I don't hesitate.
"Too late, Sam. I'm already invested." I crack a small grin, hoping she remembers our running joke.
She exhales, her mouth softening into the smallest smile. The glass walls feel a thousand miles away.
"Besides," I add, "Castellano's the problem, not you."
She leans back.
"Okay. So what do we do?"
I lean forward, elbows on the table.
"I can't do this without you."
Her shoulders drop half an inch. Relief.
"Good," she says quietly. "Because neither can I. "If I rebuild the story without knowing what you're shooting, I'll build the wrong one."
"So we do it together," I say. "Or it doesn't work."
She opens her laptop. I do the same.
For the next two weeks, this room will basically be our life.
We will sit side-by-side at the conference table. Her screen tilts slightly toward mine. The glow from both laptops overlaps in the middle.
"What do you need to shoot?" she asks.
I pull up the shot list. "Start with the big ones. Waterfront views. Sunset light. People moving through the public spaces."
I glance at her. "The shots that make people understand the place."
She nods and starts cutting slides.
"After that," I say, scrolling, "progress shots. What’s actually built so far. Proof the project’s real."
I watch her cursor slash through the deck, her lip caught lightly between her teeth while she works.
Rule One feels harder to follow when she’s this decisive.
"I can cut the background slides," she says.
"Interior staging," I add. "Model unit photos. What buyers will actually live in."
"I’ll build the story around your strongest images."
"Final rooftop aerial," I say. "Close with the skyline."
She pauses and looks at me. "You're thinking about the long game."
"Always."
She deletes three more slides without asking why. Just makes room for it.
I lean back. My shoulder brushes hers.
"We need daily check-ins," I say. "Quick ones. Morning priorities, evening updates."
