“Cheating?” Tilly said with a laugh. “I wish. That would at least be interesting. When he locks himself away in his office at 2 a.m., you know what I catch him looking at? Business reports, stock values, spreadsheets. Robert is the least sexual creature I’ve ever met. At least until they invent a way to fuck money.”
This is literally everything I know about Tilly's husband, and yet it tells me EVERYTHING I need to create a vivid picture: Male pattern baldness, a rumpled button-down shirt, constant low-level anxiety -- a super-wealthy guy who still locks himself in his office to spend time with his spreadsheets.
