by Avery Aster
Fans of J.S. Scott, Lauren Blakely, Kendall Ryan, and Penelope Ward will enjoy this hilarious and naughty, full-length, stand-alone, cliffhanger free, m/f contemporary erotic romance from New York Times Bestselling Author Avery Aster.
When it comes to raising his only son, single dad Sheldon Truman will do whatever it takes to secure the best Christmas for his autistic child, even if that means marrying America's leading pop princess and starring on Celebrity Newlywed Boot Camp to pay for it. After all, he doesn't believe in marriage, monogamy, or happily ever after, so what's there to lose?
With a failing handbag line, a perfume brand that stinks, and a singing career gone flat, actress Neve Adele will do anything that her PR firm, Brill Inc., throws her way. So when she's cast alongside the hottest bad boy she's ever met, the cameras start rolling, and they're forced to share a bed.
Once the filming is over, the feelings that Neve's been faking toward Sheldon suddenly become a reality. Can she stop thinking about him and get her career back on track? Or will she give up her hunger for fame and get real with the Manhattanite who not only took her virginity but her heart?
Often while reading Avery Aster’s books, readers have been known to experience hot flashes, orgasms, and laughter to the point of peeing in their pants.
It’s suggested that you have a bucket of ice nearby, along with a chilled glass of champagne and your favorite sex toy—fully charged—before reading this story.
Please note that Avery’s writing is not suitable for prudes, slut-shamers, or uptight readers who don’t have a sense of humor about money, sex, or fame. Avery’s books are not intended for anyone under the age of 18.
Have fun!
Swag and reader contests can be found on Avery’s blog at: AveryAster.com
Interact with Avery while reading The Manhattanites on Instagram and Twitter @AveryAster using the hashtags #TheManhattanites #EroticRomance
The Manhattanites
by Avery Aster
“If you enjoy witty erotic romances by such authors as Alice Clayton and Tara Sivec then you’ll most likely devour Avery Aster!”
—The Kindle Reader
“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 erotic 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
To Mark and Wendy: the beautiful, hawt, funny, life of the party, rich, perfectly behaved, oversexed, well-liked, couple. May the freshness of your love and companionship last forever and always. Happy fifteenth wedding anniversary!
Hugs, Avery
A Manhattanite’s Christmas
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
www.AveryAster.com
Author's Note
Part One
Chapter One: A Bad Reality
Chapter Two: One Fuckin’ Million Bucks
Chapter Three: The Big Monster
Chapter Four: My Wonder Woman
Chapter Five: Mud-Bogging Mania
Chapter Six: Ruby Crundwell Strikes Again
Chapter Seven: Here Comes The Bride
Chapter Eight: Bomb Ass Pussy
Part Two
Chapter Nine: Icky Vicky
Chapter Ten: Rock Hard, Cock Ready
Chapter Eleven: Blowing the Big Monster
Chapter Twelve: Take Two
Chapter Thirteen: Fucked Six Ways To Sunday
Chapter Fourteen: Into Temptation
Chapter Fifteen: Buh-Bye Hubby
Chapter Sixteen: His Oversized Cojones
Part Three
Chapter Seventeen: The Face Sitting Fetish
Chapter Eighteen: Icky Vicky Strikes Again
Chapter Nineteen: Let’s Get Real
Chapter Twenty: Final Countdown
Chapter Twenty-One: What’s Behind Door No. 3
Chapter Twenty-Two: A Ghost’s Forgiveness
Chapter Twenty-Three: Just Like Reese Witherspoon
Epilogue: The Back Door Way
About Avery Aster
Connect With Avery
Also By Avery Aster
A Smexy Excerpt
Hello Gorgeous Reader,
Happy Fuckin’ Holidays! Merry Christmas. Happy Hanukkah. Happy Kwanzaa! Wishing you a very happy whatever the fudge doesn’t offend you. *wink* But if I know my readers (as I do) it takes a lot to make your perfectly stenciled brow arch high in surprise. Right? Right!
Oh Yesss! I have a FREE GIFT for you. Subscribe to my newsletter and you’ll get a complimentary, full-length, smuttastic novel. Click here http://www.eepurl.com/CQ665
If you’re new to the contemporary erotic romance series The Manhattanites—buckle up for one fabulous romp. I promise there are no subplots carried over from other books in the series with A Manhattanite’s Christmas.
You’re about to meet a hawt new couple. *fans self* A wealthy alpha female and blue collared inked muscleman collide when they’re forced to wed. After this novel be sure to join Kiki as she takes on two brothers in UNIQUE, the next installment in this naughty romance series, exclusively available through Kindle Unlimited. Enjoy!
Love, Avery
“Sometimes in life you just have to fake it until you make it. Fake fame. Fake looks. Fake money. However, a fake marriage isn’t on my Christmas wish list, that’s for sure. Or is it?” –Neve Adele, America’s #1 reality star, pop singer, perfum
er
Two Years Ago
On the Spectrum
Harlem, New York
Sheldon
I look at the clock for the umpteenth time. They should be here by now.
The doorbell rings and my never-had-to-care-for-anyone-but-myself-in-my-entire-life heart lurches into my throat as I stop pacing the floor. The moment I’ve been dreaming about since I first heard I had a son is here. My hands, usually steady and calculated—hence why I make such a great airplane mechanic—start to shake as I grab the doorknob for a second longer than usual. I haven’t slept in days. How could I?
I have a son.
You can do this, Sheldon Truman. You got this.
I pull the door open. Ignoring the social worker, I focus my intention down below her waist to the little boy.
A bowl cut of blond hair makes his ears jet out. Eyes wide as saucers gaze up but don’t lock with mine. Instead, the boy stares off to my left side.
“Sheldon Truman, I’m Coral Rankin,” the social worker says in a resigned voice, shaking my hand. “And this is your son, Liam.”
My eyes, often dry, become wet as I start to blink hot tears. Wiping them from my face with my forearm, I kneel down and study Liam’s face. His chin is pronounced, just like my own.
“Hello there, Liam.”
He doesn’t notice me, his attention focused on the room.
“I’m your dad,” I continue.
Again, no eye contact.
Maybe he’s nervous. I know I am. I can only imagine how he’s feeling right about now; his mother arrested, removed from society, and Liam taken from his home, from all he’s ever known.
“Please come in.” I take a step back, lifting my right hand in the air.
Quickly, I glance around my loft, hoping, praying I didn’t miss anything while cleaning. No empty beer bottles. No ladies’ lingerie. No sign that a Manhattanite, a bachelor of sorts without a care in the world, lives here.
But now I do care, more than ever, about my life. And Liam’s.
This whole mess started a month ago, when I found out I even had a son. Earlier this week the judge granted me custody. Two days was all I had to get my place tidy—or as my friends call it, ‘child-proof’ my home.
Coral pulls out a coloring book and crayons from a tote, which appears full of small toys, tissues, and snacks. When she gives it to Liam, he takes a seat on the floor next to the coffee table and begins to slowly tear the pages from the binding. Little shards of pulp hit the floor. Quickly, his hands pick up speed, ripping the paper as he rocks himself back and forth.
“This must be hard on him. How’s he doing?”
“Fine.” Her voice breaks as if she’s telling a lie.
“He doesn’t look fine.” Worry swells up inside me. The more I observe him, the more I realize something isn’t… right.
“His mother, Ruby, what did she tell you about Liam?” Unsure of how to respond, I glare at her until she continues. “Did Ruby’s attorney share anything about him with you?”
Ruby Crundwell and I had met at a bar one night. We didn’t date, but would bump into each other. First infrequently, but then a pattern developed. I’d see her at the bar, then the gym. Almost everywhere I went Ruby was there. We became fuck buddies. Nothing more, nothing less. She worked for the city of New York as their comptroller. She was young, successful, beautiful, and didn’t want a boyfriend in her life. She gave off an air of wealth, dripping in money. She used me for sex and I liked it—at least at first.
Only later, much later, would I find out that she’d targeted me, based on my genes, good looks, and family name, to have a baby. I found that out about four weeks ago, right when she was arrested for setting up a secret bank account and embezzling the city’s monies to fund her lavish lifestyle.
Coral takes a seat on the right side of the sofa in front of Liam. I sit on the left.
“Ruby didn’t tell me much. She’d admitted poking holes in our condoms before we’d have sex. That’s pretty much it.”
“Oh dear….” Coral licks her lips nervously before pulling out a manila folder with Liam’s name on the top right corner.
“What’s that?” I ask as she hands it to me.
“This is your child’s medical briefing. Inside, it goes over Liam’s allergies, his temperament, and his medications.”
“Medications?” I repeat with a slight tinge of shock as I open to the first page.
Risperidone.
The long word jumps out at me.
“What is this?” I ask, pointing to the page.
“A psychotropic drug used to reduce hyperactivity and repetitive behaviors.”
“Aren’t all four-year-olds hyper?” My chest tightens as I let out a nervous laugh, turning the page. A timetable of what Liam is to take in the morning and at night is clearly outlined. I knew Ruby was Type-A, controlling, set in her ways, but this is ridiculous.
Coral places her hand on my knee, glancing up at the plaster ceiling as if searching for the right reply. Her lips come together in a thin smile of sympathy, which suddenly inverts to a frown.
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Liam is sensory motor challenged.”
“Hmmm.” I sit back on the sofa, allowing her words to resonate for a minute. “We’ll work on it, Liam and me. I’m sure he can outgrow it. Right?”
Her head shakes, causing her long gold earrings to chime. “Liam has Asperger’s.”
I glare at her, searching for a clue as to what that means. Sure, I’ve heard of it, but I don’t know exactly what Asperger’s is. “A learning disorder?”
“It’s a form of autism.”
My restless left leg starts to bounce, perhaps realizing I’m in over my head.
“There’s a special school in Vermont. It’s highly experimental and somewhat controversial, but with your approval, I’d like to submit an application for Liam to go there and live.”
“Away from me?” I rub the back of my neck as it starts to stiffen.
She nods but doesn’t say a word.
“He just got here.” I cross my arms over my chest. Leaning away from her, I blow out a noisy breath.
“I understand.”
“He’s only four years old.” My heartbeat suddenly grows loud in my ears.
“Mr. Truman, I’m assuming you work full time.”
A fake smile crosses my face. “Yes, I work nights as a mechanic for York Airways. I have a sitter lined up to stay here when I’m at the airport. I can watch him during the day.”
“When will you sleep?”
“In the morning. I’ll have the afternoon to spend with him. My brother, Warner, and his girlfriend, Taddy, have offered to help out as well.”
“Do you have health insurance?”
“Yes, I’m part of the worker’s union.” I try my hardest not to roll my eyes at her.
“Good. You’ll need it.”
This conversation is over.
“Thank you for bringing him over. I think it’s time for you to leave.” I imagine her job is a hard one, but it doesn’t excuse her attitude.
She pulls out at business card and hands it to me. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
Present Day
A Bad Reality
Times Square
Neve
Out of sheer nerves, I start to chew on my bottom lip, something I never do, especially when on camera, because it shows worry. However, right now I’m not being filmed. Right now, I’m simply scared shitless.
“Neve,” says my publicist, Taddy Brill, a unique force as she struts into the boardroom wearing a pair of Prada pumps that make her already tall frame rather towersome and intimidating. Her usual perfume cloud of tuberose follows, as do two of her employees.
“Morning.” I greet her, Blake Morgan, and their junior publicist, Kiki, with handshakes. For the life of me I can’t remember the girl’s last name.
“Morning, Miss Adele.” Kiki’s face is a perfect oval. She
hands me a folder as we sit down across from one another.
As expected, the shiny red binder labeled ‘Neve Adele’s Monthly Recap’ appears thinner than usual, causing my lips to frown.
“We’ve hit a wall with your account,” Taddy says huskily, glancing at her staff with her perfectly sculpted face, and then finally at me. “Your last single didn’t top any charts.”
My mouth hangs open in embarrassment.
“Your performance on Saturday Night Live wasn’t funny.”
The urge to crawl under this conference table and hide hits me like a bitch slap on one of the reality TV shows I’ve starred in over the years.
“The fragrance isn’t selling well at Macy’s, to the point where their buyers don’t want to expand your brand.”
“No handbags?” My vocal pitch rises. I’m shocked. Accessories are slated to be the next extension of the Neve Adele lifestyle line.
“Nothing is working.” Blake’s handsome face takes on a stony expression.
I slouch in my chair, fighting back the tears. “I’ve worked so hard to get here. No one knows the sacrifices I’ve made.”
“Don’t give up hope just yet,” Kiki states with annoying enthusiasm. Coming from Utah, she is always chipper and sees the bright side of things. It’s irritating.
Glaring at Taddy, I try not to seethe. “If anyone can turn this around, it’s Brill, Inc.”
“We need to go back to what you’re known for.”
“A sex tape with rapper Waris Sugar.” I lean forward in my seat.
The video wasn’t real. I’m still a virgin. But thanks to good acting and fabulous editing, the short film—nine minutes and twenty-four seconds, to be exact—titled A Naughty Night with Neve Adele is, according to CelebritySexTape.com, the most downloaded of any tape in their inventory, like ever. Thus putting me on the map as a sex icon. Move over, Scarlett Johansson and Megan Fox!
“No, Miss Thing.” Blake chuckles richly.
“Playboy?” I say, knowing full well I’d never do that again. It wasn’t like I spread my legs or anything; I just think that, at twenty-two, I’m getting too old to go topless with my tits out on top of the Empire State building with a puppet hand created to resemble King Kong grabbing onto me. That photo shoot was exhausting and so not worth getting hypothermia, but sure as hell, I did.
