"Are you refusing?" Westbrook's tone shifted, becoming harder. "Because if you're unable to help us in our time of need, perhaps we need to reconsider your employment here."
The threat hung in the air. Maya looked desperately at Mr. Peterson, hoping he would intervene, would tell Westbrook that this wasn't part of her job description. But her manager only nodded at her urgently, his eyes pleading. He needed to keep the client happy, and if that meant sacrificing Maya's dignity, so be it.
"Come on, don't be shy," someone called out from the crowd. More laughter followed.
"Play us something," another voice added. "Let's see what our server can do."
The other servers had stopped what they were doing, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of sympathy and relief that they weren't the ones being put on the spot. Maya felt utterly alone—surrounded by people, but completely isolated.
"I studied classical music," Maya said quietly, trying one last time to make them understand. "That's not really appropriate for a dinner event. I wouldn't want to disturb anyone's conversations."
"Oh, I think we'd all enjoy a little concert," Westbrook declared. He was playing to the crowd now, enjoying being the center of attention. "Besides, how good could you really be? You're a waitress, not a concert pianist. Just play something simple. Background music. That's all we're asking."
The condescension in his voice was clear. He didn't believe she could actually play. None of them did. To them, she was just a server who'd maybe taken a few piano lessons as a kid and was now exaggerating her abilities. They expected her to sit down and fumble through some basic tune while they smiled and pretended to be impressed before going back to their conversations.
Maya's hands were shaking. She wanted to run, to simply walk out of the ballroom and never come back, but she needed this job. Her rent was due in a week. She still had student loans to pay. Her brother needed help with his textbooks for next semester. She couldn't afford to lose this income.
"Fine," she whispered.
"What was that?" Westbrook cupped his ear mockingly. "Speak up."