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Then the door opens and everybody hushes. Three men in suits sweep in, walking to the front of the room like they own the place. Which they pretty much do. The blond man at the front is Martin Atwell, the CEO of Meridien’s parent group, the gray haired man next to him is the head of HR, and the third man, the youngest one in his thirties with dark hair and narrow eyes is Patrick Sutherland. Chief financial officer.

And my ex-fiancé.

Beth lets out a low growl when she sees him. For the past two months since everything went horribly wrong, he’s kept a low profile in this part of the organization. I’ve seen inter-office emails with his name, but thankfully I haven’t had to see his face.

Until now.

“Okay,” Martin says, clapping his hands together. “Is everybody here?” He looks over at the editors. My boss, Sam, nods, before he looks over at me like he’s checking that I’m okay.

Sam hates Patrick. Let’s face it, most of my friends do. That’s what happens when you get jilted two months before your wedding because he found something more exciting.

I lift my brows back at Sam, letting him know I’m fine. I’m not going to let Patrick’s appearance ruin my day.

“Right then.” Martin clears his throat. “There’s no good time to say this. But unfortunately, there will be no bonuses this year.”

Angry murmurs fill the room. A few who are furious start complaining loudly. He puts up his hand. “That’s not all,” he says, his voice ominously sharp. “Please quiet down.”

Beth lets out a harrumph. “I hate them all,” she mutters, her eyes so narrow they’re almost shut.

Yeah, me too, Beth. I let out a deep sigh, already thinking about which activities in London I’ll have to cancel.

“Patrick?” Martin says.

My ex shuffles the papers in his hands, then lifts his head up. He still manages to avoid looking at the corner where I’m standing. “We’ve run the numbers for the last quarter,” he says. “And for the tenth quarter in a row, we’re showing a declining loss. Unfortunately, Meridien is slipping into a massive financial hole.”

“Tell us something we don’t know,” Beth mutters.

“We’ve come up with a plan to improve the overall situation,” Patrick continues, “but part of that will involve making massive structural changes at the magazine,” he continues. “Firstly, Sam Gilchrist will be retiring at the end of March.”

Everybody starts whispering again, but this time there’s an edge of shock to their voices. Sam has always been an amazing boss. He started out as a rookie reporter during the Watergate scandal, and his experience is second to none. He’s always said that he’ll quit when he’s dead, so he’s clearly being pushed out.

“And secondly, we’ll also be making cuts with the rest of the staff,” Patrick tells us. “Beginning the first of January.”

“Fuck,” Beth whispers. We exchange glances. We both knew the magazine was in trouble, but we didn’t know it was that bad. And New York is an at-will employment state. We can be fired for any reason, with no recourse or severance.

Long story short, we’re cooked.

Patrick passes the discussion to the head of HR, who starts talking about meetings with staff in the new year, and recommends we update our résumés, “and of course, I’d also encourage each and every one of you to look for new jobs.”

“Like anybody’s hiring right now,” Beth mutters.

I let out a long breath. I’ll be on a flight to London in a few days. While everybody else is applying for jobs, I’m going to be thousands of miles away.

The head of HR finishes his portion, telling us he’ll be in touch with us individually in January.

“You okay?” Beth asks, her brows raised like she knows just how messed up this all is.

“I think so.” I frown, right as Sam walks over to join us. “Ladies,” he says. “We’ll have a meeting later. I’m going to do everything I can to protect my staff before…”

Before he goes. I blink back my tears, and nod at him. The three horsemen of the crapocalypse head for the door. Patrick shoots me a glance as he walks out.

“Come on,” Beth says, looking murderous. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Good idea.” We follow the rest of our co-workers out of the boardroom. God, I have so much work to do today it isn’t funny, but right now all I want to do is scream.

When a hand touches my arm, I nearly do.

“Georgia?” Patrick says, his voice low. “Can we talk?”