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

hours. For example, staff get ten workweek hours a quarter to spend off site at Crescent, helping them develop the tech, install the panels, run the room. Whatever the museum needs.”

“This is exciting!” Tim shouted, bouncing in his organic sneakers. Steve grabbed his collarbone again, and Dylan jumped with surprise.

“Is . . . it?” Steve finally asked, releasing his chest.

“Yes! I used to spend hours at Crescent. I love that place. Now Technocore can be intimately involved in the next phase of its development. We’ll have a tremendous impact in shaping the next generation of learners and leaders in Seattle.” Tim stopped shifting around and looked between the two startled members of his audience. “Write that down for the press release.”

“No.” Dylan and Steve spoke at the same time, drawing a look of contrition from Tim.

“I love it,” Tim said, his excitement zinging around the small kitchen. Glancing over at Steve, Dylan could see he was starting to catch some of Tim’s enthusiasm.

“We could launch it as a pilot. If it works with Crescent, maybe we try it with other charities throughout the region. It gives our employees the chance to get involved in something good, explore new skills, et cetera,” Steve said.

“Let’s call this guy now. Get Mike on the phone,” Tim shouted, his cheeks turning a shade of red that was usually indicative of extreme physical exertion.

A thought jolted her like an appliance with a short circuit. What if Mike had already pulled the plug on the room and said no to the money? Surely, even if he never spoke to her again, he wouldn’t do anything to hurt the museum.

“It’s Saturday.” Dylan hated the deadpan in her own voice, but she needed to slow this train down, lest Mike didn’t want her involved anymore and it never left the station.

“So?”

“Who is going to answer?” Steve asked patiently. Clearly he was used to riding out the whiplash effect of Tim’s whims.

“I see. Good point. Dylan, isn’t he, like, your friend or something? Maybe we just pop by his house?”

Dylan balked, unsure of how to explain just how much she did not want to intrude on Mike at the moment. Luckily, Steve stepped in again. “Tim, that would be weird.” Tim opened his mouth to argue the point, but Steve held up a hand and continued, “We can wait forty-eight hours. Let Dylan come up with an implementation plan. I’ll work out numbers. You can join me for the call to tell the museum’s president. Sound good?”

Dylan found herself inadvertently nodding in sync with Tim and stopped.

“Fantastic. Let’s all head up to Tim’s office and get cracking. We have a lot to sort out,” Steve said, clapping his hands and rubbing them like a dad in a TV show.

“Do you know how to work an espresso machine, by chance?” Tim asked as they strode toward the elevator, the bounce lingering in his step. “Otherwise, maybe we should get a coffee machine or two and test them out today. You know, until we hire a new facilities person.”

Dylan smiled despite herself. She had come here in Neale’s hideous sweatshirt, prepared to leave as an ex-employee with exactly no friends, no boyfriend, no job, and nothing but a wardrobe covered in dog fur to show for her time in Seattle. Sure, she still had a new fling who wouldn’t speak to her and no friends outside of two tech dudes, and her wardrobe was still covered in dog fur. But she had a job again, and that was a place to start.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Dylan tapped two envelopes on the edge of her desk, attempting to funnel her nerves into something less obvious than pacing as she waited for Deep and Brandt. To say Deep had been less than enthused when Dylan had stopped by her desk this morning would be a disservice to the unenthusiastic everywhere. On the upside, she hadn’t been entirely hostile, so there was progress.

Her heart dropped along with the envelopes as she saw Brandt sloping toward her office door, Deep sulking behind him. Brandt turned the door handle and stuck his head around the edge. “Is now a good time?”

“Yes. Please come in,” Dylan said with more animation than she felt, trying to counteract the apprehension that rolled off her intern.

Brandt’s forehead creased as he opened the door an inch wider and squeezed his thin frame into the small crack. Deep gave the door a suspicious glance, then opened it wide to let herself through before closing it without any of the soft touch Brandt had used.

Dylan felt their eyes drilling a hole into her, so she tapped the envelopes on her desk twice to collect her thoughts. This had worked out smoothly when she had rehearsed it with Steve and Tim. In fact, Tim had noted that as he was a master of apologies, her plan had the patented Tim Gunderson seal of approval and an 82 percent chance of success on his “I-really-screwed-up meter.” At the time it had been a good joke, but now, as she sat across the desk from the two people she had hurt, it was a lot less funny and a lot more terror inducing.

She stuffed her fear into a small corner of her mind and looked Deep in the eyes, since Brandt was studying the carpet. Setting the envelopes on their side of the desk, she said, “I wanted to give you both these in person. I had a chance to speak with Steve Hammond over the weekend, and we both agreed the pair of you went above and beyond at the retreat. This is your reimbursement, plus the interest Steve calculated. He also wanted to give you both an extra three days of vacation.”

Dylan paused, taking in the look of surprise on Brandt’s face and the lingering skepticism on Deep’s. Bracing herself, she added the bit she had practiced over the weekend. “I can’t fix that I didn’t get you the money immediately. Or that I