Vivienne stepped forward.
“You cannot seriously be taking their side.”
Ronan faced her.
“You’re holding an injured employee responsible for three drops of soup.”
“She ruined my evening!”
Ivy heard someone near the champagne table make a disbelieving noise.
Vivienne pointed at her.
“Look at her! She’s standing there trying to make me look cruel.”
Ivy raised her head.
“Mrs. Hale, I didn’t make you hit me.”
The words came out more steadily than she expected.
Vivienne’s face flushed.
“You insolent—”
“Enough,” Ronan said.
He looked toward the event manager, a woman named Catherine Moore.
“Please arrange for the remaining program to end. The guests may finish their meals, and every member of staff will be paid for the full scheduled shift.”
Catherine nodded.
“Of course, Mr. Blackwood.”
Vivienne stared at him.
“This is my engagement celebration.”
“It was supposed to be ours.”
The emphasis was unmistakable.
He turned toward the guests.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry the evening has been interrupted. An employee has been injured, and we’re arranging assistance. Please allow the staff room to work.”
No one applauded.
No dramatic announcement followed.
The orchestra remained seated.
Several guests lowered their phones.
And Ivy, whose shoulder was beginning to throb with every heartbeat, finally allowed Maya to guide her toward the service corridor.
As they passed the table where the senator’s family was seated, a little boy stood.
