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

you’re asking for a grand total of one hundred sixty hours’ worth of work in two days? Even if I pulled an all-nighter, I wouldn’t have enough time to produce a quality product.”

“Get it together or get out,” Jared spat. “I’ll look for the documents.”

The line went dead. Dylan sat motionless until the please-hang-up-or-try-this-call-again voice spoke into her ear. Gently, she set the phone back into its cradle and looked at her closed office door to ensure no one was watching, then let several unseemly descriptors fly.

By the time she had reached profound dickhead, she had rage shakes. Whatever had crawled into his undies and bitten him was no excuse for cursing at a colleague. That wasn’t just bad managerial tactics; it was bad manners. For a moment she considered sending him a picture of her middle finger and storming off, but then she caught sight of Deep walking toward her desk, chatting with the socially awkward guy from Accounts Payable, and stopped short. Jared was a certifiable asshat, but he wasn’t chasing her out without a fight. Not when things were just starting to turn around.

Taking a deep breath, she opened a document to start an outline of the items he’d requested when there was a knock on her door. Tension seeping into her jaw, Dylan glanced up at Brandt’s perpetually pale face in her window. He was smiling and waving at her.

“Good morning,” Brandt said as he stepped through a miniscule crack he’d opened in the doorway, as if a thin opening made his presence less of an interruption.

“Good morning. How’s it going?” Dylan leaned back in her chair, aiming for a relaxed posture she did not feel. The specter of the world’s worst manager hung over her head like a curse, and she would be damned if even a hint of Jared’s attitude made its way into her office.

“Your hair is curly!”

Dylan laughed at the look of genuine surprise on his face as he came to stand directly in front of her desk. “Don’t tell anyone. It’s my best-kept secret.”

“Not anymore, it’s not.” Deep strolled past Brandt with an excess of confidence and plopped down in the chair across from her. “If I had hair like that, I’d never be bothered with a flat iron again.” Studying her appearance, Deep cocked an eyebrow at her. “Any particular reason you’ve got curls and came in after nine a.m.?”

“None whatsoever.” In another life, Dylan was almost positive Deep had been a child of Bernice’s. It was like she could smell a good story waiting to be told.

“It is very unlike you,” Brandt added, without any of the implied suspicion Deep’s question had carried.

“Just feeling lazy. I figured with this rain it wouldn’t matter what I did.”

“But that’s never stopped you before,” Brandt pointed out.

Deep’s smile was devious. “Does it have anything to do with List Guy, because we googled him, and wowza!”

Dylan’s bark of laughter cut her friend short. “Enough about Mike. Did y’all come in here to ask why my hair is curly?”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you changing the subject,” Deep said, giving her a suggestive wink. “No, we didn’t come to chat about your hair or List Guy. Brandt and I were thinking we could go to lunch and talk about staff-appreciation-committee stuff? We had an idea for a game night.”

The word no was halfway out of her mouth before Dylan caught herself. There was no way she could deliver what Jared was asking for, so why couldn’t she take twenty-five minutes to walk over to the corner store with them?

“Sure. But can we make it a late lunch? Like one thirty?” Holding up a hand, she added, “Kaplan’s breathing down my neck on some stuff.”

“Of course,” Brandt said. “Told you she’d come.”

“Guess I’m getting lunch.” Deep inspected her perfect manicure, smiling. “We had a bet. You never come out of this office. I thought for sures Brandt would be picking up the tab.”

“You bet on me being antisocial? Brandt, thank you for your loyalty,” Dylan said, in mock pain. “Deep, you just had an off day. I’m a hermit.” A bit of the tension rolled off her shoulders as the three of them giggled. “Anything else I can do for you before lunch? Any other bets I need to settle?”

Brandt’s gaze twitched over his shoulder. Dropping his voice to just above a whisper, he said, “Do you think you can help get our reimbursements for the retreat pushed through? I hit the limit on my card, and I don’t want to pay the interest on that thing.”

Deep nodded along. “Bailing Tim out of dead-animal jail left me broke.”

The corners of Dylan’s mouth twitched up. “No problem. I’ll get it taken care of today.” Her phone began to ring again as she said, “It’s the least I can do.” Glancing at the caller ID, she smiled apologetically. “Speak of the devil—it’s Tim.”

“We can finish discussing everything at lunch,” Deep said.

Dylan nodded her assent as the pair walked out the door. Side-eyeing the phone, she felt the dull throb of deadline panic pick up a notch. Sitting up straight, she cleared her throat. “Hi, Tim.”

“Dylan. How’s it going?”

Dylan took a moment to appreciate that Tim did not launch directly into business with her. This was an improvement. Jared’s beloved hashtag watch wouldn’t measure it, but Tim was getting better at being a boss. “I’m doing well. I think our minds must be linked, because I wanted to talk to you about next steps from the retreat.”

“Yeah, I have a plan for that, and I’m going to need your help.”

Dylan felt her eye twitch. “Fantastic. I know the staff-appreciation group is eager to get going.”

“We’ll do that too. But this is top secret. I need you to meet me for an off-site tomorrow morning in the Industrial District.”

“Industrial District?”

“I don’t want to spoil the surprise. I’m sending you the address. Be there or be a hexagon!” Tim laughed with too much enthusiasm for a man who’d just invited