Maya looked at the woman who had spoken, then at the man standing beside her. Both looked away. She could have left the hotel at once and spared herself the spectacle of the rest of the gala. Yet she was an invited donor and an acquisition principal with a seat that had been formally assigned to her. Leaving would have made her feel as though Victoria had succeeded in expelling her. Maya reached into her clutch, withdrew her phone, and found the contact she needed.
David Hargrove answered on the second ring. He was upstairs in the hotel suite Apex Meridian had reserved as a working room for the evening, surrounded by documents and the quiet patience of an attorney who had spent nine years learning his client's habits. "Maya?" he said.
"Are you with Richard Whitmore?" She looked past Victoria at the white roses marking the head table. "No," she said. "Cancel the meeting. Suspend tomorrow's signing and tell the committee that I have a serious concern about the leadership we're being asked to acquire."
David did not mistake the flatness of her voice for uncertainty. "I'll put the process on hold immediately," he said. "Are you safe?" Maya hesitated for the first time since dialing.
"I am. There's been an incident, and I want the hotel to preserve its camera footage." David's answer came without delay. "I'll handle that. I'll come down if you want me there."
"Not yet," Maya replied. "Make the calls first, and don't make any public statement." She ended the conversation and returned the phone to her clutch. Victoria, who had been pretending not to listen, was watching with a different kind of irritation.
"Was that supposed to impress me?" she asked. Maya looked directly at her. "No. It was business."
The distinction would take Victoria nearly an hour to understand. At that moment she heard only a woman refusing to behave as she had been instructed. Maya stepped around her without touching her, walked the last few feet to the head table, and found the place card with her name. She sat, placed her unused champagne glass to one side, and unfolded the menu. The ordinary action was almost unbearably quiet after the violence that had preceded it.
The guests at her table found sudden reasons to study their programs. A man who had just witnessed the slap leaned close to his wife and whispered that the evening had become awkward, as if awkwardness were the principal harm. Another guest moved her chair a little farther away from Maya, afraid that sitting nearby would imply a position. The young server, whose name was Nia Carter, quietly placed a glass of water at Maya's setting without being asked. Maya looked up and said, "Thank you, Nia."
Nia's name was printed in small letters on her uniform. She had seen wealthier guests overlook that name all evening, sometimes while asking her to perform a task and sometimes while complaining about how long it took. She met Maya's eyes for a brief second. "Can I get you anything else?" she asked in a voice she could barely keep steady.