The Pretend Boyfriend novel Chapter 28

"What are they doing? Why are you clearing out your stuff?" The pitter-patter of her own pulse rises in Sam's neck.

"They're canning us and replacing us with people they have brought over from the parent company." Peter swallows. "The new boss, Rutgard, is in the boardroom ... firing people."

"But for what? He can't just fire people like that. Some of us have been here for over ten years. Like you, for instance."

"I know. He's downsizing the company. The retrenchment package they're giving us isn't that great either. A month's salary for every year you've been here. That will last me for about ten months." Peter jerks his head in the direction of the boardroom. "I'm sorry, Sam, but he's looking for you too."

Oh God oh God oh God.

Her chest cavity suddenly feels hollower than it has a right to be. Her stomach and guts clench in concert. She feels like going to the bathroom to retch, but it's best to get this over with. Her mind runs over all the projects she has been involved with for the past few years.

Mr. Rutgard, you can't fire me. I brought in the Gardiner account, which is, like, the biggest account this company has ever seen.

Mr. Rutgard, I would have you know that I scored 'Excellent' in my Leadership and Communication skills. I am an 'ENFJ' in my Myers-Brigg Personality Score, and I would fit very well in your new organization.

Mr. Rutgard, please! You can't fire me! I need this job!

But as her feet plod down the passageway to the boardroom, passing familiar people whose faces are now downcast, her hopes start to spiral bottomward ... and further down, down, down until she can hear them clink against the basement.

What is she going to do in this economy? Everywhere, companies are being downsized. People are losing jobs left, right and center.

And she had just gotten that new apartment - the one she had been dreaming about her entire life. Plunked the down payment for it in cold hard cash, and took out a loan from the Bank of America. On the guarantee that she would be able to pay for it out of her salary.

She would absolutely die if she had to give up the apartment.

Maybe she's getting ahead of herself. Maybe she's leapfrogging the gun. Maybe Mr. Rutgard isn't going to be so bad. In fact, he might be so impressed by her last appraisal that he might give her a raise.

You wish.

Inside, a youngish man - possibly in his mid-thirties, with wire-rimmed spectacles and a streak of silver hair at his temples - is perusing a case folder before him on the large boardroom table. Patty Jensen, the Human Resources Director, is the picture of misery beside him.

Uh oh.

Mr. Rutgard looks up. "And who the hell are you?"

"That's Samantha Fox, one of our best and brightest account managers," Patty says brightly, even though her demeanor suggests Hurricane Katrina. She rifles through a pile of case notes and extracts one. Sam recognizes her own photograph on it.

She forcibly pulls in a long, deep breath.

"Have a seat, Sam," Patty says.

Sam takes one across the table from the two of them. She reckons Mr. Rutgard would have kept her standing throughout the entire session. Her heartbeat has settled into a rhythmic thump-thump-thump that lifts her chest wall. She's certain her new boss can hear it, or at least, see her blouse flutter where her heart is. Her throat is excruciatingly dry.