Job was standing there, shirtless, wearing a pair of Fiona's pajama pants. They were too short and too tight on him. He was toweling off his hair, still damp from a shower he'd just taken.
In my master bathroom.
"Got your own husband thrown in a holding cell, then brought your assistant home. Fiona, you've really outdone yourself."
"Don't get the wrong idea. Job's clothes were dirty, and the hotel happened to be close to the house, so I brought him up to shower and change. That's all."
"You don't like other people touching your things, so I let him wear mine."
That matter-of-fact expression on her face, as if I were the one being unreasonable.
"You have germaphobia. Our clothes have to be washed separately. But now yours are on him. So the germaphobia only applies to me, is that it?"
Job kept up his sickening act. "Mr. Henson, please don't misunderstand. Director Prescott said she's giving me these pants. She won't be wearing them again."
"Did I ask you? My wife and I are talking. Stop butting in!"
Job's face crumpled into a pitiful, on-the-verge-of-tears look. "I just didn't want you to misunderstand Director Prescott."
"How thoughtful of you."
Fiona turned on me. "Rolf, enough! You threw your weight around at the hotel, and now you're starting up again at home?"
I fired right back. "You think I want this?!"
Job tugged at Fiona's sleeve. "Let it go, Director Prescott. He's your husband, after all. I'm just an assistant. A little mistreatment won't kill me."
"So what if he's my husband? That doesn't give him the right to bully you!"
"Let's get a divorce, Fiona."
She froze. "What did you say?"
"I said divorce."
"You want a divorce over something this petty?"
"You think this is petty?"
"Nothing happened between me and Job. He's just a kid who just started working. I look out for him a little more than usual. What's wrong with that?"
"I don't want my woman looking after another man. It disgusts me."
Fiona snapped like a cornered animal, fury exploding out of her in an instant.
"Fine. You want a divorce? Then you leave with nothing. My money, my house, none of it has anything to do with you. Without me, you won't even be able to afford your next meal!"
She snatched up her phone and called her lawyer, demanding a divorce agreement be drafted immediately.
It arrived fast.
I didn't think twice. I signed it.
Fiona saw my signature and signed without hesitation.