Job put on a show of playing peacemaker. "Director Prescott, please don't fight with your husband because of me. I'm just a lowly assistant. A little mistreatment is nothing I can't handle."
He turned to me with that same rehearsed sincerity. "Mr. Henson, this is all my fault. Don't be angry at Director Prescott. Let me apologize to you."
He reached for my wrist as if to shake my hand, but his fingers clamped down and dug into my skin with vicious force.
The pain was blinding. I wrenched free of his grip.
"Get off me!"
I barely used any strength, but Job went flying. He crashed into the dining table, sending plates and bowls clattering to the floor. He tumbled down after them, landing in a mess of grease and spilled food. A shard of broken porcelain sliced his hand, and blood dripped onto the tiles.
"Rolf, you've gone too far!"
Fiona's palm cracked across my face before I could react, snapping my head to the side.
I ran my tongue over the corner of my mouth and tasted copper. Something inside me went quiet. Settled.
"Are you blind? He was the one digging his nails into me. I barely touched him. That fall was fake!"