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

by Lorin Grace

  “From St. Louis to Effingham, Illinois. He said he would consider giving his blessing if you convinced him you really want me.”

  Araceli grabbed the front of his shirt. “I do.” She kissed him again.

  The pounding of footsteps interrupted them, and Kyle stiffened.

  “I told you so.” Abbie stood at the crest of the hill, hands on her hips.

  Alex barreled into the gazebo. “You yelled.”

  “I yelled the word yes to a proposal. I didn’t yell for your help.”

  “Come on, bro, we are not needed here. Araceli, do you want us to leave Kyle’s truck, or would you rather walk around the pond to the gate? Mandy is making breakfast.”

  “Walk.”

  Alex held out his hand to Kyle. “I’m really sorry about this morning.”

  “I think we are good. Imagine the story we will have to tell our grandkids about our engagement. Not everyone has to fight off a bodyguard to find out where his intended lives.” Kyle’s smile was genuine, but Araceli knew there had to be more to the story.

  “He’s a keeper. Not many guys even try to get a punch in. He managed three.” Alex grinned.

  “And I paid dearly for each one.” Kyle touched the slight bruise on his cheek.

  Abbie stepped into the gazebo, holding her phone. “Mandy says coffee cake and eggs are ready in forty minutes. Should she invite Candace and Zoe?”

  “Yes. Now, will you two leave? I only have a few hours with this man before he has to drive a thousand more miles.”

  Abbie turned, but Alex stood there no matter how hard Araceli glared. “I have a couple days off. I could drive back with you, make sure you stay on the road, keep Araceli from worrying too much. You could drop me off at DFW, and I could hop a ride to O’Hare.”

  “Really?”

  “Hey, after what you did to propose, the least I can do is make sure you live until the wedding.”

  “Thanks, man. Can you be ready by noon?”

  “You bet.” Alex ran up the hill after Abbie.

  Araceli looked at her phone. “We have less than four hours. What do we need to do first?”

  “This.”

  Kyle took Araceli in his arms and kissed her. “Celi, ma belle, ou se solèy ki chofe mwen chak maten.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You are the sun that warms me in the morning. It’s a Haitian endearment.”

  “Are there many of those?”

  Kyle whispered against her lips. “A lifetime of them.”

  Epilogue

  A rooster crowed somewhere. Araceli cracked her eyelids. Darkness engulfed the room she shared with her husband.

  Husband.

  Mari.

  The word was the same in French and Haitian Creole, and just thinking about it made her smile. He made her smile. The five weeks of her marriage had been heavenly. They’d honeymooned in Orlando for two weeks, then taken quick trips to Boston, Chicago, and Dallas before flying to Haiti.

  After only a week, she had matched names with all the children, though they laughed at her mispronunciations and corrected her. Most of the children couldn’t run faster than she could, but several of the boys challenged her to daily races down the dusty road in front of the orphanage. Yesterday, Tia had joined them and outrun them all. Haiti hadn’t medaled in the Olympics since 1928. If she could find the right coach, and if it was something Tia really wanted, perhaps that could change. She’d promised Tia a short run this morning before breakfast. It would only be to the school and back and in the company of one of the gate guards and all the teen boys who thought they could keep up.

  The rooster crowed again, but only moonlight peeked through the east window.

  She rolled onto her side and reached for Kyle only to find she couldn’t move.

  The mosquito netting had trapped her. Again.

  Hanging from a hoop attached to the ceiling, the netting had managed to tangle her up. This must be what a fly felt like in a spiderweb. Every move she made only pulled her cocoon tighter.

  “Kyle? Kyle?”

  He didn’t move.

  Araceli tugged on a section of the netting.

  Crack.

  The hoop and all the netting landed on the bed.

  Kyle sat up. “Celi? Are you hurt?”

  She couldn’t stop laughing.

  Kyle swam through the netting, trying to reach her.

  “I’m s-sor-r-ry. I was just trying to k-kiss you-u.” Laughter made it hard to speak.

  “Kiss me or kill me?” The smile in his voice let her know he was teasing. Kyle continued to dig his way through the netting until his hand touched hers. “Found you.”

  “That is the only part of me I can move.” Araceli wiggled her fingers.

  “First thing in the morning, I’m purchasing a four-poster bed with hanging netting. I don’t care if I have to import it from Paris and have it sent by private jet.” He freed her arm.

  “I am fairly sure they have them for sale in town.”

  “And here I hoped for a trip to Paris.”

  Araceli wriggled out of the rest of the cocoon. “You just wanted to get out of the interviews for Deah’s Home for Trafficked Children. That place needs a better name.”

  Still under the mass of netting, Kyle pulled Araceli into his arms. “Now, about that kiss.”

  Araceli snuggled closer and leaned in. With only an inch separating their lips, a section of netting fell between them and brushed her lips. She sputtered.

  Kyle laughed. “New bed first thing in the morning.”

  He moved the netting out of the way and kissed her passionately, then continued down her jaw line.

  “Kyle, you should probably stop.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it won’t take much to get us tangled up in the netting again, and there are some things I don’t want to explain to whoever answers our calls for help.”

  “That could be awkward.” Kyle laughed. “First thing in the morning—new bed.”

  Araceli snuggled into his side. “That sounds like a very good idea.”

  Kyle kissed her once more, and they drifted back to sleep to the lullaby of a tropical rain beginning to fall outside the window

  The End

  afterword

  In October 2017, I accompanied my longtime friends, Wendi and Evan Frederickson, on an assessment and repair trip to the Foyer de Sion orphanage in Haiti. Much of this book is based on my volunteer experience. Although we didn’t paint the walls, our team did organize donations, which included dozens of rugby balls, and we rebuilt a kitchen. Two teen boys found me a battery-operated floor fan when I thought I just might melt, and dozens of children stole a piece of my heart.

  The Queen Bees school I wrote about also exists, though under a longer Haitian name. However, Wendi does call them her “bees.” Although I did not have an opportunity to visit there, I have heard and read many firsthand accounts of the valiant group of mothers who do everything they can to help to educate and feed their children. (Yes, they do raise chickens.).

  A special thanks to Wendi Frederickson, schoolteacher, champion of children, and former board member of Foyer de Sion, for her help and insight with this book.

  A portion of the profits of this book will be donated to help the children of Haiti.*

  * Previously there was another note about the specific donations I intended make, however due to circumstance beyond my control the board that oversaw the donations of one organization dissolved in October 2018. I am currently seeking an reputable alternate.

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  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for reading Araceli and Kyles’s story, Mending Walls with the Billionaire. I hope you enjoyed it, I had fun writing it. I often use Pinterest to collect my ideas. Check out their book board to see what I found while writing.

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  Have a wonderful day!

  Sneak peek of Mending Images with the Billionaire

  Mandy’s bodyguard Abbie gets a couple of unexpected months off and takes a job as an undercover fiancee for one of Chicago’s media moguls. She can guard the man but can she guard her heart?

  one

  Abbie Hastings adjusted one of the filters Mandy had given her until Araceli’s eyes danced with joy in the graduation photo on her computer screen. Ever since meeting the women at Friday Night Art Society, Abbie had spent more time on expanding her photography hobby. Learning about lighting and composition as well as a few digital-correction tricks completely changed the world she viewed from behind her camera. Candace and the others in the Art House had always been kind enough to include Abbie in their projects because as Mandy Crawford’s principle bodyguard, she usually had to be where Mandy was. But recently, Abbie suspected her inclusion had more to do with friendship than duty. This morning she found herself split between the two options. She should be with Mandy.

  Sometime before dawn, her brother Alex had accompanied Mandy and her husband, Daniel, on a nonroutine trip to the maternity ward at the county hospital.

  She rechecked her phone. No missed calls. No missed texts.

  Her father’s warnings had proved correct. She’d become too attached to her client. But who wouldn’t fall in love with Mandy?

  “Are those Araceli’s and Tessa’s graduation photos?” Candace pointed over Abbie’s shoulder. “They turned out great! I love the one of Araceli and Kyle in front of the bell tower. And, oh, this one of Tessa with Sean—I am so glad he proposed. They make such a good team.”

  Abbie jumped.

  When had Candace come into the room, and how had she missed it? Technically she was off duty, but being distracted wasn’t good. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves before answering. “Don’t you love this one?” she asked as she enlarged the photo of Araceli hugging her dad.

  “I want to frame it and give it to Mr. Williams when we go back for the wedding. Any word on Mandy yet?”

  “No, I’m getting worried. I thought someone would text by now. I wish I had stayed at the guard house last night. Then I could have been with them. Mandy’s safety is my job.”

  Candace put her arm around Abbie, the soft pale-pink locks of the wig she’d purchased to celebrate the first Friday Night Art Society baby brushing Abbie’s cheek. “I don’t think this is something in your job description. You can’t round kick the doctor or force the contractions to stop.”

  “But she is only at thirty-two weeks.”

  “I know. That’s why we prayed together this morning, and I have been texting everyone I can to let them know to pray too. Colin is doing the same. Mandy has many friends, and there is strength in numbers.”

  Abbie closed her laptop. “I probably should go pack. The little hospital here doesn’t have a NICU, so I am sure that whatever happens, Daniel will want to move her back to the Chicago penthouse and her regular OB.”

  “Only pack what you need. The room is yours as long as you want it. I don’t think I could live with another empty room. Have you seen Araceli’s? There is carpet in there. I had forgotten what color it was. And with the last of Tessa’s stuff gone from the room the two of you’ve been sharing, the house feels half empty.” Candace gave her head a little shake.

  “It has felt half empty most of the semester with as much time as Tessa spent in New York.”

  “Not to complain, but two roommates getting married this summer, both asking me to be their maid of honor is going to keep me busy. I am not sure what Araceli was thinking—only three weeks between graduation and the wedding. Do you know if you’re going to Boston yet?”

  Mandy wanted to go, but the doctor didn’t want her flying. “We looked at the train option. Daniel wants something like the old Pullman cars for Mandy. I think he’s leaning toward a luxury bus equipped with a queen bed in it. But—”

  Candace finished the thought for Abbie. “It might not happen. Best that Mandy and the baby are safe. The Evans family is arranging to pick up me and Zoe in a private jet. All these billionaires are spoiling me. I’ll never be able to go back to real life.”

  “Are you talking about me again?” Zoe entered from the direction of the library.

  “No, I was telling Abbie about our flight.” Candace’s voice took on a teasing tone as it often did with her younger cousin.

  “Oh, so real life means not having expensive travel options?” Zoe crossed to the fridge and pulled out a mineral water.

  “Pretty much. Once Araceli and Tessa get married, I’ll have four former roommates married to billionaires. Statistically, I bet I have a better chance of being hit by a meteor.”

  Abbie zipped up her laptop case. “Who is the fourth?”

  “My first roommate, Kim, married a chemical genius who invented some formula and bingo! Another rich husband.” Candace pulled her phone out and studied the screen before putting it back in her pocket.

  Zoe opened her bottle and joined them at the table. “What about you and Colin?”

  Candace scowled but was spared answering as the first three cords of Bach’s Fugue in B Minor played. Abbie grabbed her phone. “Hello?”

  “It’s Daniel. The good news is they have stopped the contractions. However, even the doctors don’t want Mandy at a hospital without a NICU. Our options are to take an ambulance ride to Fort Wayne or hire a private medical transport to Chicago. Mandy’s doctor in Chicago wants to keep her on twenty-four-hour monitoring before she sends her home on bed rest.”

  Abbie didn’t need to ask what option Daniel had chosen. “When do you leave for Chicago?”

  “Within the hour.”

  “What do you need me to do?” Abbie started gathering her things.

  “You know the two-month paid vacation Mandy promised you after the baby comes in July? Well, your vacation just increased to four starting today. Go have fun and take lots of pictures at Araceli’s wedding. Mandy is very firm on the photo part. She is heartbroken about not being able to go.”

  “So you don’t need me?”

  “Not as a bodyguard but as Mandy’s friend, always. Her mother is flying up from South America, so come and visit as often as you want. The doctor is here. I need to go. I’ll have Alex call you, and I know Mandy will soon.”

  The phone went silent. Abbie relayed the pertinent information to Zoe and Candace. “So is there another spot in Kyle Evans’s jet for the wedding? I’m on extended vacation.”

  The Hastings Security agency was everything Preston T. Harmon expected it to be. The receptionist, middle-aged and professional, was unassuming and most likely armed, well-hidden security cameras monitoring his every move. He suspected that her call to Jethro Hastings to announce his presence was entirely unnecessary. A glint in the receptionist’s eye made him think twice about proceeding. Very few people measured a Chicago Harmon and found them lacking, but she did not seem impressed.

  He checked his tie before entering the owner’s office.

  Preston shook the hand of the man behind the desk. Mr. Jethro Hastings could easily win a round of almost anything against half the members of Preston’s father’s security team. Preston swallowed as he took his seat, knowing
he had come to the right place.

  “Mr. Harmon—”

  “Preston, please. I am always looking for my father, grandfather, or uncle when someone calls me mister.”

  “I am curious why you are here. Your family has their own private team and a very good one at that.”

  “Which is part of the problem. I don’t know who I can trust. So far our team has come up with very few leads. I have begun to wonder if part of my problem is our men. It’s time to go outside our team, and according to Daniel Crawford, you have the best security firm in Chicago.”

  “You know Mr. Crawford?” Jethro sat back in his chair. Preston guessed the owner to be in his mid-fifties, but other than his short-cropped gray hair and a few wrinkles around the eyes, there was little to pinpoint his age. Mr. Hastings wore a jacket over a tie-less button down, business casual or easier to conceal his shoulder holster, Preston wasn’t sure.

  Preston hadn’t squirmed in his chair this much since he’d sat with Daniel in front of the headmaster at their boarding school when he was seventeen and Daniel thirteen. “We were in school together.”

  Jethro smiled. “Then we’ve met before.”

  “I hoped you wouldn’t remember.” The tie around his neck tightened. “That was a long time ago.”

  “So, why are you here? I assume it’s for a better reason than talking the younger students into moving the headmaster’s 1970 Monte Carlo onto the roof of the gym.”

  “No, I learned my lesson. I have a problem. My girlfriends and fiancées keep dumping me.”

  “Have you tried a dating service?”

  “No. Finding a date is not my problem. It’s the stalker. About three years ago he started terrorizing my girlfriends. Every time I get into a serious relationship, the woman I am dating starts getting threats. They escalate until she dumps me. Last year the stalker scared my fiancée so badly she canceled the wedding and moved to Europe. I am ready to propose to Yvette. I have everything all planned out so we can have a quick wedding. The invitations will be sent out the morning after we announce the proposal, and we will be married a month later. I don’t want to give the stalker time to scare her off, too.” Preston found he could breathe again.