"What do you mean he’s not coming?" the coordinator shrieked into his headset. "He’s a world-class pianist! We paid his retainer! You can't just tell me he has a family emergency ten minutes before the performance!"
The coordinator slumped against the steel counter, burying his face in his hands. Out in the ballroom, Holloway was already tapping his microphone, preparing to introduce the evening’s musical entertainment.
"You," the coordinator barked, pointing a shaking finger at Tessa. "Grab a microfiber cloth. Go wipe down the piano. It has fingerprints on it. Do it quickly before Holloway introduces the act we don't have."
Tessa stepped out onto the stage, the soft cloth in her hand. The ballroom was vast, a sea of silk, tuxedos, and glittering jewels. She approached the Steinway. The wood was polished to a mirror finish.
As she wiped a smudge from the lid, her hand instinctively moved toward the keys. She didn't press them, but she hovered just millimeters above the ivory. Her muscle memory flared to life, her fingers remembering the phantom shapes of complex chords.
"Careful, sweetheart," a booming voice echoed through the room.
Tessa froze. The microphone fed the voice into every corner of the ballroom. She turned to see Grant Holloway standing at the edge of the stage, microphone in hand, his eyes locked on her with predatory amusement. The wealthy crowd fell silent, turning their collective gaze upon the server in the cheap black vest.
"That instrument costs more than you’ll make in three lifetimes," Holloway sneered, stepping onto the stage. "I know you people think everything is a toy, but try not to break it."
A ripple of uncomfortable laughter echoed from the sycophants in the front row. Tessa felt a hot flush of humiliation creep up her neck, but she kept her voice perfectly level. "I was just cleaning it, sir. As instructed."