Page 1 of Act Like You Don't Care
Miles
My last day in the office was spent boxing up all my books, finalizing the transfer of my last few cases to other people, and clearing out all the junk I wasn’t planning to take home to California with me. It had been a good three years at the Tate Agency, but with my Master’s in Psychology now completed, I was ready to head back to the West Coast and family.
Somewhere around two, with almost everything packed up, I opened the bottom right-hand drawer of my desk and pulled out my last remaining open case.
Flipping the cover open, I reread the threat assessment for a banker here in New York. Quickly, I ran my eyes down over the information on the pages to make sure I’d covered everything in my summary—I’d be passing it on to one of my colleagues before I left today. It was the last one left—I’d been slowly cutting down on my case list, knowing this day was coming.
Andrew Tate, my boss—former boss, now, I guessed—stopped by my office as I finished boxing up the last of the things in my desk. “We’re going to miss you. Are you sure you don’t want to stay in New York?”
I laughed and shook my head. “No, I need to go home. The family business is waiting.”
“Well, if you ever get tired of the sunshine and the perfect noses, give me a call.” He stepped into the room to shake my hand and his cell rang in his pocket—not uncommon. It only made him laugh and shake his head. “No rest for the wicked.” He gave me a casual wave goodbye and walked out, the phone already to his ear.
My father’s father had started the company in the fifties. Back then, it was mostly providing security people for businesses and warehouses, then he slowly began branching out into personal security.
Now, we were one of the top names in the industry and our client list ran the gamut from container warehouses to A-list celebrities.
I emptied the last drawer of the desk into the box, sealed it, labeled it, then set it on the pile with the rest of the boxes to be picked up by the moving company. Three years I’d been here. It looked pretty small, compressed into a dozen banker’s boxes on the floor.
Nothing left to do except wait for the movers and drop that last file off to its new threat management consultant.
I took the folder down the hall to Marguerite’s office and knocked on the open door. She looked up and smiled.
“Excited?”
“A little. I haven’t been home since I moved here—too busy. It’ll be nice to be down to one job again.” All through undergrad I’d worked for the family business, then through my Master’s I’d worked here. Free time beckoned enticingly in my future. I still couldn’t decide if I wanted to sleep first or take up a hobby. Or maybe find someone to date. When was the last time I’d been out for something that wasn’t work-related?
Third year of undergrad. Maybe.
“You won’t know what to do with yourself for the first little while. My advice is just to ease back into it. Don’t try to fill your time up.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I held up the folder. “The Tornesen file.”
“The banker?” She held out her and glanced through the paperwork inside when I gave it to her. “Doesn’t look too serious.”
“No, I don’t see it escalating, but I’m just unsure enough I didn’t want to close it down. He’s expecting you to call sometime in the next week.”
She nodded and set the file aside on the edge of her desk. “I’ll put him in on Tuesday,” she said as she clicked through her schedule on the computer.
My soon-to-be-former office neighbor stuck his head in the door. “Hey, Miles, the movers are here. I showed them to your office, but you might want to go watch over them, just in case.”
I said a quick good-bye to Marguerite and jogged back up to my office.
The movers were already gone with half my boxes. I double-checked everything in the room while I waited, then sent the men off with the rest of the boxes.
Now it was time to close up, turn in my keys, and say my last in-person goodbyes to everyone.
Marguerite caught me in the hallway while I was looking for the office manager to turn in my keys and sign the last of my paperwork. “Oh, she’s down in the lunchroom. Come on, I’m just going to refill my coffee mug.”
I gave her an uncertain look—she had a coffee machine in her office—and a terrifying suspicion bloomed in my head. No. They wouldn’t…
It turned out that, despite spending the last three years of my life learning to predict the actions of stalkers and other psychologically difficult people, I’d completely missed the signs that the staff here were planning a going-away party for me. Then again, they too spent their days predicting what other people would do—they knew what to keep hidden.
It was nearly four o’clock before I got out of there, stuffed full of coffee and far too much cake. As I was leaving, making small talk, Andrew pulled me aside. “I wasn’t sure about the arrangement when your advisor called me to talk about it. I’m glad I took the chance. If you run into anything you’re not sure of, give me a call, but I’m sure you’ll do fine. Hollywood won’t know what’s hit it.”
I shook his hand and thanked him. “I just hope I can live up to your standards out there.”
He waved me off. “Go, enjoy your sunshine. Maybe I’ll have to branch out in that direction. Give me an excuse to spend my winters over there.”
