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

metric for determining success, with good press a distant second. The paperwork you asked for is almost a non sequitur,” Dylan said, her voice shaky. She knew correcting Jared wouldn’t help, but after the morning she’d had, she wasn’t about to be berated for the only thing she had done correctly in the last forty-eight hours.

Jared sputtered, “You know what? Get packed. Someone as stupid as you are has no business at Kaplan. Or anywhere, really.”

Dylan felt the pit of her insides drop to the floor. She had been dreading this since she’d walked through Technocore’s doors. A small voice in the back of her head nudged her to say something. To stand up for herself. The worst had finally come. It wasn’t like he could fire her twice. Taking a deep breath, she said, “There is no need for name-calling.”

“When someone makes as many bad decisions as you do, yes, there is.”

“Fine, fire me. It isn’t like you have done any of the work.”

Jared let out a strangled squawk. “Do yourself a favor. Go find a cardboard box and put your stuff in it before security escorts you out.”

With that, Jared hung up, leaving her in blessed, office-lighting-bathed silence. Her mind began to cloud over with the weight of the last few hours. She’d figured Jared might finally fire her once the staff-appreciation fallout started in earnest. But Deep and Brandt? They were so out of nowhere that they’d left a hollow feeling running through her chest. And that hole was starting to hurt. Like, really hurt.

Come to think of it, her head hurt too. Could she breathe? She was pretty sure she could breathe. As she stood up, the pain in her chest shot up the place in her back where she had hoped steel would be, forcing her to double over, hands splayed across the desk.

“Am I having a heart attack?” she asked the window shade, belatedly realizing that since it was drawn, no one would see her collapse, so no one would find her. Then it would be days before Tim wondered why he hadn’t seen her, and eventually her body would be discovered by the socially inept sweat-suit-material-loving geek who’d gotten her fired and caused the heart attack in the first place.

She checked again. Yes, she was still breathing, albeit in a labored, extremely sweaty way. In between clipped inhalations, she took stock of her symptoms. She’d seen a special on heart attacks. It was for women over sixty, but some of that had to apply to younger women, didn’t it? Okay, she was sweaty, but not flu sweaty; this was nervous sweaty. Difficulty breathing, check. Chest pain? She stopped, trying to sort through all the signals she was receiving from her body. No chest pain. No pain in her jaw or back either.

“Probably not a heart attack,” she whispered, still doubled over. Slowly, she processed the information, counting to ten as she tried to regulate her hiccuped breaths.

“Panic attack,” she said to no one, finally sorting her own diagnosis. “I need air, now.”

Dylan snatched her keys and coat up into her arms. HR could box up her stuff. Throwing her office door open, she bolted toward the elevator. Jamming the button with her thumb, she jumped in as soon as the silver doors opened. Taking another truncated breath, she repeatedly pressed the close-door button, praying the doors sensed her urgency.

“Come on,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Dylan?” Steve’s voice startled her from the corner of the elevator. Adjusting his glasses, he added, “I have been meaning to stop by your office. It’s not like you to miss a meeting.”

“Meeting?” She froze, feeling the sweat on her back grind to a halt. Had Jared already managed to get ahold of Steve? She blinked at Steve and said nothing, marveling at the speed of Jared’s retribution.

“With the guy from Crescent. Mike . . . uh . . .” He squinched his eyes shut and snapped his fingers, searching for Mike’s last name.

“Robinson,” Dylan croaked. Something was off. She had texted Mike, so why hadn’t he told Steve she wasn’t going to make it? Fumbling for her phone in her purse, Dylan felt her chest start to tighten again.

“That’s him. We thought you were coming.” Luckily, Steve didn’t require an excuse, because the only other words that came to her mind had four letters and were not polite to use with the man who would sign her termination paperwork in a few hours. “Anyway, nice guy. Interesting idea. I have a few questions.”

Her fingers brushed the hard coating of her phone case, and Dylan seized it, quickly looking down at the face-ID sensor and scrolling through her list of unread texts. Finding Mike’s name, she made a sound that could have doubled for a special effect, prompting Steve to look hard at her. “Are you okay?”

“Yup. Great.” Her voice cracked. It was psychologically impossible for her to be further from great at this moment. There, in all its unsent glory, was her text telling Mike she couldn’t make it, complete with the typo she’d never fixed before Lois had interrupted her. Just above the unsent text were the three messages Mike had sent her checking in on her whereabouts. Dylan could feel the bile and coffee in her stomach start to claw their way up her throat, visions of being sick all over Steve swimming in front of her eyes. Luckily, the elevator doors began to slide open. A few more inches and she was free.

“You look pale. Are you sure you’re well?” Steve asked again, concern wrinkling his nose.

“Totally sure.” The doors were finally open wide enough for her to turn sideways and squeeze through. Glancing back at Steve, she added, “Forgot something in the car.”

She sprinted through the lobby and pressed the car key’s unlock button as soon as she felt the drizzle hit her face. Throwing her bag on the passenger seat, she slammed the door before she let a scream rip through her. Gulping in cool car air,