Peel These Shrimp Or Get Out

I liked my wife. I liked that she was a Bishop, I liked that our merger solidified the market share for both our conglomerates, but mostly, I liked that she was clinically, obsessively fastidious.

Camilla had germaphobia. She treated physical contact with the grim necessity of a surgeon scrubbing in. Her boundaries were electric fences.

So, when I watched her peel a jumbo shrimp at the company galastripping the shell with bare, manicured fingersand drop the pink meat onto her male assistant's plate, I didn't make a scene.

I didn't say a word.

I simply went home, stopped by the fish market on the wharf, and bought ten pounds of raw, unpeeled shrimp.

When she arrived at the penthouse, I dumped the icy, grey pile onto the marble dining table.

"Peel them," I said, my voice smooth as aged scotch. "Since you enjoy the labor so much."

A woman without boundaries is like a bad investment: if she cant be corrected, you liquidate the asset and move on.

After all, I have my own compulsions about cleanliness.

When I walked into the private dining room at Le Bernardin, a boy I didn't recognize was already sitting there, using his own fork to spear a piece of sea cucumber from Camillas plate.

Not a serving spoon. His fork.

I smiled, nodding to the board members, but my eyes locked on the boy who hadnt bothered to stand up.

The sales director next to him looked nervous. "This is Mr. Montgomery. Our Presidents husband."

The boy finally stood, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He had that soft, artfully messy hair that Gen Z seems to favor. "Hello, sir. Im Rory, the new executive assistant. First time meeting you. Please take care of me."

I looked down, hiding a smirk, and didn't take the bait. I just took the nearest seat.

I went through the motionsthe small talk, the corporate pleasantriesbut my attention was a laser focused across the table. I watched Camilla eat the sea cucumber Rory had contaminated.

Then, I watched Rory stare helplessly at a large langoustine on the seafood tower. He bit his lip, his eyes wide and pleading as they drifted to Camilla.

Camilla frowned, just slightly. Then, she pulled on a pair of plastic gloves, cracked the shell with efficient grace, and tossed the meat into Rorys bowl.

I narrowed my eyes, pulled out my phone, and texted Arthur, our house manager.

Buy ten pounds of shrimp. Boil them. Leave them on the dining table.

Just as I hit send, Rory, who had been quiet, suddenly spoke up.

"Mr. Montgomery, I honestly envy you. You have such a good life. You married a powerhouse like Ms. Bishop, and now you just get to stay home and enjoy the fortune. Unlike us corporate cattle, slaving away just to survive."

I looked up. My gaze lingered on his young, symmetrical face. "Youre definitely new," I said, my tone dry. "Your manners are nonexistent."

Rory froze. He clearly hadn't expected the trophy husband to bite back. Immediately, his face crumbled into a look of practiced vulnerability.

"Im so sorry, sir. I didn't mean to offend you. Im just unfilteredI speak from the heart. Please dont hold it against me."

His eyes dropped explicitly to my Patek Philippe and my custom Armani suit. "Its just... seeing you so well-dressed, spending so freely... it makes my heart ache for Ms. Bishop. She sacrificed so much to get the company to where it is today."

I couldn't help it. I laughed. I propped my chin on my hand and just looked at him.

The rest of the table, however, looked terrified. The Product Director slammed his glass down. "What the hell are you saying? Do you think Mr. Montgomery is some idle socialite? In this room, we call him Mr. Montgomery out of respect, but out there, he is CEO Montgomery."

Rory blinked, looking genuinely lost. The sales manager next to him whispered harshly, "Mr. Montgomery and Ms. Bishop are a merger of two dynasties. He is the sole heir to the Montgomery Group. Stop talking before you get us all fired. Apologize!"

Rorys face went pale. He bit his lip, and his large, doe eyes filled with instant, misty tears. He looked at Camilla for rescue.

Camilla met my amused gaze. She shook her head, a sigh escaping her lips. "Apologize to him, Rory. Watch your words in the future. Learn the hierarchy. If you don't know, ask."

Rory turned to me, his voice trembling. "Sir... Im sorry."

I stood up, not bothering to look at him. "I have another engagement. Enjoy the rest of the meal."

It was 10:00 PM when I finished my own meetings. Camilla was waiting for me in the underground garage, leaning against the hood of her Maybach. She opened the passenger door for me, same as always.

The drive to our estate in the Hamptons was quiet, the air conditioning humming a steady rhythm. When we got home, she went to shower.

When she came out, wrapped in white silk, I dumped Arthurs ten pounds of shrimp onto the table.

They were cooked perfectly, piled high in crystal bowls, stretching the length of the table. A grotesque buffet of pink.

Camilla looked at the mountain of shellfish, then at me.

I smiled, warm and terrifying.

"Honey. Peel them for me."

"Did you not eat enough at dinner?" Camilla asked, bewildered. "Why buy so much? You cant possibly eat all this."

She reached for the bell to summon Arthur.

"Stop," I said softly. "I want you to peel them. With your own hands."

Camilla paused. A flicker of annoyance crossed her perfect features. "Declan, you know I have germaphobia."

"Do you?" I leaned back, loosening my tie. "Because tonight, I watched you peel shrimp for your little assistant with remarkable dexterity."

She froze, then let out a breathy laugh. "Oh, is that what this is? Youre jealous?"

She sat beside me, draping an arm over my shoulders, the scent of her expensive body wash filling the space between us. "I rarely see you possessive. I thought the great Declan Montgomery was always unflappable."

She kissed my forehead, patronizing and sweet. "Hes just an intern, Declan. Hes fresh out of college, knows nothing about the world. He speaks without thinking. I just saw a kid struggling and helped him out. If it bothers you, I promise I won't do it again."

I looked at her face. We had been married three years. She was thirty now, and time hadn't touched her; it had only refined her, like polishing a diamond.

I reached up and touched her cheek. "Camilla, do you know why I chose you out of every eligible heiress in New York?"

She tilted her head.

"Because you were clean," I said.

"Your parents told me you hated physical contact with strangers. That you were obsessive about your boundaries."

"It was perfect. Because Im the same way."

I held her gaze until her smile faltered. "Our marriage is a binding contract between the Montgomery and Bishop empires. We have a good partnership. But I expect this marriage to remain sterile. Efficient. Clean. Whether its you and me, or our companies, I need things to run without contamination. Don't disappoint me."

I stood up, bent down, and kissed her lips. "Peel the shrimp. Consider it penance for letting another man breach your perimeter. Be a good girl."

I went to bed early. I don't know when she came to sleep.

The next morning, the dining table was covered in bowls of perfectly peeled shrimp meat. Camilla was gonean emergency board meeting, Arthur said.

Arthur stood silently by the table.

"You have a big family, Arthur?" I asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Take these home. My wife peeled them by hand. They should be very clean. Don't let them go to waste."

Life returned to normal. The incident felt like a blip, a dash of vinegar in an otherwise bland dish.

If anything, she was more attentive.

I didn't have the time to track who she interacted with. I was running the Montgomery Group; I had acquisitions to finalize.

A month later, she came to pick me up for a family dinner at the Bishop estate. As the car pulled up and the window rolled down, I didn't see an empty seat.

I saw Rorys smiling face in the passenger seat.

I frowned.

"Hi, sir! You look dashing today!"

Rory seemed oblivious to the temperature drop in the air. He beamed, radiating that toxic mix of naivety and entitlement.

Camillas expression was neutral. She didn't see the problem.

I didn't smile. I walked to the passenger side, opened the door, and stared at him.

"Get out."

Rorys smile froze. "Sir... Ms. Bishop was just giving me a ride home. It was on the way. I get carsick in the back."

He turned, casting a desperate look at Camilla. Camilla looked at me, saw the set of my jaw, and decided this wasn't the hill to die on. She stayed silent.

"Get out," I repeated.

"Let Mr. Montgomery sit," Camilla finally said.

Rory bit his lip, eyes glistening, and climbed out with dramatic slowness. He reached for the back door handle.

"Who said you could get back in?" I asked.

Rory stopped.

I reached into my breast pocket, pulled out two hundred-dollar bills, and stuffed them into his shirt pocket.

"Can't afford an Uber? Life is tough. Here. This covers it. Go home. Safe travels."

Camilla looked uncomfortable. "Declan..."

I turned to her, smiling brightly. "Camilla, this reflects poorly on you. If your staff is so destitute they can't afford a ride, thats a failure of leadership. Starting tomorrow, raise the travel stipend for all level-three employees by 10%. Bill it to the Montgomery Group."

Rorys eyes were now brimming with tears. He had the 'brave victim' look down to a science.

"Sir," his voice trembled. "I may be poor, but I have dignity. You can't just use your money to humiliate me because you're the CEO!"

I laughed. I actually laughed. "You're too poor for a cab, so you mooch off your boss, but me paying for your ride is an insult? Does your dignity require the CEO personally chauffeuring you to remain intact? Thats some expensive dignity. In the time weve wasted here, your boss and I have made millions. How do you plan to reimburse us? With your personality?"

I scoffed, ignored his flushed face, and got into the car. Slam.

Camilla started the engine in silence. In the side mirror, I saw Rory standing on the curb, biting his lip, looking like a discarded puppy.

The silence in the car was heavy. I let it sit there.

"He rents an apartment near the estate," Camilla said eventually. "It really wasn't out of the way..."

"Camilla."

I met her eyes in the rearview mirror.

"I told you I liked your cleanliness. Because I have boundaries too."

"Peeling shrimp for another man? Strike one. Putting him in my seat? Strike two."

"I give everyone around me three chances. You have used two."

"My standards aren't high. Keep your distance from other men. Maintain the perimeter. It isn't hard."

"Don't disappoint me again."

She didn't speak again.

I didn't care if she was sulking. I grew up an only child in a dynasty; I never learned to walk on eggshells.

We arrived at the Bishop estate. I took her hand as we walked in, looking every bit the power couple.

"You know this marriage is bigger than us," I murmured as we approached the door. "If you don't want the stock prices to tank tomorrow, smile. Were adults. Don't be childish."

I was smiling, but my voice was ice. Camilla forced a tight, camera-ready smile, and we walked in.

My mother-in-law, Eleanor Bishop, greeted me with a hug. "Declan! You get more handsome every time I see you. Sit next to me."

The dinner was loud and lively. The Bishop clan was large. Eleanor kept piling food onto my plate.

"The joint venture is moving fast," she said. "You're doing incredible work, Declan."

"We're family, Eleanor. Its what we do."

Eleanors expression shifted. She turned to Camilla, who had been pushing food around her plate. "What is wrong with you? Why aren't you talking? Take care of your husband."

"You two were talking shop," Camilla muttered. "I didn't want to interrupt."

Eleanor tucked a strand of grey hair behind her ear. "I heard you hired a new assistant. A troublemaker?"

Camillas fork hit the china with a clink. She looked from her mother to me.

Eleanor continued, casual as a shark. "I called HR. Hes fired. An intern with no skills and no sense of place? Useless. I gave him three months' severance to go away."

Camilla slammed her fork down. "Mother! I run the company now. If you want to fire my staff, you go through me!"

Eleanor calmly placed a prawn in my bowl. "Youre good at strategy, Camilla, but you have a blind spot for strays. Youre young. Youre soft."

She looked at her daughter with steel in her eyes. "The Bishop-Montgomery alliance is the bedrock of our future. When we chose you as heir, it was because you were rational. You knew how to assess value. Don't lose your edge."

I ate my dinner, smiling pleasantly, saying nothing.

The ride home was tense. The moment we stepped into our foyer, Camilla spun around.

"We need to talk." Her voice vibrated with suppressed rage.

I walked to the powder room to wash my hands. "Talk."

"Did we have to involve my mother in our marriage?"

I dried my hands on a fresh towel and looked at her. "You think I went crying to your mommy?"

Camillas eyes were dark, colder than Id ever seen them.

"Didn't you? Declan, I can tolerate your arrogance, but bullying a kid? Getting him fired? Youre pathologically jealous."

I narrowed my eyes. I was starting to realize that perhaps my assessment of her intellect had been generous.

"You went too far," she continued. "You humiliated him, and you undermined my authority in my own company. You know I hate interference!"

"Are you finished?" I cut in. "Are you angry because your mother overstepped, or are you angry because your pet boy got his feelings hurt?"

"I'm angry because you refuse to admit you're wrong!" she shouted.

"Wrong?"

I stepped into her space.

"Wrong for not applauding when you blurred the lines with a subordinate? Wrong for not stopping your mother when she saw a leech and salted it?"

"Or was I wrong for not divorcing you the moment you peeled that first shrimp?"

Camilla flinched.

I stepped back, looking her up and down with genuine disappointment.

"Camilla, I told you. Three strikes. You just struck out."

She stormed out that night, slamming the door. The cold war began.

I didn't chase her. The Montgomery Group was expanding into Europe; I didn't have time for tantrums.

A week later, I saw the photo in the Post.

Camilla, attending a high-profile charity gala. On her arm was Rory.

He was wearing a tuxedo that cost more than his student loans, a diamond brooch sparkling on his lapel. They looked like a couple. A power couple.

I stared at the photo. I nodded.

Then I called my legal team. "Draft the papers. Full separation."

The merger was complex, so the divorce would be a surgical extraction. We were deep in the clauses when Eleanor called.

"Declan, what is this nonsense in the papers?" Eleanor sounded frantic.

"It looks like a fight," I said, flipping through the draft agreement. "It looks like Camilla isn't clean anymore."

"She lost her head," Eleanor pleaded. "I will make her apologize. I will fix this."

"No need, Mrs. Bishop," I said. "The divorce papers are being couriered to your estate. Review them."

"You can't be serious!"

"I am."

"Declan! Over a trifle? Over an assistant?"

"Its not a trifle. I gave her three chances. She failed. I don't make exceptions."

"Think about the stock prices! Think about the scandal! You are a son of the Bishop family by marriageyou can't just walk away because of some boy! Think of your father!"

I laughed, a low, dark sound. "Mrs. Bishop, let's be clear. Outside this house, people call you 'Mrs. Bishop.' But they call me 'Mr. Montgomery.' I am the head of my house. I don't answer to anyone."

"You chose to live in your husband's shadow. I chose to own the sun. I don't need to explain myself to you, or my father, or the shareholders. I will manage the risk."

I hung up.

I took the papers and drove to the Bishop Tower.