The woman on the left stands first. Dark hair, sharp eyes. Her posture suggests she has experience holding her ground in rooms full of men. She extends her hand.
"So you're the photographer. I'm Liv."
I shake her hand. Firm grip. "Tom. And you're the Boss Babes."
"We prefer 'professional support network,'" the woman on the right—Priya—says, grinning, "but yeah, Boss Babes works."
Sam pulls out a chair and sits. I take the one beside her.
The third woman, Nadia—quieter, observing me with the kind of analytical attention that makes me check my shirt buttons—speaks without smiling. "Sam says you're tolerable."
I glance at Sam. "High praise."
"Be nice," Sam says to Nadia. "He saved my laptop this week."
"We heard." Liv leans forward, elbows on the table. "The miracle recovery."
Sam goes still beside me.
I keep my voice even. "She would've done the same."
Priya grins. "He's a keeper."
Sam's face flushes. "Can we not do this right now?"
"We're absolutely doing this right now," Priya says.
A server appears with menus and Sam orders wine for both of us without asking. I don't mind.
Liv sets her glass down. "So, Tom. What's the plan after this project ends?"
The directness of the question catches me off guard.
"Uh... I don't know yet. I've been focused on finishing strong."
Liv tilts her head. "That's not an answer."
Sam turns to her. "You're supposed to be the nice one."
"I am being nice. I didn't ask about his five-year plan."
Nadia's eyes haven't left my face. "Are you staying in New York?"
I glance at Sam. She studies her wine glass, tracing the rim with one finger.
"Yeah," I say. "I am."
Nadia's eyebrows rise a fraction. "That's a recent decision, isn't it?"
"It is."
The table goes quiet. Assessing. All three of them look at Sam, then back at me.
Sam clears her throat. "Can we talk about literally anything else?"
"Well…" Priya says, smiling now. "We can talk about your grocery spreadsheet instead."
Sam's eyes widen. "You wouldn't."
