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

let you both down in a big way. But I can say that I value both of you, not just as colleagues but as friends.” Unsure exactly how to finish, she exhaled and added, “So I’m sorry.”

The fear in the corner of her mind expanded as she waited for a response. Forcing herself to sit back in her chair, she looked from Deep to Brandt and back again. Brandt also seemed to be employing a similar strategy, fidgeting in his chair, eyes darting between the two women as he reached for the check.

“What’s the catch?” Deep asked, pursing her lips and leaning farther back in her chair. She left the check where Dylan had set it on the end of her desk. Noticing her posture, Brandt withdrew his hand and leaned away as well.

“I don’t know that it is a catch, per se,” Dylan started, then stopped as Deep’s eyebrows shot toward her hairline, an I-thought-so expression clinging to every inch of her face. Feeling her stomach drop a few centimeters, Dylan sped up her explanation. “It’s just, if you’re amenable to it, I have a project I think would be perfect for the staff-appreciation committee. It’ll be hard work, and it needs to be done in two weeks. So you wouldn’t be able to use your vacation for a few weeks, if you want to work on it.”

Deep’s eyebrows didn’t twitch back toward normal. If anything, the purse of her lips became more firm.

“That is the only kind-of, sort-of catch. I swear,” Dylan said, raising her hands to display the fact that she wasn’t holding any cards.

“What’s the project?” Brandt asked, the curiosity in his voice betraying the indifferent look he was wearing.

“It’d be setting up a long-term volunteer program for the Technocore staff at a children’s museum—”

“This is pointless.” Deep cut her off, leveling a silencing look at Brandt, who’d started to lean forward at the mention of volunteering.

“Sorry?”

“I don’t understand why we’d bother planning any community service when it’ll just get pushed to the side again. We can’t even help our own employees. Hell, our CEO doesn’t even know our names.”

In all her practicing, Dylan hadn’t rehearsed a scenario where reluctance was the response. It wasn’t that she’d thought all would be forgiven, but she hadn’t expected hostility. She felt the hairs on her arms stand up and rubbed her hands over her skin, trying to calm her nerves. “I know. And I want to reiterate how sorry I am. I understand if you don’t want to do it.”

“I just don’t see how this is any different than all the other half-baked—”

“I’m in.”

Both Dylan’s and Deep’s heads swiveled as Brandt joined the conversation, his tone entirely different from what Dylan was used to hearing.

“But . . . ,” Deep said, pausing to collect herself. She raised her hand and nodded her head in Dylan’s direction as if she weren’t there.

“She messed up. And said sorry. Besides, this sounds cool. You’re just being stubborn.” Brandt laughed as he said this, then stilled when he caught a murderous glance from Deep. Forcing his expression into something more serious, he continued, “You know you are. It’s probably why the two of you are friends.”

Now it was Deep’s turn to explore the various colors of carpet fiber present in Dylan’s office. “It just really sucked,” she said, finally drawing her eyes away from the floor. “We told people we were meeting to work on an idea. And that things would be turning around. Then you stood us up. It was embarrassing,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Yes, it was humiliating, but things are still looking up. You can’t tell me it isn’t better around here,” Brandt said, his newfound confidence creeping into exasperation.

“I mean. That jacket was kind of funny. And Tim admitted he was wrong way faster. Before he’d have insisted my name was Samantha Khatri.”

“And this is a chance to make something even better, Samantha,” Brandt chuckled.

Dylan seized on the brief moment of levity. “Look, I can’t promise everything is gonna come up roses, but I want to try. And I promise not to stand you up this time.”

Deep rolled her eyes, but the tension left her shoulders as she uncrossed her arms. “Fine. What are we doing?”

Relief rushed over Dylan. Fighting the urge to jump up and hug her friends, she pushed her chair away from her desk, a sly smile creeping across her face. “How do you two feel about a field trip?”

Dylan drummed her fingers on the keyboard, waiting for inspiration to strike. A small part of her had hoped she would magically run into Mike when she took Deep and Brandt to visit Crescent. But that hadn’t happened, and now she was stuck trying to find words that conveyed why he should answer her call. And she had called.

Once. Then she’d chickened out after the second ring. But today was a new day, and email seemed like a much less scary medium. Or at least it had when she’d promised Tim she would get ahold of him. She reminded herself that at least Tim was excited about an idea that wouldn’t make the business section of the New York Times for all the wrong reasons.

Rolling her head in a circle, Dylan took a deep breath and started typing.

Dear Mike:

I hope this email finds you well.

I am writing because I had the opportunity to speak with Steve Hammond about Crescent, and after careful

Dylan stopped typing, the cursor blinking at her while she laughed the kind of gut laugh that shook the tension out of her neck and made her wish she hadn’t worn a skirt with a restrictive waistband. The only thing that could make this email more boring and less personal was if she attached a spreadsheet with a budget.

Settling back into her chair, she tried again.

Hi Mike,

I tried to call, but I chickened out, so now I’m sending you an email. I talked to Steve and Tim and they are super excited about working