Davina pointed a trembling finger at me, sobbing so hard she could barely get the words out. "Otto, this organizer ruined the bag you gave me, and then she hit me! My stomach hurts so bad!"
Otto's head snapped toward me. His eyes were vicious.
He crossed the room in three strides, and without a second of hesitation, shoved me hard in the shoulder.
"Joan! Have you lost your mind? If you have a problem, take it up with me. Don't you dare touch Davina!"
His shove sent me stumbling back five or six steps. My back slammed into the glass display cabinet in the walk-in closet.
The glass cracked with a dull, sickening crunch.
Jagged shards sliced into my arm. Blood ran down my wrist and seeped into my white glove, spreading into a wide crimson stain.
Otto saw the blood. A flicker of panic crossed his face. His hand hung in midair, as if he wanted to pull me up.
Davina wailed from the floor. "Otto, call the police! I want her arrested! I'll make sure she never works in this industry again!"
Otto yanked his hand back immediately, turned, and gathered Davina into his arms with exaggerated tenderness.
I braced myself against the wall and straightened up slowly. I didn't look at the wound on my arm.