When my husband brought his boss home without warning, I became the butt of their jokes. But I wasn’t going to take it quietly.
I stood in my kitchen, hair in a messy bun, wearing stained leggings. The house smelled of chili and cornbread. My kids were busy—Milo with fractions, Clara with glitter—when Adrian burst in with Preston and his polished wife, Vera.
Vera’s gaze swept over me. “Adrian has told us so much about you,” she purred.
Dinner was excruciating. Later, I overheard Preston laughing. “Middle managers humiliate their families for a promotion.”
I clenched my fists.
