Page 55 of Disarming Caine

“Bene. I’m planning to rent out a space I own as a furnished apartment. The tenant leaving it—”

“Tenant?”

“Sì. The prior one had their own furniture, but I’d like to redo the place before renting.”

“Is this true?”

“Real estate is an excellent investment.” He shrugged and got out, pointing a finger at me to stay put. “It’s a simple cover.”

I feigned a scowl as he walked around the front of the truck, continuing to point at me until he opened my door. “Would you believe I’ve been opening my own door for most of my life?”

He held out a hand for me, but I used the grab bar to hop down to the running board and the ground. “What if your target is watching out the window? Surely you want to sell our story?”

“You’ve got me there.” I leaned my cheek toward him for a kiss as we walked through the building’s front door and into the short main hallway. “I don’t suppose we’re planning to decorateourcondo with minimalist beige, are we?”

“Certainly not!” He threw his free hand to his heart. “I was thinking more of a sage green for the bedrooms and citron in the kitchen.”

“Isn’t yellow kind of dated?” I asked, as he ushered me through the glass door to the designer’s office.

The main room was open and airy, a large pale wood meeting table to the right, surrounded by shelves of hanging fabric samples. To the left, a desk with a computer and printer that didn’t look like it was used for daily work—it was too neat and uncluttered. At the back, an open door passed into what was likely a private office.

“A sunny hue is very on-trend.” A woman in her mid to late forties with short brown hair and dark-framed glasses came out from the back room. She wore a crisp white blouse with emerald pencil skirt and smiled broadly. “Citron is one of my favorites this year.”

“You see?” said Antonio.

“You’re not helping,” I said with a conspiratorial grin. “He refuses to take any of my suggestions seriously.”

“Then you’ve come to the right spot.” She held out a hand for me to shake. “I can help design something you’ll both be happy with. I’m Felicia. You’re Samantha, I assume?”

“Yes, and this is Antonio.”

“Her husband,” he said, extending his hand to shake. “We’re planning to rent out a furnished condo which is currently empty and are in need of a mediator.”

She laughed politely and guided us to the table, with stacks of magazines, sample binders, and a photo album.

The longer we talked, the clearer it became that Antonio wasn’t making this up as a cover. Not only did he have a floor plan and photos on his phone, but he spoke for over fifteen minutes about his ideas for the space, even doing a few sketches. I kept mostly quiet, frowning occasionally to convince her we’d disagreed about a point prior.

As he spoke, Felicia nodded, asked questions, and showed us—him, really—various samples of paints and fabrics. When she brought out some photos of artwork, it was finally my turn.

“I was thinking…” I shuffled through pictures as I spoke, keeping my words innocent. “For the living room, I’d like something with loose brushwork and soft visuals. Like an English countryside with a windmill or a wagon.”

Felicia’s hands paused over one of the magazines.

“Would that work with these colors?” I asked. “I know we’re going a little modern, but I enjoy that sort of softness.”

“That sounds lovely.” She stood from her chair and approached the fabric sample shelves.

While her back was turned, Antonio winked at me. Going in together with a plan was working much better than the last time we’d tried investigating someone as a pair.

She returned with another fabric book and flipped to a soft blue and tan large-checked pattern. “If we switch the sofa to this, I think it would work well for what you’re describing.”

“Are you sure?” asked Antonio.

“Yes—I actually have a piece similar to that, and this is the fabric I used in my living room.”

“You do?” I asked. “Any chance you have photos to show us?”

She blew out a sharp breath. “I should have, but we had to take it down.”