FYi: I Outpitched You
FYi: I Outpitched You
Chapter Four
Monday morning arrived with brutal efficiency and a new email from VitaRush in every inbox.
Subject: Week One Assignment: Social Reintroduction Teaser
Objective: Create a short-form teaser (video, animation, or interactive concept) that reintroduces VitaRush to the modern market. Think social-first, mobile-friendly, shareable in under 30 seconds. Emotional hook optional. Bragging rights guaranteed.
Callie scanned the message while sipping her first coffee of the day, already mentally mapping timelines.
She stood at the front of their co-working half, her team circled like soldiers before battle.
"Okay," she said, capping her pen with a snap. "Week One is the teaser. This is where we don’t just introduce VitaRush—we hint at who they’re becoming."
Peyton tapped her tablet. "Quick turnaround. We need script, visuals, and platform plan by Thursday for board review."
"Let’s open with motion," Callie said. "Think everyday hustle. Small moments. Personal wins. We don’t pitch the drink. We pitch the feeling of getting up and going again."
The junior designer nodded, already sketching rough frames. Peyton took over the whiteboard, outlining scenes.
"We could do a split-screen concept," Peyton added. "Someone in an office, someone in a gym, someone catching a train. All different lives, same drive."
"Nice. Keep it tight. We want impact, not overload."
Callie stepped back as the team worked, watching them with a small measure of pride.
Across the glass divider, Miles stood at the head of his team with one hand gripping the back of a chair, the other scribbling on a notepad.
"One shot," he said. "One moment that makes people stop scrolling. No voiceovers. Just visuals."
Elise raised a brow. "Like what?"
"A girl in a boxing gym. Tape peeling from her knuckles. She stands up, breathes deep, cracks open a can. Boom. Blackout. Logo appears."
Nick nodded. "Minimalist. Clean. I like it."
"Make sure it's formatted for TikTok, Instagram, and YouTube Shorts," Marissa added. "That covers Gen Z and spillover into early millennial."
Miles smiled faintly. "Let them feel the momentum, not see it forced."
They moved like a team that knew its parts. Fast. Sharp. Confident. Elise kept sneaking glances at Miles as he worked—but his gaze flicked past her often, toward the other side of the room.
Toward Callie.
And every time, she didn’t look back.
\---
It was sometime after lunch that Miles found himself pausing mid-sketch, marker hovering over the glass wall.
He wasn’t thinking about branding.
He was thinking about a seminar class, junior year. Group project. Design ethics.
Callie had taken the lead without even trying—she just had that thing. That spark. She didn’t wait to be handed the reins. She claimed them.
He remembered her standing in front of a projector screen, arguing that storytelling in advertising wasn’t just powerful, it was moral. That good campaigns didn’t manipulate. They moved.
She’d practically lit up talking about it.
Even now, he could picture the fire in her eyes.
It made her a brilliant creative. And a formidable opponent.
Miles leaned back, running a hand down his face.
He should be annoyed she was here. Instead, all he could think was, Of course it’s her.
\---
On the Beacon & Wren side, Callie stared at her screen but wasn’t seeing fonts or brand decks.
She was seeing a different classroom.
Senior year. Final semester. Sitting two rows behind Miles in Portfolio Review. Watching his team present with her stolen storyboards.
His ex had swapped them. Everyone knew she was capable of something like that, but no one had proof. And Miles? He hadn’t even questioned it. He presented them like they were his. Called them "a backup set" his girlfriend handed him last minute.
And Callie had stood there, humiliated. Furious. Speechless.
She never confronted him. What would it have changed?
The memory twisted in her stomach.
He’d looked her in the eye after class and asked if she was okay. Like he had no clue.
Maybe he didn’t.
But that didn’t matter.
She swore that day she wouldn’t let anyone else speak over her work ever again. Especially not Miles Thatcher.
Not then.
And definitely not now.
\---
By late afternoon, the room buzzed with ideas and caffeine-induced intensity. Callie stood at the whiteboard, arms crossed, scanning the notes. Something still didn’t feel right.
She reached for the eraser, only to pause.
Peyton noticed. "Talk to me."
Callie frowned. "It’s not strong enough. We’re showing the hustle, but we’re not showing what it means. There’s no emotional throughline."
"We’ll find it," Peyton said, calm as ever. "You always do."
Callie gave her a grateful look and nodded. She erased the last three frames and started over.
\---
At Catalyst’s end of the room, Elise handed Miles a printout. "You good? You’ve been zoning out."
He took the sheet and nodded. "Just thinking."
"About the campaign, or our competition?"
He didn’t answer.
She tilted her head. "That woman. Callie, right? You two have history."
"Something like that."
"She’s intense."
Miles looked across the divider. Callie was laughing at something Peyton said, pen tucked behind her ear.
"She’s focused," he said. "She always has been."
Elise arched a brow. "Should I be worried?"
Miles gave her a half-smile. "Only if you’re not taking notes."
\---
As the day wrapped and teams began to pack up, Miles lingered near the coffee station, watching Callie organize her files and snap her laptop shut.
He took a step toward her. Then another.
"Callie."
Her back tensed before she turned. "Miles."
"Can we talk?"
She sighed. "Is this becoming your new sign-off?"
"No," he said with a faint smile. "Just... wanted to say good work today. You’ve built a good team."
She met his eyes for a beat longer than necessary. "We’ll see if that matters when the board starts scoring."
He nodded, accepting the jab. "Fair enough."
Peyton walked up behind her, dropping a file into her bag. "Ready?"
Callie glanced at Miles one last time. "I am."
They left together. Miles stayed behind, watching her walk out, hands in his pockets, feeling like he missed something he never really had.