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Undercover (The Manhattanites Book 8), page 1

 

Undercover (The Manhattanites Book 8)
 



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Undercover (The Manhattanites Book 8)


  Table of Contents

  Yours Truly, Taddy

  Unscrupulous

  About Avery Aster

  Connect With Avery

  Also By Avery Aster

  Cast of Characters

  Part One: I blame it on Lex’s Xanax

  Prologue: From the Desk of Avon Porter Academy

  Chapter One: Three Men and a Virgin

  Chapter Two: Candy Castle

  Chapter Three: Move Over Brooke Shields

  Part Two: Forget You SeaWorld!

  Chapter Four: Wavegasm

  Chapter Five: Jaws Syndrome

  Part Three: So Screwed!

  Chapter Six: TMI Moments

  Chapter Seven: Princess Lolly

  Invitation to Eden

  Smexy Excerpts

  Foreword

  Part One: Hot Topless Beaches in December or Bust

  Prologue: Her Measurements 36C-25-35

  Chapter One: Good Morning, Warner Truman

  Chapter Two: Thank You, Brigham Young University, for Kiki

  Chapter Three: Banging Birdie

  Chapter Four: Mud Mask Wishes with Auntie Muffie

  Chapter Five: Pussy Glamour

  Chapter Six: Per-fucking-fection

  Chapter Seven: Vive Serves Up Bye-And-Bye Dick Pie

  Part Two: No More Big Daddies

  Chapter Eight: Dominatrix Queen-Dick Dupree

  Chapter Nine: Rubies Return

  Chapter Ten: Judith Leiber’s Clutch

  Chapter Eleven: The Infamous Orgasmic Pedicure Chair

  Part Three: French Riviera, Here Comes Taddy Brill

  Chapter Twelve: Two Percent of the Women in the World

  Chapter Thirteen: Sweet Baby Jesus on an Ice Cream Cone

  Chapter Fourteen: Oh, His Anaconda, Seriously

  Chapter Fifteen: Backdoor Wake-Up Call

  Chapter Sixteen: A 1910 Hourglass Figure

  Chapter Seventeen: On His Knees

  Chapter Eighteen: Suck It, Blake Morgan

  Chapter Nineteen: Dom Perignon Rosé

  Chapter Twenty: A Daughter’s Good-bye

  Chapter Twenty-One: Sheldon Truman’s Fudge Balls

  Epilogue: Neve Adele’s Candy Land Reality

  Acknowledgments

  A Smexy Excerpt

  Sexy As F*ck

  An Undergrad Years & Manhattanite’s Duet

  Avery Aster

  Sexy As F*ck

  Copyright 2016 Avery Aster

  Cover Design by Croco Designs

  Formatted by Mark's Ebook Formatting

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  New York, New York 10021

  First edition: December 2016

  www.AveryAster.com

  Yours Truly, Taddy

  Unscrupulous

  About Avery Aster

  Connect With Avery

  Also By Avery Aster

  Yours Truly, Taddy

  The Undergrad Years #2

  (Invitation to Eden)

  Avery Aster

  Jetting to Martinique for a modeling assignment with three of Europe’s hottest magazine photographers—Gustave, Fabian, and Leon—should’ve been easy, breezy beautiful. Never did I expect to look up and see a hole in the ceiling of our plane that was bigger in size than my Birkin bag.

  Shit! We’re nose-diving toward Eden Island. I pictured how my New York Times obituary might read when I’m gone, “Taddy Brill, Manhattanite, dethroned descendant of the Austrian House of Brillford royalty, dies at age eighteen, penniless, unloved, and a virgin.” I swear this crap only happens to me. Suddenly, Leon pulls me with Fabian and Gustave. Adrenaline racing through me, our bodies clung as one. We prepared to…crash.

  The Undergrad Years is a New Adult contemporary miniseries about first loves, independence, and everlasting friendships. Interact on Instagram and Twitter using the hashtags #UndergradYears #NewAdult with @AveryAster while reading this story. Swag and reader contests can be found at: AveryAster.com

  Reader warning: This novel is about a girl who likes a boy who likes boys and contains mature content intended for readers 18 and up.

  Praise for Avery Aster…

  “Hilariously clever, Love, Lex is New Adult at its naughtiest.”

  —S&M’s Book Obsessions

  “Never did I think I could love an author as much as Avery Aster. The Manhattanites are obscenely fabulous.”

  —Book Boyfriend

  “The most original series I've ever read. The Manhattanites is expertly crafted like diving into a soap opera.”

  —Miss Construed

  “A throwback to Judith Krantz, Avery’s writing is salacious glitz, drama and glamour.”

  —Talk Supe

  “I took a cold shower after reading Unscrupulous.”

  —Books Are Love

  “Avery's voice is fresh and witty. Something not found in the market.”

  —Same Book, Different Review

  “Plotted like Jackie Collins, the bitches are super-bitches but underneath their tough exterior is a good heart.”

  —I Love Romantic Fiction

  “Sex and the City on steroids but younger and sexier, Avery Aster equates to fun romance.”

  —Ever After Romance

  “The Manhattanites live an extravagant lifestyle. I want to be a part of it.”

  —Blissful Books

  “The shock value is high and hot flash-inducing. Trust me, I've suffered a few.”

  —Ripe For Reader

  Yours Truly, Taddy

  Copyright 2014 Avery Aster

  Cover Design by Croco Designs

  Formatted by IRONHORSE Formatting

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away
to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  New York, New York 10021

  To Julie, who…

  This book is for the student who I met in the back of a police car during my freshman year of high school. The girl who during my sophomore year served me my first lemon drop, telling me, “You’re gonna love this!” The best friend who during my junior year set me up with a guy that changed my life—in ways I’d never imagined. The woman who gave birth to my god-daughter after we’d graduated, and the reader who, two decades later, roots for the Taddy Brill in all of us. I double-heart you Julie K! Thank you for everything. I’ll see you in St. Tropez.

  Love,

  Avery

  My novels are escapism in the purest form. They are romantic, snarky, hot, and a li’l cray-cray. Events in this story take place in 2002 and are a figment of my imagination. Have fun!

  Table of Contents

  Cast of Characters

  Part One: I blame it on Lex’s Xanax

  Prologue: From the Desk of Avon Porter Academy

  Chapter One: Three Men and a Virgin

  Chapter Two: Candy Castle

  Chapter Three: Move Over Brooke Shields

  Part Two: Forget You SeaWorld!

  Chapter Four: Wavegasm

  Chapter Five: Jaws Syndrome

  Part Three: So Screwed!

  Chapter Six: TMI Moments

  Chapter Seven: Princess Lolly

  About Avery Aster

  Also by Avery Aster

  Invitation to Eden

  Smexy Excerpts

  Tabitha Adelaide “Taddy Brill” Brillford (18): Broke but determined, Taddy accepts a job as a fashion model to pay for her college tuition.

  Alexandra “Lex” Easton (18): Daughter to famed rockers Eddie & Birdie Easton, Lex and Taddy have known one another their entire lives.

  Blake Morgan III (18): Prada fanatic and out of the closet since the day puberty struck, Blake is the clique’s gay bestie.

  Viveca “Vive” Farnworth (18): Lhaso Apso lover and heiress to Farnworth Firewater Liquor Company, Vive is a party girl who met Lex, Taddy, and Blake while in boarding school.

  Gustave Le Cartier (21): France’s leading fashion photographer. He’s a dominant alpha in bed. His famed celebrity photographs are praised by the world.

  Fabian Henri (20) Flirtatious and alluring he works as Taddy’s stylist helping her get dressed.

  Leon Lartique (19): Set and lighting designer Leon works with Gustave and Fabian trying to get Taddy to loosen up a bit for the camera.

  I blame it on Lex’s Xanax

  “My bestie Taddy Brill should’ve taken the handout we’d offered her. But nooo, she had to let her pride get in the way, accepting a modeling gig in the Caribbean to pay for her college tuition. Lex, Blake, and I jetted along for moral support. If we knew then, what we know now, we should’ve stayed home on the Upper East Side, where we belonged.” —Vive Farnworth, wealthiest teenager in New York, socialite and aspiring gossip columnist.

  From the Desk of Avon Porter Academy

  January 4, 1999

  Dear Countess Irma & Joseph Graf Brillford,

  We enjoy having your daughter, Tabitha Adelaide, in our school. She is an exemplary student who goes out of her way to help others and is a role model among her peers.

  It’s unfortunate that you didn’t send for her during the Christmas break. Our Avon Porter staff can board the students only with advanced noticed. She stayed with our gym teacher Mrs. Pringle who stated that Tabitha Adelaide is under the impression she will never see you again. At only thirteen, I wonder where she’s getting these outrageous thoughts. Please call us at your earliest convenience so we may help set your only daughter’s mind at ease.

  Yours fondly,

  Emily Garrett, Headmistress

  March, 5, 2000

  Countess Irma & Joseph Graf Brillford,

  Our infirmary has diagnosed Tabitha Adelaide with mononucleosis. Her recovery may take up to two months. We have tried to contact your Manhattan and Frankfurt residences and have been unsuccessful. You have not seen your daughter since you dropped her off last year. The doctor mentioned quality time with you may expedite her recovery. She is very sick. Please call us.

  Take Care,

  Emily Garrett, Headmistress

  February 18, 2001

  Irma & Joseph,

  Our accounting office reported that you haven’t paid Tabitha Adelaide’s tuition for the last two years. We asked fellow Avon Porter parent, Birdie Easton, to check-in on your whereabouts. Mrs. Easton lives in your building and mentioned you have extended your African safari and are unavailable.

  Mrs. Easton has offered to pay the outstanding balance under the condition that we do not discuss this with your daughter. I understand Tabitha Adelaide has filed for emancipation in the family courts. This letter will also serve as notice we will be a witness for the prosecution in this case, speaking on your daughter’s behalf. The Avon Porter staff is appalled at your behavior.

  Goodbye,

  Emily Garrett, Headmistress

  Three Men and a Virgin

  Bermuda Triangle, August 2002

  Up to this point, the only thing that had kept my mind off this horrific flight was staring at the cute little ears, broad shoulders, and wavy-haired heads of the three hottest men I’d ever worked with in my entire life.

  That’s right. I, Taddy Brill, sat behind un, deux, trois of Europe’s finest. They were hunky, lean yet muscular, and just about the sexiest specimens of male, ever.

  Good Lord. I wanted to rip my sundress off and scream, “Take me!”

  But I didn’t.

  Not once this week had the boys given me the time of day, let alone a flirtatious glance, leading me to believe that I didn’t have a chance.

  If I thought about them too much I’d get depressed. Instead I closed my eyes and tried to figure out how we were going to get through this one-way flight to hell.

  I hate airplanes, especially tiny ones that I can’t stand up in without hitting my head. You wouldn’t believe the problems that come with being six-feet tall. My friends call me a glamizon. Trust me, there’s nothing glamorous about freakishly towering over people.

  Before anyone asks, no, I didn’t play women’s basketball at the Avon Porter Academy. And yes, my date to prom my senior year was much shorter than me. The poor bastard had such a Napoleon complex that I’d even worn flats.

  It’s not like I can wear my Manolo stilettos when flying. Knowing this, I’d picked up these tacky-ass, bedazzled flip-flops from some overpriced gift shop on Collins Avenue before we left for Martinique. I had to watch every penny until I got paid by my agent. Buying these overpriced flip-flops had made me rather angry. Surely I didn’t sport footwear like this back home in New York City. Not unless I wanted to have the dirtiest feet on the planet, even if they did have a gazillion Swarovski crystals glued to the top of them. Recently I’d been riding the subway to get around town. No limos for moi. Not anymore.

  I sat in 12B next to my gay best friend (GBF) Blake Morgan. His legs are longer than mine. We must look like two giraffes crowding under a tree.

  Blake resembles a younger version of Jude Law meets Matt Damon. When we went to the premiere of The Talented Mr. Ripley a few years ago, I couldn’t decide who Blake looked more like.

  Next to us in 12C was my best friend forever (BFF) Lex Easton. Famed daughter to rockers Eddie and Birdie Easton, she’d recently discovered her submissive side with a dominant she’d referred to fondly as Master Ford. Right now, Lex was zonked out on anti-anxiety medication. Let’s pray she doesn’t end up like her pill-popping mother. But I don’t think that’ll happen. She just hates the idea of being cramped
on this flying tin can as much as I do. Her curvy caboose barely fits in the seat.

  To top it all off like a vodka floater shot, my very best friend (VBF) Vive Farnworth sitting in 12D is buzzed. Ever since our recent incarceration over an accidental explosion at Lex’s penthouse, Vive’s been tossing ‘em back, more than usual.

  We’d only been locked up for a day or so. Not six months, like the time before when we’d all been accused of murder and spent a semester in juvie. I’ll get into that, much later.

  In addition to my flip-flops wanna know what else I hate? The Caribbean! For reasons I’ll elaborate on in just a second. However, I’ll give ‘ya a clue. It starts with the letter “c” and sounds like “trash.”

  Now, if someone, anyone, maybe even you, had told me that by the time I turned eighteen my parents, Countess Irma and Joseph Graf Brillford, would’ve disowned me as their only daughter—leaving me unable to pay for the Ivy League education I’d busted my boarding school ass to get into—I’d roll my green eyes, chug a can of Redbull, and offer, “May you never drown in a vat of dog semen, thank you and buh-bye.” And by never, I mean forever and always.

  Sure I’m pissy over my folk’s wrongdoings. One might say, since the age of thirteen, after my father’s DNA test didn’t match my own, I’d seen that shizzicane coming. So did my BFF.

  Once Lex and I were shipped off to boarding school, we were out that door quicker than a yellow cab gunning it down Park Avenue. But being without any family never gets easy.

  Who gets comfortable with having no parents?

  The less than über wealthy call it being orphaned. My folks had used boarding school at Avon Porter as foster care when they gave me away. Whatever!

  The school’s therapist had suggested, “Tabitha, forgive and forget. That’s what you need to do in order to move on with your life.”

 
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