FYI: I Outpitched You Ch 17
FYI: I Outpitched You Ch 17
Chapter 17
Monday – Final Challenge Week
The shared HQ was quieter than usual, but not calmer. People milled about pretending to work, though every glance at the monitors or phones screamed anticipation. It felt like the eye of the storm—stillness before something wild.
Callie stood at the front of Breacon & Wren’s desk pod, arms crossed, scanning her tablet. Peyton had been refreshing her inbox every ten seconds, muttering, “It’s coming. Any second now.”
Then her screen blinked.
Peyton gasped. “New message!”
Callie leaned in just as a company-wide email dropped from the VitaRush coordinator:
Final Challenge — Leader Swap
As a culmination to this season’s campaign competition, each team will switch creative leads.
Callie Maren will assume leadership of Team Catalyst.
Miles Kessler will assume leadership of Team Breacon & Wren.
You have five days. Final pitch: Friday. Winning team gets the VitaRush legacy account.
The room went quiet. Then exploded.
“No way,” Josh blurted. “They’re swapping you with—Miles?”
Peyton’s eyes widened, a slow grin curving on her lips. “Oh, this is going to be spicy.”
Callie blinked at the screen, heart thudding. Of all the twists she expected from VitaRush, this wasn’t on the bingo card.
Across the room, she felt Miles look up from his screen. Their eyes met across a sea of confused interns and stunned creatives.
He gave a slow, crooked smile.
Callie didn’t smile back. Not yet.
The project lead stepped forward to make it official.
“This isn’t just a swap on paper. It’s a full switch. We want both leaders to immerse themselves in the other’s creative process. New desks. New teams. New responsibilities.”
Callie raised an eyebrow. “So we're literally changing seats?”
He grinned. “Consider it an exercise in perspective.”
Miles stood, already collecting his laptop. Callie mirrored him, straightening her blazer and schooling her expression into something neutral with just a hint of challenge.
They met near the center of the workspace—Catalyst’s minimalist zone on one side, Breacon & Wren’s neon chaos on the other.
Miles offered his hand. “Good luck, Maren.”
Callie shook it, firm and cool. “Don’t slow my team down, Kessler.”
Their hands lingered a fraction longer than necessary. Peyton snapped a photo, mouthing iconic behind her phone.
“Let’s do this,” Callie said, turning to face Miles’s team.
She was met with a few hesitant nods—and Elise, who gave her a polished once-over that definitely qualified as side-eye.
Meanwhile, Miles walked into Breacon & Wren’s pod like he’d just landed in another universe. There were lava lamps. Someone had rigged a hammock in the corner.
Josh greeted him with, “You like synth-pop?”
Miles blinked. “I can learn.”
\---
Callie was packing up when Miles approached, hands in pockets, a crooked smile on his lips.
“I was thinking,” he said. “Now that we’ve officially invaded each other’s kingdoms… maybe we should grab dinner. Team dynamics and all that.”
Callie arched a brow. “Dinner for research purposes?”
“Strictly strategic,” he replied, not bothering to hide the smirk.
She pretended to consider. “Fine. But if you order something pretentious, I’m making fun of you.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
\---
The city skyline blinked lazily behind them, neon signs glinting off the terrace glass like distant fireworks. Callie adjusted her seat, crossing her legs as she studied the menu, half lit by the flicker of candlelight.
Miles arrived with just the right amount of casual—rolled sleeves, clean lines, a little tension in his jaw that she wasn’t sure was nerves or habit.
“Would you judge me,” he said as he sat, “if I told you I already scoped the menu online and know exactly what I’m ordering?”
Callie smirked. “Only if it involves truffle foam or anything you have to deconstruct.”
“No deconstruction,” he promised. “Just a steak. Normal. Respectable.”
They both laughed—real this time. The stress of the week didn’t disappear, but it softened around the edges.
As they waited for drinks, the conversation steered toward their swapped teams.
“Elise is… efficient,” Callie noted diplomatically.
Miles exhaled. “She’s sharp. Driven. Sometimes too much.”
Callie raised a brow. “Too much?”
He hesitated. “I think she has a little crush. It’s harmless, really, just... something I thought you should know.”
Callie blinked. “You’re telling me this why?”
Miles shrugged. “Figured since you’re leading her team now, it might come up. Plus—I want everything above board.”
She studied him. “You didn’t encourage it?”
“No,” he said immediately. “Never crossed the line. And I don’t want things getting messy now. Not with the way this week is shaping up.”
Callie nodded slowly, sipping her drink. “Fair.”
The waiter came and went, leaving behind plates that steamed and sizzled. Silence hovered for a moment, thick but not uncomfortable.
Then Miles spoke again, quieter this time. “Truth is… I haven’t been in a serious relationship since Tabitha. And even with her, that felt more like obligation than connection.”
Callie didn’t speak, just watched him.
He continued, voice steady. “Since college, since meeting you... I’ve held onto something. Maybe just the idea of you. That moment—that version of us. I think I’ve spent a long time pretending it didn’t matter.”
Callie’s breath caught—not because it was shocking, but because it wasn’t.
She looked at him, really looked: the man in front of her was still the boy who made her laugh in the quad, who lent her his hoodie during finals, who kissed her like she mattered. But now there were edges—tempered steel beneath old softness.
“You’ve changed,” she said finally. “But not in the ways that mattered.”
Miles offered a wry half-smile. “Good changed or…”
She reached for her wine. “The kind that makes me wonder if my timing was just as bad as yours.”
They didn’t say much after that. Didn’t need to.
When they stepped out into the cooling night, the city hum winding down around them, the breeze carried hints of grilled food and car exhaust, but Callie barely noticed—her thoughts felt quieter than usual.
As they walked toward the parking lot, the conversation eased into silence, full but unspoken.
Then, midway between their cars, Miles reached over.
It wasn’t dramatic—just a sly, confident slip of his fingers against hers, testing the space between them.
Callie glanced down briefly.
She didn’t pull away.
The streetlight above flickered. Somewhere in the distance, a muffler backfired.
But in that small pocket of night, two former rivals, current collaborators, and something-not-yet-defined walked side by side, hands loosely linked, shadows blending under their steps.
\---
Miles parked beneath the low flickering streetlight and sat for a moment, fingers still loosely curled from holding Callie’s hand. That simple gesture had shifted something—not loud, not dramatic, but unmistakable. Like a door reopening he hadn’t realized he’d bricked over.
The echo of her laughter still hung in his ears as he stepped out, his thoughts half in memory, half in possibility.
He didn’t notice her right away—not until he was nearly at the top of the stairs.
“Still the gentleman. Always walking slowly after a good night.”
Miles turned sharply, instinct tight.
Tabitha was leaning against the stone pillar near his building entrance, one leg casually crossed over the other, hands tucked into the pockets of a perfectly tailored trench coat.
He blinked. “What are you doing here?”
She stepped forward, heels clicking like punctuation. “Thought we could catch up. Like old times.”
Her words floated between them, heavy with implication. Not a confrontation. Not a question. More like a warning disguised as charm.
Miles didn’t move. He stood there watching her, every instinct coiled tight beneath his skin.
“Let’s not,” he said quietly.
But Tabitha’s smile didn’t fade.