Read Online Master's Flame by Annabel Joseph - Free Book Online Page B

created but she was dressed in the spirit of the show, in a bright orange-yellow bodysuit that was still not as eye-catching as her hair. Jason explained the progress on the act, new stunts and nuances that had been added. Michel listened with half his attention. Valentina and her partners would show him the heart and soul of the performance, which was all he really cared about.
    A moment later, the quintet took the floor. The first thing he noticed was an inexplicable slouch to Valentina’s shoulders, a deflation, as if she were half asleep. Performing for the boss should have had her at full charge. He narrowed his eyes as the music began and Adei and Danil drew Valentina into the first lift.
    The performance had no errors, no hesitations or confusion. There were no wobbles or bobbles and the stunts themselves were graceful and creative. He could not say what was wrong with the act except that it had no life. Valentina had no spark, no joy, not even a smile.
    “What is she doing?” Michel hissed under his breath to Jason. “What’s wrong with her?”
    Jason grimaced and rubbed his neck. “She’s trying to please you, I think.”
    Her face was a blank, pretty mask, and her body, while capable at the tricks, expressed no deeper artistry. She wasn’t on fire. His
La Vampa
, his inspiring flame, had fizzled out.
    “
Arrête
,” he shouted, jumping to his feet. “Stop.”
    Fifty faces turned to him. The recorded music came to a halt mid-note and Valentina slid down Roman’s chest. She turned to regard her boss with a flash of irritation that immediately disappeared back into that unsettling mask.
    That was when he realized she was doing this on purpose, punishing him, perhaps, for rejecting her before. She was not ill, she was not tired, she was simply hiding her charisma behind this polished, expressionless shell. It infuriated him.
    “Where is the energy? Where is the soul?” he yelled. “I almost fell asleep in the middle of your performance.”
    Her four partners looked accusingly at Valentina.
    “I was trying to be controlled,” she said in a stilted manner that sounded nothing like her usual tumbling speech. “Precision and grace are the foundations of a good hand-to-hand act.”
    “Precision and grace?” His voice edged up to a roar, his temper goaded by her level explanations. “Do you presume to educate me on the vagaries of performance?”
    “I don’t presume anything,” she said, her voice faltering. “Why are you angry with me? Did I fall? Did I make any mistakes?”
    “You can do every movement perfectly and still put the audience to sleep.” His gaze swept over her partners but it was on Valentina that he focused his ire. “We must have emotion and spirit from you most of all. You are the anchor of this show, the focal point of the act, and you’re like a mannequin being passed around and arranged in static poses. How boring and depressing. Where is the life, the risk? The drama?”
    “Oh.” She gave him an arch look. “My apologies,
monsieur
. I thought uncontrolled dramatics were not to your taste.”
    Michel heard a small sound from Jason, a light sigh over the furious racing of his blood. “Michel—” Jason began in a warning tone, but
La Vampa
had pushed him beyond temper into indelicacy. He yanked her away from the others, marching her toward the corner of the rehearsal space. He tried without success to collect himself before he leaned down to glare into her sullen gaze.
    “Are you playing games with me, Miss Sancia?” he said between his teeth. “You may find such strategies blow up in your face.”
    She crossed her arms over her chest, not backing down in the slightest. “Playing games? I am not the one between us who plays games, Mr. Lemaitre. I have not forgotten that night, not one second of what happened, even if you choose to act now as if nothing took place.
Miss Sancia
,” she mocked, affecting a low, French-inflected voice. “You will call me Miss Sancia, as