Page 41 of The Checklist
“It was just a question.”
“No, it wasn’t. Be honest: if I hadn’t called you out, would you have done it?”
“No.” Dylan arched an eyebrow, and Tim amended, “Probably not.” When the second eyebrow went up, he shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Gross.” Dylan wrinkled her nose, picking up the next cup and tossing the liquid before fixing Tim with a stare. “Explain this logic to me. I’m trying to understand how I could give you a document outlining that people here feel underappreciated—taken advantage of, even—and you’re wondering how to reuse paper cups.”
“Does it matter?” Tim shrugged and adjusted his stance slightly to take advantage of the additional few inches he’d cleared. Noticing she had halted dumping cups again, he stopped trying to make himself comfortable. “I built this place. Money was tight for so long. They don’t know that.”
“Don’t they?” Dylan let the skepticism hang in the air before selecting another cup to toss. “People without loyalty don’t feel betrayal, Tim. They feel like they helped you build this place. And you are over here acting like you did this alone. It’s rude and self-centered.” Tim’s posture hadn’t been reading proud, but in that moment, whatever was left holding up his hoodie deflated entirely.
“Steve also said that,” he conceded. “Do you think he did this?”
“If he did, you earned it.” Dylan laughed at the idea of the haggard COO helping everyone exact an exceptionally petty revenge. Catching the lines deepening on Tim’s forehead, she added, “For the record, no. I don’t think Steve did this.”
“Steve’s always been a cheerleader.” Tim moved farther into the room, allowing Dylan to tuck into a new corner of the large office. She hated to admit it, but the prank had given her a chance to have the meeting with Tim that she had hoped for when she’d started.
“Let’s move away from the who and move to the repair,” she said. “We know people are frustrated because they feel their contributions are being diminished. The truth is, when you were a smaller company, a coffee cart was a perk, but now free pop—or honestly, moving the cart back into a central place—isn’t gonna cut it.” She stopped to takea breath and stack more gooey cups, then added, “You have to take concrete steps to improve the culture. I’ve outlined some of them in the document you have. Do you want to reread it, or shall I go over them?”
“No. I’ll give it a critical read.”
“That’s what I expected. Look at you, already making strides,
Mr.Founder and CEO.”
The joke seemed to have a positive impact on Tim. “Anything else?”
“Yes. First, I’m going to give Deep and Brandt the okay to form the staff-appreciation group.” Tim flinched and opened his mouth, but Dylan was faster. “It won’t conflict with your plans. They’ll work on small strategic efforts, like potlucks and happy hours. You’ll still oversee big moves.”
“Fine.” Tim’s shoulders sank again as he asked, “Next?”
“Second, promise me you won’t go buying office beverages again.”
“I’ll leave that to facilities from now on. Scout’s honor. What else?”
“Third, we are going to draft a good-natured social media post about how one stupid stunt deserves another,” Dylan said, duckwalking a few inches to reach more cups. “It’ll help people’s perception of you, both inside and outside of this place.”
“About that. There was nothing in the document about public perception. What are we doing there?”
“Right now? Nothing. We need to clean up the house before we move to the front yard.”
“Does that make sense?” Tim asked, and Dylan instantly regretted giving him a compliment. That ego was way too quick to rebound.
“Please trust me.”
“We can revisit that at our next meeting.”
Dylan rolled her eyes so hard she was glad Tim was focused on dumping out pop. Of course he would approach this like a negotiation. “Fourth, you will ditch that repugnant hoodie. What did you do, fish it out of a lake?”
Tim looked perplexed, as if he hadn’t really thought about what he was wearing. Sniffing the sweatshirt, he gingerly peeled it from his body and answered, “This was in the back of my car.”
“That is worse than a lake.”
“Is it?” Tim asked, like finding stale clothing in his fantastically tacky car might not be a bad thing.
“It really is,” Dylan said, shaking her head hard enough that her hair wobbled. “One more thing.” Stopping to make eye contact one last time, she added, “If you insist on driving that flashy car, promise me you won’t wear anything you find in it ever again.”
Dylan flipped her blinker on and turned into a generic apartment complex off Queen Anne, looking for an open visitor spot. Since coming back to the drizzly city, she had finally managed to get somewhere at Technocore. So when Stacy had suggested she come over for dinner at her place, it had seemed like the perfect way to cut loose and not obsessively check her email for the first time in weeks.
