The Checklist, Addie Woolridge [ebook reader for pc and android txt] 📗

underappreciated. I want to fix that, starting next week, with a trip to the exclusive Silver Pines Retreat in the Olympic National Forest. We will take a luxury bus up on Thursday and be back Sunday afternoon. I hope this will give us all a chance to reflect and heal as a group.

Thank you for your dedication to Technocore,

Tim

“Oooh, pink sweater. That looks good on you.” Deep’s voice floated through the doorway, her pixie cut swept into a style that made her look like she should be working at a fashion magazine.

“Good morning,” Dylan said, surprised by her own chipper tone. For a brief moment, she had forgotten her sorry state long enough to appreciate that someone noticed her trying out a new color. Even if the new fashion choice was more luck than decision-making.

“Is it a good morning? I mean, maybe the good news is Tim isn’t a benevolent leader anymore. The bad news is he’s making us work through the weekend. How is this better than diet pop?”

Dylan grimaced. “He is trying.”

“I can tell,” Deep said, flopping into a chair across from Dylan’s desk. “I’m here with an FYI because I like you way more than the last fifty consultants. The bullpen is freaking out about finding childcare and canceling weekend plans.”

“Thanks, I’ll have Steve send a follow-up email clarifying a few things.” And by a few things she meant everything.

“Also, the interns want to know if they are going to get paid for this, or are they being forced to work for free?”

“Ugh.” Dylan tossed her head back and closed her eyes before the room started spinning. “Do me a favor and spread the word that all of this will go strictly by the HR code. People aren’t getting screwed over,” she said, reaching for her water bottle and righting her head slowly.

“Will do. Rough night?” Deep asked, giving the Advil on her desk a once-over.

“Never drink cheap prosecco on a school night.”

Deep laughed. “Or if you are going to do it, you should probably keep extra in your desk.”

“I’m not even gonna think about drinking cheap champs again,” Dylan said, hoping her face didn’t look like her stomach felt.

“Honey, never let the next morning stand in the way of a great evening. I’ve got crackers in my desk. I’ll bring them over.”

“Deep, when I feel less terrible, I wanna know what you’re doing with your evenings that you have this kind of wisdom and crackers at your disposal.”

“I’m not sure you’re ready for those details,” she said, leaving with a smile that held way too many secrets. Returning with the crackers, Deep said, “I thought knocking would be unnecessary, all things considered.”

“You are my hero.” Dylan pulled open the box and yanked at the plastic sleeve. When she’d finally liberated a cracker, she attempted a nibble before noticing that Deep had plopped back down in the seat across from her.

“Not to kick you when you are down, but I’m going to guess you didn’t catch last night’s TeraBlog?”

“No,” Dylan said, trying to keep the crumbs from flying out of her mouth. She’d signed up for the tech gossip blog when she’d come to Technocore but didn’t spend a lot of time on it. First, she had no idea who most of the people featured were. Second, she didn’t need to read about Tim’s latest mishaps because she was present for most of them.

Deep pulled out her phone and started reluctantly tapping at the screen. “Let me say that it can and has been way worse. This is just mildly cringey.”

Dylan brushed the crumbs from her fingers into her wastebasket before taking the phone. The photo, provided courtesy of Tim Gunderson, showed him making some sort of prayer gesture to a confused-looking older man, his candy apple–red car posed carefully in the background so the reader could see his NO HANZ license plate. Dylan bunched her lips into a tight O.

“Keep reading,” Deep said, leaning back and fighting to keep the distaste from her perfectly highlighted cheekbones.

Seattle’s Tesla-Wielding Millionaire Repents

Tim Gunderson, the beleaguered founder of Technocore, donated his notorious red Roadster to a local shelter on Monday night. Gunderson said of the car, “I’m hoping it can be used to transport families during what is arguably one of the most difficult times in their lives. Shelia [editor’s note: Gunderson named his car] got me from place to place, and now she can help other families do the same.”

Since Gunderson tweeted the news, many can’t help but wonder if a standard tax-deductible gift might have been more helpful. Still others noted that there is no guarantee that Gunderson’s company will be afloat in six months, so it is probably best he hold on to those pennies.

“Well,” Dylan said, picking up another cracker. “At least he buried the meme.”

“Brandt said the same thing. Frankly, the picture looks stupid, but the idea wasn’t all bad. The shelter will probably sell the car, but at least we don’t have to see it in the parking lot anymore,” Deep said, exhaling slowly. “I can’t figure out what brought it on or why he felt the need to hire a photographer to document it.”

“That’s my fault. I gave him everyone’s feedback, and I think he may have overcorrected.”

“I heard people have been putting bus passes in the office mail for him,” Deep giggled.

“Is ‘people’ you?” Dylan half laughed, using air quotes, before remembering her headache.

“I wish. I’m too lazy to pick up passes just to give them to Tim. Maybe next time, though.”

“If I do my job right, there won’t be a next time,” Dylan said, feeling better as the crackers worked their way through her system.

Deep stood up and smiled. “In that case, I’ll pick some up this afternoon.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Dylan drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, releasing some of her nervous energy as she crept toward the airline sign Nicolas was waiting under. To her family’s credit, they were keeping the jokes to a minimum, and