My husband’s secretary sl3pped me in front of twenty employees for accidentally drinking from his coffee cup.
Then she screamed, “How dare you touch my husband’s things?” She had no idea I was his real wife—or that I owned 64% of the company.
The sound of the slap echoed through the executive dining room, bringing nearly every conversation to an abrupt stop.
I stood beside the table, holding a white porcelain coffee cup, while a sharp sting spread across my cheek.
Celeste Price, the CEO’s secretary, stood directly in front of me, glaring as though I’d committed an unforgivable offense.
“Who do you think you are?” she shouted. “That’s my husband’s cup!”
I stared at her.
“I’m sorry. I picked it up by mistake. The cups look identical.”
She gave a contemptuous laugh.
“Women like you always have an excuse! You think you can touch whatever you want?”
I was
