He Starved Us Until I Owned Him

Summary

I used to be the kind of project director who could slam a dossier onto a boardroom mahogany table, look a Fortune 500 client dead in the eye, and walk out with a twelve-figure renewal.

Then I married Trevor Mercer.

Within six months, he began telling me I was "too sharp around the edges." He said the female administrative assistants at his firm visibly trembled whenever I brought lunch to his office.

"Can’t you try being softer?" he would murmur, adjusting his cuffs. "Take a page out of Lindsay’s book."