Page 14 of How to Win the Wild Billionaire

But she had. And he was curious to know why. And, because they’d shared that intense kiss, pretty damn grateful she had.

Instead of explaining why she felt it okay to carry on with their meeting instead of canceling it, Bay veered off. “Look, I can do the design—I think I know what you are looking for, but I’m not set up to take on a big project, financially or otherwise. To be honest, while I have a diploma in interior design, I’ve only done a couple of small projects—”

“How small?” Digby asked, interrupting her.

She pulled a face. “A couple of kids’ bedrooms and a sitting room or two.”

Crap. That wasn’t inexperienced, that was home decor.

“And when I say that I decorated the rooms, I accompanied my friends to the shops and advised them what to buy. Then I painted their walls and rearranged their furniture,” Bay admitted.

Wonderful.

“I’ve applied for jobs in the sector but nobody is hiring, and you were my last, and only, chance at working in a field I love. But I knew I was very out of my depth.”

Bay walked back over to the table, sat down and started to put her pencils back in their cardboard box, and in the correct order. Greens, then blues, then the red shades...who did that?

Digby reluctantly added curiosity about her to his unwanted fascination.

She was different, unusual and captivating.

Strange because those weren’t emotions he was familiar with. Digby seldom delved beneath the surface with people. He liked them well enough—and the world saw him as an extrovert, someone always up for a good time—but he didn’t open up, or let people in. The termextroverted introvertfitted him perfectly.

He could be the life of the party one night, and he could also be the guy slinking away as soon as he could the next night. And he never, ever allowed anyone to look beneath his charming exterior. Who wanted to see chaos, anyway?

Bay placed her forearms on the table and tapped her fingers against the smooth skin of her bare arm. “The long and short of it is that I’m simply not in the position to work for you.”

She was right. Digby lifted his glass to his lips, allowing the whiskey to slide down his throat. He couldn’t afford to have someone inexperienced running the project; the renovations had to happen quickly, causing minimal disruption to the guests. That meant teams of laborers working in shifts, coordination of deliveries, sourcing furniture and supplies.

He needed someone with experience in these types of projects, someone who knew how to crack the whip, who could negotiate with suppliers and who had excellent time-management skills.

Bay wasn’t that person. She could be, in the future, but she wasn’t experienced enough to handle a project of this magnitude. But she was completely suited to be his designer because she was the only one who’d managed to capture what he wanted, design-wise. That, up until now, had proved impossible.

Digby, a million thoughts flying around his head, stood up and, echoing Bay’s actions, paced the small area behind the table, his hands in his pockets, picking his problem apart.

“If I gave you the job, what would be your first step?”

Bay rolled her eyes in exasperation but eventually answered him. “I’d set up mood boards for each room, do detailed sketches, source pictures of the furniture I think would work. I’d give you a detailed drawing of my vision which we can discuss.” She wrinkled her pretty nose. “I’m pretty anal when it comes to decor—everything has to be perfect. Lines have to be straight, upholstery has to be perfect, patterns have to match perfectly.”

Exactly what he needed for The Vane.

Bay was what he needed, and whatsheneeded was a project manager. Something he could do in his sleep...

Digby shook his head, lost in his thoughts. He couldn’t possibly be thinking he’d project manage the renovation of The Vane? He had the holding company to run, the hotel to oversee. There were a dozen other projects that should take precedence until he found someone to take over the renovation of the hotel in its entirety. And it had been weeks since he’d had any spare time; if he wanted to compete in the grueling Roof of Africa motorcycle rally next year, he should do some training. And it had been an age since he surfed or skydived or even took a weekend off.

If he took on the role of project manager, working with Bay, he might be able to find some spare time in, maybe, five years or so.

But renovating The Vane was close to his heart, it always had been. Many of the good memories he had of his childhood took place within its high stone walls. He recalled playing tennis with his brothers, Jack teaching him to swim in the smaller of the three pools. His grandfather’s sixtieth birthday party, Jack’s twenty-first. Trying to keep up with his brothers as they scoffed down the delicious treats on offer during high tea.

So many memories...

Because he had an emotional connection to the place, there was no way he would leave any interior designer to his or her own devices. He was a control freak and he knew he’d spend a lot of time looking over shoulders, checking on the progress, making sure they were on track and keeping the standards high. If he took on the project management and Bay provided the design ideas, he’d be in control of the renovation.

And that was a situation he was fully comfortable with. And let’s be honest, it would probably be a hell of a lot cheaper than hiring the best designers in the world. Not that money was an issue but Digby didn’t believe in wasting cash when he didn’t need to.

“Together, we could do this together,” Digby murmured, feeling the flicker of excitement in his belly growing into a fire.

“What are you talking about?” Bay demanded, placing her heels on the edge of her chair and wrapping her arms around her knees.

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