WRAPPED: The Manhattan Bound Series, Book Two Read online

  WRAPPED

  Book Two

  Manhattan Bound Series

  By Juliet Braddock

  © 2015 Juliet Braddock

  Cover design by WLK Media LLC © 2015 Michelle Bowman

  http://www.WLKmedia.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  A Note from Juliet

  I have to thank three very dear ladies who believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. Rachel, Heather and Missy…there is lots of love in this heart. Thank you all for being such true friends and for allowing me to be a part of your lives. I love you dearly.

  I would also like to thank all of my readers who have embraced this story and continue to follow along with Drew and Maxine in their journey toward happily ever after. Your notes and words of encouragement mean so much to me. You’ve brightened many dull days for me.

  And…as always…a thanks to my mom. Seventeen years ago on a rainy Saturday morning, I lost you to that ugly thing called cancer. But your life and your love has lived on. I’m publishing this book today in celebration of your amazing spirit and in gratitude for your unwavering support for me. I love you, Mom. And I miss you each second of every day.

  xx

  JB

  Chapter One

  The sidewalks of the Upper East Side were perhaps the most pristine in the entire city. The luxury complexes that lined the streets were filled with some of the wealthiest families of high society, mega-moguls, and celebrities in the world. A doorman always seemed to be hanging out in front of every building—chatting with the neighbors, petting dogs and kissing babies, while minding the safety of the occupants inside. Being a doorman in New York was almost a political job. Going out of the way to assist one’s tenants could pay off handsomely in tips during the holidays—in the right building.

  The skyscraping towers seemed to climb higher as one headed toward the East River, with the townhouses such as the one in which Maxine Kirk lived with her best friend Benjamin Worthington sitting further inland. A balcony from a high floor with a river view was coveted and commanded a high price tag to boot.

  While downtown Manhattan thrived with gentrification over the last two decades, drawing a youthful crowd with its lofts and overcrowded and overpriced bars and shops, the reputation on the Upper East Side had grown a bit stodgy, but safe—especially for a young woman out on her own for the very first time in her life.

  The thin heels of her shoes scraped along the sidewalk nearly catching against the concrete as Maxine stumbled along on that sunny Saturday afternoon. While her weekend bag wasn’t heavy, she also carried a rather large bouquet of hydrangeas she’d picked up from her favorite corner deli for Amanda Worthington’s birthday. Lumbering along with her light but cumbersome load, she struggled as she headed off to visit her best friend’s family.

  “Fuck this shit,” she muttered as she stopped suddenly right in the middle of the block. With one fierce swipe, she unzipped her bag and began to dig around for the flats she’d packed—in between her toiletries, extra clothes, and the condoms that hadn’t been used from the night before. Waste not, want not, she reasoned, then moved to the side, closer to the adjacent apartment building, to change her shoes.

  Just as she uncovered the pair of red flats that matched well with her skinny, navy blue jeans and red dotted Swiss blouse, she whipped off those damn stilettos and vowed to never wear another pair again, only to be met by the scoff of an older lady meandering along the sidewalk on her Saturday stroll.

  Looking up rather suddenly, Maxine met the stare of death through a pair of oversized Chanel sunglasses that sat on the bridge of a bandaged nose. With a closer look, however, Maxine also noticed slight traces of black and blue marks beneath the woman’s thick layer of make-up, and she recognized the blemishes immediately.

  Early autumn, as Ben had told her many times, was Plastic Surgery Season in New York City. All the old Grande Dames had touch-ups in mid-September just as the weather began to cool and in time for the upcoming social season and holidays. This Ben proved to Maxine in just one evening constitutional around the neighborhood when he pointed out the various procedures that their neighbors had recently undergone. “If your cheek is drooping, now is the time to pick it up!” he told her.

  The woman stood before her, pounding her cane on the concrete and stomping her tennis-shoed foot, apparently dismayed that Maxine dared to take up space to change her shoes in the middle of the block. Had she had the strength, Maxine would have lifted her leg just to show the woman her burgeoning blister. However, she seemed to overexert selective muscles the previous evening with a certain gentleman.

  And Maxine’s patience dwindled as the woman sneered and grumbled.

  “I’m sorry, is there a problem here?” Maxine asked as she slipped into her second shoe.

  “You don’t change your shoes on the street, young lady,” the older woman admonished. “Where are your manners?”

  Maxine couldn’t understand the problem. She’d stepped out of the way, and she wasn’t blocking this woman’s path in the least. Some people, she reasoned, just had their idiosyncrasies. She was far too happy, though, to let this silly woman trouble her.

  “Musta left them at home in Pittsburgh,” she wiggled her toes around, then continued on her way without bothering to zip up her bag first. “Have a nice day!”

  Already twenty minutes late, Maxine didn’t have the time to deal with the random mood swings of her fellow neighbors. Most New Yorkers, Maxine had learned over the years, were a friendly bunch—albeit a little rough around the edges sometimes—and just minded their own business. Maxine was merely the first open target in that woman’s path. And likely, she was cranky from whatever procedures she’d had performed on her precious face.

  At least she could endure the afternoon in a comfortable pair of shoes.

  Nearing the block where the Worthingtons lived, she remembered she’d promised to text Ben prior to her arrival. Making sure that she stepped far away from the middle of the sidewalk, she dug into her bag once again in search of her phone—her brand-new gadget from Drew equipped with its very own 646 area code.

  Almost there!

  Just the sheer size of the Worthington’s apartment building alone intimidated Maxine. Hovering overhead like a hulking mercenary, the grand gray tower lurked above, sheltering the nouveau-riche players who lived inside from the concrete jungle lurking just outside their pristine lobby. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Ben did come from a bit of money. His salt of the earth mentality erased the chilly reality of how he’d been raised.

  Maxine had begun to notice the differences even amongst the affluent hordes in New York. Drew McKenzie lived lavishly, but in a much subtler fashion. He had the clothes and the penthouse, but he preferred a much quieter existence. He enjoyed nights on the town, but he was just as comfortable spending a rainy evening indoors. In Drew’s neighborhood across the park, there was indeed a vast amount of wealth. The community, however, flourished with creative types—those who placed a greater emphasis on living life to the fullest rather than portraying an image to their societal friends. It was a battle that would never be won—that never-ending argument over new money versus old.

  However, as the clock ticked away, Maxine didn’t have a spare second to ponder that war any further. Ben hurried out of the building, nearly toppling the doorman, and jogged down the street to lift her up and into his arms.

  “Congratulat
ions, Captain!” he beamed as he swung her around. He loved to make her squeal.

  “Put me down!” she screamed. “Ben, I’m going to tell your mother!”

  Another favorite game of theirs was the threat of revealing misconduct to the appropriate parents. Sometimes, it actually worked.

  “Mandy’s two sheets to the wind already on her birthday bellini binge,” he said, spinning around once more just to hear her scream again. Such sadistic men she kept in her life! “And you’re here, so in her drunken stupor, that will relieve her of thoughts of her only child being gay for at least a couple of hours.”

  Unlike Drew, who always made sure to settle her gently, Ben nearly dropped Maxine back to solid ground. “Oops! Hope I didn’t hurt you after Broadway Boy ripped into you with his big, bold cock last night!”

  “Okay…” Maxine raised a finger as she stood as tall as she possibly could. Damn. Now she regretted changing out of those stilettos. “Stop it before it even begins.”

  “I wanna know!” Ben hooked his arms around his back and jumped up and down like a spoiled child. “Don’t leave me hanging!”

  Suddenly, she found herself tongue-tied by her own hesitation. For the first time ever in their friendship, this was one subject that she felt she should keep somewhat private—an intimate moment in time that she’d shared only with Drew.

  Rather than relaying every second from the moment Drew picked her up the previous evening to the second he left her that morning with one sweet kiss, she said rather quietly, “It was beautiful.”

  “Don’t you even think of skirting away from this one, Captain Kirk,” he warned. “Come on! Tell me about his junk. Was he a flaming hot piece of burning love stick? Did he rip you apart with his goods? Did you fucking bleed all over the place and make the room look like a Manson murder?”

  “No, Mr. Noseypants, I didn’t bleed like that—only a couple of little drops.” Now, she thought back to Drew as he took the time afterward to take care of her. That act alone was much more poignant than sex itself.

  “Probably because you use tampons—makes it easier. Even with a massive rod like Drew’s,” he carried on without allowing Maxine to interject. “Did you have a Big O?”

  “Yeah,” she admitted uncomfortably, now stumbling in her flats. “I did actually.”

  “Holy shit, Max. You’re not supposed to—not the first time.” He put his arm around her waist and took her bag to carry as they headed back down the block toward his parents’ building. Suddenly, though, Maxine stopped and scratched her head. Her eyes warned Ben of accusation.

  “How do you know so much about what a woman is supposed to feel—or not feel—when she loses her virginity?”

  “I did my research. I went on some teen forum last night and posed as a sixteen-year-old girl seeking advice before my boyfriend popped my cherry,” he explained rather hastily. “And I also gave a listen to Madonna’s ‘What It Feels Like for A Girl.’ Inspiring.”

  Nearly choking as she scoffed, Maxine muttered, “Ben, you are so sick sometimes!”

  “And you love it!” he shot back. “Besides, I had to have something to occupy my time since my best friend was too busy fucking to answer my texts!”

  “Oh, Ben,” she touched his cheek. “I do love you.”

  “Fuck! Fuck…Captain!” he shouted, eliciting the glare of the doorman their way. “Did he tell you that he loves you, too?”

  “No!” she said. “But we both sort of agreed that we’re in a relationship now.”

  “Cue up Barry White because I think Drew’s your first, your last and your everything,” Ben said. “You should have brought him today!”

  “Well, Drew thought that I should have this day with you,” she explained. “He’s very aware of our friendship, and I think he’s afraid that he’ll intrude.”

  All silliness and snark aside, Ben turned to her and settled his hands on her shoulders. Maxine noticed that he’d shaved his hair down to a crew cut once again. Poor guy—going bald long before his time. But it didn’t seem to bother Ben too much.

  “That’s actually quite generous of him, Cap. I don’t think many men would take so easily to their new girlfriend’s gay boyfriend.”

  “Well, I think it’s evident that there’s no room in my life for him if there’s no place for you, too,” she said. “You will always be my best friend.”

  “Yeah, we’re lifers, aren’t we, Captain?” Ben said, tugging her along toward the brass-framed revolving doors. “Let’s go have some cocktails, and maybe you’ll loosen up and tell me more about last night…”

  “I would rather not drink, Ben…”

  “Oh, you can have one glass,” he insisted.

  “Not this afternoon, Uncle Benjy,” she said. “I don’t want to show up on Drew’s doorstep drunk.”

  “Shit, you’re seeing him again tonight?” Ben’s eyes widened. “Wow, he’s serious. Broadway Boy doesn’t fuck around, does he?”

  “No, he certainly does not…”

  The lobby of Mike and Mandy’s building was quite expansive, covered with Italian marble floors and elegantly appointed with crisp white overstuffed chairs for lounging. As they wandered over to the elevator, Maxine couldn’t help but look upward to see the giant crystal chandeliers sparkling overhead and the ceiling mural reminiscent of some fine Italian fresco she’d seen in a book for one of her art history classes.

  Behind the front desk, the attendant offered Ben a nod and a cordial smile, which he was quick to reciprocate. He was such a flirt sometimes, winking and striking up conversations with anyone. How he made her laugh with his antics. One day, she hoped, Ben would find the one. In the meanwhile, it was awfully fun to watch him at play—even if Drew was his occasional target.

  “Get ready for the sideshow,” Ben warned her from the corner of his mouth as the car carried them upward to the fourteenth floor. “Bitsy and Bootsie are here…”

  “Bitsy” and “Bootsie” were the nicknames that Ben had long ago bestowed upon Mandy’s two best friends, Lydia, and Caroline. They were all bred and raised right in the neighborhood, attended the same preparatory schools and served dutifully to each other as bridesmaids and Godparents to each other’s children over the years. Preppy throwbacks. That’s all they ever amount to in this life.

  Bitsy and Bootsie adored the fact that Ben was gay—even swooned over him patronizingly while Mandy fought them in her own struggle to come to terms with his sexuality. In their collective minds, he was just too adorable, and Mandy should have taken more time to flaunt him on the scene. There were plenty of wealthy gay men to be had in the social circuit these days. Ben should have been taking advantage of his opportunities!

  “Well, here she is!” Mandy said, rushing to the door with two drinks in her hand, one intended for each of them. When Ben took both flutes and promptly gulped one before he placed his lips over the second, his mother shot him the filthiest look. “Oh, Max, I apologize for my son’s appalling behavior. Some things, he didn’t learn from me…”

  Ben had actually inherited his raven hair and light brown eyes flecked with traces of green from his mother, but one would never even guess that they were related. She’d stripped her dark tresses to blond for so many years that Ben wondered how it didn’t all just fall out. It was an ugly day, Ben had assured Maxine, when Mandy’s roots began to show.

  Standing before them, the three fair-haired ladies giggled. They had been drinking since eleven that morning. It was already Happy Hour in Paris, Bitsy reasoned. Between the Bobsy triplets and Maxine losing her virginity, Ben just decided he had no choice but to join them in a few rounds.

  “Amanda,” Maxine leaned in close to give her a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. They’d long ago lost the formalities with each other’s parents, but Maxine would never dare to call her Mandy. “Happy Birthday, and thank you for everything you’ve done. The room…the gift certificate…”

  While Maxine was indeed grateful, she wondered how much of Mandy’s kindness stemmed
from her attempt to bribe her into “converting” her gay son.

  “Oh, you’ve thanked me enough, Max,” Mandy said. “We’re just so happy you’re here—for Ben’s sake. And thank you for these lovely flowers. You’re such a perfect dear.”

  No one could make her feel quite as uncomfortable as the Worthingtons. Maxine just wished Mandy would find some common ground with her son and muster some level of acceptance. She couldn’t go on masquerading forever, convincing herself that Maxine was the love of Ben’s life.

  “Now, you go make her a drink, Ben!” Mandy ordered. “What kind of boyfriend is he?”

  “He’s her gay bestie, Amanda,” Bitsy slurred her words.

  “Yeah…he’s not her boyfriend…” Bootsie had to chime in as she nearly spilled her cocktail on herself and Bitsy. “Well…gay boyfriend, maybe?”

  “Er…I can’t drink—” Maxine rushed to say. “Meds.”

  “Nice save,” Ben whispered in her ear. “But you can still follow me to the bar…”

  While the building itself sat right on the waterfront overlooking FDR Drive, the view from the Worthingtons’ home faced the city. As Ben had told her, they couldn’t afford the price tags of the apartments boasting a panorama of the East River, nor could they carry the cost of one equipped with a terrace. Outdoor space was at a premium in the city, and Mike and Mandy no longer had that kind of money to throw around since their losses in the stock market were enormous.

  The furnishings were modern but classic, bordering on beach cottage chic with a white sofa and thick armchairs and a wide white coffee table. In truth, they’d sold the house in the Hamptons to purchase this apartment, and most of the furniture came straight from that home. Now, they merely rented each summer, rather than going into further debt with the carrying costs of a mini-mansion they’d only used for one season out of every year. Oh, the dubious workings of living in an unstable economy…