Priya tilts her head slightly, waiting.
I exhale once, then nod. "I'll text him."
I pull out my phone under the table.
Can you meet me at the harbor bench in twenty?
His reply comes back a moment later.
On my way.
I stand, pulling my bag onto my shoulder. "Thanks, guys."
Priya squeezes my hand. "You've got this."
I walk out of the wine bar and head straight for the harbor.
***
I get to the waterfront bench seven minutes early. The amber glow of the streetlamps reflects off the dark, choppy water, and the wind off the river bites through my clothes. I sit down and pull my jacket tighter.
Tom appears a few minutes later, his hands buried deep in his pockets against the chill. He sits down next to me, close but not touching.
"Hey." His voice is steady. "What's up?"
I don't ease into it. "Castellano sent an email this afternoon. To Richard. He wants to replace you with a different photographer."
Tom's expression doesn't change. "Okay."
"Richard offered me an out. Said I could bring someone else in if I wanted. Give Castellano the win and remove the friction."
"And?"
"I told him no. I'm keeping you on the project."
Tom exhales slowly. "Are you sure? If keeping me makes things harder for you, I'll walk. No questions asked."
He means it.
His voice is steady, no bravado, no wounded pride. Just an offer.
"If Richard had given me this option on Day One—before we'd worked together—I probably would have said yes." I exhale. "But Tom, you're the best photographer I've ever worked with."
He doesn't interrupt.
“Castellano wants data. ROI projections. Proven formulas.” My hands twist together in my lap.
“I can’t give him that. I can’t put what you do into a spreadsheet or point to a metric. I look at your photos and they just… work.”
My throat tightens. "I don't know. It's sort of like magic."
The word sounds ridiculous. I hate it the moment it leaves my mouth.
Tom is quiet for a beat.
“Magic,” he repeats quietly.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about my work.”
