Amy Webb Author Novels & Stories

Webber She began flipping through the pages, reading through a series of listed achievements and matters of interest accompanied by aged photos and personal anecdotes from the author as she considered every word carefully. It told the story of Ramus, a man spiraling out of control, and though it was never directly addressed, a clear picture was painted of his dissent into the darkness of selfish ambition.

"Marcus Webb. He's the only person in this city I actually trust." "The only person?" He looked at me then. "Resurrecting the topic of social graces excluded." I was at a loss for words, so I just stared at the elevator doors until they slid open. Marcus Webb's office was enormous. Expensive-looking windows, rich dark wood, odd bookshelf of ancient-looking leather-bound books that no doubt hadn't been cracked in centuries. Marcus himself, an elderly Black man with hair that was mostly gray and kind eyes, stood when we entered and grabbed Adrian's outstretched hand like they were friends.

The word came out flat and stripped of everything except the bare fact of it. "Webb," she confirmed. He stood and went to his window and stood with his back to her and she gave him the silence because he needed it. She had had forty minutes with this information. He was having it for the first time and Marcus Webb was not Ryan Cole. Marcus Webb was fifteen years. Marcus Webb was the legal foundation of everything Dominic had built. Marcus Webb had sat across from him in rooms that mattered and shaken hands that meant something and carried the architecture of this company in his head.

"Then let's be good at it together." He watched her move around the kitchen, ordinary and unhurried, and felt, standing there in the quiet Saturday morning light, that this was exactly the shape of life he hadn't let himself imagine wanting for longer than he cared to admit, and that he intended to keep choosing it, deliberately, for as long as she'd let him. Webb resigned from the firm six weeks after dropping the lawsuit, and the official statement, when it circulated, cited personal reasons, the same vague, dignified language every executive used when the actual reasons were considerably less flattering.

I wanted him where I could see him, where I could make sure he was breathing. "Come on," I said, standing up and taking his hand. I led him toward the bedroom. As we walked, I felt a shift in my soul. I had spent my life building a fortress around my heart, but Leo hadn't climbed the walls. He had just walked through the front door and made himself at home. Arthur Hayes didn't know it yet, but he had just started a war he couldn't win. Because now, it wasn't just business. It was personal.

Marcus Webb arrived on a Friday afternoon. No appointment. He had called Gina the night before and said he was coming to New York and could she arrange a conversation with the people at the Cross Foundation, and Gina had called Sophia at eleven at night and said he is not asking, he is telling, which was its own kind of answer about who this man was before they had met him. He was not what Sophia had expected.

"The setup feels plain. Maybe changing the colors might help." He gave me a long list, so I thought he finally cared and that my effort mattered. I gutted the design I loved, scrapped two months of work, and rebuilt everything to match his taste without a word of complaint. At first, I believed it was for us, only to realize that everything he was doing was for another she-wolf. But I reminded myself that I'd be gone and free from all this mess in two more days. I locked myself in my room and paid no attention to their tactics again.

The afternoon was ordinary in the specific way that ordinary afternoons had started to feel like a gift rather than a default. Webb appeared at my table at half past three. He didn’t approach the way most people approached a table at an event like this, browsing, slowing down, reaching for something before making eye contact. He walked directly to me with the clear intention of someone who’d known exactly where I’d be and had timed his arrival accordingly. He picked up one of the pamphlets, looked at it without reading it, and set it back down. “Do you have a few minutes,” he said. It wasn’t phrased as a question.

she calls out sleepily "Heeelllo! What on earth is your ass still doing in bed?" Bode replies surprised at the sound of her voice "Can you please cover for me? I will be coming late today, I'm very weak" Susan pleaded but Bode cuts her quickly "Susie, if you are not physically fit to be here, stay home and rest, nobody will fire you for getting sick" Susan knows no one will get mad at her for missing work one day because she is the most diligent employee in the firm who has never called in sick nor waited to be corrected before she did her job, she is more or less tagged the workaholic amongst her colleagues but she still feels calling to notify about her lateness was the right thing to do.

Michael Shapiro – Author - Jewish Pride: 101 Reasons to Be Proud You're Jewish Hardcover – June 1, 2000 Rob Bignell - Author - What Exactly is Legacy Publishing? – Sept 22, 2016 Jane Friedman – Author and Publishing Consultant - 2021-2022 Key Book Publishing Paths J.P Gorham – Cowboy Poet, Author – The Grass is Never Greener Rabbi Stuart Weinblatt - Can You Be a Good Jew If You Don’t believe in God, Oct. 3, 2016 Theresa Reed - The Tarot Lady Women of Reform Judaism - “Rosh Chodesh; Monthly at the New Moon.”