Master's Flame Read Online Free PDF Page A

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