He finally looks up.
"Then we'll have plenty of time for the other four sessions."
Other four sessions?
Before I can ask, he gestures toward the site.
"Which direction will the penthouses face?"
I know the answer. West and south. But I don't understand why it matters for demolition-stage photography.
Tom doesn't wait for my response. He holds up his phone, showing me an annotated map—dawn light, golden hour, blue hour.
"Buyers aren't paying millions for demolition rubble. They're paying for the light. We need to shoot when the sun hits the waterfront."
I stare at the map. He's completely, undeniably right.
And I hate it.
I try to compress the schedule. "We can simulate time-of-day in post-production."
"Buyers know the difference."
I offer to send my junior associate to supervise the additional sessions. Tom stops packing. Looks at me directly for the first time since the gate.
"You trust a junior associate to make real-time creative calls on a flagship bid?"
My shoulders pull back. "I trust them to follow a shot list."
He pauses. Just long enough to sting.
"Right. The list."
Then he reminds me Marketing requires the lead architect to sign off on shot priority in the field. Not after.
I can't delegate. I’m here for every session.
The trap closes. I can't compress the timeline, can't walk away without risking Tom prioritizing the wrong angles.
Four early mornings or late afternoons I didn't plan for. Conflict notifications are already piling up in my calendar. I open the app. Stare at the wreckage of my schedule.
***
Working through my list, with the photographer marketing stuck me with, is anything but smooth.
At the third angle, the northwest corner's brick elevation, I step into his space to check the framing, but Tom casually shifts the camera angle without even acknowledging I'm there.
"That's not the angle I specified."
He doesn't look up from the viewfinder. "It's the one with better light."
He refuses to move it back. I fold the printed timeline tightly in half, swallowing my immediate urge to correct him. I stand in silence as he shoots both my angle and his, waiting until he finally pulls back and shows me the glowing camera screen.
My chest tightens because his version is better. Without offering a word of thanks, I just swallow my pride and move to the next item on the list.
Two angles later, Tom pauses mid-setup to check the sun's position.
"We're seven minutes behind schedule," I warn him.
