Novel Upper West Side Novels & Stories

POV: Evelyn The Uber ride from the airport had taken nearly ninety minutes. Manhattan rush hour was a beast that didn’t care about my schedule or my fraying nerves. As the car finally turned into a quiet, tree-lined street on the Upper East Side, the late afternoon sun began to dip, casting a long, amber glow over the limestone townhouses. I sat up straighter, my chest tightening as I looked out the window. This wasn't just a neighborhood. It was a fortress of old money.

They had lucked out in many ways concerning the apartment issue. Rick did indeed own serveral apartment buildings in New York. But the only one suitable for their current needs was in Hell's Kitchen. It was a neighborhood close to the theater district, as well as Time's Square. The location was to the west, down south of Central Park. It had just undergone a massive renovation to bring it up to city codes. The only problem was that is was not furnished. And Larry Watters was no where to be seen. Apartments in the states were not normally furnished. Most Americans owned all of their own household furnishings.

"Whichever you prefer." She looked to Bobby. "Michael told me about this part, cher. I want to know that you're safe when you go to work." "Can you imagine living and working on the upper west side? That townhouse is only a few blocks from here." Her voice was thoughtful. Bobby smiled happily. "I can imagine the hell out of it." Brian unpaused the video. "At any rate, I'll leave you and Murph to work out the details. I just have one more thing."

Sophie Parker wasn't an ordinary twenty-six-year-old girl. Born and raised in the Upper East Side, one of the wealthiest neighborhoods not just in New York but in the entire United States, and a member of one of the most well-known Jewish families in the city, she could have become the stereotypical spendthrift and superficial socialite, entirely dependent on her parents and preparing to rely on a husband in the future.

I cracked the seal and let the bubbles tickle my throat as I watched the skyscrapers pass by my window. I should have guessed that Michael’s penthouse would be on the upper east side, but I couldn’t help but stare at the buildings and how extravagant everything seemed compared to my dumpy little neighborhood. The driver pulled to a stop in front of a tall building and got out to open my door for me.

days when the sun hit my skin just right, and that Manhattan skyline stretched like a promise across the horizon. My cheeks hurt from the way I was smiling as I handed over the keys to a tall, salt-and-pepper-haired man in a sharp suit. My latest client. The man had just purchased a stunning penthouse in the Upper East Side. The ink had barely dried on the contract before he shook my hand, his eyes warm with gratitude. "Thank you, Miss Russo," he said. "You make the apartment, and everything in it feels like falling in love again." Did I now?

The words landed heavier than they should have. The SUV slowed outside a nondescript brownstone on the Upper West Side. To the world it looked anonymous, no security cameras, no lights. Inside, the air smelled faintly of cedar and steel. Every line of furniture was precise, functional, masculine. “You live here?” she asked as he punched in the code. “When I have to vanish,” he said. “You’re off the radar here.” He set her overnight bag on the narrow table by the door. Their movements…small, domestic, strange after months of boardrooms and chandeliers felt suddenly too intimate.

Emma stood outside Jake Morrison's apartment building on the Upper East Side, clutching her laptop bag and seriously questioning her life choices. The elegant brownstone with its wrought-iron details and perfectly manicured entrance screamed expensive the kind of place that came with doormen and marble lobbies and editors who could afford to take risks with their authors' careers.

"The family has arranged a secure luxury apartment for you on the Upper West Side." "Don't mention it, Miss." Arthur bowed slightly. "Contact me anytime if you need anything." He respectfully exited the room. The moment the door closed, silence fell. I walked to the window and pulled back the white curtains. The Manhattan skyline filled my view. Skyscrapers stood shoulder to shoulder, the sun glinting off their glass facades. This is New York. Not Chicago. No Maximus. No endless hail of bullets. No money to be laundered. Just me, and a fresh start.

Ethan Cross's penthouse occupied the top three floors of a glass tower on the Upper East Side, the kind of building where the doormen wore white gloves and knew every resident's net worth. Sophia stood in the marble lobby, clutching her mother's hand, feeling like an imposter in designer clothing.