Page 6 of How to Win the Wild Billionaire

It was unbelievable how much could change in a scant six months. Her life—and Liv’s obviously—had been flipped upside down and inside out. She lost her sister, and her niece lost her mom and dad...

A picture of their little family—Ali, black eyes flashing, his arm around his pale, blonde wife, and Liv between them, her daddy’s child through and through—flashed in front of her eyes and Bay swallowed, blinking to clear her suddenly burning eyes.

She’d been in Goa when she heard the news of their deaths and it had taken her two days to get home. Bay mourned her sister, shedid, but she’d had to put aside her grief to look after a confused three-year-old who’d had her life ripped apart. She’d initially been in a state of shock on hearing that she’d been appointed as Olivia’s legal guardian but that shock soon receded as the enormity of her responsibilities dawned on her.

She was twenty-eight years old and for the past five years, she’d been responsible only for feeding, clothing and looking after herself. Now she had a three-year-old and thoughts of how she was going to pay for Olivia’s education, any medical bills, food and clothing kept her awake at night.

Today was D-Day, her very last, almost impossible chance to earn money doing something she loved. If she failed, Bay would have to look for aproperjob. She sighed at the thought of discussing working hours, remuneration, health insurance and responsibilities.

Honestly, it didn’t matter where she found work, whether it was here or somewhere else. Life would change for them and would bring a new set of challenges. She’d have to find daycare for Olivia, dropping her off early and picking her up late. Liv, thanks to losing both her parents, had separation anxiety, and Mama B was the only person, apart from Bay, with whom she felt comfortable. If she went back to work—and she had no choice about that—would Olivia feel abandoned, unloved and rejected? All over again?

But a salary would mean food on the table, money in the bank, a cushion in case of disaster—

“Ms. Adair, I don’t have all day.”

Digby’s cool voice had her jumping back into the present and she noticed that he held a door open for her, waiting for her to step into his office. Bay walked into the expansive and luxurious space and, once inside, turned to watch him shut the door behind him. He immediately shrugged off his tailored suit jacket and loosened his tie. He tossed his jacket over the back of a couch and gestured her to one of the visitor’s chairs next to his desk.

“Take a seat,” he told her, walking around his huge desk, and dropping into his leather office chair. Almost immediately, he raised his left arm and pushed his hand down the back of his neck in what looked to be an oft-repeated stretch.

Bay watched as the fine cotton of his shirt tightened across that football-field-wide chest and big biceps. He switched hands, elongated his spine, and all the moisture in her mouth dried up.

Digby Tempest-Vane had one of the best bodies she’d ever seen. No contest.

Digby lowered his arms and shrugged. “Sorry, I slept in a weird position last night and my shoulders are tight.”

Bay nodded, not wanting to think about Digby in bed. Had he been alone? Did he sleep naked? How big, exactly, was his bed?

Adair! Really?

Digby linked his hands on his flat stomach and Bay couldn’t help wondering whether that fine material covered a six-pack. She was damn sure it did...

Digby’s eyes—that intense blue—rested on her face and Bay wondered if he’d bring that same intensity to the way he kissed.

Or made love.

She wasn’t someone who spent a lot of time wondering about men and their kisses. She’d had a couple of relationships at the university but, for the past few years, she’d lived her life on her own terms, without reference to anyone else. There had been that guy in Berlin, another in Tasmania, but neither tempted her to stay in one place, to stop traveling. To take a risk with her heart, already decimated by her dad.

She was cautious...extremely cautious.

But she couldn’t stop imagining what Digby would look like...well, naked.

Aargh!Resisting the urge to bury her face in her hands, Bay hoped she wasn’t blushing, so she looked away and forced herself to change the subject.

“Why don’t you just tell me your vision of The Vane and I’ll take notes?” Bay suggested, proud of her strong, clear voice. Yeah, a lifetime of hiding her emotions from her parents came in handy sometimes.

Digby reached for a folder on his desk and handed it over. “Here are all the dimensions and a set of photos of all the rooms. You can look at it later.”

Bay nodded and tucked the folder into the back of her sketch pad. Digby pushed his chair back and placed his ankle on his knee. “I want restful but sophisticated, comfortable but elegant. Do not give me country house, minimalism or avant-garde...”

Bay’s hand dashed across the page, making notes as he spoke, idly noticing that he was doing a great job of telling her what he didn’t want but not what he did.

“In the first stage on the revamp, because we can’t do everything at once, I want the ballroom, a second honeymoon suite and the coffee shop refreshed. The next-steps phase of the project will be the conference rooms, the lobby and all the other public rooms. The third stage will be the bedrooms. I want the same designer working on all three phases, to keep the vision consistent. I’m imagining that this will be a multiyear project and the designer would need to commit to all three phases. After I sign off on the design, the designer would then take over, using their capital to run the project. I’d be happy to consider paying a deposit but I’d expect my designer to purchase all the supplies, furniture, art and accessories and pay the work crews. I’d then issue payment once the work is completed to my satisfaction.”

Digby tossed out his sentences in a flat monotone and it was obvious that he’d repeated these words many times before. Bay felt all hope of securing this project fade away on hearing how Digby planned to structure the deal.

The project was massive, much bigger than she thought, and she couldn’t take it on. Oh, there was scope to make a lot of money but she’d have to spend money to make money.

She didn’t have that sort of cash available. And, without any security or bank credit—the downfall of traveling the world and not having a credit history—she wouldn’t qualify for a small loan, never mind the millions she’d need to see the first stage of this project through.

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