Her Mile High Mates [The Hot Millionaires #4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Zara Chase

  “We all have our turf to defend,” Greg explained, chuckling.

  “Anton might have warned me.” She wondered if he really had been held up or just wanted to avoid this bun fight. “Why is it so territorial? Is the development in trouble?”

  “Darling, the whole world’s in trouble. The economy’s down the toilet, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “I thought all the rich dudes who hung out here were safe from the world recession. Along with people like me, of course, who live within their means and don’t have savings or borrowings to fret over.”

  Greg conceded the point with a chuckle. “Yep, the development’s okay, but something tells me that our lord and master thinks otherwise.” He nodded toward David Field, the Englishman who managed the development and answered to the consortium who owned it. “Not sure what’s going on, but he seems pretty stressed.”

  David called for hush, and the babble of voices gradually subsided. As they did so, the door opened and two latecomers sauntered in. Fabia did a double-take, as did the other two women in the room, she noticed. She’d not seen either guy before. She would definitely have remembered if she had. One was at least six two, with thick dark hair, and aviator shades covering his eyes. His buddy couldn’t have been more than an inch shorter. He had an unruly mop of red hair and was also wearing dark glasses. Why they felt the need for the disguise, Fabia couldn’t imagine. What she did know was they there were no strangers to the gym—not with the toned torsos and bulging biceps they sported. After an hour of Simon’s dumpy body directly in her line of vision, it was no hardship to gape at these two, and she was slow to avert her gaze.

  “Who are they?” she asked Greg.

  “The dark-haired guy is Peyton Ascot. He’s a Yank, but we don’t hold it against him.” Fabia could think of a few things she wouldn’t mind holding against him. Her body, for starters. “And the other one is—”

  “Clyde Wilson,” Fabia finished for him. “He’s a Scot, and they own and run the flying school.”

  “Right. How did you know?”

  Fabia expelled a long sigh. “Well, let me see. The aviator glasses, the kick-ass attitude, and, just perhaps, the polo shirts with the flying-school logo on them gave me a clue.” She grinned at Greg. “Could that be it?”

  “Not much gets past you, does it?”

  Fabia’s pulse quickened. She might well have fooled Greg, but that’s not really why she recognized them immediately. She knew who they were because Sonia’s e-mails had been full of them. They were the last two names she’d mentioned before she disappeared off the face of the earth.

  Chapter Two

  “Morning, all.”

  Peyton nodded to the people he knew—which was everyone except the chick in the tennis gear—as he and Clyde took the remaining two seats at the foot of the table. David didn’t look happy to see them, and Peyton knew that wasn’t just because he’d lost his audience the moment the two of them walked in. It was because they were there at all. Technically, they didn’t need to be, since they’d owned the flying school before Tosca Brava sprang up around it and didn’t answer to the owners of the resort. They certainly didn’t need to report to anyone about the state of their business, but Peyton was always interested to hear what was going on elsewhere—or rather the fictional version of events in certain parts of the establishment—upon which he put his own interpretation.

  Regardless of his independence, whatever happened at the resort affected his livelihood. Peyton didn’t like or trust David Field. Something about him was definitely off, and he knew his feelings were reciprocated. Peyton had a pesky habit of asking awkward questions in public forums such as this, partly to annoy David but also because he could. He wasn’t reliant upon the vertically challenged manager for his job and needed to let him know that not everyone here felt the need to suck up.

  This meeting had been called in a hurry, ahead of its usual monthly date, and Peyton was curious to know why. He and Clyde had been in Seville for over two weeks giving corporate types lifts wherever they needed to go, just so long as there was somewhere to land a light aircraft or a chopper. They weren’t due back until next week, but when his PA told him about this hastily convened meeting, curiosity got the better of him, and he wangled it so they could get away early.

  “Who’s the babe?” Clyde asked, leaning back in his chair to make himself as comfortable as he could on the uncomfortable plastic. He spread his legs in front of him as he appraised her.

  “Now let me take a wild guess.” Peyton grinned at his partner. “I could be way off here, but I’d say something to do with tennis.”

  Clyde affected surprise. “You astound me, Holmes.”

  “Sometimes I surprise myself.”

  “Good legs,” Clyde remarked, giving Fabia a thorough once-over and clearly liking what he saw.

  “The rest of her ain’t too shabby, either. I’ll bet she’s a sensation when she’s scrubbed up and ready to play.”

  Clyde perked up. “You think she’s into the life?”

  Peyton sighed. “No law against dreaming. Yet.”

  “What happened to Sonia?”

  “No idea.” Peyton shrugged. “You know how people come and go here all the time.”

  “Yeah, shame about her, though. She was kinda cute.”

  “She looked a bit like her replacement.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Clyde took another long, considering look at the woman in question. “Oh look, David’s done an agenda for this meeting.”

  Peyton quirked a brow. “How thorough of him.”

  Clyde consulted the single sheet of paper on the table in front of him. “Anton Barber’s name’s been crossed out and Fabia Brook’s written in by hand.”

  “Anton up to his old tricks again, dumping on his subordinates.” Peyton frowned. “Hiding behind a woman’s skirts. Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “Not much skirt there for him to hide behind,” Clyde pointed out, studying Fabia’s very short tennis outfit.

  Peyton looked, too, watching as Fabia lifted her thick brunette braid away from her back and fanned her face with her agenda. David was too much of a tightwad to have the air-conditioning on just for a staff meeting. Shame. Peyton could see the outline of Fabia’s lacy bra through the thin fabric of her top. He wouldn’t mind seeing what a blast of cold air did for her nipples.

  He shook his head. When had be become such an out-and-out voyeur? He sure as hell needed to get laid.

  “Looks like she’s actually had some work to do.” He nodded toward her sweat-soaked back, grinning as other methods of getting her all hot and bothered crossed his mind.

  “Can I have your attention, ladies and gents, please?” David tapped the side of his glass with his pen, making little impact on the hubbub of conversations that had sprung up. “We’ve got a lot to get through, and I know you’re all busy people.”

  “He wishes they were,” Clyde muttered.

  “Let’s start with the usual stats reports. For those of you who haven’t already met her, this is Fabia Brook, the new tennis assistant, and she’s here on Anton’s behalf today.” Fabia smiled round the table. Every single male smiled right back, Peyton noticed. Stephanie, who ran the bar, studied her fingernails and studiously ignored Fabia. “Why don’t you get the ball rolling, Fabia? We promise to treat you gently.”

  “The bastard!” Peyton hissed, wondering why David’s shabby tactics still got to him after all this time. “Talk about lamb to the slaughter.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  To her credit, she didn’t seem fazed and got right on with it, reading out figures that were obviously genuine and far from impressive. The recession was taking its toll on unnecessary expenditure, even in this rich enclave. People still played tennis. They just didn’t take as much coaching.

  “Er, Fabia,” David said, looking embarrassed. “Are you sure those figures are right?”

  “Yes, I took them off the computer myself.”

  “Didn’t
Anton prepare anything for you?”

  “Well yes, but I think he made a mistake. In fact, I know he did, so I corrected it.”

  Peyton sat a little straighter. “Interesting,” he muttered to no one in particular.

  “Anton’s in Valencia talking to sponsors about the tournament we’re running in September.” Fabia, obviously confused by David’s attitude, hastily changed the subject. “I think he’ll have some encouraging news on that front when he gets back. I’ve also sent out a circular about junior coaching for all of August and had some encouraging results.”

  “I didn’t know Anton had that planned,” David said.

  “Well, actually, it was me. In my experience, parents are grateful to get their kids off their hands for a few hours each day during the holidays, and tennis is a great way to burn up some of their energy.” She paused, clearly aware that she had everyone’s attention but probably not why. She’d used her own initiative, and initiative was a bit thin on the ground around these parts. “Hopefully, if the kids play, it will persuade their parents to get involved, too.”

  “The dads sure will if they get a load of her,” Clyde said.

  “Good work, Fabia.” David flashed a condescending smile. “Keep me in the loop on the junior-coaching aspect.”

  “Oh, okay.” She looked as though she wanted to ask him why.

  “Why do you need to know?” Peyton asked for her, winking at Fabia when she shot him a questioning glance.

  “I need to know everything that goes on round here.”

  “So do I,” Clyde said, “but I don’t believe in Santa Claus anymore.”

  “What, he doesn’t exist?” Greg clutched a hand to his heart. “All these years, I’ve been led astray. Who do I sue?”

  Clyde’s comment earned a few chuckles from the older hands. They were all aware that, unlike Fabia, everyone played their cards close to their chests around these parts. Fabia had started this junior-coaching business, presumably only after Anton okayed it. That was probably one of the reasons why he ducked this meeting. He knew she’d announce it, and if it failed, she’d get the blame. If it took off, Anton, the slimy bastard, would step up and take all the credit.

  The others seemed much happier to present their figures after Fabia had admitted to her rather lean ones. Only Greg, Peyton sensed, told the absolute truth, but then the golf section had been keeping this place going for as long as he could remember. No matter what happened in the rest of the world, grown men still wanted to walk around in the heat of the day, chasing little white balls and lying about their scores. Peyton had never been able to understand what they got out of it.

  “Right,” David said, after Evans had given a pedantic lecture about additional security in light of a couple of instances of petty theft. “On to the gala ball this Friday. We’re still short on numbers.” He consulted a sheet and glanced up at Fabia. “Well done, I see you roped a few of your clients in.”

  “She can rope me any which way she likes,” someone said to the accompaniment of ribald laughter.

  Fabia, Peyton noticed, completely ignored the heckler. She was obviously used to the effect her appearance had on the majority of males she came into contact with and had learned to disregard it. Good for her.

  “It’s vital that we sell the rest of the tickets,” David said. “Vital for the reputation of the resort and for our continued well-being.”

  “We’ll take a couple,” Peyton said.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Clyde agreed.

  David looked surprised but gratefully added their names to the list.

  “I have a feeling it’s all gonna kick off on the gala night,” Peyton said in an undertone. “You know what I’m talking about?”

  “Sure do.”

  “Why else would David be getting his knickers in such a knot?”

  “Because he always does?”

  Peyton laughed, standing as the meeting broke up. “Yeah, well there is that.”

  Peyton was keen to introduce himself to the lovely Fabia, but before he could get to her, he was cut off by Stephanie. Ever since he’d shown more interest in her than was wise—but not for the reasons she’d hoped—she’d been a thorn in his side.

  “Hey, handsome,” she said, gliding up to him. “Welcome back. Long time no see.”

  “How you doing?”

  “Could be better. Still, now that you’re back and you’re actually going to the gala, perhaps we could—”

  “Have a dance.” He winked at her. “Sure thing. Make certain you save me one.”

  “Actually, I thought we could go together.”

  “We’re probably gonna take a couple of clients from the flying school so—”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “What clients?” Clyde asked as they got away from Stephanie.

  Peyton shrugged. “Hell if I know.”

  “Then you’d better think of something before Friday. Don’t get on the wrong side of Steph. She’ll make your life hell. A woman scorned and all that.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Peyton looked around the room. People had split into smaller groups to chat prior to lunch. David looked upon it as good for team morale, or some such shit. It would take a damned sight more than paella and a few oversweet glasses of sangria to bond these warring factions together. Still, it would be a good chance to get to know Fabia.

  Except she seemed to have disappeared.

  “Where did Fabia get to?”

  “Perhaps she’s gone to change her gear?” Clyde suggested.

  Peyton glanced out the window and pointed to a figure on a bike, long brunette braid streaming out behind her, peddling like hell away from the main complex.

  Clyde blinked. “Where’s she going in such a tearing hurry?”

  “Unless I’m missing something here, she’s headed for the flying school.” Peyton rubbed his chin, his senses on high alert. “Why on earth would she do that?”

  * * * *

  Fabia didn’t know what she’d done wrong, but she did know that she’d made a gaff in that meeting. Well, probably more than one. David making her go first was just plain mean. Perhaps, in view of what Greg had told her, she should have simply read out Anton’s fake figures and left it at that. She’d felt at a disadvantage in her sweaty tennis gear when everyone else seemed to be smarter than usual. Even the guy from the stables managed to turn up without stinking of horse manure.

  Still, it didn’t matter if she’d blotted her copy book. She only needed to keep this job until she found out what had happened to Sonia. The two fly boys putting in an appearance were an unexpected bonus. They’d be occupied with the staff lunch for the next hour, which ought to give her time to get into their loft and see if she could find any evidence that would point her in the right direction.

  Melanie, their PA, manned the office alone, and she frequently stepped outside for a smoke break. The stairs to the loft that Peyton and Clyde shared above the main hangar was accessed by an internal staircase from the office. She hadn’t tried to get up there while the boys had been away. The odds against the door being unlocked were so remote as to make it not worth the risk. But now that they were back and the office was permanently manned, she was counting on it being open.

  Fabia cycled the long way round, just in case Melanie caught sight of her and beckoned her in for a chat. The two of them had become quite friendly. Fabia had made sure of that. Peyton and Clyde were her best—her only leads—when it came to her sister’s disappearance, so she needed to learn as much about their routine as she possibly could.

  Except they didn’t appear to have a routine. The flying school did well enough, but they were a law unto themselves. Sometimes they took themselves off on jaunts, such as the one they’d just come back from, and returned when they felt like it. Their part-time instructor, or sometimes Melanie herself, who was also qualified to teach, took care of business at Tosca Brava in their absence. That business tailed off when Clyde, and especially Peyton, weren’t around. Melan
ie laughed when she told Fabia it was astonishing how many of the rich women living on the development took one look at him and suddenly developed an overwhelming urge to learn to fly.

  Having seen the evidence with her own eyes, she kind of got where they were coming from. She choked on a sob, her bike wobbling as the thought overwhelmed her with guilt. How could she think about something so nebulous when Sonia must be desperate for her help? She refused to believe that her sibling was dead, but something bad had definitely happened to her. Otherwise, Fabia would have heard from her long before now. Besides, she wouldn’t have just up and quit the job Fabia now held without telling anyone, especially her. Anton had no idea what had happened to her. One day she was around, the next she wasn’t, and no one had seen her since.

  Fabia waited ten minutes. It felt more like ten hours. She was exposed here, even though she’d slipped round the side of the hangar that was least visible from the distant clubhouse or from any of the houses adjoining the runway. Besides, it was blistering hot, and she was sweating. Again. The thought of a hot shower and clean clothes had never been more compelling. If she didn’t get into that loft soon it would be too late anyway, so perhaps she’d get her wish.

  “Come on, Mel, you must need a nicotine fix by now, surely?”

  As though she’d heard her, Melanie let herself out of the office at that moment and went round the opposite side of the hangar. Fabia had known that she would. It was her regular spot from which she could enjoy her smoke and still see if anyone approached the office. From the regular route, anyway.