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

record, I don’t think you’re going to hell.” He began slowly walking backward in the street.

“For what?”

“Fixing Technocore.” He shrugged, still ambling backward. “I mean, how many people would be out of a job if you didn’t? Really, some could argue your work is saintlike.”

“Oh, please.” Dylan rolled her eyes.

“I mean it. Night.”

“Night,” Dylan called, her cheeks getting hot despite the chill.

Mike turned with a wave to face his car, and she went inside. Dylan was halfway up the stairs to her room when she realized she was still smiling.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Dylan sat quietly reading the pirate romance outside Tim’s office. She figured he already knew about the book, so she might as well finish it and give it back to Layla. It was only polite. She had planned to present the issues to Tim on Thursday, but in a usual bout of Tim-itis she had received not one but three can-we-push-our-meeting-back emails. He had only agreed to see her Friday morning—now afternoon—after she’d pointed out that even if he didn’t use her expertise, Technocore was still paying Kaplan for her time. She hoped the email sounded businesslike and not like the desperate plea it was. She could only dodge Jared’s check-in calls and emails for so long before he pulled the plug on her.

Dylan flipped the page and wondered how a book could go from steamy to improbable so quickly. The pirate and the heroine had broken up over stolen gems exactly two paragraphs after sex on top of a moving carriage. Who comes up with—

KTHUNK.

Tim’s office door burst open, interrupting her thoughts. “Dylan, I’ll be right with you. Layla, can you make me another mocha?” Tim called as he sprinted toward the bathroom door.

“Sure thing,” Layla shouted at the door. Glancing at the book in Dylan’s hand, she smiled. “Good, isn’t it?”

Dylan nodded. Loath as she was to admit it, the book was riveting. After carefully replacing her bookmark, she put the book back in her purse. Layla might dog-ear pages, but Dylan wasn’t about to start folding up a borrowed book.

“Ready?” Tim came sprinting out of the restroom and snatched his mocha off the little shelf Layla had set it on.

“Yes, sir. Lead the way.”

Not that Tim had waited for her. By the time Dylan closed the office door, he was already behind his desk, wearing a hands-free headset. She decided to ignore this. There were weirder things about Tim Gunderson than his propensity for wearing headsets for in-person meetings.

“What do you got?” Tim said, clicking the end of a pen.

“Well, I have narrowed Technocore’s challenges into three opportunity groups.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You have three big problems,” Dylan said, translating her own business jargon. Usually, executives preferred she say opportunities in place of problems. It was easier to claim plausible deniability if someone sued.

“Oh.” Tim’s pale eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “That many?”

“Yes. The good news is there are several small, immediate steps you can take to start fixing them.” As Dylan began making her case for staff morale and leadership accessibility, Tim remained still save for a few pen clicks, his gaze focused on the ceiling.

“The last one is more difficult to change, but I think we can manage it with some creativity.” Dylan tried to soften the blow. “Some employees have the perception that Technocore is not a community player. Consequently they feel . . .” She hesitated, searching for the phrase she had practiced over the last few days. “Well, they feel uncomfortable telling people where they work. It makes recruiting and retaining good employees a challenge.”

“Are you sure this is a real problem?” Tim’s skepticism rolled off him as he clicked his pen again.

Dylan almost snatched the pen and his stupid headset from him. Smoothing a small wrinkle in her skirt, she took a calming breath before continuing. “Look, Tim. I can lie to you. But you hired me because I help take companies that are dying and bring them back to life. If you want Technocore to flounder until the board puts it out of its misery, fine.”

“So you are a necromancer.” Tim snort-laughed. When she didn’t laugh, he added, “Because you raise zombie companies,” then started snort-laughing again.

Dylan’s stare was incredulous. “You do recognize these problems are severe. You do not want to make it to zombie-company level, right?”

Tim stopped laughing. “Sorry.” He did not look sorry.

She needed to try a new tactic if this was going to work. “Yes. I get the analogy. But, Tim, this is serious. For you and for me. You’re right; I’m a necromancer of sorts. But even I can’t bring you back if you keep going the direction you are headed.”

Tim smiled as if he had missed the point, and Dylan braced herself for another round of Dylan of the Dead jokes. “I know this is mission critical. We hired Kaplan, after all, but I don’t think you need to be that intense. Really. I built this company. Now that I know there are problems, I can fix them.”

“Great. The document in front of you outlines the research in more detail if you have any questions.” Relief began to trickle over her. Once the primary issues were agreed upon, it was just a matter of getting his signature on the next steps. From there she could work with her own team to get things done. No more waiting around for him. “I have outlined a number of actions we can take to get things going. I want to run a couple ideas for a staff-appreciation group by you, and—”

“Not necessary,” Tim said, clicking his pen once more.

“I’m sorry?” The pen was giving her a nervous twitch.

“Your big-picture analysis is great. But I know this company inside and out. I can fix it.”

“You want to contribute to the development of a strategy, then?” Dylan paused.

“No, I mean I have a solution.”

“Well, great. Very proactive,” Dylan said, praying she sounded diplomatic. “What would you like to do?”

“I mean, I haven’t nailed down the specifics.