“She was bleeding.”
“A scratch. That’s all.”
He crossed the room and set his phone on the desk.
“Why were you carrying that thing?”
She glanced toward the fireplace.
“The equestrian auction display. I was inspecting the pieces before the guests arrived.”
“And you decided to use one on an employee?”
Vivienne took a sip of champagne.
“She was insubordinate.”
Ronan waited.
“She admitted ruining my glove, then stood there acting as though she was too good to apologize properly.”
“She apologized.”
“Once.”
“How many times would have been enough?”
Vivienne’s face tightened.
“Don’t turn this into some ridiculous moral interrogation.”
Ronan glanced at the portrait of his late father hanging above the mantel.
His father had built the Blackwood fortune in shipping and commercial real estate. Ronan expanded it through acquisitions, earning a reputation for making ruthless decisions in business negotiations.
People called him the most feared man in the city because companies he targeted rarely survived unchanged.
He had never particularly minded the description.
Until tonight.
He thought about two armed guards standing motionless while an employee was struck.
About two hundred guests who had looked toward the entrance, apparently expecting him to decide whether Ivy deserved help.
And about the way Vivienne had said, You are a maid.
He turned back to her.
“Did you know Ivy had complained about your treatment of the staff?”
Vivienne scoffed.
“They complain about everything.”
“So you knew.”
“I knew some employees were unhappy with the changes I’ve made.”
