The Checklist by Addie Woolridge (color ebook reader TXT) 📗

irritation kick in. She would add customer-service training for security personnel to the list of processes to be reviewed. “You could call Marta. She’d con—”

“Marta quit last Friday,” the baby-faced guard sputtered.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So . . .”

Dylan racked her brain, trying to come up with the name of another contact in the office. She pulled out her phone and began scanning through emails. “I’m sure there’s someone in the office who can vouch for me. I was hired to help sort through some of Technocore’s recent”—Dylan tried to phrase the next part carefully. People got squirrelly when they found out consultants were being brought in to evaluate them—“staffing trouble.”

“The thing is, I can’t let you up there without clearance.”

“Perhaps Mr. Gunderson knows I’m coming? Why don’t you give him a call?”

“I’m sorry; I can’t disturb him. We get a lot of phonies trying to reach him. Press, stalkers, you know.”

“I just told you. I’m a consultant,” Dylan said, giving up the fruitless email search. “Do I look like a stalker?”

The kid shrugged, indifference written all over his fawn-colored, freckled face. “Stalkers come in all kinds. I’m sorry, but if you don’t have someone to vouch for you, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Look, there has to be someone you can call.” Dylan’s voice went up a few notes with her mounting desperation. Jared’s email last night had made it clear he wasn’t to be disturbed. She didn’t want to call Kaplan and explain that she had been kicked off the Technocore campus for seeming like a stalker. It wouldn’t go over great with the partners.

The guard’s indifferent expression stared back at her as heat began to radiate from under her collar and up her neck. Glancing down at his golden nameplate, she tried again. “Charlie, I’m making an effort. Will you please work with me?”

“Ma’am, really—”

“Good morning, Charlie.” A rumpled man in a sweater breezed past the security desk.

Dylan noticed the badge clipped to his belt loop. Taking a few quick steps sideways, she knew what she needed to do. It was better to risk the guard calling the police than be the inept subject of Kaplan office gossip. Gritting her teeth, she dashed past the security guard toward the elevator. Sliding into the elevator with the startled man, she felt a small sense of pride as she watched the shocked guard jolt out of his chair.

“Hello,” she said to her elevator companion. “I was trying to reach Marta Woods, who has, apparently, left the company. Would you know who I should contact in her place?”

The man gaped at her for a minute as the doors began to close. Dylan tried to smile, as if being chased by a security guard were normal. Pressing a hand to a wrinkle on her coat, she jumped from the entrance, squeaking, as Charlie’s right arm shot between the sliding doors, his hand wiggling. The man jolted, knocking his glasses sideways and stifling a screech.

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to step out of the elevator, please,” Charlie said, straightening his jacket with his free hand as the doors retracted. Dylan debated swatting him and trying to make a run for the stairs. They were probably unlocked in case of an emergency. Sidestepping Charlie’s arm, Dylan bumped into the man, who seemed to recover from the shock of witnessing a campus break-in.

“Hang on, Charlie. You’re here for Marta? Are you with Kaplan?” Dylan watched as Charlie’s face went slack with surprise, his hand dropping like deadweight.

“Yes. I’m scheduled to start today,” Dylan said, flattening the sleeve of her coat, where Charlie’s fist had been moments before.

“Hell. I remember her mentioning that. Charlie, she is okay to come with me.” The man leveled his glasses and pushed his graying hair around his head. Dylan wasn’t sure if the gesture was meant to make his hair lie flat, but it had the exact opposite effect.

“Oh. Okay.” The poor guard looked completely deflated.

“I’m sorry for the confusion, Charlie,” Dylan said as the doors began to close again. He looked so distraught that she felt a smidgen bad about the whole thing. She turned to face her savior, who was busy staring at her shoes.

“You move very quickly in those things.”

“Thank you. I’m Dylan Delacroix.” She held out her hand and did her best to look dignified after a near brush with trespassing charges.

“Steve Hammond, COO. I’m taking care of Marta’s responsibilities until we find someone new. Her departure was rather sudden, and unfortunately I dropped the ball on this,” he said with a slight frown.

The doors opened, and he stepped out, continuing to speak as he walked. “I don’t believe Marta had a space prepared for you before she left, so we’ll stick you in her office for now. I’ll have an intern come by to help you get set up,” he said, expertly navigating the maze of cubicles and hallways. “I have a nine a.m. meeting with Tim.” He glanced down at his watch, frowning again. Dylan was starting to marvel that the frown had not become a permanent fixture on his stubble-covered face when he stopped in front of a bland office door. “I’ll be back after my meeting to check on you and get things going.”

“Sounds good to me. When can I expect you?” Dylan said, shifting her satchel from one hand to the next.

“Whenever Tim decides we are done.” The corners of Steve’s mouth sank deeper.

“All right. I’ll get the lay of the land until then,” Dylan said, trying to keep her disappointment at bay.

“Take care.” Steve turned and marched back down the hallway.

“Right,” Dylan said to his back. Sighing, she turned to her office. Marta was clearly not a sentimental woman. Papers and trinkets still covered her desk. Pulling open a drawer, she found a series of take-out menus, pen caps, and an assortment of detritus that she decided was better boxed than analyzed. As if on cue, a timid knock drew her attention. Glancing up from the crush of papers, Dylan found a pale