“Enough,” she muttered, slapping her yellow legal pad down onto the polished mahogany table.
The conference room fell silent while gathered executives watched with wide eyes and slacked jaws as the young woman marched her way to the front.
She then snatched the controller away from the flustered young host, commandeering his presentation.
“If you’re going to take credit for my work,” she whispered in his ear, “at least get it right.”
“Babe,” he whispered back through an awkward smile and gritted teeth. “Can’t we discuss this later tonight?”
“No, because tonight you’ll be on the couch,” came her reply.
The Weekday One Hundred 