Page 1 of How to Win the Wild Billionaire

CHAPTER ONE

IFYOUGIVEmecustodyofOlivia, Iwillforgiveyourpastbehavior.

If youdon’t fight me on this, we can be a family again. You’ll be welcomed back into my house, into my life.

Bay Adair pulled up alongside the lavender house in Bo Kaap, two blocks over from Layla and Ali’s house—her house now—and lifted her hands off the steering wheel, irritated to see the fine tremor in her fingers. She was shaking. Still. A full day after her ugly confrontation with her father.

He could still, damn him, shake the foundations of her world. And she was furious that, for just a minute, she’d considered his offer, her need to be a part of a family again temporarily overriding logic. But then common sense had kicked in and she’d realized that nothing had changed, that he was just playing her and, worst of all, using Olivia as a tool to bend her to his will.

Her father was an expert in emotional manipulation, Bay reminded herself, and his love was fully conditional.

I will only love you if you do as I say.

I will only love you if you believe what I do.

Well, damn him and damn that!

He’d been playing these games for more than half of her life and Bay was done. He didn’t, not really, want custody of Olivia—the fact that neither he nor her mother had tried to see their grandchild in the six months since Layla’s death led to that conclusion.

So no, she would not let him use her orphaned niece as a pawn in his twisted game. He wanted control over her, like he had complete control over her mother, and his promise of love and forgiveness was a lure, bait to get her to fall into line. She wasn’t stupid enough, weak enough, to believe otherwise.

It was a timely and tough reminder that love always,always, came with strings attached.

Bay glanced in the rearview mirror. She frowned when she saw the telltale flush of fever on little Olivia’s face. Her big, black eyes normally sparkled with fun and mischief but today, thanks to a vicious cold, they were red-rimmed and flat.

Bay rubbed her fingers across her forehead, hoping to rub away the headache settling behind her eyes. Turning her head, she saw the navy door to the house opening and smiled when she saw Mama B step onto the small landing above the whitewashed steps dressed, as she always was, in a loose, long-sleeved caftan. Today’s hijab, her head covering, was a deep, dark purple.

Bay jumped out of the car and jogged up the short flight of stairs to take Mama B’s hands in hers. She kissed one wrinkled cheek, then another. “Thanks for taking Olivia. I really appreciate it.”

Mama B waved her gratitude away. “She’s my great-grandchild—of course I’d help.” She frowned. “You said that you think she’s coming down with something?”

“I think it’s just a cold.”

Bay had only been Liv’s “mom” for six months and, after years of world traveling and only being responsible for herself, she was still overwhelmed by her new responsibility. What the hell had her younger sister Layla and her husband Ali been thinking when they made her guardian of Olivia? Sure, she could understand why they didn’t name her parents—her father’s recent behavior hammered that nail home—but Ali had wonderful cousins, any of whom would’ve been happy to welcome Liv into their ever-expanding broods.

But no, for some crazy reason Layla and Ali decided that Bay, with no child-rearing experience, was the person they wanted to raise their beautiful daughter. And she was beautiful, with her black curls, her creamy, light brown skin reflecting her dad’s Cape Malay heritage, pink rosebud mouth and those deep, super-dark eyes. She was also demanding and willful, energetic and mischievous and, yeah, extremely tiring. Being a single mother was tiring.

Being a single mother trying to earn enough to support her and Liv was freaking exhausting.

“Why are you heading to The Vane today?” Mama B asked.

Bay crossed her arms and rocked on her heels. “I’m going to see Digby Tempest-Vane...”

Mama B’s drawn-on eyebrows, thin and arched, lifted in surprise. “The Wild Billionaire? Wasn’t he the one who had an affair with that opera singer?”

Mama B was confusing Digby with his father, the notorious, rich-as-a-king philanderer who, together with his equally scandalous wife, kept the city, the country—and pretty much the world—entertained when tales of their parties, fights and licentious affairs made front-page news.

“His father, Gil, had the affair with the opera singer, Mama B.” But the press did call Digby the Wild Billionaire because of his love of speed, adrenaline and adventure.

He also turned over girlfriends—socialites, models and aristocracy—with the speed of a spinning top. His aversion to commitment, marriage and family was well documented. With parents like his, she couldn’t blame him. Neither could she judge him, as Bay had, as soon as she could, left the country and put as many miles between her and her parents as was humanly possible.

Bay saw that Mama B was still waiting for an explanation. “Do you remember Brin? And Abigail, they lived in the house on the corner of my street?”

Mama B nodded.

“Brin is engaged to Radd Tempest-Vane and Abigail works for him. A few weeks ago, Brin told me Digby has been looking for an interior designer for months. He wants to renovate certain rooms of The Vane hotel. Brin is away on holiday with Radd but Abby got me an appointment to meet with Digby.”

Bay twisted her lips, not feeling confident about the upcoming meeting. Honestly, she thought it was a waste of her time. And his.

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