Her Last Waiting At City Hall Novels & Stories

I cursed them and walked into my room. Milo was not in sight and I concluded that he was in their room. I settled down, turned on my phone, which I always turn off when I was with Chantelle, and began to wait for Amanda's call. At that point, I dozed off. The Mayor's Office Eugenia's POV With Humphrey, I got into the premises without restraint. He drove me to the vestibule and stopped. I got out like a senior staff and waved at him. "I will wait for you in the car park," he informed me.

She cried when she couldn’t make herself wait for permission. She tried to see other men. Tried to date. They touched her like she was fragile. Soft. Sweet. It made her sick. One night, she returned to the condo. She stood at the door for an hour before knocking. No answer. She knocked again. Still nothing. She slid down to the floor and waited. Hours passed. Then dawn. Still nothing. She left the collar on his doorstep. And walked away. A week later, it arrived in the mail. Cleaned.

Rain streaked the windows again. It hadn’t stopped for days, as if the city itself refused to wash clean. Varian stood beside the projection screen, arms crossed, eyes narrowed on the security feed looping from the municipal archives. “Play it again,” he said. Ines hit a key. The footage rewound—two figures meeting in the dim corridor outside City Hall’s records wing. One carried a messenger satchel; the other, a lanyard badge glinting gold under the light.

I said before I departed my seat and slid to the doorway. "Do you have any other appointment that I am not aware of, Mrs. dela Vega?" she frowned shortly while checking my schedule from her iPod. "I am going to visit Norman in the city hall. Don't worry, I won't take long. I am going to tell him in person about what happened earlier instead of sending him a message." "This is noted, Mrs. dela Vega. I'll inform your driver right away." Elaine bent half of her body before she disappeared from my sight. On my way to the city hall, I kept on reaching out to Justine again. I have no plan to stop reaching out to him. Fifty unread messages. Those were the numbers I sent him this morning.

Daren said and walked Hellen back to the Coffee Shop. Blake arrived in front of the main building of City Hall, where he and Claire were to finalize their divorce. It was still early, so he sat at one of the provided benches. Time seemed to crawl, and soon it became late. Claire had not arrived, and the time closed to the end of business hours. ‘Did she forget? It was her idea. Maybe she is working late and has forgotten the time. I’ll give her a call and see.’ Blake thought and called her phone only to receive a series of rings and then to voice mail.

New York, USA. The time was 2 PM, and the woman that I was waiting for was one hour late. She was never on time since the moment I could remember. Unless the events are extremely important, like meeting the President or some senator or other billionaires, Ophelia Stewards was never on time, especially not when meeting her own daughter. I knew this well. She had been consistent, and that was why I brought a laptop to work and waited at this small café near Central Park.

I tuck the phone back into the pocket of my high-waist office pants, adjust my black and red graduation gown along with the hat, and with one last look at the empty gates, turn around to head back to the Conference Hall. William is coming towards me, waving me over. “Any luck?” He asks when I reach him, taking my hand in his and giving it a small, supportive squeeze. I shake my head. “She’s still not picking up. And not here.” I reply, throwing a glance over my shoulder and praying I’ll see the usual black Jeep barrel through the gates. Nothing. “This is so unusual of her.” I add, worried. “Maybe they got stuck in traffic or something. There’s usually bad service after it rains here.” Willia

Quilla pouted and blocked his way. Matthew had no patience for this pretentious woman and coldly said, “Move.” Quilla froze, then stomped her foot. “Mr. Grant! What are you saying? If you keep treating me like this, I’ll be angry.” “Move,” Matthew repeated. His eyes were so cold they could freeze her in place. Quilla opened her mouth to argue, but he shoved her aside and walked away. She could hear him talk on the phone as he departed. “Find Whitney’s current address. And book me a ticket to Austraya today.”

Garrett nods once, in the way that means the information has been received and updated the file. They leave the field office at noon and they walk out into Silver Hollow's Saturday, which is the city's most ordinary day, and the light is the light and the streets are the streets and somewhere in the eastern jurisdiction a seventy-three-year-old woman has been at the same address for eleven years with her name on the door. The work continues. It always does. And the next step, as always, is simply the one in front of them.

She snapped, irritated. "Hedley Hart, are you mute now?" "County Clerk's Office." Silence. Then that tiny gasp—like she just remembered her own promise. The deal: after ninety-nine rejections, she'd show up for the hundredth. Say yes. Instead, she'd gone to a concert with Pierre. "I... wait for me. I'll drive over." Click. End call. I canceled the ride. Not out of hope though. Snow started falling—hard and fast.