Her Three Entrepreneurs [The Hot Millionaires #8] Read online

  The Hot Millionaires #8

  Her Three Entrepreneurs

  When Athena Lloyd’s beloved grandfather is viciously attacked, she believes the three American entrepreneurs who want to buy his English farmland must be responsible. She denounces them on television, destroying their reputations. Bay Marshall, Dex Willis, and Marty Grisham convince Athena that they’re not the culprits and team up with her in an effort to find out who really wishes her family harm.

  Thrown into their company, Athena’s dormant sensuality is awakened at the experienced hands of her three sexy entrepreneurs. Danger lurks at every turn for Athena. The bank calls in her loans, her house is burglarised, and her estranged mother is no help whatsoever. Her own life is threatened, and the people she trusts most let her down when she needs them the most.

  But all Athena seems able to think about is submitting to her three glamorous men. After all, they’ll be gone from her life forever very soon, won’t they?

  Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre

  Length: 45,829 words

  HER THREE ENTREPRENEURS

  The Hot Millionaires #8

  Zara Chase

  MENAGE EVERLASTING

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting

  HER THREE ENTREPRENEURS

  Copyright © 2012 by Zara Chase

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62241-867-1

  First E-book Publication: November 2012

  Cover design by Les Byerley

  All art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

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  HER THREE ENTREPRENEURS

  The Hot Millionaires #8

  ZARA CHASE

  Copyright © 2012

  Chapter One

  “Sorry.” The bank’s minion flipped a pen between his fingers, looking everywhere except at Athena. “I can only discuss the situation with Mr. Lloyd.”

  “Since when?”

  “New regulations.” He shrugged. “More than my job’s worth to ignore them.”

  A plaque on his desk displayed the grand title “Personal Account Manager.” Athena quelled a derisive snort, wondering if it was pure coincidence that the words “banker” and “wanker” differed by just one letter. She dug her fingers into her palms to quell her raging temper, reminding herself that this obnoxious youth, who looked too young to shave, stood between her and ruination. That sobering thought caused her to swallow her pride. She’d do what had to be done, and if that required grovelling, then so be it.

  “Mr. Lyle,” she said sweetly. “You’ve dealt with me before. You know my grandfather leaves the financial side of things to me.”

  “Then he should have put your name on the account.”

  “It’s never been a problem before.”

  “Times have changed.” Lyle leaned back in his chair and addressed the remark to his cuticles. “Banking confidentiality and all that.”

  “My grandfather is an integral part of this community,” she said through gritted teeth. “His farm has supplied produce to the village shops for years, and your institution has always supported his efforts.”

  “We can only prop up failing businesses for so long.”

  “Failing! We’re not failing,” she raged, too infuriated by the jerk’s disinterested attitude to remain submissive. “Besides, that’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

  “Like I say, you can’t lean on us indefinitely.”

  “But we’re a partnership.” Well, that was pushing it. Umbrellas when the sun shone came to mind whenever Athena thought about the banking community.

  “We’ve given you plenty of warning about the need to make substantial inroads into your debts.”

  Lyle flicked through papers on his desk that probably had nothing to do with Blackridge Farm. He seemed edgy and still couldn’t meet her eye. A banker with a conscience? That would be a first. Athena concluded that he probably hadn’t had to face anyone in person after cutting off their livelihood before. Presumably he’d soon get the hang of it. Perhaps the bank ran management courses that would help. Ten different approaches to getting rid of the dead wood and keeping the balance sheet healthy. The thought of her beloved grandfather being considered dead wood was the final straw. She was a redhead, which gave her a fundamental right to have a fiery temper, didn’t it? And that temper could no longer be contained.

  “So why have you suddenly decided that you can no longer…how did you word it, continue to extend a line of credit?”

  “Miss Lloyd, I really can’t—”

  “Our overdraft facility was negotiated years ago. I don’t understand what the problem is.” And she really didn’t. “We’re keeping up the interest payments, aren’t we?” Well, more or less.

  Lyle stood up, indicating that the interview was at an end. “I really can’t talk to you about it. I’ve already said too much.”

  “So you’ll cut us off, just like that.” Athena was really getting steamed up now—the hell with being reasonable and persuasive! Reason and persuasion only worked with people who were prepared to be reasoned with or persuaded. This child didn’t give a shit if
he was forcing a business that had been in operation for over fifty years to go into liquidation, the heartless bastard! “I’m not prepared to accept that. I demand to see Mr. Jennings.”

  “He’s not here today, but he wouldn’t talk to you either, even if he was.”

  “Oh, wouldn’t he!” He’d sat at their kitchen table for a cuppa and a chat with her grandfather more times than she could remember. “We’ll soon see about that.”

  “He’s on holiday.”

  “How convenient,” she said scathingly. “In that case I’ll make an appointment, and I’ll bring Gramps with me next time.”

  She stormed toward the door.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Lloyd. I wish there was more I could do, but my hands are tied.”

  “You will be sorry.” Athena held the frustrated tears at bay by the sheer force of will. She absolutely would not cry in front of this minion with an inflated opinion of his own worth. “It was you bankers who caused the worldwide meltdown in the first place. Now you sit here in your ivory towers expecting honest, hard-working people like my grandfather to absorb the pain of your own incompetence.” She paused for effect. “That must make you very proud.”

  The child had the grace to look ashamed, and shuffled his feet. “Look, I know—”

  “That’s just the point, you don’t know a damned thing.” Athena jabbed a finger at him, warming to her theme. “You’re not from around here. You don’t know anything about the way things are done in rural villages, and it seems to me you haven’t even tried to find out. You tell us you’re Gramps’s new account manager and then cut off his funds without even bothering to visit the farm and see how we run our business.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Times are changing, as you’re so fond of telling me, and we’re trying to change with them. But we can’t do that without financial backing.” She placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “And isn’t that where you come in? You’re the branch office for this area and you’re supposed to support local businesses, not squeeze the lifeblood from them. Well, if you think you’re going to get away with it, you’ve got another thing coming.”

  She left the youth standing there, mouth hanging open, and slammed his door so hard that the glass panel rattled.

  Athena strode through the main floor of the bank, ignoring people who shouted greetings to her, too angry and upset to care if she was being rude. This absolutely couldn’t be happening. Somehow or other she would find a way round this mess. It had to be some sort of mistake. Jerry Jennings, the manager, being away on holiday probably accounted for it, she thought, calming a little as she climbed into her ancient Jeep and turned the key in the ignition. It would all be sorted out when he got back.

  Even so, she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling of unease that had gripped her ever since the bank’s cold, formally worded letter had arrived. She wondered if those Americans with the fancy titles were behind all this. What was it they’d called themselves on their letterhead? BDM Enterprises, that was it. They’d appeared out of the blue one day a few months back—or someone claiming to represent an American consortium had—and made Gramps a generous offer for the farm. He turned them down outright. It was the only home he’d ever known. Times might be tough, but he never intended to sell. He was fond of telling anyone who’d listen that the only way he’d leave would be in a pine box.

  The Americans had increased their offer, and Gramps had turned that down, too. That was a couple of weeks ago, and they’d heard nothing more since then. She’d assumed that they’d given up. Surely Americans, however wealthy and influential, couldn’t control the lending policies of British banks, could they? She shook her head. Of course not, she was just tired and emotional, inventing impossible scenarios to make sense of a crazy situation.

  Athena braced herself for the usual jolting as she drove down the rutted driveway to the isolated farm she loved so much. It was five miles outside the sleepy village she’d just visited, buried deep in the Hampshire countryside. She’d driven down this road so often that she steered round the worst of the potholes on autopilot, still fuming about the bank’s inexplicable about-face.

  “We really need to think about having this road paved,” she said aloud, aware that it was wishful thinking. If the bank had their way, they would lose the farm pretty damned soon and the driveway would be the least of her problems. There was absolutely no way they could repay the capital they owed, unless they sold up. “Over my dead body,” she seethed.

  She pulled up outside the rambling old house. As always, the sight of the three-hundred-year-old building, leaky roof notwithstanding, soothed her. An ancient wisteria wound its way lazily across the façade, and rambling roses…well, rambled there, too, competing with the wisteria for the sunniest spots. A gnarled old honeysuckle had been there for as long as Athena could remember, its sweet perfume as familiar and welcoming as the house itself.

  She pushed the confrontation with the bank to the back of her mind, mentally cataloguing all the things she needed to get done before she could call it a day.

  “Hey, boy,” she said as she jumped from the driver’s seat, her feet sinking into the mud that had resulted from the previous night’s rain. She hoped that rain hadn’t affected the haymaking. “What’s the matter?” Gramps’s collie dog, usually so pleased to see her, slinked toward her with his belly almost dragging in the mud. “Rowan, what’s wrong?”

  She touched the dog’s head. He flinched, and her fingers came away covered in blood.

  “What happened?” she asked, stroking his back until he stopped quivering. “Have you been getting into scrapes again? Did something fall on you?”

  The dog whined. She checked him over, but apart from the cut on his head, now crusted with congealed blood, he seemed to be none the worse for wear.

  “Come on, babe, we’ll get that cleaned up, shall we?”

  The dog followed her toward the side door, still very subdued. Athena understood why when she stepped into the kitchen, the lifeblood of the house, and found it looking as though a bomb had hit it. Pots and pans had been thrown on the floor, cupboard doors swung open, and drawers had been upturned.

  “Shit, we’ve been burgled. That’s all we need.”

  Athena recovered quickly from the shock, wondering what opportunistic burglars could hope to find in the kitchen, of all places. Presumably, if they wanted jewellery or valuables, they wouldn’t look here. Not that they’d find much of anything worthwhile in this house. The family heirlooms, such as they were, had long since been sold.

  “Gramps, are you here?”

  She didn’t receive a reply, nor did she expect one. It was late summer, and Gramps and his two faithful employees would be making hay in the lower meadow. So why was Rowan here, interceding in burglaries? Alarm bells rang inside Athena’s head. Rowan was always with her grandfather—they were inseparable. Something definitely wasn’t right.

  Rowan had recovered some energy and kept dashing through to the lounge, which they seldom used. It was too big, the ceiling too high, to make it a viable room to heat during the winter. Athena followed the dog, gasping at the devastation that was even worse in this room. The furniture had been overturned, the desk drawers rifled, books pulled from shelves, and pictures hung at crooked angles, as though the thieves hoped to find a safe. They’ll be lucky!

  Athena was so outraged that it took her a moment to realize that Rowan was now snuffling behind the overturned sofa. She followed him to see what he’d found, and her heart stalled.

  Her grandfather lay on the floor, covered in blood, and he wasn’t moving.

  Chapter Two

  “Gramps!”

  She crouched beside him and felt for a pulse. Thankfully, she found one, but he was unconscious, his skin cold to the touch even though it was a warm day. Just like Rowan, he appeared to have been struck over the head, and a worrying amount of blood had pooled beneath his scalp. Athena didn’t know much about first aid, but she did know how to call th
e emergency services, which she lost no time in doing.

  “Police and ambulance,” she told the operator briskly. “Get the ambulance here as quickly as you can.”

  The wait for help seemed interminable. By the time it arrived her grandfather had regained consciousness, but Athena refused to let him move.

  “Stay where you are, Gramps. An ambulance will be here soon.” Rowan snuffled round, wagging halfheartedly as he pushed his damp snout beneath Gramps’s hand. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I’ve been hit over the head by a sledgehammer,” he said, groaning.

  “Which is pretty much what happened, as far as I can tell. Can you remember anything about it?”

  “Not much.” He stared at her, his eyes unfocused. “I came back to the yard for something, heard the phone ringing, came in to answer it, and then, nothing.”

  The cavalry arrived at that moment, and Athena gratefully ceded her place at her grandfather’s side.

  “We need to get you to the hospital, Mr. Lloyd,” a paramedic told him. “That cut needs to be stitched, and you’ve probably got a concussion at the very least.”

  “Can’t spare the time.”

  “Yes you can,” Athena said firmly, holding his hand as they placed him on a stretcher and were about to load him into the ambulance. “I’ll follow on behind you.”

  “No need, darling. You’ll be better off staying here and keeping an eye on things.”

  “I can’t leave you by yourself.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “All right.” Athena capitulated, not wishing to put further stress on him by arguing. “I’ll organize things here, then phone the hospital to see what the prognosis is. Are George and Max still haymaking?”