Men at Work: Through the Roof / Taking His Measure / Watching It Go Up

“I’m not going to pretend that I’m happy, but I do understand. From now on, I want you to submit the kids’ tuition bills to the foundation, okay?”

“But—but—”

“We’ll find a scholarship that applies. You do the paperwork.”

Liz put her face into her hands and began to sob, her shoulders hunched and shaking. “Why are you b-being so nice to me? After what I did?”

Marina bit her lip, found a box of tissues in her desk drawer and pushed it toward Liz. “Because, first of all, you did it for your kids and not for yourself. Second, because I’m removing your access to the foundation’s accounts, so you won’t be tempted in the future. And third, I’m taking a gamble on your character, Liz. My gut tells me that you are one of the very few people who deserve a second chance.”

Her employee raised a blotchy, red face. “I promise you that you will not regret this. And I promise that I’ll replace every penny with interest. Today if you want—I’ll just go cash out my CDs early and pay the penalty.”

Marina looked into her eyes and believed her. She shook her head. “NextWednesday will be fine. But can I ask you a question?”

Liz nodded.

“Why didn’t you just come to me for a loan?”

“I—couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Too much pride, I guess.” She laughed a little raggedly.

Pride. There it was again—it wasn’t just a male thing. Poor Liz Olmos certainly didn’t have a penis. She hardly had a spine.

“So somehow it’s better to steal than lose face?” Marina asked her gently.

Liz winced.

“You don’t have to answer that.” Marina thought about it. What her employee had done was wrong, but she’d maintained her autonomy—which, she supposed, was exactly what Ben was trying to do. But he didn’t have needy children to challenge his stern moral code.

Marina knew, without question, that if she herself had a child who was starving, she wouldn’t hesitate to steal from a store to feed them. She knew that, if she had to protect that child, she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot someone who threatened him.

No, Ben didn’t have kids—yet. But maybe he was just trying to protect the little boy he’d once been. The ten-year-old who saw his mother trade out his father for money, leaving him a broken man.

Was Ben really one-hundred-percent motivated by pride?

Marina gazed at the woman seated across from her, and knew that Liz hadn’t been. So it was a good bet that Ben’s issues added up to more than just tripping over his penis, as Chloe’d thought. Oh, pride was part of the problem, but it sure wasn’t all of it.

For the first time, Marina realized that Ben might simply be afraid of being hurt. Afraid of being used by a rich, carefree, careless woman. Of being traded out for a better, more financially equipped model who could keep up with her in terms of expensive hobbies and accoutrements.

And she wondered whether part of his discomfort with her money and her lifestyle was that, in some weird way, he didn’t feel he was worthy of it all….

Marina made sure that Liz had time to collect herself before she had to face the other employees at the foundation. She ac cepted her apology. She fielded a few phone calls and signed off on some papers. Then she rubbed her feet up and down on the mink footrest and tapped her long French-manicured fingernails on the surface of her desk. It was long past time to take serious charge of things. In short, in pursuit of her happiness and Ben’s, she was about to get Machiavellian.

7

AS BEN POSED IN a tool belt for the photographer, Samantha Delaney, he felt like a piece of meat. He really didn’t want to do this, but he wouldn’t break his promise to Marina.

“Stretch out, like that—good. Raise your arms, clasp them behind your head and give me that sleepy, let-me-light-your-fire smile again. Great!”

She was a pixie of a girl who looked barely able to carry some of that heavy photography equipment. But she seemed competent and good at her job; not the least bit embarrassed by his seminudity.

The floorboards of her upstairs studio creaked under his shifting weight as she had him get to his feet again and turn his back on her.

“Yeah—good butt shot. Cock your hips and hook your thumbs in the tool belt. Okay, now twist and look back over your shoulder. Perfect! Whew. That’s going to be smokin’. You could be the next Diet Coke guy, Ben. No lie!”

Sam set down her camera and went to adjust the light. “I’m going to experiment with a more film-noir look in the next few shots. Will you step into the powder room, there, and work some baby oil into your skin?”

Oh, Christ. Now she wanted him greased up so the photos would be even more beef-cakey. Ben felt utterly foolish, and started to remove the tool belt.

“No, no. Leave that on. And when you’re done with the oil, put on these work gloves and tuck that hammer into your waistband.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Now, what kind of message could you possibly be telegraphing with this little vignette?”

“Why, that you’ll be happy to nail the viewer, of course.” Sam grinned unrepentantly. “We’re marketing this calendar to women, bud. And the more suggestive it is, the faster it’s gonna sell.” She tossed the work gloves at him.

Ben caught them and sighed.

“Oil up,” Samantha ordered. “We’re running short on time. I’ve got a guy coming right after you.”

So he did. Then he flexed and sucked in and mugged for the camera, gradually losing his self-consciousness and having fun. His grin got ever more devilish.

“Fabulous!” exclaimed Sam. After several more shots, she tossed a construction hat at him. “Okay, now we’re ready to get hard core.”

“Hard core?” Ben repeated, alarmed.

“Yup. Strip down in the powder room and come out holding that strategically.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard Ms. Delaney, darling.” Marina’s voice came from the doorway, richly amused. “Go get naked and hold that hard hat over your small penis.”

He swung around and glared at her. “What are you doing here?”

“Supervising.” Marina eyed him coolly. “It is my charity’s fund-raiser, after all.”

Ben fought the urge to inform Sam that he did not have a small penis; that it was quite hefty, indeed. But he’d come off sounding too much like Hank Azaria in America’s Sweethearts. So, instead, he mocked Marina.

“Oh? Have you felt the need to supervise all twelve shoots of naked men? And have you been a hands-on type of manager?”

Sam bit her lip and fiddled with her camera. “Hi, Ms. Reston. Nice to see you.”

“Hello, Sam. Has Delgado been giving you any trouble?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good. He’s signed all the release forms?”

Sam nodded.

“Well, then, what’s the holdup, Benny? De-pants already.”