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Flayed open.

Because that damn sure wasn’t victory in her eyes.

No.

That was raw, undiluted devastation.

I knew it well.

What was going on here?

“Speak up,” Mr. Lane demanded.

A growl moved through my chest, making Linus look at me, brows furrowed, but no one else seemed to notice.

She shook her head as if words weren’t possible right then.

Her hand slid up her arm, pressing at the top of her chest; her face twisted.

Mr. Lane sighed.

“We all understand there is… a personal element here. But I’m asking you to look past petty little grievances and focus on what is best for the show, the station, and both your futures.”

I couldn’t be sure, but there almost seemed to be a threat buried in there somewhere.

But Maggie wasn’t pushing back.

She wasn’t rushing in to save the day.

She wasn’t even people-pleasing.

Not anymore.

She just sat there, a shell looking dangerously close to shattering.

“I guess what I’m asking is if you can be professionals and do what needs to be done?”

Maggie’s gaze lifted to her boss, her eyes as hollow as her voice as she spoke.

“Whatever he needs.”

“Well, that is what I want to hear!” Mr. Lane, too distracted by metrics, opportunities, and his own greed, had no idea how wrong his tone was, how off the energy was in the conference room.

This wasn’t a celebration.

This was a funeral.

“Well, now, I’m going to need you back at your desk immediately. I have a million—”

“Excuse me,” Maggie said, shooting out of her chair quickly enough to send it back several feet. “I’m… I’m sorry,” she stammered to her boss, turned, and darted out of the room.

I was helpless but to turn and watch her go, feeling as if she’d reached into my chest, grabbed my heart, ripped it out, and taken it with her.

I sat there for what felt like forever.

It was probably less than five seconds.

My knuckles knocked on the table.