Dayroom Meaning Nyc Novels & Stories

The night, I couldn’t sleep because same coldness wrapped me. Next Day... “Dr. Miller, good morning, I hope you rested well yesterday. The room isn’t the best of all the rooms at top floor and it was locked for years. I wondered if you could sleep.” Amelia, who was slicing her bread elegantly, commented while I was trying my best to focus on my first meal. Dominic sat on his chair busy typing away on his phone. He paused on her comment and I felt his gaze on me. “Amy, the room is cleaned every week and its spacious. In fact, the biggest room on top floor. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have allocated it to Dr. Miller.” He spoke.

CHLOE'S POV (New York City) The morning sun was barely hitting the pavement of Manhattan, but I was already sitting cross-legged on my bed, the glowing screen of my phone illuminating the dark room. My eyes were furiously scanning the headlines of The Manhattan Ledger and three different high-society blogs, my jaw clenching tighter with every word I read.

The private lounge downtown was tucked away behind an unassuming, unmarked iron door in Tribeca. Inside, it was a world of dark mahogany, plush leather, and heavy velvet curtains that muffled the roar of Manhattan traffic. It was the kind of place designed exclusively for people who bought privacy at a premium.

Ryan motions his head side-to-side, "You literally lead a rescue team, I don't want to waste my time by crossing you. If something was wrong you would have figured." "Hmm," Cameron leans back, the black leather creaking softly beneath him, gesturing towards the narrow hallway leading further inside their building, "Well," he kicks off, "There are only two more rooms on the ground floor that might be of interest. The first is the lodging room for our hardworking employees. It's a modest space but it gives them a place to unwind after long shifts. The second is the trashroom, where all discarded items find themselves temporary refuge." Ethan wrinkles his nose at the mention of the trashroom— w

The Tremaine Hotel had seen better days. The grand ballroom, once alive with the sound of music, was now silent, save for the distant hum of construction. Room 408 was on the quieter side of the building, offering a vantage point from which they could view most of the side street. Morning light filtered through the curtains, revealing a sprawled Kate, deep in sleep. Daniel, ever vigilant, had been up for hours, communicating with Ara and Ron and keeping an eye on the streets below.

We passed an unnamed room at the west wing and when Adams failed to tell me about it either, my interest was piqued. 'What's that room about?' I said and pointed towards it. 'What room?' Adam asked pretentiously and moved over to the east wing. I was frustrated by his lack of answers. I hated that he always asked a question for a question. If I needed answers about the Mafia, then the unnamed room might just be where I should start looking. 'And this here is your room,' He said and opened the door, revealing the gigantic queen-sized bedroom. 'Is this where you keep your mistress? Or should I say, mistresses?' I asked daringly.

I heard my baby brother groan, making me look back at him. His expression was dreading for what was to occur, “you dread fighting?” I expressed my shock to my baby brother, to which he smiled. Perhaps my brother was behaving childishly. He was, after all, four years old, while I was now thirteen going to fourteen. Taking a deep breath, the doors to the Dayroom functioned as a cheerful sitting room to accommodate children at play and provide them with an area for visitors. As I opened the gates, I was surprised to be met with the Itah sisters.

Past where his assistants worked was his office. There was a space to meet people and deal with business matters—but the real highlight was his secret room. That room meant the world to Matthew. He said it was his only spot to catch his breath in the busy, money-scented world of finance. I was the only one allowed in. It was our little secret—one of the perks of being his wife. Whenever I came to get him, I would hang out in that room until he was done with work. It had my favorite books, the art we had picked out together, and a liquor cabinet that only I had the code to.

This could get me the best of the best…I guess. As I'd stepped into the busy night, walking briskly like I was very much familiar with this place. I came to a halt in front of a wall that contained something of much interest. “City of Bronx NY. Avoid dark alleys at night.” I read the notice that was on a dirty brick wall. I looked to my left and behold, the wall led the way to the entrance to this alley

The apartment quiet around us. "This is our family," he said. "This is our family." "Grace and Daniel." "Grace and Daniel." He put his arm around me. Both of us looking from one door to the other. Outside the windows, the city moved. November in New York. Cold and clear and loud in the way the city was always loud. Taxis and voices and the ordinary noise of millions of people existing in the same space. Inside: two sleeping children. One husband. One home. Everything that had been taken and everything that had been built from the taking.