Job shot to his feet. "Mr. Henson, you've spent three years as a stay-at-home husband, never once checking a price tag, all because Director Prescott bankrolls your entire life."
"And now you're humiliating her over something this petty? You're out of line!"
I looked at his flushed little face and laughed.
"Go on, sweetheart. Eat up. You had no problem finishing Job's leftovers, so why the sudden pickiness about everyone else's? That's a bit of a double standard, don't you think?"
Fiona glanced at me, then down at the heaping bowl of scraps.
She hesitated for a moment, but eventually picked up her chopsticks and started shoveling food into her mouth.
Job let out a shrill cry. "Director Prescott, stop! You're going to wreck your stomach!"
"Why are you listening to him? He's a man who doesn't earn a single dime. What gives him the right to order you around?"
He snatched the chopsticks right out of Fiona's hand. "Stop eating. If he doesn't care about you, I do!"
"You care an awful lot about another man's wife," I said. "If you're so concerned, eat it for her."
"I have a small appetite. I can't possibly finish that. You're just doing this to be difficult."
"Then shut your mouth."