Page 96 of A Mistake of Worth
It was late. Past midnight, probably. Marc wouldn’t be back until morning, if then. The Bosnian would want to celebrate, would want drinks and attention, and the kind of night out that proved he was important enough to warrant Marc Saint-Clair’s personal time.
Tomorrow would bring new demands, new performances, new ways for Marc to demonstrate his ownership. But tonight, in the dark, Henri could pretend he was someone worth saving. Someone worth the small act of kindness David had shown him.
The thought followed him into dreams: maybe, if he was very good, very careful, very grateful, Marc might let him keep the shirt.
Chapter eighteen
Michael
Thestudyhadbeentransformed into a war room over the past week. Portable tables stood in front of every couch and chair, their surfaces cluttered with laptops, legal pads covered in Nika’s handwriting, and printed financial documents marked with highlighter. Coffee cups sat forgotten beside bottles of water, and Alain’s wine glass caught the late afternoon light. His third since lunch, Michael noted.
The air was thick with August heat and tension. Even with the air conditioning running, the room felt stifling, weighed down by accumulated stress. Gabriel’s usually immaculate appearance had begun to show cracks. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his tie loosened, and dark circles under his eyes spoke of too many late nights and too much caffeine.
Michael paused in the doorway, taking in the scene. Gabriel sat in one of the wingback chairs nearest the fireplace, his laptop angled toward Nika on the couch opposite him. The youngerman’s fingers flew over the keyboard with mechanical precision, multiple windows open across his screen. Nocturne Intelligence Services had access to bank records, corporate filings, and encrypted communications that they had cracked for them.
Nika had called in a favor with a contact there, a woman named Maja Volkov, who’d insisted they reach out if they needed anything else. The files had arrived within hours, clean and comprehensive.
Alain leaned against the far wall, wine glass balanced in one hand, his usually sharp suit replaced with dark jeans and a button-down that had seen better days. His eyes held the distant look of someone processing information.
Michael had noticed the pattern over the past few days. Every time Nika’s gaze landed on Alain’s wine glass, his expression would tighten almost imperceptibly. A slight press of his lips, a barely-there furrow between his brows. Disapproval so carefully controlled it was almost invisible, but unmistakable once you knew to look for it.
And Alain knew. Michael was certain of that. The way Alain would pause before taking a sip, letting the glass catch the light, making sure Nika could see it. The deliberate slowness of each drink, performed rather than merely consumed. Michael couldn’t tell if there was a relationship between the two men or just some unspoken tension that neither would acknowledge. Both played their cards too close to read clearly. But whatever existed between them, Alain was using that wine glass as a weapon, and Nika’s carefully blank expression was his only defense.
Lucas occupied a loveseat off to the side, his own laptop open but forgotten, posture relaxed but watchful.
“Michael,” Gabriel said without looking up from his screen. “Come in. We were waiting for you.”
Michael crossed toward an empty chair near Nika’s workspace, but movement behind him made him pause.
Jean stepped into the room, the soft click of his heeled boots drawing every eye. Today’s outfit was a masterclass in deliberate provocation. What looked like tailored shorts from the front revealed itself as something more complex as he moved. One side ended mid-thigh, clean and masculine. The other side flowed into a bias-cut panel that fell like the front of a skirt, the asymmetrical hemline riding just high enough to make a statement.
The top was equally arresting. A loose silk tank in deep charcoal that draped over his shoulders before the thick straps rose toward the base of his neck in an almost collar-like band. The fabric caught the lamplight with each step, and his eyes were rimmed with subtle metallic liner that made them seem larger, more luminous.
Lucas’s gaze followed Jean’s movement with unashamed hunger, tracking every sway of fabric, every deliberate step. Michael studied the outfit with professional appreciation. The tailoring was exquisite, the androgynous cut both bold and elegant.
For just a moment, he wondered what Henri might look like in something similar. Whether Henri would have the confidence to wear something so unapologetically sensual, or if Marc had stripped that kind of self-expression away along with everything else.
Jean walked straight to Lucas, settling sideways across his lap as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Lucas’s arm curved automatically around his waist, possessive and protective.
“Mon beau,” Lucas murmured as Jean adjusted the skirt panel, his voice carrying that possessive warmth.
“Mais là. Someone’s been busy,” Jean said, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on Alain’s wine glass with amusement. “Starting early today?”
“It’s past three,” Nika said without looking up from his screen, his tone carrying a note of disapproval. “Maybe switch to coffee? Or at least soda?”
Alain’s eyes met Nika’s directly as he took a deliberate, slow sip of wine.
Gabriel’s voice cut through the moment. “Where is Ellis?”
“Upstairs with Peter,” Jean said, his tone shifting from performative to genuine concern.
Peter. Ellis’s ever-watchful bodyguard, a man built solidly enough to be intimidating but who moved with careful gentleness around Ellis. Michael had learned over the past week that Peter had a girlfriend named Lottie, a woman who’d visited several times along with another man named Aric. Ellis texted with both of them frequently, and from what Michael could piece together, they’d all been in the same industry at some point. Sex work, though, Lottie seemed to be transitioning into a singing career now.
What Michael did know with certainty was that the stoic, unflappable Peter transformed into an absolute swooning mess the moment Lottie walked through the door. The contrast was almost comical, watching this mountain of a man go soft-eyed and fumbling over his words.
“He wants to go swimming later and asked if everyone would join him. Il est encore...” Jean’s voice softened, the theatrical quality falling away entirely. “He’s still struggling to be outside alone. Thought maybe if we all went, it would be easier.”
“We’ll take a break later and all go down together.” Gabriel said, still typing. “I’ll text Pete to have towels ready.”
