Page 71 of The Checklist
“Once you see what I have planned, the warehouse won’t freak you out.” Tim said this in such a dry tone that she couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or if a warehouse was actually involved. Before she could ask a clarifying question, Tim added, “All right, my Rolfer is here. Gotta go!”
“Hey, Tim. One thing,” Dylan said to the dead air on the other end, then shook her head. Of course Tim was into Rolfing. In fact, she was only surprised it had taken her this long to get confirmation. Pushing her frustration about wasted time aside, she opened a window to email him about Deep’s and Brandt’s reimbursements. Typing out aquickplease do this, she blew out a long, strained breath and scheduled the message so that it would go out in roughly an hour and fifteen minutes, hoping to catch Tim post-Rolfing.
Attempting to swallow her mounting anxiety, she reasoned Jared had said close of business, but he hadn’t said in which time zone. She could send him the documents by 5:00 p.m. Hawaiian Standard Time tomorrow, and he couldn’t say she hadn’t followed directions.
“This’ll totally work. Not.” Dylan groaned, slumping over in her chair. “Don’t give up. You’re a smart girl. You can figure this out.” Inhaling through her nose, she picked her head up and tried to work.
She achieved laser focus on her work for all of thirty-five seconds, when her phone chimed again, causing her heart to leap into her throat. Massaging her left shoulder, she reached absently for her purse and pulled out her cell phone. “Shit.”
Dylan dropped the phone on her desk almost immediately as Mike’s name scrolled across the screen. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as the phone continued to ring. She’d barely had a moment to think about anything since getting to work, including Mike. She certainly wasn’t ready to deal with her choices yet. Holding her breath, she waited for the phone to stop ringing and prayed he wouldn’t leave a message.
Not that she didn’t want to talk to him. She just didn’t know what she wanted to say.Sorry I lied. I don’t know half the people on that list, and my life is garbage. How do you feel about trying again from a place of honesty?seemed like not the right place to start.
The phone stopped ringing, and she exhaled audibly. Whatever she planned to say needed finessing, and she would say it ... after she got through Jared’s demands. And Tim’s absurd meeting. And everyone else’s requests.
The phone buzzed, and Dylan glared at the device, which was seemingly hell bent on her listening to her voice mail. Picking up her cell, she held it as though she might be physically ill.
Mike’s familiar voice crept through the line, comforting despite the dread his words induced. “Hey, Dylan. Turns out Chef knew something about sushi and slow jams that we didn’t.” He paused here, and the image of him nervous as he chuckled at his own joke came to her uninvited.
“So you were not here this morning, and I thought I’d check in with you. Make sure everything is, uh ... copacetic.” She imagined him rubbing the back of his head as he tried to find the words he needed to reach her. Despite herself, she smiled, thinking of him in his sweater, pacing around, wearing a hole in the floor of his apartment.
“Anyway, could you call me back or text me so I know you weren’t abducted by aliens last night? Okay, talk soon. Bye.”
Shaking her head, Dylan willed the smile off her face, allowing the tension in her shoulders to return. She didn’t need to be endeared to Mike right now, no matter how adorable his voice mails were. The only thing she needed was to get through today; then they could talk. Until then, she would keep afloat by any means necessary.
Typing fast, she pulled up Steve Hammond’s calendar and looked for a vacancy tomorrow. After throwing a hold on a chunk of time, she picked up her phone, stomach muscles clenching, and typed out a text to Mike.
Hey! Sorry, you were passed out and things at work went off the rails. We’ve got a meeting with Steve Hammond for 3:30 tomorrow. Maybe we can grab a bite after? Sushi and slow jams not required, but much appreciated.
Tossing the phone in her purse like it was made of lava, she closed her eyes to stop the room from spinning. If she stayed in the office for another minute, she’d be sick. If she could just find a quiet place, literally any quiet place, to hunker down, she might actually survive the next twenty-four hours. As it was, panic had her sweating so hard she was pretty sure even her shoes were full of water. Dylan reminded herselfthat she had pulled off some pretty impossible-sounding tasks before. She didn’t have to panic. She just needed to get out of the office.
She closed her laptop, threw the computer into its case, and grabbed her coat. She wasn’t sure where she was going; all she knew was she was in over her head, and she didn’t want to hyperventilate or barf on Technocore’s third floor.
Dylan sat in the car, breathing in through her nose for five seconds and out through her mouth for eight, like her middle school choir teacher had taught her. She had been using this trick to fight a state of near-debilitating dread since she’d bolted from the office a half hour earlier.
As she forced herself out of the car, the fresh air hit Dylan like a blast of cold, pine-scented reality, and she yanked on Cruise’s door. This time of day, the place was mostly empty, save for a few college students who looked as stressed as she felt. Trotting toward the counter, she attempted to maintain whatever calm she’d regained on the drive over as the barista finished wiping down the espresso machine. Sure, she was in a hurry, but she wasn’t pressed enough to want old milk from the steamer hanging around her beverage.
“Good morning. How are you?” the guy behind the counter asked, his red stapler tattoo smiling up at her from his forearm.
“Hi, I’m fine, thanks. Can I have a small double latte, please?” Dylan said, forgoing the usual polite exchanges. Best not to get sucked into a conversation when she was exactly three heartbeats away from an anxiety-induced blackout.
“Oh, a double. Someone has a busy morning,” Stapler Tattoo said, smiling despite the fact that Dylan looked like she was ready to tear her hair out.
“Sure is,” she said, her best please-leave-me-alone smile stuck to her face.
“Anything else I can get you?” the guy said, tapping at the screen in front of him.
Dylan eyed the pastry case but decided against getting anything. If she got started with sweets now, she would be eating them all day. “Just the latte, thank you.”
“No problem.” The barista smiled, accepting her credit card. After a moment, he flipped the screen around for her signature. “All right. I’ll bring your latte over to you in a moment.”
“Thank you,” Dylan said, hustling over to a large corner table. In a flash, she began laying out her papers, the pressure behind her eyes mounting with each file she pulled out of her bag. As she took in the sheer volume of paper, her mind began to haze over at the edges, the insurmountable volume of work pushing her past the point of overload.
“Here you go,” the barista chirped, causing Dylan to look up in a frenzy. He rocked back on his heels as her overwhelm washed over him. “You seemed like you needed a little something to pick you up, so I made you a foam leaf.”
“Oh.” Dylan blinked at him for a moment, wondering if she was experiencing some sort of pressure hallucination. It was the only explanation for why this man was talking to her about leaves when her entire world was rapidly crashing around her ears. When the barista didn’t disappear, she looked down at her latte. There in lovely foam art was indeed a leaf. She racked her brain for what the appropriate pity-leaf-design etiquette was and settled on, “That was kind of you. Thank you.”
Her phone began to buzz,Stacyscrolling across the screen.No time for that right now, Dylan thought, gritting her teeth at her phone as well as at the barista, who was still beaming at her. Switching the phone into airplane mode, she turned her attention back to her computer, giving the guy a silent hint that he could leave her in peace. Much to Dylan’s dismay, he coughed loudly, offering her a hint of his own. When she did not look up, he said, “Rough morning?”
