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

“I have a pretty packed day tomorrow dealing with Kaplan. Can you give me a time estimate?”

“Uhhh . . . couple hours.” Tim said this like he was a fifth grader trying to pick an answer that sounded correct on a math quiz.

Stress settled into Dylan’s chest, eking its way down her spine. She didn’t have an hour, let alone several, but this might be her only shot at a longer block of time with Tim to get Jared’s requested documents approved. Forcing herself to stop grinding her teeth, she said, “Okay, but while we are there, we have got to work on the long-term plan for employee retention and next steps postretreat. Deal?”

“Sure. We’ll get everything hammered out tomorrow.”

“All right.” Dylan thought she could hear Tim squeak with delight and stifled a laugh. It was not a very adult sound. “But if there is a plane hangar or a stabby-looking warehouse involved, I will be long gone in under a minute.”

“Once you see what I have planned, the warehouse won’t freak you out.” Tim said this in such a dry tone that she couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or if a warehouse was actually involved. Before she could ask a clarifying question, Tim added, “All right, my Rolfer is here. Gotta go!”

“Hey, Tim. One thing,” Dylan said to the dead air on the other end, then shook her head. Of course Tim was into Rolfing. In fact, she was only surprised it had taken her this long to get confirmation. Pushing her frustration about wasted time aside, she opened a window to email him about Deep’s and Brandt’s reimbursements. Typing out a quick please do this, she blew out a long, strained breath and scheduled the message so that it would go out in roughly an hour and fifteen minutes, hoping to catch Tim post-Rolfing.

Attempting to swallow her mounting anxiety, she reasoned Jared had said close of business, but he hadn’t said in which time zone. She could send him the documents by 5:00 p.m. Hawaiian Standard Time tomorrow, and he couldn’t say she hadn’t followed directions.

“This’ll totally work. Not.” Dylan groaned, slumping over in her chair. “Don’t give up. You’re a smart girl. You can figure this out.” Inhaling through her nose, she picked her head up and tried to work.

She achieved laser focus on her work for all of thirty-five seconds, when her phone chimed again, causing her heart to leap into her throat. Massaging her left shoulder, she reached absently for her purse and pulled out her cell phone. “Shit.”

Dylan dropped the phone on her desk almost immediately as Mike’s name scrolled across the screen. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as the phone continued to ring. She’d barely had a moment to think about anything since getting to work, including Mike. She certainly wasn’t ready to deal with her choices yet. Holding her breath, she waited for the phone to stop ringing and prayed he wouldn’t leave a message.

Not that she didn’t want to talk to him. She just didn’t know what she wanted to say. Sorry I lied. I don’t know half the people on that list, and my life is garbage. How do you feel about trying again from a place of honesty? seemed like not the right place to start.

The phone stopped ringing, and she exhaled audibly. Whatever she planned to say needed finessing, and she would say it . . . after she got through Jared’s demands. And Tim’s absurd meeting. And everyone else’s requests.

The phone buzzed, and Dylan glared at the device, which was seemingly hell bent on her listening to her voice mail. Picking up her cell, she held it as though she might be physically ill.

Mike’s familiar voice crept through the line, comforting despite the dread his words induced. “Hey, Dylan. Turns out Chef knew something about sushi and slow jams that we didn’t.” He paused here, and the image of him nervous as he chuckled at his own joke came to her uninvited.

“So you were not here this morning, and I thought I’d check in with you. Make sure everything is, uh . . . copacetic.” She imagined him rubbing the back of his head as he tried to find the words he needed to reach her. Despite herself, she smiled, thinking of him in his sweater, pacing around, wearing a hole in the floor of his apartment.

“Anyway, could you call me back or text me so I know you weren’t abducted by aliens last night? Okay, talk soon. Bye.”

Shaking her head, Dylan willed the smile off her face, allowing the tension in her shoulders to return. She didn’t need to be endeared to Mike right now, no matter how adorable his voice mails were. The only thing she needed was to get through today; then they could talk. Until then, she would keep afloat by any means necessary.

Typing fast, she pulled up Steve Hammond’s calendar and looked for a vacancy tomorrow. After throwing a hold on a chunk of time, she picked up her phone, stomach muscles clenching, and typed out a text to Mike.

Hey! Sorry, you were passed out and things at work went off the rails. We’ve got a meeting with Steve Hammond for 3:30 tomorrow. Maybe we can grab a bite after? Sushi and slow jams not required, but much appreciated.

Tossing the phone in her purse like it was made of lava, she closed her eyes to stop the room from spinning. If she stayed in the office for another minute, she’d be sick. If she could just find a quiet place, literally any quiet place, to hunker down, she might actually survive the next twenty-four hours. As it was, panic had her sweating so hard she was pretty sure even her shoes were full of water. Dylan reminded herself that she had pulled off some pretty impossible-sounding tasks before. She didn’t have to panic. She just needed to get out of the office.

She closed her