“What year do you think it is?”
“John Cena?”
“Only in my dreams.”
They chatted about their celebrity crushes while she drove, with Michelle even going so far as to provide infomercial-like introductions to Agility Gym in their voices. By the time they made it to the restaurant, Gabe was laughing so hard, he was near tears.
Michelle couldn’t find a space, so she dropped Gabe off and went to circle the block.
Alone on the sidewalk, Gabe slipped on a pair of sunglasses and took a deep breath. Something about Powell made himnervous, and he never liked meeting him without Fabian present. It wasn’t that Powell was mean or evil or anything like that. He’d even helped Gabe set up a legal aid fund for people in ICE custody. But the guy was just a little too... forceful. Or maybepushywas a better term. When Powell had a vision, it was hard to deter him from it.
Even when it didn’t match your own.
Gabe straightened his shoulders and strolled into the restaurant. The interior smelled heavenly, like garlic and basil, and was less pretentious than Gabe had expected, considering Powell had picked the place. The hostess brought him to their table.
“Hey, Gabe!” Richard Powell shot to his feet and rounded the table to take Gabe’s hand and give him a one-armed hug. “Good to see you, man.”
Sometimes Powell made Gabe feel like he was still that kid from the Bronx who didn’t know anything about the world. But he knew, at the very least, that Powell admired his physical prowess, so Gabe always tried to appear confident in their meetings.
Powell was a few inches shorter than Gabe and probably twenty-five years older, with bright blue eyes, a ruddy complexion, and an excess of energy. He was in great shape for a man his age, and Gabe had a nagging suspicion that hanging out with fit younger guys—who were, often, POC—made Powell feel cool.
The other man at the table was about as tall as Gabe but leaner, with a fighter’s build and dark, serious eyes. Rocky Lim, the handsome Chinese British star of a series of martial artsmovies involving race cars, reached out a hand to Gabe, who shook it.
“Hey, mate,” Rocky said, his voice still carrying a British accent despite his years in Los Angeles. Gabe had known Rocky since the actor had started coming to Agility to train for a role a couple years earlier. “How’s it going?”
The table was square. Powell and Rocky sat perpendicular to each other, and Gabe sat on the other side of Powell, leaving a chair between him and Rocky. He’d alerted them in advance that he would be bringing a colleague, so Powell had made the reservation for four. Some part of Gabe didn’t want Michelle sitting next to Powell. Rocky, on the other hand, had always been unfailingly polite to the women who worked at Agility, and Gabe trusted him to be the same with Michelle.
“Surprised to see you here in New York,” Powell began, and Gabe resisted the urge to grit his teeth.
“Well, you know about everything happening with Fabian,” Gabe said lightly. “Plans change.”
“That they do.” Powell gestured at the table, which was covered with no fewer than five platters and a basket of bread. “Are you hungry? I got here early and ordered some appetizers to start. I wasn’t sure what you or your assistant might want.”
Gabe opened his mouth to reply, but before he could get a word out, Michelle’s voice came from over his shoulder.
“I’m not his assistant,” she said, with the perfect amount of breezy confidence and flirtation only she could manage. She slid into the empty seat before any of them could get up. “Good afternoon, gentlepeople. I’m Michelle Amato, marketing consultant for the New York expansion.”
Powell’s eyes lit up when he saw her, and he stood to reach across the table to shake her hand. “You’re the genius behind the Victory ads?”
She inclined her head, easily accepting the compliment. “That I am.”
“Richard Powell, of Powell Enterprises. Great to meet you. I was thrilled to hear you were taking this on.”
“Thrilled to be here,” she said easily, then turned to Rocky. “Well, you don’t look familiar at all.”
Rocky flashed her a genuine smile. “Rocky Lim. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Charmed.” She shook his hand, then reached for a plate of calamari. “How did you know my weakness, Mr. Powell?”
“Call me Richard, please.” And from there he proceeded to focus approximately 91 percent of his attention on Michelle, offering to order food or wine, asking what it was like to grow up in New York—as if Gabe hadn’t grown up literally next door to her—and picking her brain on what Broadway musicals he should see while he was in town. He wasn’t hitting on her, per se, but he was too ingratiating for Gabe’s liking.
Michelle, for her part, handled it beautifully. She slipped in an impressive amount of questions about the gym, Rocky’s involvement, and her own insights about the locations they’d seen that day. At no point did she seem uncomfortable, and she managed the flow of conversation with grace.
For the 9 percent of the time Powell talked to Gabe, Gabe was distracted by the conversation going on to his right. It seemed like Rocky and Michelle were bonding over black-and-white photography.
“Who are some of your favorites?” Rocky asked, leaning toward Michelle with an elbow on the table.
“I mean, it’s hard to top Cartier-Bresson,” she answered easily. “The decisive moment, and all that.”
