“What did you say about the piano?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
Anna didn’t immediately understand what he was talking about.
“I… I just said the piano was out of tune.”
Mark grinned and turned her to face the room. There were about forty people sitting at the tables—businessmen and their wives.
“Did you hear that?” he said loudly. “Our chef is also a musician.”
Someone laughed.
“You probably studied at the conservatory?” Mark asked mockingly.
Anna was silent.
“Well? Did you or didn’t you?”
“No,” she answered quietly. The hall grew a little quieter.
“What a surprise,” Mark drawled, clapping his hands. “Emma, come here.”
His daughter came out to him. Her hair was perfectly done, her dress more expensive than Anna’s annual salary, her cold gaze. Everyone knew her story: she had studied with the best teachers, at expensive academies, and given concerts abroad. Mark had often said that she played “like a genius.”
Mark put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders and looked at Anna.
“Look. Emma’s going to play now. Then you play. If you play better, I’ll buy you a restaurant. Your own. With your name on it. And if not, you’re out of here today. Without a salary.”
He pointed at the piano.