Page 25 of How to Win the Wild Billionaire

Bay wrinkled her nose before shaking her head. “Seriously, thank you for bringing me here. I’ve eaten street food and local dishes on five continents, but I’ve never visited a traditional African tavern before. The meat is awesome.”

Digby popped another piece of steak into his mouth and grinned. When he finished chewing, he picked up her beer and took a swig. He looked longingly at her bottle and when Bay suggested he order his own, he shook his head. “I’m going to be in control of a superpowerful machine in a couple of hours and I can’t afford to have my judgment impaired. Especially since I have a gorgeous passenger I’m responsible for.”

Bay showed him her appreciation by dropping a kiss on his lips. Before she was tempted to take their embrace further, she pulled back. “Thank you for that.”

Digby turned to face her, his elbow on the table. “Are you still okay to work tomorrow?”

Bay nodded. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Digby pushed a strand of hair off her forehead, his fingertip light on her skin. Yet she still quivered. Bay was starting to think that she could be ninety, having experienced a lifetime of Digby’s caresses, and she’d still respond like this. “Tomorrow is Saturday, you’ve been working like a demon and you deserve a day off, to sleep in.”

“My boss is a hard taskmaster—he’s been working me to the bone,” Bay teased. When Digby didn’t respond to her teasing, she allowed her fingers to drift over the back of his broad hand. “I’m fine, Digby. A little tired maybe but we need to press on ahead or else we won’t get the ballroom done in time for your foundation’s ball in two months.”

Digby grimaced, moving his hand to wind his fingers through hers. “Fair point.” He thought for a moment before speaking again. “I’m just so sick of the four walls of my office...why don’t we work out of my house tomorrow?”

She was also getting cabin fever so she quickly nodded. Okay, truthfully, she also wanted to see where Digby lived. And, because his house was within The Vane’s grounds, she didn’t have to worry about being spied on, least of all by nosy reporters. She nodded. “Nine-ish?”

“Perfect,” Digby said, squeezing her fingers before pulling away to turn his attention back to his food.

Bay, marveling at how much he could eat, changed the subject. “Now, tell me, how do you know Kwezi? Is he another of your friends from your smart boarding school?”

Digby shook his head. “Kwezi’s dad was a foreman on our vineyard and we’ve known each other since we were kids. He, Radd and I spent a lot of time together between the ages of six and thirteen. Then his father was hurt in a tractor accident and they moved back to the city and we lost touch until ten or so years ago.”

Bay placed her elbow on the table and her chin in the palm of her hand. “And how did you reconnect?”

Digby saw Kwezi standing at a nearby table and motioned him over. “Bay wants to know how we reconnected, dude.”

Kwezi asked a customer to scoot up so that he could sit down opposite Bay. He took a long sip of water from the bottle in his hand. “Digby was playing rugby for his university. I was playing for a local club. We met again on the field. I gave him a concussion that knocked him out cold.”

Kwezi, as Bay had already noticed, was a huge guy, six-four or six-five, all muscle. Being tackled by him would be the equivalent of being run over by a tank. “What?Really?”

Kwezi shrugged, not at all remorseful. “Not my fault he’s weak.”

“It was a high tackle.” Digby pointed a rib at him.

“High tackle my ass,” Kwezi stated. He looked at Bay and shook his head. “Your boy couldn’t take the heat.”

“You did go on to play topflight rugby, dude,” Digby grumbled, but Bay saw the amusement in his eyes. He looked so very relaxed, so at ease in this casual restaurant. It was a good look on him.

Looking at Bay, Digby continued his explanation. “Kwezi was on track to play for our national team but his mom fell ill and needed help with his siblings, so he came back here and opened up this tavern.”

Kwezi reached across the table and snagged a rib from Digby’s plate. Holding it in his enormous fingers, he bit down, chewed and looked thoughtful.

“I’m thinking about expanding—there are premises across town I think would be good for another tavern.”

Digby pushed his plate away and wiped his hands on a paper napkin. “You sound hesitant.”

Kwezi lifted one enormous shoulder. “Money is tight out there and unemployment is skyrocketing. I’m not sure if there is enough money in the system to sustain another tavern.”

“That’s what you said when we first discussed you opening up this place—no money, high unemployment, too much competition.” Digby made a show of looking around the packed-with-people joint. “It looks like you are doing okay.

“Trust your instincts, bruh,” Digby told him. “They were spot-on back then—they are sharper now.”

Bay—who’d been watching the intricate moves of a young, gorgeous dark-skinned woman on the makeshift dance floor in the far corner of the room, her hips shimmying and her braids flying—pulled her attention back to Digby when he stood up abruptly. Holding his hand out to Bay, Digby nodded to the full dance floor. “Do you want to dance?”

Bay cocked her head to listen to the music, feeling the deep bass lines reverberating through her body. Like the tavern, the music was rough and raw and wholly authentic.

She nodded, stood up, placed her hand in Digby’s and smiled. “Yes, please.” She turned to Kwezi and excused herself. “I hope to see you again.”

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