“So play hard with her at your home. Keep her out of my way.”
Jason made a disgusted sound. “All this time, I thought you wanted her. Like, sexually.”
“That’s on you and your filthy, jealous mind.”
“You sent me to Mongolia, never even telling me she was your daughter. I met her in a fucking sex club.”
“Again, this is on you.”
“Waitressing, Michel, because she needed money. I think it’s on you. I think it’s shitty that you didn’t look after Sara, considering you brought her into this world.”
His lips tightened. “I looked after her as well as I could from half a world away. I fell out of contact with her mother a couple years ago. I didn’t know about the accident. When I saw Sara’s name with the outfit in Ulaanbaatar, I contacted you about going to Mongolia the same day. I thought it would be wonderful to have her close.” His eyes were twin pools of pain. “It has been wonderful. But now...I suppose...”
“What?”
“I’m begging you...please…don’t tell her I’m her father. If you tell her, it will ruin everything.”
“Everything? By everything, you mean this cold and vaguely censorious relationship you have with her?”
“I have to be cold and vaguely censorious. I’m her boss.”
“You’re her father, you raging asshole.”
“I’m not her father. I don’t deserve to be, and she doesn’t deserve the infamy of being my daughter. What about my reputation, my history? All those clubs set up in my name?”
“That’s your excuse? That you own sex clubs? What’s more important to you?”
Lemaitre let out a long breath and dropped his face into his hands. He rubbed his forehead and looked back at Jason. “If you love her, if you care for my daughter, don’t tell her. I don’t want you to tell her.”
Jason burst up off the couch. “Fuck that. You should be the one to tell her. If you won’t do it, I will.”
Lemaitre stood too, meeting him nose to nose. He grabbed a handful of Jason’s shirt and lowered his voice to a ragged growl. “Think about it, won’t you? Think! I can be an excellent mentor for her. A protector, a friend. But I would be a miserable father. What would she prefer?” The man’s grip loosened. He spread his fingers on Jason’s chest, his lips turning down in a shadowed frown. “If you tell her, the only job you’ll be able to find is with Circus Mongolia. I promise. Don’t cross me in this.”
Jason stared at his boss. Dark-haired, intense and powerful, exuding sexuality even in the most conservative situations. Perhaps he was right. He was, at his essence, the terrifying Le Maître, and an unsuitable father for anyone. Particularly the woman Jason hoped would eventually become his wife.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered. “Get your hands off me.”
Lemaitre complied with an icy mien, as if none of this was his fault. He drew himself up to his full height, brushing at an imaginary piece of fuzz on his shirt.
“This has been a rousing conversation, but I have other appointments. Do we have anything else to discuss?”
“How long will you keep it from her?” Jason asked. “Forever?”
“If I wish to.” He made a careless gesture. “Things may change.”
“It’s all about what you wish, isn’t it? In everything.”
“I’ve never made a secret of that, have I?” He gave Jason a ghost of a smile that reminded him, heartbreakingly, of Sara’s smile. It took Jason a moment to recover.
“Just tell me you’re feeling something right now,” he said, studying the smooth lines of Michel Lemaitre’s face. “Tell me you’re struggling with some measure of guilt, or shame, or self-reproach over this.”
Lemaitre gave a soft laugh. “Some measure? You may believe I’m feeling many measures of all those things. Mostly a depth of regret I hope you’ll never experience.”
Lemaitre allowed Jason to see a flash of his pain, just an iota, then he hid it, masked it with a true performer’s skill. We all have skeletons in our past. Hadn’t he and Theo discussed that less than twelve hours ago?
“I won’t tell Sara,” Jason conceded grudgingly, stalking toward the door. “For her sake, not yours.”
Chapter Eleven: Bound
Sara worried things would be awkward with Theo when they got back to work on Monday, but nothing changed. He was as hard on her as ever, and she was thankful for it. If not for Theo, her and Baat’s act would have fallen apart by now.
As the weeks flew by, as the Exhibition loomed, they practiced with greater and greater intensity, and it was Theo who forced Baat to do the work and get things right when he slacked off and spouted attitude. Theo also stayed after practice a few days a week to teach Sara solo moves for fun, tricks and flips he knew from his past career in trapeze. She got really good at them, and tried without success to convince Baat to incorporate them into their routine. He wasn’t interested. She could tell he was still drinking every night, although he claimed he wasn’t.
As long as he was sober in practices, she didn’t care, but his muscle tone wasn’t what it had been in Mongolia. At the end of their second month, Mr. Lemaitre assigned him an extra physical therapist, which irritated Baat even more. She carried the guilt of his alcoholic spiral around with her, a dirty little secret she couldn’t share with anyone, not Theo, not Jason, not Kelsey. Not Mr. Lemaitre. She didn’t want Baat to get fired because then she’d lose her job too. What then?
Mr. Lemaitre held no love for either of them, that was clear. He never explained why she wasn’t welcome at his club. Jason said it was because she was too young, but she knew plenty of Cirque employees her age who hung out there. Well, whatever. She felt safe and welcomed in Jason’s home, and in his bedroom. Through their private scenes and heartfelt conversations, she came to know him not just as her Master, but as an honorable man she loved.
All too soon, hot July turned into an even hotter August, and their act neared completion. Theo raised her and Baat’s practice trapeze, two stories, three stories, four stories off the ground in preparation for the real thing. Then it was five stories up, and the Exhibition was only a week away. They received their costumes, a dazzling emerald leotard and feathered headpiece for her, and matching knee pants for Baat. Jason was with her at the fitting, his expression filled with the same gravity she felt.
Costumes, the Exhibition, an ever-rising trapeze. It all meant one thing, that she’d be leaving Paris—and Jason—very soon. Theo said Jason would follow her, but what if he didn’t? He took his duties at Cirque very seriously. Even if he did come, what if he missed Paris and wanted to come back?
The more unsettled she felt, the more manic and gleeful Baat became. He couldn’t wait to leave Paris. He’d already invited his friends from Mongolia to visit him in Vegas when their act was added to Brillante. Never mind that it wasn’t a sure thing, never mind that they still had to impress the bigwigs with their performance in the Exhibition. Baat was as cocky and self-assured as ever. He believed he had a free ticket to Las Vegas and nothing would stop him from making plans.
The Thursday before the Exhibition he met her outside the locker rooms, happy, smiling despite the fact she’d lost her temper with him several times during practice.
“Hey, guess what?”
Sara looked at him sideways. “What?”
“Chuluun sent me two bottles of har to congratulate us on Cirque Brillante. You can have some if you like.”
Har made her think of Jason and the BDSM Fun Club, and all the things that were wrong with Ulaanbaatar. “No thanks,” she answered curtly. “First of all, we don’t have the job yet, and second, I prefer to keep all my brain cells.”
“Fine, more for me. I’m tired of this stuff the French call alcohol. I have to drink so much more here to get drunk.”
Oh Baat, how can I fix you? She hid her grief in irritation, turning away with a frown. “Why do you need to get drunk? Why can’t you just drink enough to enjoy the buzz, like a normal person?”
“Because I’m in Paris and I don’t want to be. And because my partner nags me and annoys me.”
“Your partner cares about you. Your partner wants you to be able to perform for ten, fifteen more years. Your partner thinks you have serious problems.”
He snorted, waving her concerns away. “Hey, you want to come over for dinner after the Exhibition? No drinking, I promise. Not until later, anyway.”
“You think Chuluun would want you to share the har with me?”