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

shouted, dragging the o out for longer than was decent. Dylan wanted to blame the champagne, but Stacy would have responded that way if she had been drinking water. “Screw Tim—tell me about Mike,” she said, moving her eyebrows around conspiratorially.

“Actually, cleaning up the cups was pretty cool too.” Dylan dodged her friend.

“Girl, don’t try it. Spill.”

“I feel like this is going to be a lot less exciting than you think it is.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Stacy said, producing a bag of prepopped popcorn that Dylan suspected was stored near the couch for nights like this.

Taking another swig of her mimosa, she started from the top, complete with a recap of Bioré’s lowest moment and their unexpected concert for the under-eighteen crowd. At some point Stacy topped off their glasses, noting that the visitor parking was twenty-four hours, so Dylan could always leave her car overnight.

“So basically, you went on a sexy-time museum date,” Stacy said when Dylan stopped to catch her breath.

“What? No. How did you get that out of this story?”

“How could you not?” she said, giving Dylan a wink. Stacy tried to roll an r to go with her shimmy, but it sounded more like a gargle than a come-hither.

“I don’t even know what that sound was.”

“But you know what it meant.” Stacy devolved into giggles, taking Dylan with her. “This guy is an experienced fundraiser. He doesn’t need your advice; he wants your time.”

“I see your point, but I also feel like”—Dylan began turning her wrists, looking for the word she wanted—“you’re wrong.” She laughed. “He knows I’m seeing someone, anyway.”

“What? Ghost Boyfriend? Does anyone really know you’re dating him?” Stacy asked.

“Please stop calling him that.”

“He’s too healthy and all-American looking to be real.”

Dylan snorted. Nicolas could look a bit buttoned up in pictures. She tucked the joke away so she could tease him about it the next time he told her she was smiling too big. Now she had proof he needed to loosen up a little. And really, who thought smiling big was weird, anyway?

“I want to point out that I know Mike is a capable fundraiser, but I’m an excellent securer of corporate relationships.” Dylan navigated away from Nicolas and hoped that the sudden onset of champagne hiccups didn’t detract from the message.

“I’m sure you add value. But you must admit Mike is very striking.”

“If I admit that, can we move on?”

“No. But I’ll give you a break and circle back to the whole good-looking thing later,” Stacy said, cramming a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

“Fine. He is very striking,” Dylan said, taking a smug sip of her drink and enjoying the shock on Stacy’s face. “See, I’m not too uptight to admit when someone’s good looking. Spread the word. Definitely tell my mom.”

“Whatever. You did that under extreme duress and the influence of my dear friend prosecco.”

“Deal’s a deal, heffa. Now, tell me about your life,” Dylan cackled.

“You are diabolical,” Stacy said, draining her glass for the second time. “I do have something for you. I printed out all the recommendation stuff for my master’s program at work, in case you didn’t see the email.”

Dylan’s brain cringed. She had seen Stacy’s email and hadn’t gotten around to clicking on the link, let alone writing the letter. She’d make time for it as soon as Nicolas left.

“I’m sorry. I saw the email and got so caught up with everything I didn’t have a chance to answer.”

“No worries, you still have like three weeks, but I know you are busy. That’s why I printed it out,” Stacy said, tucking the papers into Dylan’s bag before returning with more snacks and a second bottle of prosecco. “We won’t finish this one, but I have an awful date to tell you about, and that should not be discussed with an empty glass.”

“Cheap prosecco is the devil,” Dylan mumbled as she tried to push her half-curled hair into something that resembled a bun. At some point she and Stacy had decided that Dylan would stay over instead of bothering with a cab. The following morning looked more like a comedy of errors than her standard routine. She was running so late that Stacy ended up lending her a bright-pink sweater to throw over yesterday’s dress, implying that the bottom of her dress was so neutral that absolutely no one would recognize the outfit from the day before. On the upside, there was no shortage of toothbrushes at her friend’s house, so at least Dylan didn’t have to wait to use her emergency office toiletries.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten into the office after nine o’clock, but she also couldn’t remember ever taking a walk of shame from her best friend’s house, so really this was shaping up to be a week of firsts. Fishing Advil out of her handbag, Dylan palmed a few tablets and took a big gulp of coffee. She could already feel the first dose wearing off and made a mental note to stop by the kitchen to fill up her water bottle in an effort to stave off the dreaded twenty-four-hour hangover.

When she unlocked her office, the red message light blinked at her. Hitting the power button on her computer, she picked up the phone and punched in her voice mail code, then instantly regretted the choice.

“Dylan, Jared here. I want to touch base with you about the Technocore project details. Better to cover them over the phone. Ideally, before you check in with anyone else. Call me back.”

If there was a countercure to Advil, Jared’s voice was it. “Delete,” Dylan grumbled, channeling Stacy. Seeing a mass message from Tim, she caught her breath.

All:

I have heard you loud and clear. The pop was a bad idea, and the accompanying message an ill-conceived attempt at a joke.

“At least he kept that part of my draft,” Dylan mumbled, resting her head in her palm and reading on.

It has come to my attention that you all feel