Page 97 of The Checklist
“Have fun tonight.” Estelle winked at her, then looped her arm through Steve’s and sashayed away with more speed and style than her sparkly dress betrayed.
John raised his empty glass and said, “See you soon,” before turning to catch up to his mother.
“See you Monday, partner,” Tim said as he walked by.
Dylan laughed. Remembering Stacy, she shot out a hand and caught Tim’s arm. “Wait.”
“What’s up?” Tim asked, still looking over at the bar.
“About those ‘calls’ that you made for my friend Stacy,” Dylan said, wrapping the wordcallsin air quotes. She now had the full weight of Tim’s attention.
“What about them?” Tim said, feigning nonchalance with a poker face so awful that she would have to discourage him from entering even a charity tournament in the future.
“She was over the moon. Beyond grateful. Thank you.”
Tim relaxed. “Calls are easy. It was no big deal. Really.”
“Well, it’s a big deal to her. And to me.”
“I know I’m difficult at times, and after all you did for me, it seemed like the least I could do.”
“Stacy is running around here somewhere. Short. Gold dress. Tall heels,” Dylan said, looking around the crowded room. When she caught Tim gazing up at the rising sun on the walls, she gave up and said, “When I find her, I’ll make sure to bring her over. I know she’ll want to say thank you herself.”
“Sounds good. Congratulations. Tonight is a real win for all of us.”
“Thank you,” Dylan said.
Watching Tim walk away, Dylan was suddenly aware of her aloneness and the light touch of Mike’s gaze. She took one more sip of champagne before lifting her head to meet it. Mike’s entire posture was relaxed, as if he was completely at ease with himself and where the night was heading. Dylan felt her heart squeeze as she thought about how comforting that easy demeanor had once seemed to her and how alien it felt to be away from it so suddenly. Mike had been a calm in the storm of her own making, and without him, she felt unmoored.
Dylan exhaled, as if she were blowing out a birthday candle, then took her first step toward what she hoped was still a safe harbor. She attempted to slow down and match Mike’s mellow saunter toward her, like the Hollywood dress was meant to imply. She closed the gap between them until she was close enough to see the delicate pinstripes on Mike’s suit.
“All of this,” Mike said, one hand still in his pocket, the other gesturing around the room, “is incredible.”
He had stopped about two feet away from her. A safe distance if he needed to run for cover. She couldn’t say she blamed him.
“Thank you. It was a team effort. Deep and Brandt did a lot of the work,” Dylan said, looking around the room, grasping for something to say. “And Susan from your office. She is great.”
Mike wrinkled his nose at the mention of Susan’s name.
“What’s that face for?” Dylan asked, unable to stop herself.
“I have a confession about that.” Mike shrugged, placing both his hands into his pockets. “I was at a conference in Lexington, and I was mad, so I dumped you off on Susan and told her to make whatever Technocore wanted happen. She isn’t a fundraiser or even an educator. She is a mail room coordinator.”
Dylan blinked at him. “Mail room coordinator?”
Mike grimaced. “I thought you were going to mail in a pity check and all she’d have to do was tell you the address.”
She couldn’t help it. Dylan busted up. “Seems like Susan is in the wrong role, my friend.”
“I’ve been saying that for months, but no one would give her a shot. So I did,” Mike said, relaxing as he watched Dylan shake her head. “Accidentally.”
“That was a massive shot.”
“In my defense, I had no idea. And none of the actual fundraisers would help me after”—he paused, choosing his words with care—“the first pass didn’t work out.”
Dylan tried not to let his delicate phrasing sting.
“About that.” The band started a big up-tempo number, and she took a half step closer to him. She wanted to be sure he heard her the first time, because she wasn’t positive she would be able to work up the courage to repeat herself. “I’m so sorry.”
