Mending Walls With The Billionaire (Artists & Billionaires Book 3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  one

  two

  three

  four

  five

  six

  seven

  eight

  nine

  ten

  eleven

  twelve

  thirteen

  fourteen

  fifteen

  sixteen

  seventeen

  eighteen

  nineteen

  twenty

  twenty-one

  twenty-two

  twenty-three

  twenty-four

  twenty-five

  Epilogue

  afterword

  Dear Reader,

  Sneak peek of Mending Images with the Billionaire

  acknowledgments

  about the author

  Other Books By Lorin Grace

  American Homespun Series

  Waking Lucy

  Remembering Anna

  Reforming Elizabeth

  Healing Sarah

  Artists & Billionaires

  Mending Fences

  Mending Christmas

  Mending Images

  Mending Words

  Mending Hearts

  Join Lorin Grace’s Readers Club Newsletter,

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  Copyright

  Cover Design © 2018 LJP Creative

  Photos © Deposit Photos, back cover photo curtesy of Serventures.com

  Formatting by LJP Creative

  Edits by Eschler Editing

  Published by Currant Creek Press

  North Logan, Utah

  Mending Walls with the Billionaire © 2018 by Lorin Grace

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, locations, events and dialogue in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously.

  First edition: September 2018

  ASIN: B07H51PC9S

  For Evan

  the best big brother I never had.

  one

  Deah Evans patted Araceli’s hand. “What caught your attention during the presentation tonight?”

  Araceli searched for the right words to describe her feelings to the wife of her father’s best friend, but the impression left by the slides of Haitian orphans rendered verbal explanation inadequate. “The face of the girl in the brown pillow-case dress—it’s like she wants to hide but be noticed at the same time. She is me when I was her age. I want to tell her I understand.”

  “Ah, that’s my Miss Tia. Most people choose the younger children. You read her emotion correctly. I can’t talk about her specific background, but as I explained, some of our children have come out of human-trafficking situations or other orphanages the government shut down because they exploited the children while the owners pocketed the money.”

  “Why hasn’t she been adopted?”

  “Tia turned fourteen last fall. There is no hope for adoption because the process is so complicated. She would age out before the final paperwork is complete. Children like Tia need the interaction they receive from these service trips to help them see their future can be more than their past.”

  “Can a weeklong visit do that?”

  “The service weeks give the children an opportunity to learn skills they can’t learn in school and to experience new ideas. I believe seeing women who are going to college helps the teenage girls see the value of education. Most won’t have the means to get further education without a sponsor or scholarships, but they need to build the desire and a thirst for more. We worry about sponsors later.”

  “So why the summer family-group trips?”

  “The family unit as we know it is a foreign concept to many Haitians. Family groups teach by example what a class never will. At the Evans Foundation, we feel building stronger families builds a stronger Haiti. More than a third of the children at the orphanage have known-parents living in Haiti.”

  “So they are not really orphans?”

  “No, their parents believe the lie that the orphanages can do a better job raising their children.” Deah turned to her husband, who joined them and took his hand.

  “After seeing this, I need to go on one of the service trips.” Araceli didn’t mention the money factor. The last of her savings had paid for her final semester at school. With a younger sister in college, too, Dad would not hand out a loan or gift. Compelled. She hadn’t felt that about anything for years.

  Frank Evans put his arm around his wife. “According to your dad, your spring break is the same time as the Dallas-area universities’ break. You should join us. We don’t often make service trips composed of college students. Our summer trips are mostly high school students and families. Kyle leads those.”

  Kyle? She’d tried not to think of him their entire visit. Knowing he guided the other trips made the spring-break trip her only option.

  Mrs. Evans looped her arm through her husband’s. “For the spring-break trip, I ask that participants create their own projects, some of which will be continued in the summer and fall trips. You will need to submit a proposal for a project. Even those who end up working on other projects are asked to do so. Sometimes we find the timing isn’t right but the idea is solid. I have seen some of your paintings. Think about how you can incorporate that talent.”

  Araceli’s mother, Terri, joined them. “Rich says it is starting to snow. He wants to get home before it accumulates on Mass Pike.”

  Deah smiled at her husband. “We’d better get back to our hotel. Frank knows I would talk about Haiti all night if I could. I’ve heard about how fast your Boston blizzards can accumulate, and we could be stuck here until spring.”

  “But Deah would finally have enough time to talk about her work.” Frank laughed as he ushered his wife away.

  Araceli followed her parents out to their car. “Mom, I want to go to Haiti.”

  “I hear that, but how are you going to come up with the money? Our circumstances haven’t changed, and with both you and Amelia in college, there isn’t any extra for a volunteer trip.”

  “I can get a part-time job on campus. Early morning custodial jobs are always open. There is something ironic about cleaning bathrooms to pay to go to a country with questionable plumbing.”

  Terri raised her eyebrows but didn’t comment, her doubts radiating like the heater in the old Ford Dad drove. But the eyes of all the children, not just the girl Mrs. Evans had called Miss Tia, called to Araceli begging her to come.

  One way or another, she was going to Haiti.

  “Marci, hurry up!” Kyle Evans yelled up the stairs.

  Marci came out of the bathroom and leaned over the banister. “Why? You’re not going anywhere tonight. It’s lame to pretend you’re sick on New Year’s.”

  “I am not pretending.” Kyle coughed for emphasis.

  “You could at least do like Cassie and claim you have to work tonight.” Marci checked her lipstick in the mirror. “Even Mark found a date.”

  Marci tossed Kyle the keys. “Come on. I still don’t see
why you have to drive me.”

  “Mom and Dad are worried about you driving home after midnight, and remember . . .”

  “I know, I know. Text X if anything feels wrong.”

  Kyle resisted the urge to muss his youngest sister’s hair. “Are we giving EmilyAnne a ride?”

  “Her dad will pick us up on the way home from the party he is going to. Even old people are going out and having fun. You need to get a life.”

  “And you need to get in the truck before you drive me crazy.” Kyle held open the door.

  After dropping his sister off, Kyle returned to his parents’ place. He preferred to sleep at his own condo, but he’d promised to keep tabs on Marci while Mom and Dad were in Boston. Both his other siblings had plans tonight. Cassie claimed she needed to be on hand at the hospital for the New Year’s baby and subsequent announcement. And Mark appeared to be determined to spend as much of his holiday as he could playing before returning to MIT. If Kyle hadn’t found an empty cereal box in the middle of the table each morning, he would doubt the existence of his brother.

  Perhaps Kyle shouldn’t have used his little cold as an excuse to skip the parties tonight, but he wasn’t into watching people consume more alcohol than they could handle or women hitting on him because they’d seen an article on his grandfather in Dallas Magazine and had spotted him in the photo on the third page. The last two women he’d dated were more interested in his bank account than he was. He hadn’t done anything to earn his fortune. And preparing to take over the charitable arm of his grandfather’s corporation meant he was only good at spending the family fortune wisely.

  His grandfather had always encouraged his children and grandchildren to find their own paths and careers. Kyle had studied family therapy, while Cassie trained to be an RN, then earned an MBA. Some of his cousins chose law and accounting and planned to take their place in the family business. Mark had studied chemistry, thinking someday he might revolutionize Grandfather’s oil company. Kyle would eventually take his mother’s role as the chairman of philanthropic outreach, but for now he only wanted to focus on one thing—Haiti.

  He had fallen in love at first sight—with both the country and the orphanage his family helped support. He loved the 120 orphans who didn’t care how many zeros came before the decimal in his bank account as long as he could throw a solid curveball.

  Twice he took women on service trips to Haiti because he hoped they might be the elusive one. Wrong. The second had flown back to the States after only two days. The first refused to leave the airport. The only woman who’d stuck it out was Cassie’s friend Jade. The problem was that after a slew of dates, there was zero chemistry, and Jade couldn’t take no to mean no. He was sure Jade kept signing up for the service tours to impress him because she didn’t seem to connect with the Haitians.

  As a cheer rose from the television and the ball dropped, Kyle made a resolution—find a woman who loved Haiti more than she loved his money.

  two

  The group chat was full of ideas for projects for the Haitian orphanage. Araceli couldn’t help but feel left out, as most of the volunteers for the spring-break trip were from Dallas and often abandoned the chat room to get coffee. As the only volunteer from Indiana, she didn’t know anyone other than Deah Evans and her husband. Not that she really knew them, either—they were friends of her parents. Before last Christmas, she’d only met them one other time when she was ten and the family visited. Their children were near the same ages, and they’d had a lot of fun—until their oldest son had proven downright mean.

  Araceli turned her attention back to the ideas being tossed about in the forum. One of the women was a fashion-design major who proposed teaching the interested orphans basic sewing skills and helping them make their own clothing. Of all the ideas presented, Araceli liked the sewing class the best, but she didn’t sew. Deah had asked each of them to come up with an idea, but Araceli was stumped. The guys in construction management and civil engineering would help with the previously planned project of weatherizing the roof, but she couldn’t do that. She didn’t garden. She didn’t have nursing qualifications. How could she make a difference?

  The hum of the garage door opening echoed throughout the house. Not wanting her roommates to see her frustration, Araceli closed the chat program and brought up the essay for English on her computer screen. The last nonart class on her schedule. Hallelujah.

  As car doors slammed and laughter carried into the house, Araceli hastily typed the next line. Just as she finished, the door connecting to the kitchen opened, and Candace walked in carrying a bag of groceries, the green plastic sack almost perfectly matching the color of her spiky hair.

  “Araceli can have the deciding vote.” Candace dropped the bag on the counter.

  “Deciding vote on what?” Araceli closed the laptop and moved it off the table before Candace’s cousin Zoe set a couple of pizza boxes on the table.

  Zoe opened the first box and swiped the pepper from the top. “The Friday Night Art Society project this semester. I think we should paint the history of women artists, including illustrators and graphic designers, in the stairwell going down to the laundry room.”

  Candace shuddered. “I told Zoe that as the newest member of the house, she only gets a half vote.”

  “So it balances out Tessa’s vote since she is only here part of the semester?” Araceli wanted out of the vote. For the first time in four years, she didn’t care what the project of the semester would be. Realizing halfway through her senior year that she’d made a mistake in her choice of major had left her feeling trapped. Art was useless.

  “I hadn’t considered Tessa’s vote. The way she has been the past three weeks, she might request cupids on the ceiling of Lover’s Loft, as she is up there on the phone every free minute she’s got.” Candace set six plates on the table.

  “Who else is coming?” Araceli peeked inside the other pizza box. Canadian bacon and pineapple. “Mandy?”

  Candace closed the lid before Araceli could snatch a piece. “She should be here with Abbie any minute. Daniel went to Japan for the week.”

  “Who is Abbie?” Zoe set the cups on the table.

  Araceli pulled some baby spinach out of the fridge to make a salad. “Abbie is part of Daniel’s security team.”

  The front door slammed. “Hey, guys.” Tessa waved and turned down the hallway to her room.

  “Hurry back! Pizza’s getting cold.” Candace tossed some tomatoes into the salad.

  The doorbell rang. Before Zoe could answer, a man entered, followed by two women. Araceli put a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing at Zoe’s reaction to Mr. Alexander. Mandy’s bodyguard was the type of man that made most women forget to breathe and invaded a daydream or two. If he ever wanted to do side work as a cover model for romance novels, they wouldn’t need to manipulate his photos.

  Candace barely acknowledged the bodyguard’s presence as she pulled her former roommate into a hug.

  Zoe closed her mouth and came over to Araceli and whispered, “Who is he?”

  “Mr. Alexander. Abbie’s twin. Word of caution—don’t call him Alex unless he gives you permission. He says the title keeps him professional.”

  After checking all the windows, Mr. Alexander exited, and the other women came into the kitchen.

  Having changed into a pair of jeans and T-shirt, Tessa joined the group by the door. Mandy looped her arm through Candace’s. “I am so sorry about this, but Daniel has gone a bit overboard. It wasn’t even a threatening Tweet.”

  Candace turned to Abbie. “Glad I didn’t remove the cameras. Abbie, do you get to eat with us, or are you on duty too?”

  “I’m on duty, but I have the easier of the duties because my job is to be one of the crowd, at least until you start painting.” Abbie took a seat in the corner.

  Candace ra
pped a spoon on the table. “Ladies, we’re a couple weeks late, but welcome to the first meeting of the Friday Night Art Society this year. In honor of January, the dessert is ice cream.”

  Mandy laughed. “The desert is always ice cream. This time I am adding pickles.”

  Tessa was the first to scream. “Really??”

  “Can I be Aunt Candace?”

  Araceli clapped her hands. “Hence the extra bodyguards?”

  Mandy smiled at Abbie. “Yes, Daniel has them babysitting six months early. Poor Abbie gets the brunt of it. I’ve already offered her a month’s extra vacation when the baby arrives. Seriously, who wants to guard a woman with morning sickness?”

  Candace took a piece of the veggie pizza. “I know! This semester’s project can be the nursery at the cottage!” The home Daniel rebuilt for Mandy before their engagement was their regular weekend getaway from Chicago.

  There was no need for a vote.

  Putting off reviewing grant applications never worked out. The last Friday night in January found Kyle staring at his computer screen. Once the review team vetted the requests, his assistant organized applications by type, need, and her own sincerity scale. Occasionally she added links to social media or news stories, primarily on the applications she considered less than worthy. Her you-should-fund-this-project pile was thoroughly researched and often included extra tidbits and personal stories.

  At his grandfather’s request, Kyle needed to personally review every application. Perhaps fifty years ago, when Grandfather had implemented the policy of gifting 10 percent of the corporation’s profits, it was feasible to review every application, but the applications had more than doubled each year since Kyle had inherited the responsibility once belonging to his mother.

  One set of applications was marked with a new label: “Highly Unusual.” Kyle studied the forms before reaching for his phone and calling his mother.