Free Angel Hands by Cait Reynolds

him, nor for the agonized look in her eyes.
    "Don't ever say that again," she said flatly. "Don't ever touch me like that again. I am the manager of this theater and you are the director. That's as far as it goes."
    "Why? Why can't it be more?"
    "Don't make me fire you, Raymond. I will, if I have to, in order to get you to leave me alone."
    His face twisted from sorrow to an ugly anger. "Leave you alone? What for? So you can have more time with that ghost fellow? Is that what this is about—you want me out of the way so you can let him touch you and make love to you, and –"
    Mireille's slap was hard, like the way she shut the door behind her on her way out. Her mind was running on a single track now. Raymond knew. Raymond knew about the ghost somehow. She couldn't fire him now. She couldn't turn down his advances without risking him going public with the story of the ghost. She was trapped.
    No, Mireille Dubienne did not get trapped. The world of men hadn't trapped her yet, and she'd be damned before a Carcasonne, a vicomte, or a Raymond would checkmate her ambitions, independence, and power. As for the ghost at the root of all these troubles, she found herself dismissing him and his tricks and games of seduction. He was even more trapped than she was, and she'd make him pay her back for all the trouble she endured because of him. In fact, she planned on making him quite useful in helping her get out of her sticky situation.
    She reached her office again, this time locking the door behind her to avoid unwanted intrusions. A plan was starting to formulate itself in her agile mind. She was so focused on her own thoughts that she didn't notice she wasn't alone until it was too late.
    "You are a woman? I was told this is the office of the manager, Monsieur Dubienne."
    Mireille stared at the handsome young man who stood in her office, his hands resting easily on a Malacca cane, and his blond hair tucked neatly behind his ears.
    "Who are you?" she asked, standing and drawing herself up to her full height, though she knew it was not nearly high enough to be truly intimidating.
    "I am Raoul, Vicomte de Chagnard," the man replied, not even bothering to incline his head in the merest of bows. "I was expecting to speak with Monsieur Dubienne, the manager of the Opéra de Paris."
    "Your wishes have been fulfilled, monsieur," Mireiille replied icily, moving to take a seat behind her desk and gesturing with frigid grace for the man to sit as well. "I am Mireille Dubienne and manage the theater for my father and Monsieur Carcasonne, the primary investors and owners."
    "But, you're a woman!"
    "Your point?"
    "You shouldn't be doing this. It is unseemly! As a former patron of the opera, I insist-"
    "’Former’ being the operative word, monsieur. Since you withdrew your patronage, we have secured other funding and means of support. Forgive me, but your opinions and insisting mean very little to us now. My only responsibility is to the current investors."
    "Perhaps I should speak with Monsieur Dubienne or Monsieur Carcasonne."
    Mireille eyed the young man with a great deal of dislike, giving him her best governess-glare through her glasses. For a fleeting moment, she sympathized with the Opera Ghost's dislike of the vicomte. To lose a girl to this fop must have been galling to him. Then again, Mireille reasoned, the girl herself must have been a twit to make that choice in the first place.
    Bringing herself back to the moment at hand, she looked the Vicomte de Chagnard squarely in the eye and spoke.
    "There will be no need to speak to either of those men, nor will there be any need for you to pursue your legal maneuvering to try and halt the production of Don Juan ."
    "What would you know about legal maneuvering?"
    "Enough to know that you haven't got a chance in hell of getting a judge to agree with you."
    "Oh really?"
    "Yes."
    "You're sure of this, are you?"
    "Absolutely. They're all season ticket holders."
    "I will go to the press then,