FYI: I Outpitched You
FYI: I Outpitched You
Chapter Nine
Beacon & Wren’s Monday morning buzzed with the low hum of blender bottles, espresso shots, and the barely disguised panic of Week 3 energy. On the big screen in the coworking lounge, the new VitaRush brief pulsed in bright aqua, commanding attention:
"This week, your challenge is to develop a 3-post social media campaign in collaboration with your assigned influencers. You may not switch influencers. Your campaign must reflect the tone and lifestyle vision of VitaRush for Gen Z and Millennial markets. Be bold. Be clean. Be authentic.”
Callie didn’t groan so much as exhale an entire lifetime’s worth of frustration. Her laptop screen glowed with her assignments:
@SlaywithSasha – Fashion influencer. Favorite word: “slay.” Sometimes in all caps.
@FLAMEBOYEEE – Food vlogger. Chaos incarnate. Screams for engagement.
“Slaygirl and Spicy Cheeto,” she muttered, leaning back in her chair.
Her team snorted into their oat lattes. Josh gave her a pitying look over the rim of his mug. “Could be worse.”
“How?” Callie asked flatly.
“You could’ve gotten the ex-Bachelor contestant.”
“That’s Miles,” Peyton replied sweetly from her perch on the window ledge, one leg tucked under the other as she scrolled through her phone. “Reality royalty and all.”
Callie dropped her head back with a groan. “Somehow that makes me feel worse.”
\---
Miles scanned his influencer assignments for a full sixty seconds before letting out a quiet, “Oh no.”
@Zenvy – Eco-activist. Advocates for sustainable fashion and compostable phone cases. Mellow vibes only.
@NoFilterNico – Former reality show finalist. Now a fitness coach-slash-micro-motivational speaker. Heavy on the ego. Light on shirts.
Elise peeked over his shoulder and winced. “A whole tree-hugger and a cloud of Axe body spray. Who wrangles their influencer circus the best wins.”
“I’m thinking lion tamer,” Miles muttered. “With a fire extinguisher.”
Elise tilted her head. “That’s the spirit.”
She followed him into the breakroom later, fixing herself a double espresso. "By the way," she said, "I heard Beacon & Wren's food guy tried to deep fry a VitaRush."
Miles snorted. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“I wish. It’s trending.”
\---
Callie balanced her phone between shoulder and cheek as she ran edits on the mood board. Sasha answered mid-pose, ring lights blazing.
“BABE. SLAY. THIS CAMPAIGN IS ALREADY ICONIC.”
Callie tried to sound upbeat. “So the brand wants something a little understated, wellness-forward—”
“TOTALLY. I was thinking I cover myself in VitaRush cans like armor and do a slow turn to Nicki. Sparkle filter, obviously.”
“Right.” Callie grimaced. “Subtle.”
The call disconnected and she exhaled through her teeth. Her inbox chimed again—new email from @FLAMEBOYEEE. One video. No subject. No message.
She clicked.
The screen erupted with sound as FLAMEBOYEEE cackled and dumped neon-orange VitaRush over a teetering mountain of flaming hot Cheetos.
“FIRE MEETS FLAVOR, BAYBEEEEEEE!” he shrieked. Then blew a kiss. Cut to black.
Callie sat still for a beat, pressing a knuckle to her temple. “I can’t… I physically can’t…”
Peyton appeared beside her, holding a sympathy cookie. “You say that every week.”
“This time I mean it.”
\---
Across town, Miles was mediating influencer drama like a hostage negotiator.
“She didn’t tag me,” Nico said, arms folded, abs flexing even while seated.
“You weren’t in the video,” Zenvy replied, expression serene and also vaguely threatening.
“I commented,” Nico emphasized.
“I use my socials for meaning, not drama.”
Miles opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “What if we stage a live duet? Something simple. Tree hugging, synchronized pushups…”
Elise slid into the Zoom call from her desk. “A duet collab. Hug a tree together or something. Miles, blink twice if you’re spiraling.”
Miles leaned back in his chair, deadpan. “Is this hell?”
“Little bit,” Elise said. “But with better lighting.”
She lingered just a second longer than necessary, smoothing her blouse as she leaned one hip on the table.
“You know,” she added lightly, “if I were competing with Callie, I’d probably go after the guy too. But I’ve always preferred the more mature type.”
Miles didn’t bite. “Good to know.”
“Just saying.” She gave him a slow smile, then turned and walked out.
He didn’t watch her go. But he did frown at his screen a little longer than necessary.
She lingered a moment after the call. “So… you and Callie. Are we pretending there’s no ancient romantic tension, or…?”
Miles arched a brow. “There’s no ‘ancient romantic tension.’”
“Mmhmm.” She gave him a knowing look. “Because the basket says otherwise. And your face when Roman texted her.”
Miles stiffened. Elise grinned.
“I knew it.”
“I’m focused on the campaign,” he said.
“Sure,” she replied, walking away. “You keep telling yourself that.”
\---
Callie stepped out onto the Beacon & Wren rooftop, VitaRush bottle still cold in her hand. The golden hour had dipped into twilight, the city below humming with life—and something just slightly beneath it. Watchful.
Her phone buzzed:
ROMAN: Still on for drinks soon? Friday. Dress nice.
She smiled and typed back:
CALLIE: 7:30 still good?
ROMAN: Perfect. Can’t wait.
Her stomach fluttered—equal parts nerves and curiosity. Then another buzz. New email. No subject. No sender listed.
Nice taste in influencers. Maybe next week you’ll pick better allies.
The smile slid from her face like a mask.
Her eyes drifted to the skyline, its glinting windows and blinking antenna lights suddenly unfamiliar. The hair on the back of her neck prickled.
This wasn’t just a warning.
It was surveillance. And someone wanted her to know.
\---
Later that evening, Callie sat on her dad’s porch swing, the wood creaking gently beneath them as they watched the sunset dip below the treeline. She’d brought over takeout—Thai food, his favorite—and in return, he gave her the one thing she couldn’t get from her team, her friends, or even herself lately: peace.
“You’ve got that ‘something’s chewing at you’ look,” he said, cracking open a fortune cookie.
Callie tried to smile. “Just work. And weird people on the internet.”
He gave her a sideways glance. “You’ve always drawn weirdos. Part of your charm.”
She laughed, genuine this time.
As cicadas buzzed in the background, her dad patted her knee. “Whatever it is, you’ll figure it out. You always do.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder, letting the calm wrap around her like a blanket. For the first time all day, the pressure eased.
But even as the sky faded into violet, that email still lingered—etched into the back of her mind like a shadow she couldn’t shake.