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

by Lorin Grace

  Deah didn’t even bother with a hello. “You waited until the end of the month again, didn’t you. Which application is perplexing you this time?”

  Mildly affronted, Kyle laughed tightly. “Am I really so predictable?”

  “I didn’t think you were calling on a Friday night to tell me you met the woman of your dreams. If you were on a date, you wouldn’t call me. I, however, am on a date with the man of my dreams, so do you mind if we hurry this up?”

  The sound of his father’s laughter echoed in the background. “Don’t worry, we are still driving, but I’d say you get about ten minutes.”

  The joys of speakerphone.

  “I have seventy-four applications from orphanages and schools in Haiti. Do you know what is going on? Has there been a policy change?”

  “No, but a couple of the board members for the orphanage were there in November. They may have said the wrong thing to the wrong person. I hate how some Haitians see the orphans as a means to lining their pockets. No new projects in Haiti without a complete investigation. If any of the applications stand out, you could come with us on the spring-break service trip and do some detective work.”

  “Nice try. As much as I love Haiti, I am not going on this trip. Besides, I am going in three weeks to check on the progress of our last group of new orphans who came in after the raid on the traffickers. One of the girls was in their system for more than three years, and she isn’t adjusting well. We may need to find a different situation for her.”

  “I saw the report. I want to create a halfway house of sorts—more of a home situation for children struggling to break the chains of slavery.”

  Kyle twirled his pen and pushed back from the desk. “It’s a grand idea, but we are already having issues with staffing, and the house would need a professional therapist on staff. I’d need a month down there to find qualified employees.”

  “I still think you should come the end of March. Jade is a nice girl. She shouldn’t prevent you from going. Not many Westlake girls can survive one of our trips for a day, and this is her third trip.”

  Kyle rolled his eyes. “Back to the applications. There’s only one application for aid that looks worth investigating. It is for a little school run mostly by the mothers of the students. I can add a visit to my list for next trip. They are only asking for a couple hundred dollars so they can get more chickens and build a better fence.”

  “Oh, yes, one of the board members is quite fond of that little school. She calls them her queen bees because they work so hard. This is the first time they have applied for help.”

  “So, you are saying these mothers are doing what we have been advocating and coming up with their own solutions?”

  “I think so. I’ll forward a couple of emails to you about them. And—”

  Kyle’s father interrupted. “We are now at the Meyerson, so you are now on my date time. Y’all can hash this out later. And, Kyle, you don’t need to work all the time. Have a good night.”

  The call disconnected, the ensuing silence mirroring that of the empty office.

  After dinner, everyone went to the studio to sketch out their ideas. Mandy pulled Araceli into the library. “What is going on? You seem a bit down.”

  “I don’t know. I look at finishing my BFA project and think what’s the point? Art can’t save the world. I chose a useless major.” All graduating did was add another starving artist to the world.

  “I know how frustrated I was finishing up my MFA last year. And you have had a couple of delays with your graduation. It didn’t help that you had to move back to Massachusetts last year when you were sick. But artists can do good in the world. Grandma Mae said that a person doesn’t need to change the whole world, just the world around them by being kind.” Mandy sat on the couch and motioned for Araceli to join her.

  “I know. But I want to make a difference in the world.” Araceli knew she was pouting. For the past year it seemed like she would never graduate with her BFA when most of her roommates had completed their master’s. Getting mono hadn’t been part of her college plans, but she’d never regretted taking the semester off to go to Paris—even though the trip put her behind.

  “You can make an impact with art. Have you considered helping with the art-therapy class over at the community center? My grandmother loved learning watercolor when I lived with her. You could switch to a BA and graduate now. Having any degree opens doors in other fields. Don’t tell Tessa or Candace, but the F in the middle of BFA stands for ‘fine,’ and there are a lot of ways to be fine without the word on your diploma.”

  Stunned, Araceli didn’t answer for a moment. “You are saying this after all your hard work?”

  “My crowning glory was turning the Crawford Mansion into a house of ill repute. The freelance jobs I’ve taken will all be round filed in five years.” Mandy moved her hand to her middle. “Now I am embarking on a different path. I am looking forward to motherhood. Believe me, BFA/MFA is not the be-all and end-all. In your case, art therapy may be much more fulfilling.”

  Araceli was one of the few to have seen the before version of the Bordello de Crawford photo manipulation Mandy had created to get over her crush on her now-husband.

  “I hadn’t thought of art therapy. I guess that would be making a difference in the world.” Araceli pulled out her phone and did a quick search. “It looks like I would need a master’s degree and to pick up some psych classes. I can look into it more.” She didn’t know how to express what she was feeling.

  “Does this have anything to do with going to Haiti over spring break?”

  “Listening to the Evans speak about their work in the orphanage and the school—they are changing lives!”

  “How did you meet them?”

  “Mr. Evans is an old college friend of my dad’s. His wife is the daughter of a Texas oil magnate. But they don’t seem like billionaires—no security team or anything like that. She reminds me of you. She runs the Evans Foundation on her own.”

  Mandy pulled out her phone. “Daniel has donated to a couple of foundations who work in Haiti. I wonder if they are one of them. He tries to be very careful as some of the orphanages there are less than reputable.”

  “That’s what Deah says.”

  “Tessa said you were working early morning custodial to earn money for the trip.”

  Araceli stuck out her tongue. “There has to be some type of irony in cleaning toilets to earn money to go to a place where you can’t flush toilet paper.”

  The blood drained from Mandy’s face. “Ew, don’t even make me think about that. How are you doing on earning the money you need to go?”

  “If I am careful, I should be able to have the money. I am hoping the airline tickets don’t go up before I can buy them.” Paying for the trip equaling nearly half the semester’s tuition was stretching her to the limit. But Foundation resources were not for volunteers.

  “I have a proposition for you. How about I pay your airfare and lodging, and in return you provide Daniel and me a report on what Haiti is really like and what you feel could be done to improve things as well as on what is already working well.”

  Araceli bit her lip. The offer was so tempting. But her father had clearly stated that if she wanted to do this, it should be her sacrifice. “I couldn’t take Daniel’s money.”

  “Technically it isn’t his. I have been doing some freelancing.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?”

  “Not really. I have a huge household budget and an absolutely ridiculous clothing budget I never come close to spending. Daniel is frugal in many ways but not when it comes to me. So the money is all mine, and I don’t have a thing to spend it on.” Mandy tapped her abdomen. “Daniel went a bit crazy and gave me an insane budget for this little one. I am trying to convince him he doesn’t need to spend so much on thing
s. Sometimes Walmart works just as well. Now he is talking houses, and if I am not careful, he will build something as big as his grandfather’s mansion-turned-community center.”

  “Wow, such a first-world problem.” Araceli wasn’t sure she could laugh until Mandy did.

  “No, it is so much worse than a first-world problem. A first-world problem is forgetting to charge your cell phone. I don’t even have a name for the types of problems billions of dollars cause. I want our children to be normal, and a full-detail security team for a pregnancy isn’t normal.”

  “Do you still get threats?”

  Mandy frowned. “One or two. There are some delusional and jealous women out there.”

  Araceli put an arm around her friend. “Death threats aren’t normal either.”

  Abbie came around the corner. “Death threats?”

  Mandy blew out a puff of air and shook her head. “Nothing new, Abbie.”

  “Well then, I suggest you get in the studio before Candace and Zoe come to blows. Those two fight worse than sisters. You’d think cousins would get along.”

  Araceli tucked her phone in her pocket. “Don’t let them fool you. They love each other, but Zoe is a graphic designer. They would fight anyway.”

  three

  Passport number? Araceli dug through her drawer in search of the blue book. It would be helpful to be a bit more organized. But then, organization was overrated. Zoe’s insistence that the mismatched plates and bowls be stacked in ROYGBIV order was a bit annoying. Only an artist would ever arrange dishes according to the colors of the rainbow. Candace had started wearing her wigs in reverse rainbow just to protest.

  Araceli found the document in the second drawer. After entering the information and hitting Purchase, she leaned down to put the passport back in the drawer. No, it would get lost there. She should put it someplace she would be able to find it before the trip. Araceli dug through her closet. The fanny pack she’d taken to Paris would be perfect for Haiti. She finally located the little bag inside her large suitcase.

  The money Mandy gave her would cover most of the cost of food and transportation. The best part would come Monday morning when she gave her two weeks’ notice. Haiti was really happening.

  Even getting her tetanus immunization updated and a typhoid shot sounded exciting.

  Waiting seven more weeks was going to be the hard part.

  Araceli sent off an email to Deah Evans with her flight confirmation numbers. There was no way she could concentrate on the English paper. She opened up the college website to see if she could switch majors three weeks into her final semester. Dad was going to be happy—the semester in Paris and the French literature class made graduating in May possible with dropping the BFA-project class. It also saved her money in supplies.

  Araceli turned up her music and danced around the room. No project!

  When the song ended, she emailed the academic advisor for her major, then called her mom.

  “What do you think of this idea?” Deah Evans handed her son her tablet which was opened to her inbox.

  Kyle read the letter. “Doing the handprint tree mural two years ago was fun for the children, and I agree more color would give the place a homier feel.”

  “But?”

  “There is so much to be done that decorating seems like a waste of resources. I will admit I’m intrigued by her idea of using the styles of Haitian artists. The tree mural looks so American.”

  Deah took her tablet back. “What I would like to see is the children incorporated in this. One of the ideas behind the old handprint tree was to involve the children. I’ll write her back and see if she has any ideas to help the children be part of this.”

  Kyle sat on the couch opposite his mom. “How many volunteers do you have for this trip?”

  “Ten, including Marci’s friend EmilyAnne, plus your father and me. You are sure you don’t want to come?” Deah’s smile indicated her awareness of his answer.

  “No way. Jade has her sorority involved in this. The last two trips with her were enough to make me vow to never be near her again.”

  “She is a nice girl. Just not for you.”

  Kyle raised a brow. “Do you know how many times Cassie’s apologized for introducing us? She even gave me permission to call her the worst sister ever during our last service trip with Jade. Why do you keep letting her come?”

  “Even though you don’t like her, Jade does work hard. It’s only fair she gets to see some of her hard work on the other end.” Deah took off her reading glasses. “This time she has gathered a group that includes fashion-design and construction-management majors. Both groups can be a great asset in the projects. They’ve already found some lightweight sewing machines and gathered fabric donations. Some of the older girls will enjoy learning to make their own clothes. I don’t think any of them will be experts in a week, but sewing is a useful skill.”

  “So where does the artist fit in?”

  “Oh, Araceli is the daughter of Dad’s friend Rich. You met her once when you were about fourteen on a trip we took to New England.”

  Kyle thought for a moment. Surely not the round little girl with curly hair. “The family with the boy about my age and the two younger sisters?”

  “Yes, that is the one. Araceli is about Cassie’s age.”

  Marci bounced into the room. “EmilyAnne wants to go to Whataburger before the game. Can I have the car?”

  “Who else are you going with?”

  “Just us.”

  Kyle leaned forward. “Who are you meeting?”

  Marci blushed and stuck out her tongue.

  “Well, answer your brother’s question. I seem to be off my parenting game tonight.”

  “A couple guys from school.”

  Deah frowned at the answer. “Do these guys have names?”

  Kyle stood. “I sure am hungry. Whataburger sounds like an excellent idea.”

  “Mom!” Marci pushed at Kyle, trying to force him back onto the couch. “He can’t go!”

  Deah twirled her reading glasses. “Then I suggest you start by telling us some names.”

  “Grant and Liam. Y’all okay with that? I’ve known them for-ev-er.” Marci crossed her arms.

  “The car needs to be back in the garage a half hour after the game is over or I get a phone call explaining why not.”

  Marci bent and kissed her mother’s cheek. “See ya!”

  “Whataburger still sounds like dinner!” Kyle grinned at his mother.

  “Don’t you dare.” Marci punctuated her statement by slamming the door.

  “You shouldn’t tease her like that. At least she has a date.”

  “Who says I don’t?”

  “You’re hanging around here at five on a Saturday. That means you’re bored out of your skull and your condo is way too quiet.”

  Kyle dropped back onto the couch. “Touché. Don’t start. I need to find someone new. Half of the girls I know run at the mention of any type of service work. I need someone who enjoys it, because it’s the work I love.”

  Deah laughed. “Maybe you should go on this trip. There are several women you haven’t met, and we both know their reaction during the drive from the airport to the orphanage is an indicator of how well they will handle things.”

  “Not always. What about the family who moved down there after several visits and only lasted a week?”

  “I still think you should come with us. Mother’s intuition.”

  Kyle shook his head. “I registered for the conference in DC months ago. I really want to learn about some of the techniques for working with abused and trafficked children.”

  “Doesn’t your conference end the day before we leave? You could change your flight and do both.”

  “Nope, I have pl
ans to see the Capitol and meet up with some college friends.”

  “Female?”

  “Nope.” Kyle stood. “I think I’ll head home. Maybe I’ll stop at Whataburger on the way.”

  “Kyle, don’t you dare. But if you do, let me know what you see.”

  Kyle kissed his mom’s cheek. “Don’t worry. It’s more of a Tex-Mex night. When does Dad get home?”

  “Sunday night.”

  “Come to dinner with me?”

  Deah set her work aside. “You know I don’t count as a date, right?”

  “But you will always be my favorite.”

  An expression of mock horror filled Deah’s face. “I hope not.”

  Kyle tossed his keys in the air. “I’ll drive.”

  Sunday was one of Araceli’s favorite days. When she was twelve, she heard a sermon about the Sabbath day and had never done homework on Sunday since. The day was reserved for calling family, being with friends, and reading books. To date, she held the record for the most books read in the house library. And she was the only one who felt put out when someone left their book on the table indicating Lover’s Loft above the library was in use by a couple wishing private conversation. However, only Tessa was seriously dating anyone, and since Sean lived in Blue Pines, New York, Tess of the D’Urbervilles sat safely on the shelf next to Far from the Madding Crowd. Organization reigned supreme in the library. If only Araceli could organize the rest of her life the way she did her books.

  She curled up on one of the couches with her laptop and sketch pad. Researching mural art and Haiti wasn’t homework—just a way to pass time waiting for the weekly Sunday Williams family video call. Soon several open tabs lined the top of her browser. One of the problems was adding color, warmth, and interest to the orphanage without getting too busy. Many of the photos she found of Haiti included bright-but-busy painted trucks and busses and mural art on the many walls surrounding city buildings. A rough floor plan of the orphanage would help. It was hard to piece together the various photos to get an idea of the space.