Chapter 6 - THE FALL FROM GRACEThe silk lining of Andrew Callahan’s three-thousand-dollar Italian suit felt suffocatingly hot beneath the coarse, grease-stained cotton of Rosie’s diner apron.
Across the counter, the short-order cook let out a loud, booming laugh that rattled the metal spoon in the sugar caddy. “Well, look at Mr. Wall Street! Don’t you look dashing, kid? Extra pickles on table seven, make it snappy!”
Andrew stood frozen by the pass, holding a heavy ceramic plate piled high with greasy pastrami sandwiches. His hair, usually meticulously gelled back, had a loose strand falling across his forehead. His expensive leather shoes were currently being baptized in puddle water and stray french fries on the kitchen floor.
By the corner window, Marcus Vance sat slumped in a vinyl booth, nursing a cup of lukewarm tap water. The once-feared corporate lawyer looked like a man who had just survived a shipwreck only to realize he was stranded on a rock with no water.
“This is beneath us, Andrew,” Marcus muttered miserably, covering his face with his hands. “We can call the firm's emergency counsel. We can file an injunction—”
“Shut up, Marcus,” Andrew growled without looking back, balancing the heavy tray on his forearm just like Amy had done an hour earlier.
He walked out onto the diner floor. The lunch rush was still roaring, filled with the clatter of silverware, the hiss of the espresso machine, and the low murmur of New Yorkers hiding from the relentless rain.
At table seven sat two burly construction workers in neon yellow vests covered in drywall dust. They looked up as Andrew approached, their expressions less than impressed.
“Here,” Andrew said stiffly, sliding the plate onto the table with all the warmth of a prison warden serving a meal. “Two clubs, one rye, extra pickles.”
One of the workers picked up a sandwich, took a massive bite, and frowned. “Hey, buddy. Where’s the coleslaw? It comes with coleslaw.”
Andrew stared blankly at the man. “Coleslaw?”
“Yeah, coleslaw! Are you deaf or just new?” the worker snapped, dropping the sandwich back onto the plate.
Before Andrew could formulate a corporate response, a small hand tapped his shin. He looked down to see Chloe standing there, holding a small plastic cup of coleslaw with a bright red plastic spoon.
“You forgot the side, mister,” Chloe whispered with a gap-toothed smile, her big amber eyes sparkling with innocent amusement.
Andrew’s stern expression melted instantly. A faint, helpless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He crouched down, ignoring the seam of his expensive trousers pressing against the dirty floor, and took the cup from her tiny hands.
“Thank you, boss,” Andrew murmured softly.
From behind the register, Amy watched the scene unfold. She leaned against the counter, arms crossed, her expression guarded but no longer filled with pure venom.
Victor Sterling walked up beside her, holding a steaming mug of black coffee. “He’s lasting longer than I expected. Most men of his breed would have bolted by now.”
“He’s staying because of Chloe,” Amy replied quietly, her eyes never leaving Andrew as he awkwardly handed the coleslaw to the grumbling construction worker. “He thinks a few hours in a diner washes away nine years of abandonment.”
“And does it?” Victor asked, sipping his coffee.
May you like
Amy didn’t answer right away. She watched Andrew stumble backward, nearly tripping over a dropped napkin holder, while Chloe giggled behind him.
“No,” Amy said coldly. “It’s only day one.”
