Page 3 of How to Win the Wild Billionaire

Radd had only fallen in love; he hadn’t, like their parents, disappeared from his life. He hadn’t, like their elder brother, Jack,died. But Digby couldn’t help feeling, just a little, abandoned. It was, thanks to being the youngest son of the world’s most neglectful parents, an emotion he was very familiar with.

Intellectually he knew he was being stupid, but his heart refused to listen to reason. It was stubborn that way.

But, seriously, if one more person—friend, foe or reporter—asked him whether he’d changed his mind about love and marriage and whether he was going to follow Radd’s example and settle down, he’d punch someone or something.

Radd was the only family Digby had, all he needed.

It was his most closely held secret that he lived in constant fear of losing his brother, so why on earth would he want to increase his stress load by having more people in his life to worry about? No, he preferred to fly solo, thank you very much.

Digby sighed and turned away, eyeing his very messy desk. After wrapping up the purchase of the Botswana diamond mine from Vincent Radebe, Radd and Brin decided to take a month-long vacation in the Maldives. That meant Digby taking on Radd’s responsibilities to the Tempest-Vane group of companies as well as his own and he was slammed. And stressed.

He should’ve canceled his meeting with Brin’s interior-designer friend; he really didn’t have the time to meet her and he doubted a no-name interior designer would be able to grasp what he wanted when it came to redecorating The Vane. And until he found a kindred spirit, someone who got his vision for the most favorite of all the Tempest-Vane properties, he’d wait to redecorate and renovate.

It wasn’t like the wallpaper was falling from the walls or the paint was cracking. The last renovation was completed ten years ago, shortly before he and Radd purchased the hotel, the first business in their quest to restore the Tempest-Vane businesses and assets their father sold in order to line his personal pockets.

The hotel still looked good. Great, even.

But he didn’t want good or great, he wanted fabulous, unique, a combination of breathtaking elegance and comfort, sophistication and warmth. Their safari operation, Kagiso Ranch, was known to be one of the best safari lodges in the world; he wanted The Vane to be one of the best hotels in the world. They were close but close wasn’t quite good enough...

He intended the hotel to become a favorite amongst the world’s elite, and his and Radd’s fame as two of the world’s youngest billionaires didn’t hurt. Over the past few years, he’d made numerous changes and now the only outstanding issue was the decor...

Why couldn’t he properly convey his vision for the hotel? He was erudite, many called him charming and most called him charismatic. But, despite his ability to converse with paupers and princes, not one of the designers managed to strike the right balance between sophisticated and luxurious but also warm and welcoming. Some of the designs were too cold and too austere, others were too country house.

He didn’t think Brin’s friend would succeed where the best in the world had failed. He should’ve just canceled...

Too late now, Digby thought, glancing at his watch. He was due to meet her—God, what was her name again?—in the lobby in five minutes.

Digby buttoned his loose collar as he walked out of his office and pushed up the knot of his tie and straightened his tiepin. Tucking his phone into the inside pocket of his jacket, he ran a hand over his jaw, thanking God stubble was still in fashion.

“Muzi Miya-Mathews wants to know if you have five minutes for him,” Monica, his personal assistant, said, looking at him while she continued to type. How the hell did she do that?

Digby nodded and looked around, not seeing his best friend. “He said he’d wait for you on the south veranda but if you don’t have time to spare, he’d call you later.”

Digby thanked Monica and hurried to the lobby, rapidly moving across the harlequin-tiled floor to the south veranda. He and Muzi had met at Duncan House, one of the best private boys’ schools in the country, nearly twenty-five years ago and had been best friends ever since. Except for Radd, nobody knew him better than Muzi Miya-Mathews.

Spotting the dark-skinned Muzi—he was an exceptionally tall, well-built guy so he was hard to miss—Digby hurried over to him and slapped his shoulder. “Three M,” he said, using Muzi’s nickname from school.

Muzi shook his hand and pulled him into a brief, one-armed hug. “Dig, how’s it going?”

“Good. Crazy.” Digby shoved his suit jacket back to push his hands into the pockets of his pants. “I’ve got a meeting in five so I can’t hang around. What are you doing here?”

“I’m conducting interviews for a new winemaker for Tangle Vines.” Muzi leaned his shoulder into a pillar. Muzi, he remembered, needed a winemaker for his ever-expanding group of wineries.

“If I think the candidate has potential, I’ll take them out to the vineyard.” Muzi sent Digby a sour look. “Seven interviews and I’ve yet to make that drive.”

Digby sympathized. He knew what it was like not finding the person who gelled, clicked, the person you were looking for.

“Look, I know you are in a hurry but I wanted to tell you that we’ve made a formal decision to try to purchase Saint Urban. I was wondering if you could put me in contact with the owner.”

The Saint Urban vineyard had been his mom’s property, and when his parents died two years ago, the vineyard became part of their trust. Neither he nor Radd were beneficiaries of that trust and had no idea who was.

“Sorry, we still don’t know who that is,” Digby replied. His parents’ heir would not only inherit Saint Urban but also Gil and Zia’s art and car collection, a couple of huge insurance policies, their extensive property portfolio and a few healthy bank accounts.

He was bitter and he had a right to be. The trust was funded by the sale of Tempest-Vane assets, and the fact that someone unconnected to them was going to reap the rewards of the hard work of generations was a bitter pill to swallow. But Gil and Zia had no sense of family loyalty. If they had, they would’ve taken a great deal more interest in their three sons.

Digby always knew he was unwanted. His parents paid little to no attention to him, and his achievements, sports and scholastic, went unnoticed. His oldest brother, Jack, had been more of a parent to him than both his parents combined, and his death, shortly before Digby’s fifteenth birthday, rocked his already shaky world. Six months, maybe a year later Digby concluded it was better, safer to push people away before they could leave him.

His greatest fear was loving someone again and having them leave, and his recurring dream of Radd dying had him experiencing cold sweats and sleepless nights. He couldn’t lose someone else he loved, he wouldn’t be able to survive it. So, despite his charm, his wide circle of friends and his popularity, there were only a handful of people he allowed underneath his tungsten-hard suit of armor.

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