Novel Upper West Side Novelas e Histórias

Clean, dark, and damn him, perfectly suited to his face. “You’re going to make my life difficult.” I blinked once, then forced the corner of my mouth up. “Thank God. For a second there, I was worried my dress wasn’t contributing enough.” :::: Nicholas’s business associate’s house stood on the Upper East Side with the kind of silence only old, rich buildings possess. Golden lights glowed warmly behind the tall windows. A row of black cars lined the curb. From the outside alone, the place already looked like the kind of setting where people made million-dollar decisions while holding champagne and smiling like their sins were tax-deductible.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. The air inside the car suddenly felt too tight, too intimate. To distract myself, I looked out the window again. The Upper East Side passed in a blur of sophistication, manicured sidewalks, vintage brownstones, dimly lit restaurants where people probably whispered about art and politics over overpriced wine. My reflection stared back at me, the girl who was trying too hard to look composed, even though her mind was a battlefield. “Are you always this quiet?” he asked, pulling me back again.

I’m not sure I’m ready. But I’m going anyway. The plane lands at JFK at 6:47 AM. I didn’t sleep at all. Just sat there, touching my necklace, remembering. Derek’s address is in Manhattan. Upper West Side. A neighborhood I’ve never been to but my GPS knows the way. The Uber driver tries to make small talk. I give one-word answers until he gives up. We pull up to a beautiful brownstone. Old money. The kind of building that whispers Moore legacy even without a sign.

I wheel it out of the parking garage of my building and the second I start to pick up speed all my worries melt away. I shrug off my angst as I maneuver between cars and shoot down the busy streets of New York with chilly air whipping through my hair. I go and go and go and 20 minutes after I leave home I realize I’m in the Upper West Side. I head to my favorite pick up joint in the area, aptly namedThe Meat Market.

He has this code, this rigid Agency loyalty that I haven't been able to fuck or reason out of him yet. It’s late afternoon when we reach the neutral ground: a busy stretch of the Upper East Side where the sidewalk is packed with people who have too much money and too little situational awareness. We’ve chosen a high-end bistro tucked between a designer boutique and a private art gallery. The foot traffic is dense enough that we should be ghosts.

The guest suite that Alexander had arranged for Lila was on the fourteenth floor of a private residence building on the Upper West Side, one of three properties he maintained across the city under subsidiary company names, properties whose connection to him required several layers of corporate documentation to establish and which were therefore, for all practical purposes, invisible to anyone without the resources to look deeply enough.

“Wow! Check this place out! It’s huge!” Theo declared as they paused inside the foyer. A step behind him Sean whistled. Their father called it a villa but the brownstone was more like a mansion. Who would have thought such a place existed even on the Upper West Side? Behind them came their security guards now acting as porters carrying in the duffels the kids packed during their brief return to their apartment. Their mother followed guiding Alexis though the latter now possessed her cane. Still it helped having a sighted person guide her during initial visits.

Even the car’s side mirror could reflect the saliva flying and Juma was so disgusted but he raged as soon as the man called him a son of the Upper City. Upper City was the estate or part of the city that ranked only third from where Juma lives and it was known to shelter filthy rich people. The class of people living there rivaled the wealth worth of the top paid entertainers of the country, journalists, business men or even prominent figures like governors, senators or even other foreigners.

Sloane She lived in a townhouse on the Upper East Side. Of course she did. Four stories. Dark brick. Window boxes with flowers that were probably tended by someone other than Margaret Rowe herself but that looked exactly like the kind of flowers a woman like Margaret Rowe would choose. Everything about the outside of the building said old money in the way that old money never had to announce itself because it had been there long enough that announcing it would have been redundant. Beckett rang the bell.

And the fourth option was a magnificent Neoclassical mansion standing firmly in the Upper West Side—an elite neighborhood with exceptionally high privacy, home to some of the world’s top billionaires. My gaze settled on the fourth option in the Upper West Side. Its design was elegant, with an enormous backyard and a sophisticated, multilayered security system. Its price was far above that of the other luxury homes in the catalog, but the price was not an issue for me. “I’ll take this one,” I said, pointing to the mansion in the Upper West Side. “Arrange a viewing.” However, before Lidya could process my order, my personal phone lying on the table suddenly rang loudly. A very familiar name ap