My billionaire client told me to play a simple waltz, so I ruined his entire corporate gala.

Part 2

He pulled out a heavy, platinum-plated money clip holding a stack of hundreds.

With a flick of his thumb, he tossed a single hundred-dollar bill onto the piano lid.

It hit the wood with a sharp clack and settled flat under the chandelier light.

I stared at the money.

My mouth went dry.

Play it again.

I looked from the cash to his face.

Play what?

Whatever the hell that was.

He leaned closer, the smell of scotch washing over me.

The ugly thing, the heavy thing.

Play it again.

The guests won’t be able to follow it.

His lips curled into a fraction of a smile.

I know, and that’s the point.

He stepped back from the piano, crossing his arms over his chest.

He stood like a sentinel between me and the horrified crowd.

He nodded once, an order.

I looked down at the keys.

My hands were trembling, but the pain in my knuckles was gone.

I glanced at the money resting on the mahogany.

I thought of the cold concrete outside and the damp walls of my apartment.

I placed my hands back on the keys.

I found the flat middle C.

I found the dissonant bass chord.

I took a deep breath, feeling the cheap dress dig into my ribs.

I brought my hands down hard.

The dark waltz ripped through the ballroom a second time.

Behind me, I heard the frantic, scandalized whispering of the crowd.

I heard Craig whimpering in despair.

But right in front of me, Dan closed his eyes and finally unclenched his fists.

I played the ugly thing again, and this time, I did not hold back.

I dug my fingers into the heavy ivory keys, treating the piano like an anvil.

The music was a jagged, relentless tide.

It stripped away the polite veneer, exposing the mechanical, repetitive grind beneath.

The ballroom began to empty piece by piece, sound by sound.

The indignant retreat of silk dresses and stiff suits echoed as the guests turned their backs.

The heavy thuds of the massive double doors swinging shut finalized the rejection.

Craig, weeping silently, scurried out behind a potted fern.

I was alone on the stage.

I kept playing until the chaotic noise faded into the distant hum of traffic.

Finally, my left hand cramped.

My fingers slipped off the keys, striking a harsh, accidental dissonance.

I let my hands drop to my lap.

I bowed my head, my chest heaving against the stiff fabric of my dress.

The silence that rushed in to fill the void was deafening.

They’re gone.

I flinched, my head snapping up.

Dan hadn’t moved from the shadow of the piano.

He casually watched the empty room like a man standing in the ruins of a burning building.

I ruined your evening.

My evening was ruined the moment the first guest arrived.

He uncrossed his arms and stepped closer to the piano.

You simply hastened the conclusion, and for that, I suppose I should thank you.

He reached over and dropped another five hundred dollars onto the piano lid.

Return on Tuesday.

I paused, my hand closing tightly around the cash.

Tuesday for what?

To play.

He turned his back and walked toward the dark expanse of the ballroom.

I’ll ensure the middle C remains exactly as it is.

Would you have taken the money and gone back to play for a billionaire’s private misery?