FYI: I OUTPITCHED YOU CH. 14
FYI: I OUTPITCHED YOU CH. 14
Tuesday arrived with renewed purpose and the kind of barely contained chaos that only a mid-campaign brainstorm session could bring. Both teams had taken over their designated sides of the shared workspace, whiteboards filled with scribbles and Post-its, laptops open, caffeine flowing like lifeblood.
Callie’s team was already in deep. Peyton paced near the whiteboard, rattling off ideas like a firecracker, her sneakers squeaking faintly against the polished floor.
“What if the pop-up theme is nostalgia? Like a retro-futuristic vibe? Roller skates, neon, vintage VitaRush branding?”
Josh nodded, tapping away at his laptop. “I like it. We can merge that with immersive social moments—like a booth that personalizes your drink flavor based on your mood.”
“Love that,” Callie said, scribbling notes on her iPad with quick, practiced strokes. “And we’ll need a street team for engagement. We want people lining up, snapping pics, tagging us without being told. Organic hype.”
The energy was electric—creative chaos in its purest form. Someone turned up the music just a notch too loud, and someone else spilled coffee on a stack of mock-ups. No one cared. It was the kind of day that made the long hours worth it.
Across the workspace, Miles's team was equally animated.
“We need sensory overload,” Elise said, sketching mock-ups with bold, confident lines. “Cold fog, light shows, AR glasses. A full-body VitaRush experience.”
Miles smirked from behind his screen. “Let’s not terrify people. But yeah, I like the interactive angle. What if the pop-up is built like a challenge? Mini ‘taste quests’ to unlock new flavors.”
“Like a game?” Elise asked, intrigued.
“Exactly,” Miles replied. “And the final ‘level’ is a flavor launch. Limited edition. Exclusive.”
Someone from his team whooped in agreement. The idea was catching fire.
By late afternoon, the room began to empty, one team member after another packing up with drained expressions and coffee-stained sleeves. The buzz of conversation faded, replaced by the low hum of electronics and the occasional creak of a chair.
The only ones left in the shared space were Callie and Miles, both sitting across from each other at a long table, a half-empty pot of coffee between them. The overhead lights had dimmed slightly, casting a warm, golden hue over the room.
Miles leaned back in his chair, cradling his mug. “It’s quiet. Weird.”
Callie glanced around, her shoulders relaxing for the first time all day. “It’s a rare moment of peace. Savor it.”
They shared a light chuckle, the kind that lingered a little too long.
He sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim. “Still feels surreal seeing Tabitha in this building again.”
Callie’s smile faltered. “Yeah. I haven’t seen her since college.”
“She disappeared after that internship project. Then boom—ten years later, consultant for VitaRush.”
Callie tilted her head, her voice quieter now. “Do you think it’s a coincidence?”
“I don’t know,” Miles said honestly. “But I’m sorry, Callie. About your boards. If I’d known they were yours…”
She studied him, her expression unreadable. “Tabitha always made it sound like you two were still together. That summer… it confused me.”
“I broke things off before the summer ended,” he said. “She just didn’t want to accept it.”
A beat passed. Something tender shifted in the space between them—ten years of silence filling in with soft honesty.
“I thought we were close,” Callie said quietly. “I thought you knew me.”
Miles’s voice softened. “I did. I do.”
The silence that followed wasn't awkward—it was charged. The kind of silence that hummed with everything unsaid.
She met his gaze, eyes wide, vulnerable. He leaned in, slowly, giving her every chance to stop him.
She didn’t.
Their lips met—tentative at first, like touching something sacred. Then again, more certain. Callie let herself get lost in it, her hands curling around the sides of his hoodie, grounding herself in the warmth of him.
They pulled apart just long enough to laugh, breathless and surprised.
“We’re acting like college kids,” she said, cheeks flushed.
“I missed this,” he admitted, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear with a gentleness that made her heart ache.
Another kiss. This one deeper, familiar, and new all at once. Eventually, they stood, and Miles walked her to her car. Their fingers brushed. Neither wanted the night to end.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, voice low.
Callie smiled, her heart still racing. “Yeah. See you.”
What neither of them noticed was the faint shape in the hallway shadows—Roman, watching silently. His jaw was tight, his eyes narrowed.
\---
Later that night, in the back booth of a seedy bar downtown, Roman slid into the seat across from Tabitha. The place smelled like stale beer and desperation. A flickering neon sign buzzed overhead.
She looked up from her drink, unimpressed. “Well?”
“I saw them,” Roman said, peeling the label off his beer bottle with slow, deliberate fingers. “Kissing.”
Tabitha’s expression twisted. “Of course they were. He threw away five years for her. And for what? One college kiss and a marketing gig?”
“She looked into it,” Roman replied with a smirk. “But I’ll step up my game. You just worry about your part.”
Tabitha clinked her glass against his. “To revenge.”
\---
Back in her apartment, Callie was still buzzing from the night. She changed into pajamas, washed her face, and replayed the rooftop kisses in her mind like a movie reel. Her cheeks hurt from smiling.
She was about to crawl into bed when her phone pinged.
1 New Email — No Subject
She frowned and clicked it open.
There was no message—just a single photo attachment.
She clicked.
Her screen lit up with a photo of her and Miles, kissing under the soft glow of workspace lighting.
Her blood ran cold.
Below the photo, two words:
Watch yourself.
Callie stared at the screen, her breath caught in her throat. The room, once warm with the afterglow of a perfect evening, now felt colder—like the air had shifted, like something unseen had crept in through the cracks.
She read the message again. Then again.
Her fingers trembled as she locked her phone and set it down on the nightstand, but she didn’t move. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of it. Who had taken the photo? When? How close had they been?
She crossed the room and double-checked the lock on her front door. Then the windows. She even peeked through the peephole, heart pounding.
It was probably nothing. A prank. A jealous ex. Someone trying to rattle her.
But the unease didn’t fade.
She returned to bed, curling beneath the covers, but sleep didn’t come. The image of the kiss—so intimate, so exposed—burned behind her eyelids. And those words…
They weren’t just a warning.
They were a promise.
Somewhere out there, someone was watching.
And they weren’t done yet.