Novel & Cerita Novel Upper Westside

Scott ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─ I tossed the duvet aside and sat on the edge of my bed, putting my elbows over my knees. I grabbed my cell phone and raised the blinds of my room. The daylight flooded in, illuminating the room as I stared at the sky through the ceiling-to-floor glass windows. Raking my hand through my hair, I got off the bed, wore my boxers, and made my way out of the bedroom. My penthouse is on the Upper East Side, but it's not just any penthouse. It has the best fucking view a man like me deserves.

sheer thigh-highs and no bra because if he wanted files, he'd get a show too maybe even drop to my knees first this time. The cab pulled up to the sleek brownstone on the Upper East Side, all wrought iron gates and ivy climbing the walls like it guarded secrets darker than corporate espionage, and I paid the driver quickly before stepping out into the cool night air that pebbled my nipples against the thin fabric. heels clicking up the steps as I pushed open the heavy oak door just like he'd said, finding myself in a foyer lit by a single crystal chandelier that cast shadows dancing across marble floors leading to a study where low light spilled from an open door.

Merciless. And famously, dangerously sexual. The stories about his appetite for women were legendary among New York's underground circles. There was the socialite from the Upper East Side who'd tried to seduce information from him about a rival family's operations. She'd emerged from his penthouse three days later with cigarette burns on her thighs and rope marks around her wrists, her spirit so thoroughly broken that she'd checked herself into a psychiatric facility and never spoken of what happened.

“So where do you want to go for dinner tonight?” “Uhm… There's this little Italian place called Marcello on the upper East side. I like the place, it's quiet and intimate. You know, it's perfect for actually getting to know each other better.” He then pauses, “Unless that sounds too fancy for you. I know I can be a little out of touch with normal places sometimes.”

I mean, if you have a maid, I guess that's part of her job description. Justin's abode reminded me of Gossip 's posh residence Girl . When we had N*****x nights, she would make me watch a few episodes before her and she used to make fun of how realistic the show was, but now I believe her. As far as the Upper East Side of Manhattan is concerned, it was an accurate representation. In the meantime, we stayed with Justin's mother until his father arrived. He was dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase and appeared to be a Wall Street trader.

Something closer to fear. I texted back four words. Where and when. She replied within a minute. Coffee shop on 5th and 82nd. One hour. The shop was small and overpriced in the specific way of Upper East Side establishments that existed mostly to be seen in, all reclaimed wood and brass fixtures, and Vivian was already seated when I arrived — no entourage, no audience, none of the performance I’d watched her deploy at every previous encounter. She looked, for the first time since she’d returned to New York, genuinely tired.

she said. His apartment was in the West Village, two bedrooms, which had been precisely sufficient for Caleb-with-Lyra-on-weekends but was not sufficient for Caleb-and-Zara-and-Lyra-full-time. Her apartment was three bedrooms in the Upper West Side — Lyra's room, her room, the room that had been her office and that had, in the past six months, developed into a space she could not easily relinquish, because it was where she worked at eleven p.m. when the quiet thinking needed a specific environment. She knew the practical answer before the conversation started. She suspected he did too.

“Get dressed. I won’t take no for an answer.” This day was always going to catch up to me. And he was right, saying no was definitely something I could do at this moment. The restaurant was on the Upper West Side — not the kind you stumble into, but the kind you’re told about, quietly, by someone who assumes you’ll understand what to do with the information. From the street, there was nothing to suggest it existed: no sign, no menu, just a door that looked like it led somewhere else entirely.

The days were getting cooler as fall wound down to winter. Gabe lived a short distance away at 400 Fifth Avenue, a sleek, modern residential development, while Jace lived on the Upper West Side closer to Mia—she was convinced she was why Jace had never moved closer to his office. And Ash lived at 1 Morton Square, which overlooked the Hudson River.