Her Three Entrepreneurs [The Hot Millionaires #8]

by Zara Chase

  “Yes, you need to work something out with them to keep the place going until I’m on my feet again.” Her grandfather’s voice was weak, causing Athena considerable concern. He was no longer a young man but wouldn’t thank her for reminding him of that. “Sorry to put all this on you, sweetheart.”

  “Don’t be so silly, Gramps,” she said, kissing his brow, fighting back tears for the second time in one day, but for a very different reason. “I’ll make sure things are organized, and I’ll be down to see you later.”

  “I’ll be home by then. No time to idle the day away in bed.”

  “We’ll need to have a few words with you, miss,” a young policeman said as Athena waved her grandfather off, biting her lip to keep her emotions under control. “Need to catch whoever did this.”

  Athena told the police what little she could. At their request, she took them on a tour of the house, but she couldn’t see that anything was missing. Most of the rooms were shut off anyway. Hers had been trashed, along with all the others, but if they were looking for jewellery, they’d gone away disappointed. She didn’t own any, apart from the gold watch that had been her grandmothers and which never left her wrist.

  “No sign of a break-in,” the policeman said astutely, examining the kitchen door.

  “There wouldn’t be. We never lock our doors.”

  “That’s not sensible. Times have changed, and you countryfolk have to adapt with them just like everyone else.”

  If one more person told her that times had changed, she’d be tempted to inflict a few injuries of her own.

  “If they wanted to get in, and came out of their way to do so,” she pointed out, “the odd lock wouldn’t have stopped them for long.”

  “Yes, but even so.”

  Athena showed the policeman the rest of the house, meekly accepting his lecture on domestic security. Seeing her personal space so rudely invaded brought on a fresh bout of anger, so, when a van from a local television station pulled up outside, Athena didn’t hesitate. She needed an outlet for all the anger, pain, and frustration bubbling away inside her, and this could just be it.

  “They listen to the police radio,” the policeman told her, seeming to think she wouldn’t appreciate the intrusion. “It’s summer, so there’s not much real news about.”

  Athena didn’t know if he realized how crass that sounded. Their break-in might be nothing to this bored copper, but her beloved grandfather could have been killed in the brutal attack and no one seemed to give a shit, except her. The police left, the reporter asked her what had happened, and she let him have it, chapter and verse.

  * * * *

  “Hey, Bay, take a look at this,” Dexter called from the sitting room.

  Bay stuck his head round the door from his adjacent study. “What is it?” he asked.

  “This woman on television. She’s talking about us.”

  “In your dreams, buddy,” Marty said, joining them from the lower floor and grinning at the sight of the redheaded woman filling the television screen.

  “No really, she is. She lives somewhere called Blackridge Farm, and—”

  “Why does that sound familiar?” Marty asked, his eyes still following the woman’s every move on the television screen.

  “It was recommended to us as a possible purchase,” Bay said, taking an interest in the interview, “but they wouldn’t sell.”

  “Oh yeah, I remember now.”

  “Shush.” Bay waved a hand. “I want to hear this.”

  “Us country dwellers are being forced out by corporate types who wouldn’t know a style from a stinging nettle, just because they want to turn our homes into fancy country clubs.”

  The woman spoke with controlled anger as the camera panned to the façade of an attractive old building that looked in urgent need of modernization. It then moved on to take in the wider scene—green pastures dotted with sheep, a run full of chickens, a huge patch of vegetables that could have been organic, a couple of decent-looking horses. It looked idyllic.

  “This is how the English countryside should look.” The woman’s pretty face, with eyes a compellingly deep violet blue, was flushed with anger. When the camera showed the devastation wreaked in her kitchen, Bay felt a deep rage on her behalf. “This is the way it’s been for centuries,” she said, still standing outside and pointing to the open landscape. “We’re adapting to change, or would, but obstacles are being placed in our way all the time.”

  “Why do you say that?” the interviewer asked.

  “Because rich people want to seize what’s ours just so they can get a little richer.” She expelled a deep breath, and Bay’s attention was drawn to firm breasts swelling with indignation. As the camera panned away from her, he saw that she was tall, and even through her uniform of jeans and old shirt he could see that she had decent curves. Her legs were long, and when she turned to wave a hand in the direction of the chicken run, he got a good view of a neat butt.

  “Nice,” Marty said, voicing Bay’s own thoughts.

  “When these rich jerks don’t get what they want through fair means, they don’t hesitate to play dirty tricks.”

  “Athena Lloyd. Nice name,” Dex remarked when it was flashed up on the screen.

  “They influence the banks against us and even break into our homes to attack helpless old men.”

  “Do you have proof of this?” the interviewer asked.

  “What proof do I need? We’ve lived here for years without any problems. And yet within a couple of weeks of turning down an offer from American entrepreneurs, our loans get called in by the bank, our house gets burgled, and my grandfather is brutally attacked.” Athena tilted her head to one side, a profusion of red hair falling across one side of her face, partially concealing a combative expression. “Coincidence? I don’t think so.”

  “She’s lethal when she gets mad,” Marty said admiringly.

  “Do you have any idea who’s behind the campaign you allege is being waged against your grandfather?” the interviewer asked.

  “Sure I do.” She held up a very familiar letterhead—their letterhead. “These people, BDM Enterprises, don’t seem to be able to take no for an answer.”

  “Fucking hell!” Bay’s eyebrows shot skyward. “She is talking about us.”

  By the time the news moved to another story, the phone was already ringing. Bay let the machine pick up. It was one newshound after another looking for a quote.

  “That was just local television,” Bay said, grinding his jaw. “But the nationals will have recognized our name and picked up the story.”

  “What will we do about it?” Marty asked. “We haven’t threatened or attacked anyone. How could she think that we had?”

  “Yeah, she has no evidence,” Dex agreed. “Why would she do that?”

  “She’s upset, I guess,” Bay said, “and needs to blame someone.”

  The phone rang again. “We can’t keep ignoring them,” Marty said. “That’ll just make it seem true.”

  “We’ll have to put out a statement denying all knowledge, and express our concern for Mr. Lloyd’s welfare.” Bay sighed. “It ain’t much, but it’s better than nothing.”

  This conversation was taking place in the large house the guys had rented outside of Southampton for their temporary stay in England. They all hated hotels, mainly because they valued their privacy so much. Bay phoned their London office and got put through to his PA. He dictated a statement off the cuff and told her to get it out to the networks straightaway.

  “If you get any calls from American media about this, Lorraine, let me know immediately.”

  “Will do, Bay,” she said in a breathless voice. “You sure you don’t need me to come down there and man the phone until this dies down?”

  “We can manage, thanks.”

  “She doesn’t miss a trick, does she,” Marty said, chuckling. “She’s got it bad for you, Bay, if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Shame about Athena Lloyd b
eing so mad at us,” Dex said. “She’s kinda cute.”

  “Come on, you two, move your asses.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Blackridge Farm, of course. You can get to meet the lovely Athena for yourselves. We can’t have her going around making libellous statements about us.”

  “Aw, you’re not gonna sue her, are you, Bay?” Marty asked. “That wouldn’t be nice.”

  “She’s not being very nice to us,” Dex pointed out.

  “She’s emotional,” Marty said defensively. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”

  They headed for their Jaguar, and Bay slipped behind the wheel. “No, we’re not gonna sue her. How would that look to the media? Talk about David and Goliath.”

  “Then why are we going down there?” Dex asked, sharing a bemused look with Marty. “I’m sure we’re the last people she wants to see right now.”

  “I dunno.” Bay shrugged as he turned the car onto the motorway and put his foot down. “But there’s something not quite right about all this. I can smell it.” He flashed a smile at his buddies. “In order to protect our own reputation, we need to help Ms. Lloyd find out who’s trying to damage Ms. Lloyd’s livelihood.”

  Chapter Three

  “I’m so sorry about all this, Athena.”

  “It’s not your fault, George.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “I can manage here, thanks.” She straightened up from the kitchen floor, her hands full of their possessions. “You and Max can help most if you keep on top of the haymaking. How’s it going, anyway?”

  “We have a problem with the thresher. Max is fixing it now.”

  Oh God, where will it all end? “Do you think he can get it working again?” she asked anxiously. “I’d prefer not to have to pay for a repair.” Not that she could pay, but George didn’t need to know just how desperate things actually were. At least, not yet.

  He shrugged shoulders broadened by years’ worth of manual labour. “Max can fix most things mechanical.”

  “That’s true.” Athena felt reassured, but Rowan whined at the sound of their voices and slid behind Athena’s legs. “He’s still upset, poor baby,” she said, stroking his head, careful to avoid his cut.

  “How about you?” George asked, stepping into the kitchen. “You worry so much about everyone else that you forget about yourself. You’ve had a shock, too.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m just grateful for you and Max being so loyal. What we’d do without you I shudder to think.”

  “No problem.” He paused, like he wanted to say something else, but thought better of it. “I’ll get back to it then. We’ll work late until we get it done.”

  “I don’t think I can pay you the overtime.”

  “Don’t worry.” He winked at her as he left the kitchen. “I’m sure you’ll think of a way to make it up to me.”

  Athena watched him swagger away, wondering why she felt so uncomfortable around him. George had worked for her grandfather for more than twenty years. He was still only in his forties, and not bad looking, but didn’t seem to have much interest in any of the local women. He remained unmarried, living in the heart of the village in a cottage that had previously belonged to his mother. He was an excellent farmhand and had never given her any reason to either doubt his loyalty or feel wary of him—that was just the way it was. She overcompensated by being extra nice to him.

  Another half hour’s hard work saw order gradually restored to the kitchen. Three full bin bags now stood outside the door—stuff she should have gotten round to throwing out years ago—and half the room at least had never been tidier. She was just thinking about phoning the hospital when she heard a car pull up outside. More reporters, she assumed. She’d been inundated with calls since her interview and had finally taken the phone off the hook.

  She regretted some of the things she’d said. She couldn’t actually prove the Americans were behind her misfortunes. That didn’t stop her from believing that they were—who else could it possibly be?—but she ought to make sure of her facts before she spoke to anyone else. But no other reporters had taken their lives in their hands and driven down the rutted driveway—until now, obviously.

  Rowan roused himself and barked a few times. His guard-dog routine didn’t deter her visitors, because she heard several sets of feet crunching across the muddy gravel. Athena exited the side door and went to intercept them. She’d started this rigmarole, so she supposed she ought to face the consequences.

  She stopped dead in her tracks when she collided with a brick wall. A brick wall that topped six feet, had a thick shock of dark blond hair and rugged good looks that wouldn’t be out of place on a film set. The brick wall’s body wasn’t too shabby either. She could see the outline of a solid chest beneath the man’s T-shirt, and there was no hiding the strength in the muscled arm that shot out to save her toppling over when she walked straight into him. Eyes an unusual shade of gray-blue regarded her with interest and a modicum of concern, but the man wasn’t smiling.

  “Ms. Lloyd?”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “We got your message.”

  “Message?” Athena shook her head. “What message?”

  She noticed then that two other equally attractive men stood immediately behind the blond wall.

  “We’re from BDM Enterprises.”

  She gasped. “I admire your front, I’ll give you that.”

  “I’m Bay Marshall. This is Dex Willis and Marty Grisham.”

  “Ah, BDM. Now I get it,” she said with an ironic twist of her lips. “How original.”

  “How’s your grandfather?” asked the one called Dex.

  “What do you care?”

  “We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t care,” Bay pointed out.

  “Your only concern is for your reputation, I would imagine,” she said scathingly. “Oh, and before you ask, we’re still not selling.”

  “Don’t blame you,” Marty said, glancing up at the house and then turning a full-wattage smile on her, treating her to an up-close view of expensive American dentistry. “I wouldn’t either if this was mine. It’s real neat.”

  “Nice try.”

  Athena inverted her chin, determined not to let him know that his smile, following so closely on her collision with Bay, had caused her to respond in the way that all women probably responded to him. She may not like these barracudas, but she could appreciate a good-looking alpha male along with the best of them. And they didn’t come much better looking, or more arrogantly sure of themselves, than these three.

  “Is there somewhere we can talk?” Bay asked.

  “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

  “Perhaps not, but we need to talk to you.”

  She folded her arms and glared at each of them in turn. “Why?”

  “Well, it seems to me that someone’s out to get you and your grandfather.”

  “Yeah, and I’m looking at them.”

  “No, actually you’re not,” Dex said in a mild tone that defused some of her anger. “Do you think we’d be here if we were?”

  Athena no longer knew what to think. “I expect you’re getting as many calls from the press as I am and are out to save your precious reputations.”

  “No, love,” Marty said. “We thought we’d help you find out who’s trying to cause you grief. If it isn’t us, and we can promise you that it’s not, then it must be someone else.”

  They seemed genuine, but Athena wasn’t deceived. All the same, she recalled how she’d regretted her unsubstantiated outburst on television and figured they deserved a chance to at least explain themselves.

  “In here,” she said abruptly, turning back to the kitchen.

  * * * *

  “You really need to do something about that driveway of yours,” Dex said as they trooped into the kitchen. “It almost ripped the bottom out of our car.”

  “This is the countryside,” she said with a sweetly sarcastic smile that hit
Bay squarely in the groin. “We use practical vehicles to get about. Anyway,” she added with a rebellious toss of her head. “I doubt whether it’ll be ours for much longer, what with the way things are.”

  “How is your grandfather?” Marty repeated their earlier question. “You didn’t say.”

  “I was just about to phone when you got here.” She put her phone back on the hook and it immediately rang. She huffed and cut the call off without answering it. Bay tempered the flare of sympathy he felt for her by reminding himself that she’d brought this unwelcome attention on herself by making wild allegations against powerful men. “Excuse me.”

  She took the handset into another room and made the call. The guys were left in the kitchen, which was in the process of being reassembled.

  “Nice room,” Dex remarked, echoing Bay’s own thoughts. It was large and old-fashioned but also had a homely feel, even in its present condition.

  “I can just imagine that thing heating up this room, all nice and toasty on a cold winter’s night,” Marty said, nodding toward an ancient Aga.

  “You’re getting romantic in your old age,” Bay said.

  “Wouldn’t mind getting romantic with Ms. Athena,” Dex said. “Did you see those legs, those tits, that—”

  “We saw,” Bay and Marty said together.

  “Unfortunately, she thinks we’re the bad guys,” Marty continued alone. “So I suspect that romantic interludes will be out of the question.”

  Bay flashed a challenging grin. “Wanna bet?”

  “Absolutely not!” they said together.

  “We have yet to know you fail,” Dex reminded him. “And we have more respect for our hard-earned cash than to donate it to your pension fund.”

  Bay shrugged. “Have it your way. I thought you might be interested, is all.”

  “You think she’d be up for sharing?” Marty asked, hardly daring to hope.

  Bay canted his head. “Possibly. I got a few vibes that I doubt she knows she’s throwing off. Let’s see how things pan out.”