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

a show for the neighbors, before answering. “You should go get your stuff from Technocore on Saturday, before they march you out of there with a big stupid cardboard box on Monday. That is the worst.”

Dylan chuckled before realizing her sister was serious. “When did you ever get packed and escorted out of a place?”

Neale blinked at her sister’s question for a moment, then grinned. “Never. I saw it in a Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson movie, though, and it looked awful.” Neale put the actor’s wrestling name in air quotes before shaking her head and turning up the stairs. “You coming to hide from Mom and Dad or what?”

Dylan steeled herself and scanned her badge to get into the office that occupied her nightmares. She had to admit there was wisdom in Neale’s interpretation of the cinematic efforts of The Rock. Getting marched out on Monday would be much worse than shooting them an email saying Thanks for the headaches. The badge is in the mail. Her shoulders relaxed as the blue security light clicked. No one would be there to see her shred an astronomical amount of paperwork and leave with a tasteful cloth grocery bag full of possessions.

The emptiness of the place was eerie as she crept off the elevator. It looked like a cubicle wasteland, the appearance of the place growing sadder as the motion-sensor lights shuddered to life. Failed employee-appreciation certificates poked out of every recycling bin lining the hallways. More than one misnamed fleece jacket was crammed into the small wastebaskets or dropped haphazardly on the floor. To her chagrin, Richard Chou’s jacket was gently placed on a hanger jammed into his cubicle wall, mocking her with its care. Shaking her head, she made her way over to her office, flipping on the aggressive overhead lighting.

“Okay, girl, you are almost through it.” She said this little reassuring number to her corkboard, then straightened her posture before pushing back her desk chair and lifting a stack of papers.

After a half hour or so, her shred bin was looking precariously full, and an uncomfortable stiffness from sitting still had settled into her bones. She stretched up with a yawn, grabbed the bin, and started toward the staff kitchen shredder. A loud thud stopped her in her tracks.

“Ouch!”

A cursory glance at the computer monitors in the cubicle jungle told her that she was supposed to be alone. Shifting the weight of the box from one arm to the other, she grabbed a stapler off a nearby desk. Creeping toward the kitchen with her stapler weapon at the ready, she poked her head around the doorjamb and said, “Hello?”

The figure with his head in the refrigerator yelped and knocked it against a shelf. Yanking his head out of the fridge, Tim turned around to face her, rubbing the spot he had bumped. Next to him stood Steve, holding a cabinet door with one hand and clutching at his collarbone like he was wearing pearls with the other. His mouth was still stuck in a terrified “Oh!”

“Sorry,” Dylan said, suppressing a chuckle at the sight of Steve. “I thought I was alone down here. Clearly, y’all did too.”

“Good morning,” Steve said, regaining his composure and letting the hand at his collarbone drop. “There is no coffee cart on weekends, so we thought we would try our hand at making some.”

“I think people have hidden the coffee from me,” Tim said, still rubbing his head.

“And the coffee machine, cups, and creamer?” Steve asked, rolling his eyes. “Man, no one is hiding anything. It just isn’t here.”

“Actually, Tim hid it from himself.” She hefted the heavy box of shredding onto the counter. “When you first got the coffee cart, you got rid of all the old machines. Then you moved the cart but never replaced the machines, which was one of my recommendations,” Dylan said, shaking her head with a resignation usually reserved for people who lost political races.

“I forgot about that.” Tim’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, while Steve gave him a sidelong glance.

“Maybe it’s time to reinstate our director of operations position?” Steve’s tone was so thoughtful that Dylan could almost buy the charade he was putting on for Tim. Rehiring a facilities manager had also been her recommendation. Thinking about her work, Dylan suddenly went still, imploring whatever gods were so effective at bringing rain to the city to cast their magic over her imminent departure. She had arrived specifically to avoid being escorted out by HR, and here was the head of HR looking for a coffee cup.

As if noticing the shift in the room, Steve asked, “What are you doing here on a very early Saturday morning?”

“I . . .” Her brain stalled out for a moment, and she blinked at Steve a few times to jump-start it. Failing to find a better excuse, she called up some of Neale’s blasé attitude. “I was told I’d be let go on Monday. I’m here trying to organize things for the next person.” Hoping to shift the mood, she added, “Don’t want another Marta’s-office situation.”

Steve and Tim now looked like their brains had stalled and were also in the blink-to-jump-start phase. Dylan’s half-hearted chuckle was the only sign a joke had even been made. She reminded herself that HR and CEOs had always been a bit of a tough crowd.

“I don’t understand!” Tim sputtered. “No one consulted me on this.”

“I certainly didn’t authorize your leaving. Who told you this?” Steve scowled.

“My manager at Kaplan. I know things haven’t gone as smoothly as we might have hoped, and I understand.” Dylan’s heart sank, despite her attempts at being gracious.

“That’s not possible,” Steve said.

“I’m afraid it is. I was told in no uncertain terms to pack my bags. Hence the weekend shredding.”

Tim’s expression was stoic, while Steve gave the cardboard box of documents an odious look.

“No. What I mean is, Technocore specifically negotiated our contract with Kaplan. Barring some massive act of malfeasance or extreme negligence, it is impossible