"Did you see who's standing in our way?" Jemma Lopez said, and Donovan Knight's silhouette filled the doorway.
"What do you mean 'our way'?" Ivory Han stepped forward with the clipboard in one hand and a credit card in the other.
Violeta Williams sat on the bench, a white blanket wrapped around her knees, eyes rimmed red. A nurse hovered with a clipboard and a stethoscope that didn't look comfortable on anyone.
"It's obvious," Jemma said. "She's here again. The press will eat this up."
"She's not with the press," the nurse said. "She's a patient-witness at best. We need names and insurance."
Ivory met Jemma's glare and smiled without warmth. "I'll cover whatever's needed right now."
Jemma's mouth tightened. "She can pay. That's not the point. You crashed into Violeta's dressing room tonight, you caused a scene, and now—"
"Excuse me." Donovan's voice was quiet, and that made it sharper. "We don't discuss this here."
Violeta flinched at his tone and clung to the blanket. "Donovan, it's fine. I'm okay now."
"You should be in the room under observation," the nurse said. "We can sign her in and set up an IV if necessary."
"I'll sign for it," Ivory said. "Whatever she needs." She dug the card from her bag and held it out. "StreamWave will cover the treatment. I will personally file the incident report so nothing is missed
