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represented: faith, hope, and charity. But she had been fighting the overwhelming urge to slap the hell out of Maxwell for days. She was never a vindictive person previously, but this past week she was attempting to pass a clear message on to the President and CEO of IWorks. She would not be undermined. In any fashion. If he couldn’t see her professional worth, someone else damn well would. She might be overcompensating with the overload of Christmas cheer, but it was keeping her from going to prison.
    When she returned to her office, she tossed the empty Santa sack on the mahogany leather loveseat and made her way to her desk. Dropping into the desk chair, she kicked off her heels and booted up her laptop. Since giving the company’s largest potential account to the Director of Advertising last week, Maxwell had made sure to stay out of her way while they were in the office. He knew she was seething and was avoiding any “unprofessional confrontation” as he called it.
    Fiona ran her palms over her face, inhaling deeply, trying to shake off her tiredness. Last night, for the first time, she had spent the night alone in her marriage bed and she was regretting every angry moment that brought her there. Even though she might have had her biggest account taken from her, she was still the Senior Advertising VP, and other accounts needed to be pitched and won. One thing she knew for certain was that she was the best at what she did. She could sell ice to an Eskimo, a Mac to a Mormon, and still have time to go home to Max and cook up a meal. This was what had initially infuriated her—the reason why Max undermined her. It didn’t make sense.

Last Monday
     
     
    “What do you mean my workload will suffer?” questioned Fiona. “I’ve always been generous with my time with all our clients, and I have never been late with a presentation, project, or deadline. What game are you playing, Max?”
    Fiona perched her hand firmly on her hip. She was not in the mood for this random BS Max was throwing her way on a Monday morning. She had a conference call with CompuFire in thirty minutes. This was IWorks’ first potential multi-million-dollar account. Her game had to be tight, her demeanor confident. Angry and disgusted were not going to work for her. At all.
    “Bill Macy will be sitting in with you at the call today so you can introduce him to the client and he can be brought up to speed on the account’s current status. I am concerned that you have too much on your plate as it is, and with your work ethic, either your health will suffer or the quality of work will falter due to stress and lack of sleep. As your boss, I feel the work quality has to be foremost on your mind—pride is secondary. As your husband, your well-being is foremost on my mind at all times,” Max explained succinctly, almost clinically. What happened to the man who’d made her thighs tremble this morning and feasted on her pussy like one more drop of her cream would sustain him all day?
    Fiona walked slowly to the front of Maxwell’s desk. Placing both hands on the edge, she leaned forward just enough to make Max’s eyebrows rise at her challenging demeanor. Instead of yelling her head off or becoming belligerent at this blatant power play, she spoke quietly and slowly, her jaw clenched in anger.
    “At the risk of sounding insubordinate, Maxwell, you taking an account from me without discussing it with me first, undermining me in front of my department, and then giving me this bullshit excuse of it being for my benefit shows all the signs of weak leadership and a lack of respect.” She knew her quiet reprimand was a slap in the face to her naturally domineering husband, but she wasn’t one to be trifled with regarding her hard-earned reputation. “I suggest you think hard and long before addressing me again unless you want your VP to take her overworked behind back to her former employer, where my work quality was never in doubt.”
    With a curt