The Nook East Greenwich Novels & Stories

“That’s the one I was thinking of. Somewhere that sounded a bit like that.” “There’s a place in London that sounds like the Grinch?” Tom looks dubious. “Oh, I know! Greenwich!” Shelley explains. “It’s spelled green - witch, Aiden, but pronounced gren - itch.” “Greenwich is cool too,” Tom says. “Your girlfriend knows the good places. When are we doing this?” “Uh… they won’t be open on a Sunday, will they?” I ask, because that’s the one day Sarah doesn’t have a performance. “They’re open,” Reese says. “Anyone got a problem with going on a Sunday?”

"Oh, that's not necessary. I'm sure you're incredibly busy, and Ethel is more than capable—" "I'm coming," Keanu said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Ethel, please clear my morning. Reschedule everything to this afternoon or tomorrow." "Of course," I managed. Maura beamed. "Well, that's wonderful. The more eyes on it, the better." ༺❀༻༺❀༻༺❀༻ The site was in Brooklyn, a massive plot of land that would eventually house one of the solar arrays for the renewable energy project.

His impeccable manners worked exactly as intended. Happy to help such a courteous man, the employee called the Technical Division and requested the location of the development site Bruce and Malikha were visiting. A few minutes later, she jotted down an address on a yellow sticky note before hanging up. Turning back toward Glenn, she handed him the note. "They're inspecting a residential project in Greenwich, Connecticut." She smiled apologetically. "It's quite a long drive. They probably won't finish until late afternoon or even this evening." Glenn accepted the note gratefully.

She held out her hand. Her expression was friendly enough. I shook her hand with an overly enthusiastic smile. And of course, there was an earpod jutting out of her ear. "Please, have a seat, " she said, sitting. Marshall took his seat beside her as I sat a few chairs away. "Have you travelled from far?" "No, I live in Brooklyn." "Oh, that's not too far then. So, tell us about yourself, Miss Greene."

"Oh, so you live there." "You know this place?" Noel's phone asked while he stared at Eden cautiously. "I have been there several times." Eden shrugged, smiling at him cockily. "Is your apartment the dark green building?" "How did you know??" "I own some houses and land in that place," Eden said, turning the car down a small street. "Not all. But I think I own the one you are living in too. If it is the house I think it is." "Right, there are three greenhouses in that street." Noel thought for a second. "Do you … own this whole city or something?"

The pointer turned green and my heart skipped a beat; a secluded area near the croton reservoir in Westchester county, New York, approximately 20-30 miles north of Manhattan. I couldn't deny the location was a smart move by whoever was behind this–isolated and easily controlled. I knew I had to hurry. Taking long strides, I burst out of the room again, passing Marcelo and the girls lurking by the entrance, their eyes wild with concern. Marcelo followed hurriedly after me, catching up halfway. "What's the location?" he asked, his voice low and urgent. I relayed the coordinates, and then pulled out my phone to contact my men.

I was wrong—painfully so—but that night, sticky with daiquiris and caught in a stranger’s hazel eyes that promised sin, I hadn’t figured it out yet. Greenwich, Connecticut, wasn’t a town for dreamers like me. It was a haven for the ultra-rich, where grand estates lined Greenwich Avenue and the air carried the faint salt of Long Island Sound. The Gilded Spoon, where I waitressed, was its glittering gem—a ritzy restaurant with chandeliers dripping like diamonds over mahogany tables, serving hedge fund moguls and old-money dynasties. On my twenty-first birthday, the place was alive, buzzing with clinking glasses and whispers about the Greenwich Charity Auction two weeks away.

Noah could wait. Greenwich Avenue wa a long straight street running diagonally southeast from 14th Street and Eight to Eightth Street and Sixth. Semibasement floors in use as small galaries and stores covered the sporadic uprisinhg of houses. Up ahead, fast food chain of restaurants cozied adjacent to record shops. It was close to eight thirty pm. Evan did call Noah- but he kept her information to himself. What would Noah be able to do with it anyway? Figure out whoever was the anonymous partner to Desmond's insanity was a rogue himself? That possibility had already crossed his mind. Rogues can cut off mind links adeptly. Instead, he wrapped his hand in his shirttail and turned the doorknob.