A New York Romance by Winters Abigail

Author:Winters, Abigail [Winters, Abigail]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Publisher: Legendary Books, LLC
Published: 2015-09-23T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

The next morning Charlie left the motel before Julie woke up. He left her a note stating he wouldn’t be gone long.

He walked to the law firm downtown to meet Mr. Costea. The same doorman was on duty.

“Hello sir,” Charlie greeted him, carrying two cups of coffee.

“Good morning,” the doorman replied.

Charlie sensed the hesitation in his voice, wondering if he should block the doorway again as if he was a part-time security guard, working extra hard for a promotion.

“Cup of coffee for Mr. Costea,” Charlie said with a smile.

The doorman relaxed and asked, “Did he enjoy yesterday’s coffee?”

“Very much,” Charlie said as he passed through the doorway. Charlie did not even stop at the desk. While the secretary was directing another patron he passed by like a coffee shop delivery man who had been there a hundred times before.

Mr. Costea was in his office. He hung up the phone and fell into his squeaky leather chair mumbling about the client who was on the other end, “If you don’t want to go to jail, quit robbing your neighbors’ houses.” He opened his brief case, fumbled through his papers, and then sat back and closed his eyes. He nearly fell asleep when he suddenly felt a presence in the room. He opened his eyes to see Charlie sitting in the chair on the other side of the desk, staring at him.

“Ah!” he screamed. He leaned back in his chair, nearly falling over backwards.

“How did you get in here?” Mr. Costea asked as he stood up, still startled.

“Relax, don’t call security, I just came to apologize,” Charlie said. “I brought you a coffee this time.”

Charlie checked to make sure he kept the café mocha and handed the black coffee to Mr. Costea. However, he refused to take it from his hand. He just stood there, looking at Charlie, wondering who the strange person before him was. Charlie sat quietly, taking sips of his mocha, swishing it around his mouth like a little kid does with chocolate milk.

Mr. Costea glared over the desk at his feet. He could see his shoes sitting outside the open door. Charlie’s left ankle crossed over his right knee, slowly bouncing up and down as the edge of his sock hung loosely off his toes.

“How did you get in here?” he asked as he lifted the lid to the coffee, examined it, and put the lid back on.

“I walked,” Charlie replied.

“You said you wanted to apologize,” Mr. Costea hinted to him. “You’re not going to spill more coffee on me, are you?”

“Oh yes, I mean no. Yes I came to apologize, no I am not going to spill more coffee on you or your things…at least I don’t plan to.”

“Well…” Mr. Costea hinted again rolling his hand to encourage Charlie’s apology.

“Oh yes, I’m sorry,” Charlie said.

“That’s it? That’s your apology?”

“It is not the words that are important, it is that I really meant it, that is what is important, and I mean it. I’m sorry,” Charlie said again, then he just sat there, looking around the bewildered man’s office.

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