I hesitantly enter the blindingly white conference room, my heart racing as I face the intimidating people in fancy suits seated around a long oak table.Their expressions are smug and uptight.
'Tis the season ...to be grumpy, I suppose.
One of them gestures for me to take a seat.As I lower myself into the chair, my palms grow sweaty.I nervously play with the ends of my long, honey-blonde hair that’s meticulously braided down the side of my neck and resting neatly against my white sweater as I wait for someone to speak.
Seriously, someone say something before I go crazy!
Everyone’s heads turn toward the door as the Director of HR enters.He’s tall and slender, with a receding hairline, and for the life of me I can’t remember his name.Tom?Ted?Something with a T.Foster & Sons has over one thousand employees, yet oddly none of them are sons.It’s hard for me to keep track of everyone, especially since most of the higher-ups dwell on the floor above mine and hardly make time for the little people, unless there’s a problem.
The man, whose name is still evading me, positions himself in front of the table but doesn’t sit.Instead, he takes a firm stance and stares straight ahead, looking past everyone.He adjusts his baby-blue tie while the entire room hangs in silence.
Get on with it, dude!
Finally, he turns to face me, his muddy brown eyes finding mine.“Ms.Jones,” he begins.
My breath hitches in my throat.
“I’m so sorry, but we’re letting you go.”
ChapterTwo
JEMMA
Time seems to freeze—let me go?I can hardly process what he’s saying.
“But—I don’t understand,” I stammer.“Let me go?”
He narrows his gaze and exhales sharply.“The year-end adjustments have forced us to make some difficult decisions,” he continues, his rehearsed tone piercing through my haze of confusion.“We’re offering you a severance package and a Christmas bonus that’s well padded.We know this isn’t easy, and the timing is poor, being the start of the holiday season and all.The funds will be directly deposited into your bank account by the end of the business day.We just need your signature on a few forms here.”He slides an open folder toward me, but I barely register the action.
I’m frozen in place, his words still ringing in my ear—let me go.
He gives me an encouraging nod to pick up the pen someone conveniently placed beside me.Still in shock, I take it and sign by all the X’s.As my pen glides across the final line, I glance at the HR Director, and suddenly, it clicks—his name is Tyler.A flash of sympathy crosses Tyler’s dull eyes, and for a fleeting second, I actually feel bad for the guy, having to deliver news like this right before the holidays.But then, like a sharp slap in the face, reality hits me: he doesn’t care about me.His concern is wrapped up in budget sheets, bottom lines, and protocol.The bonus he’s offering is nothing but a calculated attempt to avoid any backlash.
“Is it something I did?”I ask, shrinking into my chair.
Tyler’s posture stiffens, and I notice he keeps glancing at someone at the other end of the table, but I don’t allow myself to follow his gaze.“No, it’s just that we need to make cuts, and you were the last one hired in your department.”
“But how is that even possible?I’ve worked here for four years.Please,” I plead, even though I know it’s useless.
I’ve already foolishly signed the paperwork.Truth is, I was the last person hired, but I’ve surpassed my colleagues, which means I likely earn more than they do.This is probably why I’m being fired and not them.Go figure.
“Yes, but others have been here longer and bring more value to the company.”
That’s a bunch of bull.
“You do understand, right?”He nods, expecting me to join him in this twisted acceptance of corporate logic.
I remain still, even though my gut is telling me to stand up and fight—to give this man a piece of my mind—to tell him how incredibly unfair this is.He should know my department can’t function without me.And the people who’ve been here longer are lazy.But the suits in the room are turning me into an insecure mess.I suppose that’s the whole point of them being here, isn’t it?
My shoulders sag, and an audible huff escapes my perfectly pink glossed lips.
“We have to protect marketing first and foremost.It’s why we’re here.”His lips soften, and an infuriating grin plays at the corner of his mouth.“Your department isn’t the only one seeing cuts,” he reassures me, although it’s doing nothing of the sort.
My thoughts gravitate to Anthony, an expensive new hire in sales and a proud new father to twins—will he be next?Dang, the corporate greed machine.
Nausea churns in my stomach, threatening to spill over onto the polished conference room table in front of me, a table that likely costs more than a month of my salary.
All the work I poured into this job—all the late nights and early mornings—only to have it culminate like this.
