Chapter 45: FYI: I Outpitched You Ch. 11

Roman and Callie walked out of the rehearsal dinner into the warm hush of the night. Laughter still echoed faintly from the venue behind them, but out here it was just them, the distant hum of traffic, and the soft click of Callie’s heels against the pavement.

She had to admit—it had been a great night. Roman had been charming, considerate, funny. He’d kept her smiling through awkward small talk, held the door open like a classic gentleman, and made her feel genuinely seen.

Miles, on the other hand… never returned to the table after their dance.

She didn’t spot him again the rest of the night.

As they reached her doorstep, Roman grew quiet. There was a flicker of something serious in his normally teasing voice.

“Should I be looking at Miles as competition?” he asked.

Callie hesitated. The truth lingered on her tongue, heavy and bitter. She exhaled slowly.

“There’s no competition,” she said simply. “Not from anyone.”

Roman smiled. He took her hand gently and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth—a slow, deliberate move that sent a blush racing up her cheeks.

“I’ll call you soon,” he said.

“Okay.”

She watched him walk back to his car before heading inside. As soon as the door closed behind her, she leaned against it and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

As his taillights disappeared down the street, Callie lingered at her door, fingers grazing the spot where his lips had brushed her skin. It had been a good night. Roman had said and done all the right things. And yet—there was a hollow place beneath her ribs that refused to fill.

She turned the lock slowly, trying not to examine why her thoughts kept sliding back to Miles. To their dance. To the way her chest had ached when he never came back.

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The rest of the weekend passed in a blur of late nights and early mornings. If she was going to win this campaign, she had to get her head back in the game.

Two weeks down, and Miles had taken both wins. That couldn’t happen again.

She scheduled a working brunch with her team and conducted a postmortem on their previous campaigns. They ran through what went wrong, what landed, and what needed to shift moving forward.

By Sunday evening, Callie had three concept boards sketched and a new sense of resolve.

Come Monday, she was the first one in the Beacon & Wren coworking lounge.

On the screen, the new challenge pulsed in crimson:

Week 4: Crisis Control.

A PR nightmare has hit VitaRush. Your team must create a crisis communication plan within 72 hours. Focus on damage control, brand voice consistency, and strategic recovery. Bonus for creative and tasteful accountability angles.

Callie read the fake scenario and winced. VitaRush’s “CEO” had apparently made a problematic comment in a livestream—cue backlash, boycotts, and Twitter infernos.

Her team huddled together, tension tight in the air.

“We need to get ahead of this with heart and humor,” Callie said, pacing as she spoke. “The internet forgives when it believes change is genuine. But we also can’t lose the cool factor. No sad apology video in front of a bookcase.”

Peyton nodded. “So a bold pivot that leans into accountability without sounding robotic.”

“Exactly.”

“What if we frame it as a teachable moment?” Peyton added. “Like, not just a kneejerk apology, but a real dialogue campaign. Invite critics in.”

“Risky,” Brielle countered. “Might escalate it. We need control, not chaos.”

“Then let’s craft the illusion of openness,” Callie said. “Carefully worded statements, testimonials from staff. A diversity highlight reel. Make it look like growth is already in motion.”

As the conversation quickened, Callie felt that familiar spark ignite—strategy, messaging, optics. This was her zone. And this time, she wouldn't lose.

They got to work.

Across the lounge, Miles leaned back in his chair, pretending to scroll through emails—but really, he was watching Callie.

He couldn’t stop replaying the rehearsal dinner in his head. The way she’d looked. The way she’d danced in his arms. Her confession about the stolen presentation boards—it had haunted him all weekend.

When Roman had shown up to the actual wedding with someone else on his arm, Miles had felt equal parts confused and relieved. What game was Roman playing?

He didn’t know, and honestly, he didn’t care. The only thing he wanted was to talk to Callie again. To finish the conversation. Maybe even—if the universe had any mercy—to kiss her again.

Elise interrupted his thoughts by swooping in dramatically.

“Oh my god,” she announced loudly, placing a hand on his shoulder and leaning too close. “Can you believe the influencers’ reaction to the scenario? Nico’s already trying to turn it into a motivational speech.”

Miles blinked. “Is he really?”

“Mmhmm,” Elise purred. “But I told him not to worry. You always know how to keep the brand sexy. Right?”

She winked.

He forced a polite smile and gently pulled his shoulder away. “Thanks, Elise. Let’s just stick to the strategy.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Callie glancing their way. She smirked and turned back to her sketchpad.

That smirk.

God, he’d missed that look.

Callie, for her part, felt like she was crawling out of a memory fog. Seeing Elise fawn all over Miles triggered something she hadn’t felt in a long time—annoyance, jealousy… protectiveness?

She shook it off. Not now.

Tabitha’s name clawed its way into her thoughts. Could she be the one behind the emails? It would be just like her to lurk in the shadows, messing with her life from afar. But how would she even know?

Unless… unless Miles was still in touch with her?

The thought made her stomach churn.

The way Tabitha smiled through betrayal—always two steps ahead, always charming the right people while quietly cutting Callie down—Callie had learned the hard way never to underestimate her.

Was it possible she was back, and playing a longer game?

She needed clarity, but not today. She wasn’t ready for the answers just yet.

As the day wound down, the teams began to clear out. Callie packed up slowly, scrolling through her notes, trying to breathe through the anxiety.

“Callie.”

She looked up.

Miles stood there, alone now, a cup of coffee in one hand.

“Can I steal you for ten minutes?” he asked. “Just coffee. Just… to finish that conversation.”

She paused, considering.

Then nodded.

“Yeah. Okay.”

They walked out of the office, shoulder to shoulder, the city lights flickering to life around them.