Like Grownups Do by Nathan Roden Page A

throughout the interior and exterior of the large home—most depicting vulgar attempts at eroticism. Undaunted, Samantha Blackledge had watched Madeline Gerard’s interior design company revamp a co-workers’ home during the previous year.
    After the first day observing MG and her staff at work on their new home, Jordan called Jack.
     
    “Jack,” Jordan had said. “Clear your schedule for tomorrow morning. You have got to meet this woman.”
    Jack, Jordan, and Samantha approached MG, who was lining up a demo crew in the massive, vaulted, great room. Samantha introduced Jack to MG, who gave him a hearty smile and handshake. Jack promised to stay out of her and her crew’s way as he winked at Jordan.
    When MG turned her back to speak to her crew, Jack whispered to Jordan.
    “That was like shaking hands with a linebacker that has one finger in a light socket.”
    “My friend, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Jordan said.
     
    Samantha kissed Jordan on the cheek and left for her office. For the next two hours, Jack and Jordan followed MG throughout the home, where crews were at work in seven of the home’s fourteen rooms. A large landscape crew, three large delivery trucks, a backhoe, and a front end loader/excavator arrived within a half hour, complete with two more crew foremen. Jack and Jordan frequently caught each other’s eye. They exchanged chuckles, head shakes, and gaping jaws.
    MG moved between projects with an ease that gave the impression that her running shoe shod feet were gliding inches above the ground. She effortlessly juggled two cell phones, a clipboard, a large notebook, and a couple of catalogs, all while directing the different crews and foremen. Occasionally she jumped in to help lift or hold something heavy. The crews must have been used to this because they made room for her when she moved in.
     
    Jordan took Jack’s coffee cup for a refill. Jack was about to speak to MG, but as he turned toward her and opened his mouth she turned a corner into a hallway and was gone. Jack laughed and chased after her. He approached her as she paused in the doorway of the master bedroom, and before she could disappear again, he said,
    “Excuse me, Miss Gerard?”
    MG turned to face Jack at a speed that made the move appear instantaneous, which caused Jack to stop mid-stride and jump backward a step.
    “Call me MG, Jack. Everybody does,” MG said with a smile.
    “Okay, MG. I need you,” Jack said.
    MG, with some effort, said slowly “I’m sorry? You—”
     
    Jack interrupted her, holding up both hands while vigorously shaking his head. He ran a hand through his hair to the back of his neck.
    “Wow, I made that uncomfortable, didn’t I?” Jack said. “Let me start again. MG, I head up the Boston FBI office. I have lost two business managers in the last three years and have yet to find a competent replacement. We have a good staff, but organization and operation are… well, let’s just say, we fly by the seats of our pants on a daily basis.”
    Jack continued, “I’ve been watching you for the last two hours and I— I’ve never seen anything like this. I would love to talk to you about working with us; on a flexible basis, of course. You are obviously very good at what you’re doing. No, that’s not true. You are incredible at what you’re doing.”
    “You are too kind, Jack,” MG said. “Leave me your card. You have me intrigued.”
    “Excellent,” Jack said. “Call anytime. My cell number is on there. I…don’t sleep a lot.”
    “I can relate,” MG said.
     
    Madeline Gerard entered the office of Research Consultants, Inc. the only way that she was capable of—like an explosion. Fifty-one years young and as electric as any human being is capable of, she was impossible to ignore. She was five-feet-eight, with skin that appeared to be stretched on, thanks to her brutal exercise regimen. She wore her platinum hair in a smart, short, care free style. She wore little makeup with