Page 2 of The Checklist
“That’s why you’ll be stationed in Seattle for the duration of the project. There is really no time for back-and-forth here.”
“Jared, I don’t mean to question anyone’s judgment; you certainly know more than I do about the project, but I’m sure I could commute and—”
“Look, Dylan. I’m going to need you to be a team player on this one,” Jared said, dropping the encouraging-manager persona and doubling down on the jargon-riddled belittling she was familiar with. “The cowboy antics may have worked well with Davis, but Technocore is the real deal. Not the big-fish-small-pond stuff you are used to. We need to be rowing in the same direction on this, got it?”
Dylan did her best to bite back a sarcastic remark about not being able to hear him over the volume of his sherbet sweater. “Yes, of course. I understand. But won’t the senior partners notice that I’m there and not you? I mean, we don’t look alike or anything.”
“You’ll be handling research and first steps. I’ll have ultimate approval of the analysis and produce the final report. Besides, you’re from Seattle, correct? You have a better grasp of the culture. After the whole Davis Communications”—Jared paused to find the right word—“ordeal, I want to make sure we have our best and brightest on the ground.”
Dylan thought her boss should have used the wordfiasco, but that would have been an indictment of his own work and a possible admission that she’d saved his job. An act she was steadily growing to regret.
“I see.” Taking a deep breath, Dylan tried a change in tactics. “The thing is, Nicolas and I are looking at moving into a condo soon ...” Dylan smoothed the hemline of her pencil skirt and started praying. Unless God was wearing noise-canceling headphones, he would hear her begging to stay in Houston. If she couldn’t have Paris, at least he could leave her in the humidity.
“That’s great. Do this successfully, and your condo budget increases exponentially.” What Jared didn’t add was that if she failed—and anyone would—she wouldn’t have a job, let alone a condo budget. His simpering grin expanded. “Besides, don’t you have family there? It’ll be like a nice, long vacation. Save the company money too.”
Dylan’s heart plummeted to her stomach. She could think of about 1,422 other things she would rather do than see her family.
Taking her silence for consent, Jared added, “I’ll have accounting send over your travel details. See you in Seattle!” He gave a jaunty, dismissive wave, effectively telling Dylan to get out.
“Merde!” she whispered as she left Jared’s office. She had to hand it to him. The man was an evil genius. Jared was going to torpedo her career, and he was going to make her stay in the house of bedlam while he did it. Shaking her head, Dylan collected her handbag, computer case, and blazer before power walking toward the door.
Dylan continued her march to the car, moving as fast as her Manolos would allow, which was faster than most people could move in flats. Since leaving Seattle, she had gotten good at moving quickly in an ankle-breaking shoe. She had also figured out how to flat iron her curls into oblivion. The Houston humidity was no match for her skill and salon-quality hair products. All these talents would be useless in Seattle. Sloshing through the tireless drizzle in extreme heels was a dangerous impracticality, and wielding an umbrella was something no self-respecting local would tolerate.
After pressing the unlock button, Dylan crawled into her car and glanced around the parking lot to make sure none of her coworkers were there to witness her cutting loose. Then she laughed, the sound bordering on hysterics. She had managed to avoid going back to Seattle for years, and now she’d be making up for lost time.
Holding her breath, she slowly counted to ten. She was meeting Nicolas at the gym soon, and if she didn’t get it together, he would start his workout without her. Exhaling loudly, she eased out of the parking lot, using the voice-recognition feature on her phone to start anUnfortunately, I’m Going Homechecklist. To-do listing was a technique she’d developed while living in her parents’ structureless madhouse, and it always helped. Sure, nearly everyone but Nicolas, includingthree-quarters of her coworkers, six of her closest friends, and her butcher, thought her listing was ridiculous. But those people didn’t know what it was to unironically wear pajamas to school because your parents lost track of the laundry one too many times ...
Dylan cut the memory off, redirecting her focus to the list. First, her standard appointments would be canceled: eyebrow threading, manicures, blowouts, and waxing. Easy enough to manage while she waited to board the plane on Friday. Also, dry cleaning, prescheduled workouts, and her ballet tickets needed to be handled. And, of course, she had to call her parents. Her thumb hovered over the call button on the steering wheel as mental recordings of every bizarre conversation she’d had with them in the last six months replayed in her head. If her father went on another tangent about his favorite disco queen, she was pretty sure she’d be forced to slam her car into a brick wall. Noticing the panic creeping up inside her, she decided to wait until after her workout, which she was officially late for.
Dylan grabbed her gym bag and jogged through the door, inspecting a chip in her nail polish as she stepped into the familiar smell of sweat and sanitizer. Waving hello to the tiny-T-shirt-loving man at the front desk, she streaked into the locker room and threw on a pair of running capris and a matching top. She took just enough time in the mirror to work her thick hair into a smooth high ponytail before blending a nearly imperceptible smudge of sepia foundation into the reddish-brown skin near the edge of her jaw and swiping away a stray spot of mascara. Giving herself a nod of approval, she bolted out of the locker room and took the stairs two at a time to find Nicolas mid–bicep extension. Her shoulders relaxed as she released the tension in her chest. There was a familiar comfort that accompanied seeing Nicolas, his blond hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, wearing the autopilot look he got when he was exercising. Or having sex.
Dylan felt instantly guilty. Thinking her boyfriend had an autopilot for sex didn’t sound great. And autopilot or not, Dylan was glad to havesomeone stable in her life. Someone who knew her well enough that she could vent about her forced family vacation, manipulative boss, and possible loss of employment without sounding whiny. Nicolas loved routines and a job well done even more than she did. After years of hit-and-miss parenting, meeting him had been a godsend. No matter how messy her family seemed, he was always consistent. Dylan knew what she was getting with him, and although robotic at times, Nicolas’s response to her was always reliable.
“Hey, sorry. Work was a bear,” Dylan said, bouncing to a stop in front of him and rocking back on her heels as he took out one earbud.
“No worries, I figured as much.”
“Today was possibly the worst day ever.”
“Listen, I already did the lat pull downs and the leg press. You can come back for those later.” Nicolas pushed the strands of sweaty hair out of his eyes, his ivory skin red from exertion.
“Right. Sure.” Dylan nodded, feeling her ponytail bounce against the back of her head. “So guess where they’re sending me? And let me eliminate the fun possibilities now. It isn’t Paris.”
Nicolas resumed his repetitions, answering her query with a grunt.
“Seattle. Two months. Technocore. Can you believe it?”
“Not great,” Nicolas grunted, his eyes sliding toward himself in the gym’s mirrored wall.
“Not great at all! I think Jared is trying to get me fired over the Davis Communications thing. It isn’t my fault he thought giving people company tchotchkes as they were being laid off was a good idea. Of course it backfired. No one feels better when handed a Rubik’s Cube and a pink slip.”
“If you ask me, Jared is the one who needs a fidget spinner and a pink slip,” Nicolas grunt-laughed, the joke encouraging Dylan.
“What was he thinking?Here. Now you have an activity to do while you wait in the unemployment line.” Dylan’s arms windmilled around the gym, getting more animated as she gathered steam. “You know whatreally bothers Jared?” Dylan propped a fist on her hip and pointed a finger at nothing. “That stupid article. As if anyone cares about press inManagement Today. It’s a trade journal. It isn’t the Bible or anything.”
“Right.” Nicolas nodded, the sound of metal plates clicking on the machine.
“If they hadn’t called me the Davis Communications Savior, none of this would be happening. Severance packages for minimum wage employees isn’t rocket science. Besides,savioris a—”
