The Middle Man

by Gadziala, Jessica

  That said, Nia was not the sort to easily take orders, to follow directions, to do something one way when she whole-heartedly believed it would be better done another way.

  Hence the head-butting with Quin who liked to run a tight ship, who wanted things done his way.

  She got away with it more often than he cared to admit. Because, much like each of us, there was simply no one in the business who could do our jobs quite as well as we could. Nia included.

  Hackers were a dime a dozen. You brushed shoulders with them on the daily without even realizing it.

  But their skills could vary vastly.

  Some could only get into someone's social media accounts, maybe screw with someone's bank accounts or something.

  Others, like Nia, there simply weren't any limits. You needed to find something, she found it. Case fucking closed.

  She was good.

  So she got away with the raised voice I could hear as I made my way down the hall into Nia's office that she shared with Miller, pushing the door open without knocking since, with their raised voices, they likely wouldn't hear me anyway.

  "I don't have a problem with the results, Nia. I have a problem with the fucking way you got them," Quin's voice--rarely raised-- nearly shouted at the woman who was behind her very neat desk, hands curled into fists, jaw tight.

  "The only way to get the fucking results was to go about obtaining them exactly how I fucking did!"

  "Piss off another client, babe?" I asked, watching as she slit her eyes at me as I held up my hands, palms out.

  "That's an understatement. He's threatening to drop us. Half a million is on the line, and she refuses to apologize."

  "Because I'm not sorry. You wanted a job done. I got the job done. Case closed."

  Quin shot me a look, patience clearly running thin.

  "We all have to bullshit the clients sometimes, babe," I reminded her.

  "I don't have anything to do with the clients. I am a strictly behind-the-scenes part of this team."

  That was true enough. It was something she'd made clear when she had joined us. She wanted to be anonymous. I guess that was the point of learning a skill that kept you behind a computer screen.

  "Did you tell the client that Nia was the hacker?" I asked, looking over at Quin.

  "Not by name."

  "Did you say it was a woman?"

  "Yeah."

  "Have Miller do the ass-kissing. She's good at putting a fake face on when she needs to. And it only seems fair that she would get a cut of Nia's check since she has to take the ass-chewing."

  Nia shot me a hard look, but kept her mouth shut.

  Quin's smile spread slow as he walked past me, clamping a hand on my shoulder. "And that's why you're the Middle Man," he told me on his way out of the office.

  "It's bullshit that he gets on my case for doing my job."

  "And I'm sure he thinks it is bullshit that you won't take the heat like all the rest of us have to do at times," I reminded her, watching as she sighed out her breath.

  "I'm not good at holding onto my temper," Nia admitted.

  "It's a family trait," another voice joined, making me turn to find Nia's little sister, Bex, make her way in, dropping down in the chair between both Nia and Miller's desks.

  "There's blood on your shirt," Nia commented, not sounding surprised or overly concerned over its existence. "What guy's face did you bash in this time?"

  "This time I was actually just helping some kid with a bloody nose."

  It was no secret around Navesink Bank that Bex and her friend group were known for sort of being protectors of local women who found themselves street harassed or trying to escape bad Tinder dates or too drunk to make their own decisions.

  She was young enough that it was, so far, just a hobby. I couldn't help but wonder if she would somehow manage to make a career out of it.

  I couldn't help but wonder what kind of family life the two girls had that had turned them into such strong, self-assured, driven women with absolutely no fucks to give. Was it born of love and stability or strength brought on by hardship?

  Nia was tight-lipped about her personal life. I didn't know Bex well enough--and likely never would--to get those kinds of personal details out of her.

  "Piss off your boss again?" Bex asked, reaching to steal a Hershey's Kiss out of the fishbowl Nia kept full of them.

  "He's wrong," Nia told her sister, refusing to give an inch. It wasn't her way.

  "Probably. But you're a pain in the ass," Bex informed her.

  "That's what makes me good at what I do."

  "No. Being a nosy ass is what makes you good at what you do. Being a pain in the ass is what makes it impossible for you to have a normal job."

  "I have a great job."

  "For now. You keep ticking off the big guy, you're gonna be out. Right, Hunky Leering Guy?"

  "He's not leering. He's standing there," Nia clarified, rolling her eyes at her sister. "Not all guys are pieces of shit."

  "Just most of them?" Bex asked.

  "A good majority," Nia conceded.

  "But not this one?" Bex asked, jerking her chin toward me.

  "So far, nope."

  "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Nia."

  "He did just cut my ass-chewing from the boss man short. So we can tolerate him."

  "Fiiine," Bex sighed, but shot me a smile.

  "Are you still grounded?" Nia asked me.

  "Until I finish my paperwork," I agreed, realizing for the first time that the timing of Quin's decision to double-down on me for slacking the past, I don't know, couple of years, was actually perfect. And that with Gemma in my house, one could argue that taking my sweet time finishing it up actually was the best path. I couldn't exactly keep an eye on her if I finished my work and was suddenly shipped off to Abu Dhabi or something to handle some touchy situation.

  "Going crazy yet?"

  "Enough to make me consider actually doing my paperwork when I am supposed to."

  "Just consider it?" she asked, lips curling up.

  "Can't exactly promise I will turn into a good record keeper. Anymore than you can promise to play by the rules, babe."

  "Hacking is all about breaking rules," she reminded me as I made my way back to the door. "Maybe if you could remind Quin of that, he will get off my ass all the time."

  "I think I helped you out with him enough for one day," I told her with a smile. "Nice seeing you again, Bex."

  "Oh, hey," Jules said, stopping short at as I moved into the hall. "I think my invitation must have gotten lost on that disaster zone you call a desk. So I needed to check in. Are you coming to the party next week?"

  "I am always down for a party. What kind of party is it again?"

  To that, she sighed, clearly disappointed.

  "Emmeline's birthday," she told me, meaning the daughter that, even at her young age, clearly took after her mother. Whereas their son, Benjamin (Benji), was shaping up to be all Kai.

  "Oh, of course," I agreed, nodding, figuring it was better to act like I hadn't completely forgotten her birthday month. "I will be there. Any suggestions on what kind of presents to get her? I'm not up on my kid gifts since I was one."

  "I will text you a PDF with suggestions for what she has been into."

  Of course she was. That was Jules - ridiculously forward-thinking and organized.

  "Perfect. And, in case I don't find the invite, text me the details too."

  "I'm already on it." And she was, her hands moving over her phone as she walked away.

  The day I had originally been dreading, thinking I would be drowned in paperwork, lost a lot of its dread.

  I did a small bit of organizing, cleaning, handling a small handful of files, and then went ahead and spent the rest of the day watching shit on my phone while dreaming of soup.

  By the time everyone shuffled out, I wrapped it up, making my way back to my house. I found myself warmed at the sight of the lights already on, inviting me home ev
en from the road.

  There was practically a cheesy skip in my step as I made my way back from the garage, heading up the front path, hearing the sounds of life from inside.

  As I fumbled to find my rarely-used house key, my gaze went to the window beside the door, seeing the back of Gemma as she moved back into the kitchen.

  She'd changed out of her work clothes, wearing instead a much more Gemma-like pair of bright yellow and pink mandala yoga pants and an oversized gold colored sweater. Her hair was down and wild. Her feet were bare.

  I hadn't even realized I had been tense since she had come down dressed for the morning until I felt it all slip away at realizing she hadn't changed like I had feared, but that she simply had to play a role, that she managed to find a balance between her work persona and her true self.

  Noticing I was being a bit more of a creep than I liked, I slipped the key into the lock, and let myself into my house.

  I didn't get too far.

  Once I was inside, and the door closed behind me, all the things that had been missing for a while hit me all at once.

  The low hum of music playing on the stereo, something unfamiliar, some singer-songwriter, heavy on the guitar and a memorable voice. The smells of food cooking. Something rich. A little tomato, garlic, Italian seasoning. I didn't know what all the scents meant as a dish, but I did know that I wanted to find out.

  Shaking myself out of the moment, I made my way toward the kitchen, finding Gemma with her back to me once again, standing at the stove, stirring the giant pot found there, her hips swinging around to the music in the other room.

  There was an unexpected gut-punch of desire at the whole scene, at the woman starring in it.

  Gemma had been a girl when she'd joined up at the office. Underage. Off-limits. The mind didn't even factor her in as anything other than a kid.

  Somehow, seeing her again hadn't, at first, made my mind make that leap from the past to the present. From her being a girl to a woman.

  But there was no denying that I was acutely aware of this change as I stood there, as I noticed for the first time the perfect way time had shaped her. The gentle slope of her waist to the flare of her hips, the roundness of her ass, the perfect shape of her thighs.

  Add that to the fact that she was standing there in my house, comfortable, at home, making me food, yeah, it was impactful.

  Miller, Nia, and Bex would all likely want my head for being attracted to the idea of a woman cooking for me, but that didn't change the fact that it worked for me, that it did something to me to see it.

  My cock was stiffening by the second, making me realize my need to get a hold of myself before I let it get out of hand.

  I took a deep breath that shook my chest, then went ahead and cleared my throat, making Gemma jolt and turn, hand slapping over her heart.

  "Didn't mean to scare you," I told her, giving her an apologetic head tilt.

  "You're early."

  It was an accusation. And, if I wasn't mistaken, there almost seemed to be some disappointment mixed in as well.

  "I'm sorry?" I said, brows moving together.

  "No. I mean... it's your house. I just..." she sighed, pulling a dishrag off of a bowl on the island.

  "Is that dough?"

  "Yeah."

  "You were going to bake bread?"

  "Fresh bread really rounds out a meal. I knew I should have just bought a loaf..."

  "No." That came out too fast, too awkward. I wasn't sure I had ever come off as fucking awkward with a woman before. "I have never had homemade bread."

  "Well, that is a crime," she told me, throwing the towel back over the bread. "It should be ready to bake in another twenty minutes or so."

  "Do you always bake your own bread?" I asked, already suspecting she did, knowing her aversion to all preservatives.

  "Pretty much. I keep some Ezekiel bread in my freezer for a pinch, but I really like baking bread. It reminds me of doing it with my mom and sister on the weekends as a kid."

  "I'm excited to try it. What kind of soup did you make?"

  "I went simple with minestrone. I didn't want to get too crazy, not knowing what your tastes are yet. You can't go wrong with minestrone. Well, you can't go wrong with my minestrone."

  "Pretty cocky about your cooking skills, huh?" I asked, liking the way her eyes were twinkling. I knew I was supposed to ask how her day went, if anything else had happened to make her worry. But I simply didn't want to ruin the mood, didn't want to dull the light in her eyes, the ease of her smile, and the calm in her body.

  "I have always been pretty good at convincing even the pickiest of eaters that vegetables taste good."

  "Well, if it tastes half as good as it smells, you will have another convert."

  "You eat vegetables," she objected, having ordered us food at work more than a few times in the past.

  "I have a handful that I don't hate. Can't claim I love them all though."

  "We'll get you there."

  The casual way she used the term 'we' mixed with the certainty of her words, yeah, it was causing a warm feeling in my chest there was no denying.

  You're a junkie for that forever feeling, Miller had told me once after yet another breakup from a woman I likely never should have dated in the first place. Every small hint of ever-after with a woman is your fix. You should work on that.

  She wasn't wrong.

  I wanted that forever feeling. I wanted that every day.

  I was never the man who wanted shallow connections, who wanted to hop beds, who only wanted a warm body.

  I wanted a warm home. I wanted someone in it with me. I wanted the ideal the world like to tell us only women were after.

  And, yes, I often thought I could find that with even the most unlikely of women, ones who, if I stopped to think logically for even a couple of minutes, I would know weren't going to be beside me in a rocking chair when we were eighty.

  Even though a large part of me knew Miller was right, I never seemed to give her words much thought, just kept chugging along at my usual pace, making my same old mistakes over and over again.

  Why, then, were her words popping into my head now? Why with Gemma did her warning seem to be sage advice?

  Because there was absolutely no way Gemma and I could ever build a life? Because the impossibility of it seemed as strong as my sudden desire to get more of her?

  Christ.

  "If you don't mind, I'm gonna go take a shower before dinner."

  A cold, cold shower.

  With a lot of reminding myself why Gemma was off-limits, why I could never put my hands on her, why I couldn't conjure up an image of us fifty years down the road.

  "Go right ahead. I am holding out for a date with that clawfoot tub later. I haven't had a bathtub deep enough to sink down in for ages."

  Fuck me.

  The image of her naked in the tub, her round breasts weightless, her dusky pink nipples peeking out from the water, her long legs leading up, up, up... yeah, that was not what I needed right then.

  It was also not an image I could shake

  Not even after my cold shower became R-rated.

  Not even as we small-talked about the changes in the office, her life outside of work, the upcoming birthday party we would both be attending as we ate the best goddamn soup known to mankind and ripped apart bread still warm from the oven.

  And certainly the fuck not when after dinner, I sat in bed listening to the water filling the tub followed by the long silence after it was done. Then, finally, not as I heard the splash as she lowered her body down into the warm water.

  Right then, all I could picture was being able to climb off the bed, follow the sounds, give into the lure of her and her body and go into that bathroom, drop my clothes, and climb in behind her.

  Maybe the weirdest part of it all was the fact that my fantasy didn't have me shifting her up on my lap, and sliding my cock inside her.

  No.

  It was simply pulling her back to
my chest, wrapping my arms around her middle, and feeling her head press back into my shoulder.

  Just sharing a bath.

  Just a type of intimacy that didn't come from sex.

  "Fuck," I sighed, hopping out of bed, strapping sneakers onto my feet, leaving a note on the door to her room, then taking myself for a run. Hoping for a clear mind, and praying it did something to put things back into focus.

  Even after getting back, exhausted through and through, as I heard her bed creak as she shifted, it all came rushing back.

  I didn't know how long she was going to be staying in my house, but I somehow did know that it was going to be the longest period of time in my life.

  FOUR

  Gemma

  The days turned into a week faster than it seemed possible for them to. Especially given how slowly things had been moving since I started at Blairtown Chem. Before taking up residence in Lincoln's guest room, everything had been slow. A life that had once been light and airy, always feeling a bit like I floated through it in the best way possible had been turned into a daily slog through the knee-deep cement of dread and fear and uncertainty.

  I chalked it up to multiple factors.

  Knowing what I was doing, knowing it was important, but also that it was--in the strictest definition of the term--wrong. Not only that, but everything about the world I suddenly found myself in went against who I knew myself to be.

  I could no longer look like me, dress like me, act like me.

  It became so all-consuming that I started not to feel like myself anymore. By the time I got back from the office, it took nearly until I fell asleep to get back to who I genuinely was. If I even managed it at all. Some days I didn't. Some days the mask won, became a small part of my actual existence rather than something I put on and took off at will.

  In rare reflective moments, I worried it may be something that never fully went away, that the woman with the fake smile and the phone-voice and the perpetual headache from too-tight hair, the one who could lie easily, the one who deceived people she loved may actually become a permanent part of my identity.