“I don’t know why you insist on putting that crap into your body,” Milo says crisply, yanking my mind back to the present as he slides into the booth across from me.
“‘This ‘crap’ is delicious,” I remind him, taking a deep swig from my beer bottle. “Hello to you too, by the way.”
“If by delicious you mean processed, loaded with salt, and bound to kill you someday,” Milo shoots back, skeptically flipping through the menu while ignoring my greeting.
“We’ve all got to go someday, Beckett,” I growl, doing my best hard-boiled cop impression, “and no amount of spelt flour or free-trade, organic kale is going to change that.”
“Your wit never fails to astound me,” Milo mutters, shaking his head. “Is there anything they serve here that isn’t beer-battered?”
“God, I hope not,” I reply brightly.
“I’ll have to pass, then. Tempted though I am,” he says, nudging the menu away as if it were diseased and crossing his skinny arms.
“It’s almost eight,” I observe, picking at the remains of my cheeseburger bun, long since devoured while I waited for Milo to arrive.
“Couldn’t get here any sooner,” he shrugs. “Important meeting with a client.”
“Aren’t you surgically attached to your iPhone by now?” I ask, choosing not to point out that most of his clients are frivolous corporations with all the time in the world to kill. Saving lives, arresting child pornographers, quashing domestic terrorism—that’s my idea of important. “Just shoot me a text if you’re going to be late so I don’t—”
“Did you really drag me here to berate me about my texting habits?” he snaps, rubbing his red eyes under the thick-rimmed glasses that obscure his face.
“I’m not berating you. And no, as a matter of fact,” I reply, refusing to let his attitude bring me down, “something happened at work today that I wanted to discuss with you.”
“We were scheduled for a coffee date tomorrow. This couldn’t have waited?” he asks.
“We’re dating, Milo,” I remind him. “I didn’t realize I needed to pencil in my interactions with you.”
“You know how busy I am, Quinn,” he says testily.
“Then I’ll make this real quick,” I tell him, leaning my elbows on the checkered tablecloth. “I’m being assigned to a new case.”
“OK.”
“In Las Vegas.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Which means I’m going to be transferred to a new field office. In Nevada,” I spell it out for him.
Milo blinks his big, watery eyes at me, his entire demeanor transforming in an instant.
“Transferred?” he repeats, the fight entirely gone from his voice. “As in, away from LA?”
“That is what transferred means, yes,” I confirm.
“But...What about me?” he croaks.
“Thanks, babe. This is a great opportunity, and it’s quite an honor to be singled out for my awesome work,” I say sarcastically. Of course the first thing he thinks about upon hearing my good news is himself. Not me. Not us. Himself.
“The FBI can’t just ship you off wherever they like,” Milo insists, ignoring me.
“They can, actually.”
“Well then...tell them you quit. You can come work at my agency—”
“Why would I do that? I love my job,” I remind him for the thousandth time. “I want to work this case, Milo.”
“So you’re just going to pack up and leave me for the sake of your job?” Milo scoffs.
“Would you have noticed I’d gone if I hadn’t announced it to you first?” I shoot back.
“You know full well that there are hundreds of other agents who could do your job,” Milo says meanly. “You’re endlessly expendable there, Quinn. You’re a worker bee. You’re not special. I don’t know why you’re bending over backward for these people.”
“Actually, the special agent in charge of the Las Vegas field office personally recruited me to—”
“Oh, please,” he laughs, “that’s how they keep you feeling wanted, Quinn. Are you really too naive to understand that? You’re totally brainwashed, and you can’t even see it. I won’t allow this transfer to happen.”
“You won’t...allow it?” I say flatly, staring at the man-child across the table.
“That’s right,” he sniffs.
“Milo...are you under the impression that I give a single shit about what you will and will not allow?” I ask evenly.
“I’m your boyfriend,” he whines, “I get a say in what you do.”
“Two corrections there, sweetie,” I reply. “One, you don’t get a say in anything I do. And two, you were my boyfriend.”
“What?!” he cries, reaching for my hand as I stand to go. “You’re breaking up with me because of one stupid fight?”
“Not at all,” I say, amazed by how little his antics move me, “I’m breaking up with you because you are a pedantic, superior, mean-spirited little man who has never once supported me. You are constantly trying to make me feel stupid and unimportant, we share none of the same values or aspirations, and—” I lean in close and lower my voice, “—the sex is pretty mediocre.”
I turn on my heel and march out of the diner as Milo’s jaw hits the tabletop. This breakup isn’t our first, but I know in my gut that it will be our last. I’ve been too afraid to stray from Milo’s company, because doing so would mean totally cutting myself off from my past. But I finally feel brave enough to do just that. Chuck is right. My life here is no life at all. I’ve got no friends of my own, no family. Absolutely no strings.
Peeling away from the diner in my beloved black Mustang, I feel lighter than I have in years. More hopeful than I’ve been since Brandon passed away. I can feel my entire life swiveling to reorient itself around this wild new path that’s unfurling before me.
“I guess I’m Vegas bound,” I smile to myself, setting off into the gathering twilight en route to Sin City.
Chapter Three
Mitchell is pleased, but unsurprised, when I call to accept the job.
“I knew you were too bright to pass this up,” he says over the line. “Take the weekend to tie up loose ends in California, we’ve already got your housing taken care of. Report to the Las Vegas field office on Monday. Welcome to the team, Agent Collins, I’m glad to have you.”