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

for them to fire you while you work for us. Did you commit an act of fraud or corporate espionage?”

Steve asked this last question like it was a distinct possibility, forcing Dylan to bite back a laugh. “No. Of course not. I wouldn’t even know where to start with fraud.”

Tim shifted his weight rapidly from one foot to the next, his eyes darting between the two of them. For his part, Steve fixed her with a piercing stare, as if he were trying to compel a confession out of her with just his eyes.

“Honestly. I’ve filed my reports ahead of time, and I saved my receipts for everything,” Dylan stammered through her dry mouth. Apparently, all the water in her body was making its way to her armpits.

Steve maintained his stone-cold expression for a beat before quirking an eyebrow and guffawing. “Of course you didn’t. I see bad behavior all the time. The closest someone like you comes to fraud is reporting the person who committed it.”

Dylan forced herself to chuckle, relieved she was not about to be marched out of the building. Tim, on the other hand, looked horrified. Catching sight of Tim’s face, Steve doubled over, his cackle only intensified by the CEO’s expression. Giving his knee a second hearty slap, he straightened up. “Man, you two have no sense of humor.”

“I’m not sure there is a lot of humor in HR,” Tim said, turning his nose up.

“There has to be when you’re the CEO.”

Both broke into a fresh round of howling, reminding Dylan of the cantankerous Muppet movie critics, Statler and Waldorf. When they finally noticed she was still smiling politely, Steve straightened up, rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses, and said, “Yeah. I’ll give John a call, but how about we proceed as if you are not fired. Show up on Monday; I’ll deal with the rest.”

Dylan froze as she tried to make sense of Steve’s words. She could see Steve looking at her with a level of nonchalance that made it sound like he unfired people all the time. Next to him, Tim beamed before glancing back at the fridge and grabbing a Coke knockoff product.

“I don’t get it.”

Steve shrugged. “As you know, we’ve had a difficult time with consultants. I know John Kaplan from my last company. Good guy. He did us a solid when no one would touch us. I’ll give him a call. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t know about the terms.”

“We don’t usually see the contract,” Dylan stammered, a wave of relief washing over her. “Associates like me just get told where, when, and how long.”

“Huh! Who knew?” was all Steve said, as Tim shrugged and took a loud slurp of his pop. “Anyway. You can stop cleaning out your office now.”

Dylan’s muscles relaxed to a degree she hadn’t experienced in months. Her legs turned to jelly, as if she had been holding a wall sit for hours. Her voice was the only part of her that didn’t feel like it had run a marathon. “Thank you.”

Unsure of what to do with herself, she started dumping the box of shredding into the bin before something struck her. “Why are you two here?”

Steve grimaced as Tim took a long sip of his pop, looking around as if no one had asked him anything. Dylan watched as the tension stretched between the two of them, until Tim finally broke under the weight of the meaningful gazes Steve was piling on.

“As you know, I made an error. And after consulting with Steve and a few others, but not you, because it turns out you thought you were fired, which explains a lot—you can ignore my emails—” Steve’s indignant snort interrupted Tim. Shooting him a dirty look, Tim continued, “As I was saying. After consulting with the team, we told everyone to take the rest of Friday off, our treat. Now, we are here trying to figure out how to rebound.”

“Makes sense.” Pulling at the sleeves of the ugly sweatshirt she’d borrowed from Neale, Dylan looked between the two men to see if either of them cared to share more. When neither of them said anything, she asked, “What’s the plan?”

“I was thinking we do an all-expenses-paid trip to Disney—”

“That’s not happening,” Steve said, raising a dismissive hand. “I’m thinking a staff picnic or a party cruise. Drink tickets, of course. Don’t want people getting out of hand.”

Dylan stopped listening. A level of stillness descended over her that would give the gold-painted street performers in Vegas a run for their money. If Steve was willing to book an expensive party cruise, surely she could find a better return on his investment. The gears of her brain began to grind over her chance encounter with Steve on Friday.

“Hang on . . . ,” Dylan said, interrupting Steve’s concerns about Technocore’s lax alcohol policy. She had dismissed Tim’s involvement in Crescent thousands of times. But did that mean she needed to dismiss Technocore’s? What if there was a way to do it? Make it bigger, even? Dylan started again, aware that the two men in front of her were waiting. “Steve, you said you met with Mike from Crescent?”

“Wait. What’s this meeting?” Tim leaned in, shocked that a conversation had happened without his knowledge.

“A friend of Dylan’s who was looking for me to donate to his children’s museum. It’s not in my personal philanthropy budget this year, but it sounded like a cool project.”

“What if . . . ,” Dylan said, exploring the idea as it came to her. “Okay, hear me out. The museum needs a big donation, like, more than one person can give. So what if Technocore paid for the sensory room?”

“That is a lot of money.” Steve’s expression was skeptical, but the words didn’t sound like a hard no.

“Obviously. But I think we have a shot at redemption.” Rotating her wrist to help her think, Dylan added, “What if we went even further? We could partner with Crescent to develop the program. Give everyone in the office community service