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

Tim rolled his eyes and exhaled like a preteen, just to be sure Dylan understood how irked he was, before adding, “Excuse us, Lois.”

Stepping over a few power cables, she took a large sip of coffee before beginning. “Tim, yesterday you said this would be a few-hour meeting. Now I’m a floor manager. What is going on?”

“Well, at the time I thought it’d be a few hours, but after talking with Lois, it seems more like a day project.”

“What project?”

“Staff appreciation!” Tim gestured around the room as if it were obvious. “Your analysis said staff feel ‘unheard and underappreciated.’” Tim put the words in air quotes, his bicycle bag waving along with the motion. “I thought this up on the way back from the retreat.”

“Okay. But what is it?”

“This is why it’s great. I pulled a staff list myself. All two thousand five hundred plus, including part-timers, and—shoot. Taylor’s here,” Tim said, looking at the woman who had just crossed into the workspace, the same look of apprehension on her face that Dylan was wearing. Tim continued, “I wanted to change. Oh well.”

Catching sight of Tim’s neon getup, Taylor sauntered over, clutching the strap on a fringe-covered cross-body bag, which was oddly formal, given her jeans and sneakers.

“Taylor, good to see you. I was just giving Dylan the backstory on our project. Dylan, this is Taylor from the Seattle Examiner; she is here to do a story on the staff-appreciation effort.”

“I didn’t realize you invited anyone from the press,” Dylan said, willing her eyebrows to retreat down her forehead. Somewhere in her trapezius muscles, her sense of agitation blossomed into a full springtime of terror.

“Hello,” Taylor said, her hand still firmly clamped on her purse.

Dylan nodded briefly before fixing Tim with a stare that would melt Satan. After his last brush with the press, he should have learned his lesson about arranging his own photo ops. Apparently she needed to have a more explicit conversation with him. And find a good PR trainer. But all that would need to wait until tomorrow, assuming she still had a job on Friday, which was in clear and present danger.

Locking eyes with her glare, Tim shuddered and cleared his throat, turning his attention back to Taylor. “As I was telling Dylan, today is all about thanking Technocore’s employees. I came up with this whole thing in a dream and have been making calls all week to make it happen. Over here, we have people working on custom employee jackets, complete with their names on the front and monograms on the cuffs. Then we have hand-calligraphed certificates of appreciation, which will all be signed by me and accompanied by a handwritten note. Then there are the personalized thank-you mugs.” Tim paused, smiling before asking, “Can you tell I’m big on customization?”

“This sounds expensive,” Taylor said, eyeing the people huddling over sewing machines.

“Oh, it is. I hired every seamstress within a hundred miles of the city. Finding a space with enough power was a challenge. And the permitting!” Tim wiggled his eyebrows.

Dylan took the mention of permits as a sign she should intervene. “Tim, let’s hold off on sharing exact details until we have a chance to discuss what Lois was telling you.”

“Yes. Lois mentioned there was a problem with the employee name files. Nothing is in alphabetical order. They just need to alphabetize every individual piece before we can start stuffing the gift bags.”

“Sounds time consuming,” Taylor said, now eyeing Dylan, whose expression was hovering somewhere between murder and total annihilation.

“We have the warehouse until midnight, so it shouldn’t be an issue,” Tim said. Ignoring the apoplectic sounds coming from Dylan, he added, “If you don’t mind, I’d love to change out of my bike clothes before we continue. Perhaps you can get some background on our recent efforts from Dylan.” Without another word, Tim turned and sprinted toward the back of the warehouse.

“Is he always like this?” Taylor asked, startling Dylan out of her delirious fear state.

She had to get rid of this woman now, before things got any worse. And with a Tim idea, there was no way things wouldn’t get worse. Taking a deep breath that did nothing for her racing pulse, she said, “I’m sorry, but there has been a misunderstanding. Tim is not available for interviews. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“That’s funny, because Tim was pretty confident he could be interviewed when he offered me exclusive access to this event. I guess I could go back and write about how Tim had some crony kick me out when he began behaving erratically while dressed like an inflatable dancing puppet. It isn’t as good a story, but something has to go in my column.”

Taylor shrugged like there wasn’t a threat lurking in her words, and Dylan’s mouth went dry. This was her worst Technocore nightmare come to life—a walking ultimatum carrying a fringe-covered bag. Her mind clawed at its caffeine-soaked edges, desperately searching for an alternative that wouldn’t result in bad press. As it was, letting Taylor see “staff appreciation” was more likely to produce a positive outcome than roundly kicking her out of the warehouse would.

“Fine.” Dylan sighed. “But I think we had better set a few ground rules.” She hoped her tone conveyed a level of authority she neither felt nor possessed. “First, I’m a consultant, and I’d appreciate it if you did not name me in your piece.” She took another deep breath, pulling her posture yardstick straight. “Second, please consider the conversations Tim and I have confidential. I’m sure you can understand why having a reporter quoting them verbatim would risk trade secrets.”

The reporter rolled her eyes. “I’d never report on anything for the sake of salacious reads, and certainly not—”

Holding up her hand, Dylan interrupted, “I’m sure you wouldn’t, and it is not my intention to imply you have low ethical standards. But I’ll need your word just