“What kinds of projects?”
Marina firmly squelched another rising sob. “He did beautiful cabinetry on two walls of my garage. He put in a koi pond in my backyard, with a Japanese footbridge and a teak gazebo. And we were getting ready to build a house together. He was always sketching ideas for that.”
She gave Gina every scrap of information that she thought might be helpful. “You’ll find him for me?”
Gina nodded. She exuded competence; she obviously didn’t miss much.
Compared to her, Marina didn’t just feel fluffy—she felt silly, sitting here in her expensive designer duds with her three-hundred-dollar highlights, asking another woman to find her fiancé.
Usually she felt chic. But right now she felt idiotic and incompetent and miserable and unloved.
The P.I. said, “I will locate Ben Delgado.”
“Thank you.” Marina’s chin came up and once again she eschewed tears for anger. “Once I make sure he’s alive and uninjured, I’m going to kill him. And then I’ll wake him up and give him a piece of my mind. After that, I’ll kill him again, just so he really understands. And, finally, I’m going to marry the son of a bitch.”
Gina set her elbows on her desk and steepled her fingers, a corner of her mouth quirking up. “All righty then. Will that be cash, check or charge?”
2
BEN DELGADO felt like the worst kind of shit-heel. He’d left his fiancée cold, but it was for her own good. A woman in the top echelons of Miami society couldn’t marry a loser without a cent to his name.
Besides, when a man lost his money and his livelihood, it was simply a question of time before his wife hit the road. That must be the reason those bad country songs were so popular. The ones yodeling about losing your woman, your pickup and your dog all in one night. They were true.
Witness to what his own mother had done, his dad had made a few lousy investments, had three consecutive deals fall through and, next thing he knew, his wife had taken off for Venezuela with his two boys. She’d lost no time divorcing him and marrying a better provider—some guy she’d met on a plane, for God’s sake.
Ben grimaced and picked up his cordless phone. So maybe he was a little cynical, but he had reason to be. Best not to get married at all, not have his heart ripped out and his children stolen. He could see it now: his kids brought up by a golf-playing cretin in plaid shorts with an alligator on his chest. No way.
Logic intruded as he dialed builder Mathew Tremaine’s business line and asked to speak to him. Tremaine was the man he and Marina had picked to build their dream house.
Logic tried to tell Ben that Marina Reston didn’t have to worry about finding anyone to provide for her. She could stuff mattresses with hundred-dollar bills, use them as wallpaper. For God’s sake, the woman headed up a foundation that funded thirty different charities.
But, for some reason, logic wasn’t getting through. The fact that Marina had her own money just made the loss of his even worse. The playing field, and therefore the power, was too uneven between them….
“Tremaine speaking.”
“Hi, Mathew. It’s Ben.”
“Benny! Good to hear from you. Thought you’d fallen off the face of the earth—I never heard back from you after I’d sent you the latest round of blueprints.”
Ben cleared his throat. “Yeah. About that—Hurricane Ernestine has wiped me out, buddy. We’re, ah, not going to be able to build our dream house after all. In fact—” he paused and chuckled weakly “—in fact, I can’t even afford to build a doghouse anymore.”
“You’re kidding,” Tremaine said.
“No, I’m not.”
“Your whole business?”
“The offices, the greenhouses, the barn—everything.”
Ben set his jaw and tried to block his mental panoramic view of the devastation. The sight of it in person had just about killed him, and he’d never forget it.
He’d had ten neat, productive greenhouses full of healthy, beautiful, tropical plants. He’d had a barn full of backhoes, tractors and other equipment.
He’d been proud of his neat offices on the property, with the paved patio, koi pond, fountain and atrium, where dozens of kinds of South American orchids and bromeliads had flourished.
He’d built it all with his bare hands and the help of a few staffers, and now it was gone or destroyed. The walls of the barn had collapsed in on all the equipment. The winds had torn the greenhouses apart and scattered the contents everywhere. The roof over the offices had peeled back like the lid of a sardine can.
Floodwaters surged in and swept furniture and fixtures and business equipment away. To top it all off, mold and mildew had flourished over anything that was left.
Impotent fury gnawed at him all day, every day, because of it. The fact that others had shared the same fate didn’t help him deal with it at all—it just seemed so damned unfair. What had he done to piss off God? Was he cursed?
“It’s all gone or destroyed,” Ben said to Mathew. “Flattened. Splintered.”
The builder whistled. “I’m real sorry to hear that. We had some damage, but nothing like that. I don’t know what to say…Is it a total loss? What about the insurance? And—” He paused.
Ben heard clearly the words Mathew didn’t say. And isn’t Marina loaded? Couldn’t she build a palace in Monaco if she wanted to?
“Yes. It’s a total loss. My insurance company is claiming that most of the damage was done by water, and I didn’t have a separate flood policy. My lawyer isn’t getting anywhere with them. They won’t budge. I’m screwed.”
“I’m real sorry to hear that,” Tremaine said again. “Anything I can do?”
Ben swallowed. Oh, hell. This was ten times worse than he’d thought it would be. He tried to swallow his pride, but it burned an unholy path down his throat and scorched his intestines. He could feel it flaming in his stomach, smoldering, blackening a hole right through him. Just say it, Delgado. Say it.
“Yes, Mathew. As a matter of fact, there is something you can do. Do you have any openings with your construction crew?”
“Why, sure. You’ve got a good heart, looking out for your employees like this. Send them on over—I can always use a few more men.”
Ben squirmed. “You’ve got a good heart for taking them on. Thanks. But…it’s not just for the workers. It’s for me.”
A shocked silence ensued. “Christ, Delgado. You? You’ve got education, you’ve got managerial experience, you’ve had your own business. Why the hell do you want to work for me? There’s loads of opportunities for you to repair storm damage to vegetation and landscaping. You could make a killing right now—”
“I can’t do it, Mathew,” Ben said flatly. “I get too angry. My equipment is trashed, I can’t pay my suppliers or my guys, my insurance company is useless—it all puts me in a rage. I’ve got to calm down and do something else for a while. Get my bearings back.”
Again, he could hear exactly what Tremaine wasn’t saying. Couldn’t your rich fiancée pay your guys for five years over? Buy heavy equipment outright? Send her high-powered attorneys to sue the pants off your insurance company?
In quiet but concrete-firm tones, Ben said it. “I will not go to Marina for help. I can’t. It’s demeaning. Please, Mathew. Give me a job. You know my work ethic. I won’t let you down.”
“Of course you won’t let me down, you crazy bastard. I’ve seen the projects you’ve done around Marina’s…I just think you need your head examined. But I know better than to argue with you.” Tremaine sighed. “Well, c’mon, then. Get yourself over here and fill out an application. If you want, you can start work today.”
“Thank you. This means everything—I hope you know that. And one day, even if it’s years from now, you and I will build that house. It’s a promise.”
Mathew hesitated for a split second. “Glad to hear it.” Once again, Ben had no trouble reading his thoughts. You and I? What about Marina? What’s going on?
T
he truth was, Ben couldn’t have told him, since he wasn’t sure himself. All he knew was that he couldn’t go forward with the relationship or the wedding. He felt…worthless.
And though he loved Marina, she was hands-down the most expensive woman he’d ever dated. Her idea of saving money was to go stay at the Paris Ritz for only three weeks, instead of a full month.
She economized by getting a ten percent discount on an entire case of Cristal, instead of buying eleven bottles at full cost. Or buying couture off the rack and having it tailored to her body, instead of commissioning a gown from scratch.
She didn’t deliberately rub her money into his face—never. It was simply that she’d never lived any other way, so she didn’t have a clue how other people managed.
Marina had a huge heart, and she gave away twenty times what she spent, but still…
He thought about Miami’s Reston Humane Society, the Reston Children’s Hospital in Palm Beach, the Reston Alzheimer’s Research Facility in Boca Raton. The countrywide Frameworks for the Future, an organization that built homes for the needy, which was Reston Foundation-funded.
Speaking of Frameworks for the Future, when was that calendar shoot Marina had talked him in to doing? He’d have to call the foundation and talk to Liz Olmos, the administrator. Because he sure as hell wasn’t calling Marina—even though he’d felt guilty at her distraught messages. She needed to forget him.
Ben knew that a man was more than the money he made, but he felt like a failure in the face of Marina’s wealth. And he couldn’t be her husband—or anyone else’s—when he was a failure.
MARINA HAD no problem combining business with pleasure. Why not run numbers while naked and slathered with rosemary-peppermint oil?
She shrewdly eyed the column of figures a foot beneath her face and, once again, examined the total. It was off. She knew it in her bones. And she knew who was responsible.
“Ms. Reston,” Manuel said as he kneaded her lower back and the tops of her glutes, “you shouldn’t be going over accounts right now. The point of a massage is to relax.”
“I know, sweetie, but I need to figure out what’s wrong here. I don’t mind giving money away to worthy causes, but I get very bent out of shape when someone’s skimming funds for their own personal use.”
“Someone’s stealing from you?”
“I’m getting that feeling. Unfortunately, it happens every couple of years. Somebody I employ makes the mistake of thinking that I won’t notice, that I’m stupid or careless simply because I like to shop and have my hair done. Can you imagine?”
Manuel coughed. “No, ma’am.”
She eyed him a bit suspiciously and then drummed her polished fingernails on the Excel printout, which lay on top of a rolling stool under her nose. It was a little difficult to see with her face mashed into the padded, doughnutlike head support of the massage table, but the hole in the middle did enable her to do some work even under Manuel’s expert ministrations.
He worked magic on her muscles, but she couldn’t relax. The person skimming funds was a single mom. A hard worker. Someone struggling to make ends meet.
She’d had no problem having the cokehead intern arrested when he’d raided the petty cash to fund his habit. But this?
Marina continued to study the figures and traced a pattern. Her employee skimmed funds only once per month, as if before some bill were due. Hmm…
Though she could examine numbers this way, the tricky part was when her cell phone rang. Logistically, it was impossible to talk to anyone with her face mashed into a padded doughnut. “Manuel, darling, would you look at the LCD display on my phone and see who’s calling? Thank you. You’re a gem.”
“G K Investigations,” reported Manuel.
Marina scrambled up so fast that the sheet covering her body dropped to the floor. Manuel blushed like a tomato—she was naked as a jaybird and on all fours, butt in the air. Mama would be so proud.
Manuel averted his eyes and bent to retrieve the sheet while she sat down hastily and crossed everything she could cross to hide her nudity.
Eyes glazed over, he practically threw the sheet at her, and she said, “Excuse me, but I have to take this.” She smiled apologetically. Who knew? Manuel wasn’t gay.
Still scarlet-faced, he nodded and left the room. Marina pressed the On button of her phone. “Hello?”
“Ms. Reston? This is Gina Keys. I’ve located Mr. Delgado.”
A sob rose in Marina’s throat. Then joy shot through her veins. “He’s okay?”
“He’s just fine.”
Fury chased the joy. “Where is he? I’m going to go wring his neck. I’m going to gouge out his eyes with his engagement ring…” There she went with those cheery fantasies again.
“Ms. Reston, I’m afraid I can’t tell you his location.”
“What? What do you mean? I paid you up front to find him!”
Gina cleared her throat. “Perhaps I should have explained this before. For liability reasons, I can’t directly give you information on his whereabouts. What I can do is personally contact him and inform him that you would like to speak to him.”
“He knows damn well I want to speak to him. I’ve left nine messages on his cell phone! And what is this liability stuff?”
“I can be brought up on criminal charges, Ms. Reston, if I tell you where he is and you, say, show up with a shotgun and blow him away.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t own a shotgun.”
“A letter-opener, arsenic, a crossbow, a high-heeled shoe. I can’t take the chance—you did mention in my presence that you wanted to kill him. Twice, I believe.”
“I was kidding!”
“That’s beside the point.”
“What is he doing? Can you tell me that?”
“I suppose so,” Gina said cautiously. “He’s working construction.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know, Ms. Reston. You’ll have to ask him that.”
“Where is he?” Marina moaned. “Please, please tell me. I have to find him.”
“I really can’t give you Ben’s exact location. It’s not ethical for me to do that. But would you like to give me a message for him?”
“Aaarrrgh!” said Marina.
“Sorry, but that’s a bit hard to translate. How about a letter?”
“I’ve had enough of letters, thank you very much.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Just tell him I’ve been worried sick and to please call me. It’s important. Do not pass along the part about killing him.”
“No, of course not.”
Marina sighed. “Okay, Gina. Thank you. Now, exactly what do I owe you for not telling me where he is? Oh, fudge. I don’t care. Just send me a bill.”
IN HER OFFICE at the Reston Foundation, Marina leaned back in her leather chair and rubbed her bare feet on the mink-covered foot-rest under her modern maple desk.
She did not believe in killing animals for their fur, but when your grandmother had already bought the mink in question in the form of a coat, what were you to do? She refused to wear it—not that it was possible here in Miami—and so she’d used it for other things.
One of her great pleasures in life was to sit naked on her mink-upholstered vanity stool while she did her makeup and hair—or obsessed about where to find her fiancé.
Working construction.
Now, there were any number of places that Ben could be doing that…but again, a gut instinct had her dialing Mathew Tremaine’s number. Ben would have wanted to look out for his employees, find them other placement. He’d call Tremaine. And if he was working construction himself, then it was quite possible that he’d ask Mathew to hire him, too.
Just as Tremaine’s assistant answered the phone at his office, she hung up. Better to do this in person and be able to see his face.
An hour later, Marina swept into his office, her assets showcased in a tight, peridot-green silk top and black hot pants that were just shy of indecent.
Tendrils of her chestnut hair cascaded from a loose knot on her head, secured by two decorative chopsticks. Gold and peridot chandelier earrings dangled midway to her shoulders and a large peridot tear-drop nestled just at the top of her abundant cleavage.
“Mathew! Darling! How have you been?”
Tremaine had the body of a scarecrow and the face of a bullfrog, topped by sparse graying hair. His odd appearance hid a creative mind and great generosity, but the guy was always a little challenged in the babe department. Marina felt a bit guilty taking advantage of this, but the end justified the means.
His pale gaze darted to her cleavage and stuck there as if superglued. He couldn’t help it, poor man—she’d engineered her outfit with that result in mind. So she didn’t hold it against him. Marina repeated her question, since he seemed not to have registered it the first time.
“Mathew. How are you?”
He gulped as she leaned forward to brush one of Gnarly’s hairs off her knee. Then she sent him a dazzling smile.
“Just fine,” he almost squeaked.
“Wonderful. Listen, I wanted to ask you something about the plans for our house.”
Discomfort crossed his face. “Er—the house?”
She nodded.
“I thought—that is—um. I thought you and Ben weren’t, ah, going to build it after all.”
She dropped her Vuitton bag in his visitor’s chair and put her hands on her hips. “Wherever did you get that idea, silly?”
“Ben told me yesterday.”
Aha! They’d been in touch. “Really. Well, that’s news to me. You know,” she said, fiddling with her earring and batting her eyelashes, “he did say he’d be out of pocket for a while, but…”
Mathew’s eyes almost popped out of his head as she shamelessly forced her shoulders back so that the twins thrust forward, launching like pleasure missiles.
She cocked her head and turned a melting gaze upon him. “Oh, gosh. This is a tiny bit embarrassing, but…darling Mathew…do you know where he is?”
Men at Work Page 2
