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

Glancing at the miniature waiting room, she spotted the faux-leather pea-green chairs and ancient Highlights magazines that had lived on the coffee table of every medical office since New Edition had topped the charts. Looking at a medicine cabinet with a carved red cross hanging over it, Dylan spotted packaging. Squinting at the lettering, she made out the most insulting words she’d seen all day: 1,800 thread count Egyptian cotton.

“Seriously, dude?”

“What?” Tim asked, nervously glancing around the room.

“You got yourself fancy, high–thread count sheets when everyone else is trying to squeeze into Doc McStuffins sleeping bags. Even your CFO is sharing a cabin,” she said, gesturing to the sheets before crossing her arms. “And where is the actual doctor?”

Tim toed the carpet with his sneaker, working up to an acceptable explanation. “It’s technically a nurse’s cabin. And since we didn’t bring medical staff, I figured—”

“There’s no medical staff here for an emergency?” Dylan didn’t care if she sounded shrill. They were forty-five minutes up a mountain. Someone was bound to twist an ankle. Shaking her head, she said, “Actually, don’t answer that. We have bigger problems, believe it or not.”

“Look. I know I botched today.”

“Not sure that is a strong enough word.”

Tim glowered at her for a moment, then exhaled, his shoulders sagging. “I sort of ran out of time to execute my vision. And I couldn’t have my slides or the sound effects without Wi-Fi. I was off my game.”

“Sound effects would not have helped. Trust me.” Dylan shifted from one foot to the other, letting her irritation loose. “Level with me, because we are both one more bad idea away from losing our jobs. Do you actually have a plan, or was this whole thing put together all higgledy-piggledy?”

“Higgledy-piggledy?” Tim said, eyeing her with humor.

“You know exactly what higgledy-piggledy means.”

“Did you notice I gave everyone credit in my speech like you suggested?” Tim said, his voice rising an octave. When the diversion didn’t work, he caved. “No, I obviously don’t have a plan.”

Dylan arched an eyebrow at him and took a deep breath. “I know you brought some fancy gadget to write with. Go get it.”

Tim turned his back on her to find something to take notes with. As he rifled through his bag, he said, “I know everyone thinks I’m a joke. But I made a great company with an excellent product. If people would recognize how good Technocore is at cybersecurity, they’d leave me alone and let me do what I do. I just want a chance to do this my way. I don’t want to be like all the other founders who sell out or get fired ’cause they can’t hack it at their own company.”

Dylan understood this on a gut level. In an industry where so few founders became leaders, it was natural for Tim to want to do things his way. It was the curse of tech success, and in a weird way, it had begun haunting Tim the moment he’d started hacking.

“If only we lived in that world, but your reputation matters as much as the product.” Dylan sighed, settling herself into a waiting chair and switching back into problem-solving mode. “Next time you have an idea, ask yourself, A: Is this moving the company forward technologically? B: Will this crush anyone’s soul? And C: Am I acting like that CEO from the ride-sharing company who got fired for being an asshole?”

“I met him, and he wasn’t great in real life,” Tim said, coming back with a shockingly plain yellow notepad.

“For now, let’s use him as your behavioral baseline. If you can see him doing something, please don’t do it.”

“That is a low bar.”

“Well, do better and we can raise it. Assuming we still have jobs,” Dylan said, shrugging. “Now, list what sucks.”

“Like, in the world?” Tim asked, looking oddly scandalized for a grown man.

“No. At this campground. And put food at the top.”

Tim nodded. “Also, the coffee . . . and no Wi-Fi.”

“Activities. Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Dylan shrugged off Tim’s hurt glance.

“People management. Too many people going one place, so we shuffle everywhere.”

“Let’s call that congestion. What else?”

“The decor,” Tim said, leaning forward and getting into the exercise. “The animals are always watching.”

“Write it down!” After Tim had finished scrawling animal heads on the paper, she asked, “Anything else you can think of?”

“Outside of there not being a bar? No.”

“Well, write down a bar. Then we can get going.”

Tim stared at the notepad, hesitating. “It’s a long list.”

“More importantly, it is a list that we can pay to fix.”

“I don’t think we can get someone out here to take the heads off the walls that fast,” Tim said gently, as if he might hurt her feelings with the truth.

“Oh no, the heads are staying, but where we spend our time can change. For example, we can add more campfires and hikes to the program.”

“You are good at making lists,” Tim said, looking at her with something that bordered on respect.

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Dylan answered, rolling her neck from side to side.

Passing her the yellow notepad, Tim asked, “So what happens next?”

Standing up to stretch her arms out wide, Dylan felt like she was getting ready for a race and not a long night of fixing things. Massaging her left shoulder, she said, “I’m gonna need your credit cards.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Dylan stared down at the tube of Icy Hot, then smiled back at herself in the mirror. Her hair had managed to curl over the course of the corporate retreat from almost H-E double hockey sticks. Instinctively, she tried to reach up to arrange it. Wincing, she lowered her arm and squeezed a large amount of the not-so-pleasant-smelling gunk on her hand, then slowly tried to apply it to the dead center of her back. The ropes course was finally catching up with her body, and it was clear that while she might have the technical skills to climb, the muscles required were in