Emma smelled butter.
Garlic.
Her stomach tightened.
Richard took the plate.
Held it toward her.
“Go ahead.”
Emma stared.
“Take it.”
She reached.
Richard pulled the plate backward.
Laughter came from one table.
Not much.
Enough.
Emma’s hand froze in the air.
Richard smiled.
“No.”
He looked toward the room.
“That’s the problem, isn't it?”
Emma slowly lowered her hand.
Richard continued:
“People see something and assume wanting it means they have earned it.”
The host whispered:
“Sir.”
Richard ignored him.
Emma stared directly at Richard.
“You offered it.”
“I offered you the chance to earn it.”
“No.”
“You told me to take it.”
“A test.”
Emma’s expression changed.
Something inside her stopped bending.
“You’re enjoying this.”
Richard looked almost offended.
“I’m teaching a lesson.”
“To who?”
He smiled.
“Perhaps everyone.”
Emma stepped away.
“I’m leaving.”
Richard placed the plate on a table.
“Of course.”
His voice grew louder.
“Because leaving is easier than proving value.”
Emma stopped.
There it was.
The sentence he wanted to sting.
It succeeded.
She turned.
Richard had already seen the piano.
The grand Steinway sat beneath a chandelier near the windows.
Black.
Perfect.
Emma had noticed it when she first entered.
She had intentionally refused to look again.
Richard pointed toward it.
“Can you play?”
Emma went still.
Not visibly.
Inside.
Every memory woke at once.
Her mother’s hands.
Her father tuning the old piano.
Metronome.
Competitions.
Practice rooms.
Winter mornings.
Juilliard hallways.
The instrument being removed from their apartment after the bills became impossible.
Emma whispered:
“Yes.”
Richard laughed.
“You can.”
“Yes.”
“Professionally?”
Emma hesitated.
That hesitation gave him confidence.
“I thought so.”
He addressed the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen, apparently our guest possesses hidden talents.”
More diners turned.
Phones appeared.
Emma looked toward the exit.
Richard continued:
“We’ll make this simple.”
He pointed toward the piano.
“Play something worth listening to.”
Emma looked at him.
“And?”
“You get your meal.”
A few uncomfortable smiles.
Richard spread his hands.
“Fair.”
Emma’s voice was quiet.
“You’re making me perform because I asked for work.”
“I’m asking you to demonstrate usefulness.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it?”
Richard gestured toward her clothes.
“You arrived with nothing.”
“You say you want employment.”
“You say you can contribute.”