Page 5 of Fated Mates and How to Seduce Them (Fated Mates #4)

Despite the fact they shared a Gen Ed class, André couldn’t seem to catch Ian. At all. Ian would lurk until the last second, slip into class, and then the moment the professor released them, would be out the door again. He was openly avoiding André.

Which was hurtful.

Also annoying. How was André supposed to win this man over if he couldn’t catch him? Not even to give him a cup of coffee?

Every day over the past week, he’d tried a few different tactics, but short of hounding the man at work—which seemed a one-way ticket to a restraining order—he didn’t know how else to catch Ian.

Time to do some research.

It didn’t take more than thirty minutes of going through Ian’s Facebook to figure out he spent a lot of time volunteering at a particular place: Second Sun, a private group home located on the outskirts of Minneapolis, in some place called…

Becker? André checked Google Maps and discovered it was a small town north of the city.

Find something important to him: check.

André Googled the group home. There was no website, which said something right there, and Google images didn’t show a good picture of the property.

From the one picture on Google Maps, he saw a single building off a gravel road, and it looked like it needed renovations thirty years ago.

Definitely a new roof ten years ago. Shabby would have been a kind way of putting the conditions.

Honestly, it appalled him to think of children living there.

It didn’t seem like prime or safe conditions to him. Not at all.

But why here? André didn’t understand it, but Ian had connections to this place somehow.

Which meant André needed to as well.

André’s parents firmly believed no one should hoard wealth.

He’d been taught at a young age the more you had, the more responsibility you held to your community.

His family participated in several charities, and both Benedict and André were responsible for finding their own and managing them.

Technically, André had an event he oversaw once a year, but it didn’t use even a third of his charity budget.

Having worked with kids and charities a lot growing up, André knew the American foster care system was underfunded and supplies were stretched to the absolute limit. But this? This was bad. He felt a pang of sympathy from the pictures alone.

One look at the group home, and he knew the perfect place where the money could go. Even if it didn’t land him a chance to talk with Ian, he’d feel guilty as hell if he didn’t at least fix the building, so yeah.

Really, this was two birds with one stone. He’d been looking for another cause to support ever since returning to America for college, so Ian could hardly question his intentions. Well, he might, but André would have a perfect reason to hand him if he asked.

First, though, he had to convince whoever ran the place to let him help.

André had charm, money, and his father’s name on his side. He didn’t think this would take more than five minutes, but it was best done in person.

Saturday morning, he got up early and dressed in dark wash jeans and a rich cobalt shirt he knew looked good on him.

He’d prepared the necessary documents the previous day, and he had his black card with him.

If he needed anything else, well, he could always call home or come back to fetch it.

Right now, he had only a vague idea of what he was walking into. Hard to prepare for every eventuality.

It took a little under an hour to reach the group home.

André cranked the radio, singing merrily along as he bypassed the city, exchanging it for suburbs and finally going into the truly small towns.

Damn, he was in the boonies, no question there.

Pretty out here, though, the area rich with fields and trees. Mostly trees. Sometimes a house.

He had to leave the main highway for a narrow two-lane that needed to be repaved, and then again for a much narrower gravel road. Good thing he’d taken the precaution of taking the family’s SUV instead of his sports car. The car wouldn’t have handled this road well.

He hit a particularly deep pothole and winced.

On the list of things to fix, he’d better put the driveway.

The road curved around a bend of trees, and he was suddenly there.

The single building, which had likely been a large family home at some point, sat right in front of him.

A vinyl and brick sprawling two-story, it looked like one of those farmhouses that had been repeatedly added on to, and it desperately needed a good pressure washing, maybe new siding.

New roof for sure. And did he spy a broken window with plywood covering it?

Jeez, really? They couldn’t even fix a window?

André could see why Ian volunteered here. They likely needed all the help they could get.

He parked near the front door and got out, taking his leather briefcase with him. Closing the car door, he sucked in a breath. Right. Time to roll.

Why did he feel strangely nervous? It didn’t make sense. Hey, butterflies in the stomach, settle down—no need for you here, shoo.

The faded green door opened as he walked toward it, and a weather-worn woman in her late forties stepped out, looking him over curiously. She had taupe skin, hair dyed a brilliant red, and wore stained jeans and a faded black shirt.

“Hello? Can I help you?”

André gave her his best professional smile, having reached the porch. “Hello. I’m André Castor.”

“Oh, hello.” She smiled reflexively back. “I’m Emma Witten.”

“It’s so lovely to meet you, Miss Emma. Are you in charge of this place, by chance?”

“I’m one of them, yes.” She kept her smile, but the confusion was back.

“I’ve come because I want to meet with you. I’d like to donate to your group home.”

Her tired eyes lit up. Truly, he hadn’t seen someone this excited to see him since he came home and saw his father for the first time in six months. Her reaction was rather heartwarming.

“Do come in!” she encouraged, stepping forward to put a hand on his back and usher him in. “We’re always excited to have sponsors. Tell me how you came to find us.”

“Oh, I go to school with someone who volunteers here regularly.”

“Ian.” Emma said his name like there was no possibility of it being someone else.

“That’s him. My family’s encouraged me to find something to support, and I’ve been looking around, but this was the first thing to spark my interest.” André paused just inside the doorway.

The foyer, if you could call it that, wasn’t in the best shape. The wooden floors needed to be sanded and redone. A cubby to his right overflowed with shoes, part of it held together with duct tape. He didn’t think the domed light fixture overhead worked, either.

Somewhere farther back and to his right, André could hear the chattering and laughter of a lot of children. The place had a delightful vibe and warm atmosphere, and the scents of lemon and Fabuloso lingered in the air, so they’d cleaned recently.

“Mary!” Emma called down the long hallway.

“Hold on, André, I want my partner to meet you. She’ll be thrilled you’re here.

As you can see, the building is not in the best shape.

We’ve been doing fundraisers and such to get the most urgent repairs done, but it’s a lower income area, so we’re not making much headway. ”

Another woman, older with black hair in a messy bun and a stained apron tied around her waist, poked her head out from another doorway. “What is it?”

“We have someone here who wants to sponsor us!” Emma beamed at André like he was about ten Christmases rolled into one.

He might well be. For them, at least.

Mary gave him the same smile Emma had, and she abandoned whatever it was she had been doing, coming straight to him.

André gave her a smile and held out a hand. “I’m André Castor. Nice to meet you.”

She shook his hand with a light grip. “I’m Mary Goodehall. It’s so good to meet you, André. Please, come in. How did you hear of us?”

“He’s Ian’s friend,” Emma relayed.

Well, not quite, but André was working on it.

He did like this reception. Convincing them had been easy peasy so far, and they weren’t filled with distrust and questions like he’d expected.

Maybe he had this in the bag? He didn’t know how Ian would take his presence here, but he at least had a foot in the door.

More truthfully, he added, “Ian’s always posting about this place on his Facebook, and it caught my eye. I decided it was best to come here and see the situation for myself, meet all of you. Can you give me a tour, tell me more about the home? I couldn’t find a website.”

“No, we’re not tech-savvy here,” Mary acknowledged ruefully. “Although it might help if we had one. Please, come with me. Let’s start here.”

“Here” turned out to be a commercial-sized kitchen, and it very much looked like it had been an addition some thirty years ago. André walked along with the ladies, taking it all in. The place looked worn down.

“Some of our urgent repairs start here,” Emma informed him as they walked through.

“Both of these stoves are failing, only one eye functioning on each. We lost a refrigerator last week. We suspect there’s a leak under the far-left sink, as the floor over there is constantly damp, but we can’t find it ourselves.

Getting a plumber out here isn’t something we can afford right now. ”

André turned and took it all in. That was not a good tally. It meant they only had one functioning stove and range and one refrigerator. “How many people are you feeding?”

“We have thirty-six children and eight staff,” Mary answered. “But the staff don’t live here. Only Emma and I do. The rest we feed at lunch, but they go home to their own families for dinner.”

So forty-four people with one stove? How the hell were they managing?

André immediately pulled out his phone and started taking notes. “I see the problem. Keep going, please.”