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

The drive over was torture. If she hadn’t spotted Tim’s Tesla parked in the very first stall, Dylan thought she would have been relieved to see her temporary office. Sliding into her desk chair, she noticed the blinking red light on her phone, indicating that Jared had left at least two voice mails. She picked up the phone, sucking in a deep breath and her stomach at the same time, as if the act alone would keep the sinking feeling from kicking in.

“Hey, Dylan?” Brandt’s voice accompanied a timid knock on the door.

“Hi, Brandt. What can I do for you?” she chirped, overjoyed to have her ill-fated phone call interrupted.

“It’s just . . . um . . . I think Tim tried to make some of your changes . . .”

“That’s great.”

“Well . . . maybe. Do you want to see?” Brandt started fidgeting in a way that made Dylan think he was one uncomfortable question away from biting his nails.

“All right. Lead the way.”

Brandt’s face twitched into what was supposed to be a smile but looked painfully like a grimace. She saw why as soon as she entered the break room. A Costco flat of off-brand diet pop sat on one of the countertops with a tabloid-size sheet of paper taped to it. Inching closer, Dylan reread the words she was actively trying to pray away.

It has come to my attention that you all would be happier if you had quick access to caffeine. Have a pop on me!

Benevolent Leader (Tim)

In bright-red pen, someone had scratched out the ben in benevolent and turned it into malevolent. Another person had scribbled, Where’s the coffee cart? And These aren’t even cold! Right next to several other people who’d shared similar, less politely phrased sentiments.

“Malevolent is a little dramatic.” Throwing a sidelong glance at Brandt hovering in the kitchen doorway, Dylan snatched the paper from the top of the flat and tucked it under her arm.

“I don’t get it. We said bring the coffee cart back to a central space.” Brandt whispered his concern, even though anyone within hearing distance was likely to agree.

“I’m going to guess he thought this was an acceptable substitute until he could figure out how to get a cart for every floor,” Dylan lied, rotating her hand in a big circular motion, as if the action would somehow make the lie more probable. The look behind Brandt’s glasses suggested he was not buying it any more than she was. “Are these on every floor?”

Dylan knew the answer before Brandt nodded.

“Hell,” she said, doing her best to keep her curse words to a moderate volume. “Brandt, I need a favor. Can you take these signs out of the kitchens?”

“No problem.”

“Don’t throw them out. Shred them, or someone will fish it out of the recycling and keep being snarky.”

“Got it.” Brandt stuffed his hands into the pockets of his fleece and took off.

“And, Brandt,” Dylan called into the hallway, forcing him to draw up short, “if there is space, would you please put these in the fridge?”

Brandt nodded and sped toward the cubicle jungle. There were two staff kitchens per floor. Dylan was lucky most people got in late. A half hour more, and this would have been a bad-office meme in twenty seconds flat.

Shaking her hair over her shoulder, she trotted back to her office. As she reached for a sticky note to remind herself to show Tim how people felt about his handiwork, the red light on her phone caught her eye.

“Seriously, man. Hold your horses.” Dylan slouched. Sighing heavily, she accepted that her morning was quickly moving from unpleasant to downright bad. Skipping all three of Jared’s voice mails, Dylan picked up the phone and allowed herself one more eye roll before dialing the number she wished she didn’t have memorized.

“Dylan. I left you a series of messages. Did you get them?”

Dylan rested her elbow on her desk, drawing in a deep breath. “I did. Seattle has a hands-free law, so I couldn’t call you back in the car.”

“That is awful.”

“Well, there is some truth to—”

“Anyway, I’m following up on my voice mail from last week. You do understand that you are not to move into the next phase of the project without clearance from me. Especially when the work product from that phase will be seen by Technocore’s board or Kaplan’s leadership. Am I clear?”

Dylan managed to smother the urge to point out that she’d said as much in each of her emails to him this week and that nearly every phase of her job was intended to produce something someone important would see. If Technocore improved its performance, then people would know about it with or without her saying a word. That was literally the whole point of her being here. But she’d been to this particular Jared rodeo before. It was useless to point out the logic holes in his statement. Better for her to do whatever the phone equivalent of smile and nod was. In this case, she said, “Crystal clear.”

“Good. Then I have something else I want to cover with you. I have a phone meeting with the upper-level guys today, and they are going to want an update on Technocore. Have you made any progress at all? Should I be concerned?”

Dylan gritted her teeth and sat up. “As I mentioned in my daily report, time on Tim’s calendar is difficult to come by; however—”

“You need to manage up with him. You can’t expect him to be onboard with the changes because he hired Kaplan.”

Dylan had a hard time hearing Jared’s words over the sound of her molars grinding. Managing up had to be one of the worst phrases in the world. Any consultant worth their salt should have banished it from their vocabulary years ago. It was patronizing to the person receiving the advice and made the manager who supposedly needed guidance sound clueless. Which wasn’t totally off in Tim’s case, but still.

Tuning back in, she caught the last bit of Jared’s rant. “Tim doesn’t know what is