The Devil's Webb

By Lesley Ann

As a wealthy @sshole and heartless playboy, Ty Falco liked to play games. More than that, he didn't like to lose. Ever. So when I up and resigned my position as his assistant, he pulled out the big guns to try and control my life. Well, he'd won. He owned me. I'd made a deal with the devil and only time would tell if my heart would be broken.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Midas Jinx
• Release date: Sep 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005405168

Lesley Ann

Lesley Ann is a British author, with a slightly weird sense of humour. She lives with her equally odd husband, her completely bonkers pre-schooler, and her four normal cats. The cats are the ones in charge, obviously. Slightly obsessed with caramel latte’s and relentless in her pursuit of the perfect muffin, she spends her life reading, writing and all that other crap that adulting requires.

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About The Devil's Webb

As a wealthy @sshole and heartless playboy, Ty Falco liked to play games. More than that, he didn't like to lose. Ever. So when I up and resigned my position as his assistant, he pulled out the big guns to try and control my life. Well, he'd won. He owned me. I'd made a deal with the devil and only time would tell if my heart would be broken. But I wasn’t going down without taking him with me…

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Chapter One

I'd done exactly what he'd asked via his extensively detailed email. How was I to know the Head of Operations at Falco International was allergic to chocolate? I mean, peanuts and shellfish, these I can understand. Allergic to chocolate? It should be illegal or something.

Long story short, now we had a problem on our hands. Well, let me clarify. I had a problem. My boss, Ty Falco—head honcho and prize dick—had never turned up for work once in the time I'd been his secretary. Never. Which meant it fell on me to deal with any sort of fallout. Again.

I was situated on the top floor of the prestigious Mayfair address, and an office was left open, just in case our master deemed it necessary to be in our presence. I'd been working here at the London offices for ten months and two weeks, now. Throughout that time, Mr Falco would correspond with me via email—sometimes up to ten a day, if I was particularly lucky. Occasionally he got his other secretary to phone me. Apart from that, I'd never had contact with the man. Nada.

That didn't mean I didn't know him, though. I was almost intimately acquainted, if you counted dealing with his many discarded women. I knew the apparent size of his manhood. I knew his blood type. And I knew he'd been stabbed with a stiletto by a psychotic ex-girlfriend, though he probably deserved it from what I heard.

For a man who didn't actually live full time in England, he sure had enough time for sordid encounters and to get himself in the tabloids on a regular basis. His picture was splashed across the gossip pages as much as they were the business section.

But what a photo he made. 

He never smiled, not once. But the dark, Italian good looks could take him anywhere; he opened women's legs as most people opened doors. It was simply a pity that women and discarded companies were left in his wake, waiting for the next person in line to make it all better again.

Which was usually me. Or my American equivalent, Betty, with whom I corresponded with regularly. In fact, she sent me a beautiful bouquet for my birthday, and we chatted about her grandkids at length.

Which brought me back to the most recent problem. The Head of Operations, Steven Macey, was now in hospital and unable to carry out the planning meeting as had been arranged. Death by chocolate had almost been a possibility for that man.

It was now Friday at—I looked at the digital clock in the corner of the computer screen—4.45pm, and I was supposed to come up with an alternative, preferably ten minutes ago.

Glancing over at the empty coffee pot on the table next to the filing cabinets, I longed to ignore my usual rule of no caffeine after 4pm and fill that sucker up. No such luck if I was expected to sleep the night before my wedding.

I was getting married. 

A sliver of excitement danced across my chest. This time tomorrow, I would be Mrs Henry Walters. I couldn't help the smile which spread across my face. Who'd have thought such a whirlwind relationship could turn out so well?

My email pinged, pulling me out of my daydreams, and I immediately saw it was from Falco. I sighed, wondering what the hell he wanted at the end of the day. I'd already ordered the fancy diamond earrings for his last conquest, at his behest earlier in the day.

I read the email, then read it again. Not quite believing the words in front of me.

You need to stand in for Macey as you're the only one who is up to date with the plans of the Vegas investment. Be there by 3pm.

And there it was.

What in the bloody world was this guy on? Be in Vegas, tomorrow? I hit reply and took my time in responding, wording