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

She rushed in and jammed the little “close” arrows before turning back to her phone.

Hey babe. You haven’t been answering my calls.

Watching the “. . .” that followed his text, indicating he was typing another message, a pang of nostalgia leaned on Dylan’s solar plexus. Not long ago, a checking-in message from Nicolas would have meant something to her. A rare moment of him demonstrating that he was thinking about her.

I really want you to hear me out. I think you’ll feel better once you’ve heard my reasoning.

Dylan snorted as the nostalgia bolted from her memory, replaced with a reminder of the roughly fifty-seven text messages she’d received every time she hadn’t answered his calls and he’d wanted something from her. The thing with Mike might be complicated, but he wouldn’t demand she talk to the super about their toilet anytime soon. Comparing Nicolas to Mike was like comparing a Fig Newton to a Tim Tam. One might be better for her according to the nutritional label, but the other was clearly a superior choice by every other reasonable measure.

I don’t like how we left things. We were fine before your family was involved.

Nor would Mike trash-talk her family. And he had good reason to dislike them.

Please. Let’s talk.

Dylan bit down on her bottom lip, tired of Nicolas’s emotional manipulation. His version of begging might have seemed cute to him, but she thought she would feel even better if he just left her alone. For the sake of her stuff not being in the street like in a nineties R&B music video, she answered:

I’m OK with where we left things. We can arrange for me to pick up my stuff when I return in three weeks.

As soon as she hit send, his typing bubble appeared, and Dylan secretly wished the Wi-Fi in the building wasn’t so good. She didn’t need to see the response right away.

Babe. Do we really need to throw away all these years over your family?

Her fingers flexed in frustration as she tapped back:

Again, I’m comfortable with the way we ended. I’ll contact you when I’m back in town.

Doing her best to smile as she passed employees in the cubes on the way to her office, Dylan caught his reply:

Fine. Don’t forget the apartment is in my name. The locks may not be the same until we have a chance to talk.

Dylan rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck in the back of her head.

This feels like you are manipulating me. But, if a call is required in order for us to amicably end this relationship, I’ll give you a call tomorrow night.

Fitting her key into her office door, Dylan sighed. Was holding her things hostage even legal? If anyone would know how to make her life hell, it was the shark of a divorce attorney she lived with. She should have predicted him doing this. Had she been honest about the odds of their relationship ending, she might have.

As if the world could sense her apprehension, her desk phone began to ring. Glancing at the caller ID, she groaned as Jared scrolled across the screen. She let it ring twice more before straightening her spine and picking up the receiver.

“This is Dylan.”

“Dylan, Jared here. I left you a couple messages this morning.”

“Yes, I saw. I was just making my way through my voice mail.” Dylan fought to keep the irritation out of her tone. His clipped delivery made it sound like she had not returned his call since 3:00 p.m. last Friday, not 9:32 a.m. the same day.

“I don’t know if you have seen the trending #TechnoDisasters and #TechnoFails reports on our clients, but Technocore has scored high again. And not in a good way.”

“You know, that doesn’t surprise me. We had a rough start at the retreat, but if you dig deeper into the hashtags, you’ll see a surprise turnaround in—”

“I don’t care about the turnaround,” Jared shouted, taking her by surprise. “What I care about is results. I’m not seeing them in all of this junk.”

Dylan cleared her throat, trying to decide how best to proceed as her boss breathed heavily into the phone. There probably wasn’t a right way to talk him through this, but the alternative of crawling under her desk to wait it out seemed just as unlikely to yield positive outcomes.

“I can see why it seems that way. But share prices are holding steady, which implies investor confidence, and again, within the trending posts there is actually a change in tone—”

“I don’t need excuses. I need—no—expect results.”

“And I think you are seeing them. It’s a real vote of confidence the board hasn’t scheduled a meeting, released a statement to shareholders, or—”

“I don’t give a shit about what the board hasn’t done. Those assholes created this mess. I want a report on the immediate outcomes of the retreat, action items okayed by Technocore management, and workforce-retention projections tomorrow. Understand?”

It took Dylan a moment to process being cursed at by a man who was almost assuredly wearing a sherbet-colored cardigan and boat shoes.

“My understanding was that you would like to be part of the review process before we start putting together some of the documents that both Kaplan and Technocore directors will need to approve.”

“For God’s sake, did I stutter?”

“No, you were quite forceful in your language. It’s just Technocore is also your assignment, and I think if you were present, you would see the tenor of the workplace is rapidly improving, even with the stumbling blocks.”

“At the rate you’re going, there won’t even be a client for me to visit. Get your shit together, or get your bags, because I will fire you. Clear enough?”

Dylan’s mouth went dry. Jared had been nasty for weeks, but this was a new rock bottom. Trying to keep her voice steady, she answered, “That is a tall document order. Typically, four of us would analyze this kind of data and make a recommendation a week or so later. You do realize