed off ahead of him. Marshaling her defenses, he was certain. Planning her mode of attack. “You will wish to come too?” he asked Jason, who shadowed his side.

“I would like to, yes.”

“Your protectiveness is one of your best qualities. Although you realize I would not behave inappropriately toward her.”

Jason gave him a hooded look. “I don’t think you’d be inappropriate, no. But you can be brutal all the same. She’s new here, Michel. She’s impetuous, and in some way, I don’t think she lives in the same world as the rest of us.”

“I know she doesn’t. I intend to redirect her more troublesome behaviors, that’s all.”

Jason gave a skeptical grunt Michel chose not to analyze, and the two men headed down the hall after the fuming young artist.

Once in his office, Jason sat in one of the leather chairs in front of the desk and Michel sat in the other. Both of them watched her stalk back and forth across the room.

“Will she stop?” asked Michel. “Or should I make her stop?”

Jason raised a brow. “You can’t make her do anything.”

Michel believed he could, but his methods might upset Jason. Or Valentina, for that matter. He held out a hand to get her attention. “My dear, I need to talk to you. If you won’t sit, then at least stop pacing.”

She spun on him. “Why do you call me ‘my dear’? I am not dear to you, that is obvious.”

“If you were not dear to me, you’d be packing your bags right now.”

“I’m upset, you know. Very upset.”

“I sense that.”

“I have a vision for the act. I’ve been working hard. Working, working, working, and you storm in, and you complain because I fell? It was Adei’s fault. I need more time, more practice. How can you come in after only a few weeks and say, ‘Show me something perfect’? How can you make me have spotters who will distract and get in the way? You are unreasonable, unfair. You do not listen, only give orders. Do this, do that, blah blah blah,” she barked, giving an exaggerated imitation of his stony critique face.

Michel ignored Jason’s chuckle, steepling his fingers and studying her. His whip hand twitched. “Are you finished?”

“Will you answer my questions?”

“When you address me with the respect of an employee for her superior, I will answer your questions.”

She turned to storm away. His hand shot out to catch her wrist. “
Mademoiselle
, I don’t remember granting you permission to go.”

The look she gave him could have melted rock. Blood rushed to his cock, a reaction to being challenged.
If you were mine, ma chère, the punishments I would deal you for this display...
But she was not his submissive, not his slave or plaything or anything.

Not yet, anyway.

The words whispered in his brain, and for the first time he admitted to himself that he wanted her. And it was terrible to want her, this hot-headed girl, because she would burn up both of them in a fire impossible to control.

He frowned and let her go. “I’m going to make you add to your act, Valentina. Three more men, Andrew and a couple others.”

She looked devastated. “But...why?”

“It cannot remain as it is. Don’t misunderstand me. Your skill is amazing and the work you’ve done so far is exemplary, but it isn’t fair to Adei to shoulder such responsibility. More men—not spotters, but partners, like Adei—can expand the emotional interest of the act. More tricks, more possibilities, and the need for spotters disappears. Four strong men will make a beautiful visual, and you, their flyer, soaring across the sky.”

“Four men?” He saw her consider this, saw her realize that more men could only increase the spectacle of her performance.

“But no more women,” she said sharply. “Only me.”

Michel spread his hands in a gesture of capitulation. “I don’t know where you believe we could find another woman capable of doing what you do. Well?”

She bit her lip, thinking, dreaming, perhaps, of the possibilities. He waited a full two minutes with Jason silent at his side. “I guess it’s okay,” she finally said. “I guess it might work.”

After a muted smile to reward her for her conciliatory tone, he hardened his expression and infused his voice with all the displeasure he felt. “Now, Miss Sancia, I would like to explain something to you. Here at the Cirque, we work as a team. We have no divas here, no rock stars, no supreme, inflated egos. No one lords over others here.” He paused. “No one except me.”

“I only spoke out for my craft,” she protested. “My art.”

“We are all making art here. That’s no excuse for your unhinged and childish display. At Cirque, we consider multiple viewpoints and collaborate. I will always consider your point of view, but I will require you to also listen to mine because I’m your boss. I’ll expect you to listen without raging and ranting. Do you understand?”

“What if I disagree with your viewpoint?”

“Do you understand?” he repeated, sharpening his already-taut voice.

“Yes, I understand.” She made a face and rolled her eyes. “I speak English.”

Oh, to be in a position to punish her as she deserved. He felt Jason shift restlessly at his side. His whip hand probably ached too. “Further, I will expect you to address me, your directors and coaches, your performance partners, in fact, everyone in this organization with professionalism and respect.”

“But—”

Michel held up a hand before she could go off. “I’m not saying you have to bow down to anyone, or be falsely polite or solicitous, or any of those things. I expect you to speak to others as you would wish to be spoken to, and treat others as you’d wish to be treated. Would you like Adei to push you and hit you when you fall off balance in rehearsals and make a mistake?”

After a moment, she shook her head.

“What? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear your answer.”

“No,” she said sullenly.

“I would prefer ‘No, sir,’ and in a respectful tone.”

She squirmed, suffering. He was sorry for it, but she needed to understand that artistic license only stretched so far, especially with him.

“No, sir,” she finally managed. “If Adei hit me I would probably kill him.”

Again, Jason’s inappropriate chuckling. Michel pressed his point, wrapping up his lecture with a rigid rat-a-tat of words. “If Adei cannot mistreat you, you cannot mistreat Adei. You will offer him an apology as soon as you leave my office. If you can’t find him, you’ll keep looking until you do. You will never, ever put your hand on another artist in violence from this time forward. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said, adding the “sir” when his frown deepened. “It’s only that I was upset.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“I don’t like to do things wrong. I don’t like to mess up.” Her clear hazel eyes went liquid and her jaw tensed.

“Not many here do.” If he kept her much longer, she’d begin to cry, and he couldn’t handle that. “Go find Adei. Mend your fences. Tomorrow’s another day.”

She nodded and flew out of his office. He waited for the door to close before he turned to Jason and released a sigh. How unsatisfying, to only flay her with words.

Jason grimaced at him in sympathy. “Well done, Michel. I thought you showed admirable restraint.”

“She exhausts me. I don’t know how you cope with her day in and day out.” He stood to get a bottle of vodka from a small refrigerator.

“Would this be the time to ask for a raise?”

Michel poured two shots of the ice-cold liquid and handed one to Jason. “If you hadn’t just received one last month, then yes. As it is, be kind to me. I’ve apparently thrown in my lot with the devil’s daughter.”

Jason studied his face. “You know, I never realized how much her eyes look like yours. Not the color this time, but the shape. Are you sure Valentina isn’t your daughter too?”

Michel spit out half a mouthful of vodka. “You’re not funny.”

“I thought it was funny.”

“God forbid I would ever create such a contrary creature.” He stared down into his glass. “Audacious little bitch.”

Jason blinked at him once. Twice. “You want her, don’t you?”

Michel took another drink, letting the liquor sit on his tongue while he weighed his friend’s question. “Perhaps.” He shook his head with a resigned air. “But I won’t have her. My life is complicated enough. Do you think she’d want the kind of control I like to exert?”

“No. Although I think she needs it.”

Michel bit his tongue, not trusting himself to speak.

“She’s been asking about the private rooms at the Citadel,” Jason persisted. “Are you going to let her back there?”

“God forbid,” he said, crossing to put his glass on the desk.

“You won’t be able to keep her out forever. Are you prepared for what happens then?”

Michel sank down in his chair, staring at the polished desktop. “You ask too many questions. You always have. She goes to the Citadel now, eh?”

“Almost every day. And Jesus, she’s something. She would be something to play with. Just saying.”

“Fire,” Michel replied shortly. “She would be like playing with fire.”