The Checklist Addie Woolridge (pocket ebook reader TXT) 📖

conducting business at a plastic table with three-year-olds made its way through her mind.

“How are you in over your head? On Friday night you seemed to have the world figured out. It’s been four days. What changed?” Mike asked, smiling over the edge of his cup.

Dylan debated for a moment how much to tell him. Sure, her parents didn’t trust the Robinsons, but Mike seemed all right. Besides, who was a PhD student going to sell corporate secrets to? Really, half of the details surrounding her job were already in the press. Taking a deep breath, Dylan leaned in. “Okay, but you can’t tell anyone this, because I am legally obligated to keep my mouth shut.”

Mike’s grin was lopsided as he tried to force a straight face. “Secrecy. Got it.”

“When I assess a company, one of the first things I do is talk to the staff to find out what’s going on,” Dylan said, tucking her hands in her lap to keep from flailing them in the air. “This is only my first day of staff interviews, and it’s already a mess. Worse, it is a mess my boss wants turned around in just over two months.”

“That seems a little quick to try to fix a company recently rated an ‘egomaniac haven’ by Time.” Mike frowned and took a breath before adding, “What are the problems? Maybe there are a few quick fixes you can start with?”

“My plan exactly, Professor.” She grinned into her mug. “However, it’s clear the quick fixes are going to involve some concessions from everyone’s favorite hoodie-wearing CEO.”

“First, I’m going to put it out there. I like hoodies. They’re comfortable—”

“And yet you didn’t wear one to work. Because you know deep down hoodies are a curse upon the human race and the tech industry. Mark Zuckerberg effectively took the pocket protector and replaced it with a hoodie, dooming all nerds to look like they’re coming from the gym at all hours of the day.”

“You give the hoodie too much credit. Nothing can dethrone the pocket protector.” Mike leaned forward and picked at the pie with a fork. After taking a bite, he added, “The rest is yours. I only wanted a little.” Dylan cocked an eyebrow at him, and he waved the fork at her to continue. “Back to the issues at hand. Tell me what’s wrong with the hoodie wearers.”

“It comes down to three things. First, the employees feel underappreciated and overworked, like most people. Then there’s the whole disappearing-management act. Technocore used to be so small that three years ago everyone knew everyone by name. Employees had direct access to Tim. Now, he has an entire floor to himself, where he is holed up with the coffee cart.” Dylan paused to catch her breath as Mike hissed in disapproval. Hogging the coffee cart was the equivalent of commandeering the watercooler in another office. It was corporate-culture massacre. No one wanted to be caught outside the CEO’s office chatting about the Seahawks when the guy decided to get a cup of coffee.

“Okay, what’s the third?”

“You know what the third is.”

Mike inclined his head. “Yeah, but I want to hear your professional diagnosis. This is interesting to me.”

Dylan wanted to hug him. No one found her job interesting—not her family and certainly not Nicolas. Hell, half her coworkers thought it was boring. “Fine. No one wants to work at douchebag central. That video of the fight with the old ladies was the final straw.”

A few months ago, Gunderson and several of his friends had gotten into a shouting match with some elderly women from the community softball booster club over who had the right to sit closest to home plate. Someone had actually recorded Tim shouting, “Move it, Nana! Technocore bought these damn seats.” One of the poor octogenarians had started crying and begged to wait until the next inning because her grandbaby was playing third. Eventually, the women had picked up their walkers and shuffled slowly out of frame, mumbling about how rude young people were. The internet had had a field day.

Mike pursed his lips, his eyes sparkling.

“Say it,” Dylan mumbled, picking up the fork and taking a big bite of pie.

“I think your professional assessment of ‘douchebag central’ is funny. I mean, maybe I wouldn’t phrase it like that to Tim, but it’s funny.”

“I was thinking it would go over better as Technocore isn’t well received by the community.”

“Hmmm . . .” Mike wrinkled his nose.

“What?”

“I mean, that’s true. But the bigger issue is, people are embarrassed to work there, right?” Dylan nodded through a mouthful of pie. “Maybe you should tell him that. I mean, phrase it better. But make sure he knows his behavior impacts all the employees.”

“You’re right,” Dylan said, setting the fork down. Mike’s gaze flickered over to the pie for a moment. “Please. No one ever has just one bite. Go on.”

“Two bites, then,” he said, picking up the fork.

“So tell me. What are you teaching?”

“Same class as last year. A course on student motivational frameworks,” Mike said, sighing heavily and exchanging the fork for his tablet. Dylan’s thoughts drifted as he started in on an overview of the course content. She decided there were probably fifty undergrads running around the University of Washington with a crush on him on any given day. She couldn’t blame them. Sitting in a worn leather chair, talking about education, Mike Robinson was quite possibly the most adorable person in the city, if not the state.

“But what about your work at the museum? How does that fit in?”

“I teach one class each semester as part of my doctoral fellowship. Someday in the very distant future, I will defend my dissertation, receive my PhD, and earn the right to have only one job. Until that time, I will continue shaping the minds of youth. Scary as that is.” He laughed, tapping on his tablet.

Dylan watched the muscles in his shoulders move as he flipped through slides and wondered where he bought his button-ups and if