Page 142 of The Substitute Fiancée

“I’ll take care of it.”

When we arrive in the underground parking at La Défense, David and a security guard help us unload and carry everything up to the ground floor. The room is to the right of the lobby, at the end of the corridor.

When Sam sees the space, she freezes, mouth open.

The chairs have been stacked in a corner, the tables lined up and covered with paper sheets. Natural light floods the room through large floor-to-ceiling windows.

“It’s… impossible that a room like this isn’t being used,” she murmurs.

David and I exchange a glance.

“It makes us happy, Sam. Really,” he says. “You can pay us back by exhibiting here afterward, for all the employees.”

Sam looks at him uncertainly, then turns to me. For a moment, I think she’s going to refuse, but she just nods.

“Deal,” she says with a smile. “It’s time to bring some color into your sterile offices.”

“Amen!” David says, taking off his jacket to help us.

“What are you doing?” Sam asks.

“I’m going to give you a hand.”

She looks him up and down, frowning.

“No way. Not in a thousand-dollar suit.”

“Okay, okay. Message received! We want the room, but not me,” he complains, hands raised in surrender.

Sam shakes her head at his antics as he walks away laughing.

I’m relieved I thought to change in the meantime.

“All right,” Oliver says, “I’m going to return the van and head home.”

Sam kisses him on the cheek.

“Thanks for coming.”

“You’re family, Sam. Call if you need anything.”

*

After he leaves, we’re alone.

Sam studies the frames lined up in front of us, then turns to me.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” she says softly.

“I know.”

Our eyes meet and linger a little too long.

She’s the first to look away, grabbing a two-liter bucket of acrylic paint.

“We start with the base coat,” she explains.

She opens the chocolate-colored paint, dilutes it with a bit of water until it becomes semi-opaque, then pours it into two containers. She hands me one along with a flat brush.