FYI: I Outpitched You Ch 18
FYI: I Outpitched You Ch 18
Chapter 18
Tuesday – Final Challenge Week
Callie stepped into the Catalyst zone with the quiet confidence of someone prepared to earn respect—not demand it. The minimalist workstations gleamed with neutral tones and strategically placed motivational prints. It was a far cry from the lava lamps and pastel chaos of Breacon & Wren, but she welcomed the contrast.
Several heads turned, and one intern straightened in his chair so fast it looked painful.
“Good morning,” Callie said, setting her laptop on the cleared space that had become her temporary desk. “Let’s get into it.”
Elise approached like she was sizing up a rival, tablet hugged to her chest.
“We took notes last night,” Elise said coolly. “Miles usually runs things lean—very few distractions, lots of tight segmentation.”
Callie nodded. “I like lean. But I also like story.”
Elise blinked. “This campaign’s about tech-forward engagement. Isn’t it better to anchor on interactivity?”
Callie smiled, polite but firm. “I think we can lead with interactivity and emotion. Let’s brainstorm ways to balance both. I’ll give everyone ten minutes to write down the wildest ideas they have—no filters.”
A couple of team members perked up. Elise hesitated, lips pursed. But after a moment, she turned and walked back to her pod without protest.
Callie watched her go, then exhaled quietly.
This wasn’t going to be easy.
But she didn’t come here for easy.
She sat, smoothing down the sleeve of her blazer, pretending her fingers didn’t twitch from tension. Stepping into a team shaped by someone else was never effortless—but doing it under the scrutiny of someone like Elise made it feel like threading a needle underwater. Still, Callie had weathered worse. She reminded herself that respect wasn’t granted—it was built, one choice at a time. Today was about laying brick, not waiting for applause.
\---
Miles had expected lava lamps and creative entropy. What he hadn’t expected was how much he liked it.
Josh was mid-pitch for an animated flavor reveal using pixel art, while Peyton argued that the playlist needed to be split by mood tiers. One intern was diagramming moodboards with actual string and thumbtacks. It was, undeniably, chaos. But it was brilliant chaos.
“I have to admit,” Miles said, leaning against the desk, “you guys think with color.”
“Is that a compliment or a cry for help?” Josh grinned.
“Depends on how well your playlist matches ‘existential lemon lime,’” Peyton deadpanned.
Miles chuckled. “I’m actually impressed. You’ve built a playground. It’s wild, but deliberate.”
Peyton tilted her head. “And you don’t mind trading clean lines for neon clutter?”
Miles tapped his tablet. “Creativity doesn’t come with a rulebook. I like the noise.”
Josh pretended to wipe a tear. “He’s one of us now.”
Miles smiled, but inwardly his thoughts drifted—Callie, across the room, navigating her new team with grace and quiet power. He couldn’t help wondering how she was handling Elise.
Then again, she’d always had a way of turning friction into fire.
\---
The hallway near the café cart had become something of a no-man’s zone. Not quite corporate, not quite creative. Just quiet enough to steal a few minutes of solitude.
Callie stepped away from a tense meeting with Elise, massaging her temple as she waited for the espresso machine to grind through its tantrum. Miles appeared beside her like he’d been summoned by thought.
“Good timing,” she murmured without looking up.
“I have an uncanny sense for shared caffeine emergencies,” he replied.
She smiled, still facing forward. “How’s Team Neon?”
“They’ve stopped asking if I own socks with cartoons on them, so I think we’ve bonded.”
Callie laughed softly. “I admire how you adapt.”
Miles looked at her then, not just professionally, not casually—but as someone who’d been carrying an unspoken hope for too long.
“You’re impressive, you know,” he said. “Even Elise is grudgingly respectful.”
“She called me a ‘structured hurricane,’” Callie said, taking her drink. “I’m taking it as a compliment.”
They walked slowly toward the glass wall overlooking the courtyard, warm light falling across their faces. For a second, the day didn’t matter.
“I’ve been thinking about last night,” Miles said.
Callie paused. “Me too.”
He stepped closer, subtle but unmistakable. “I know we’re in the middle of a campaign. And technically, we’re competitors right now.”
“Technically,” Callie said, voice softer.
Miles leaned in.
She didn’t flinch.
The kiss was quiet, like a sentence with no punctuation—just truth. Callie responded with a calm certainty that surprised her. It was gentle, real. Something stored and saved for exactly this moment.
When they parted, she looked at him differently—not as a puzzle she couldn’t solve, but as a page she wanted to keep rereading.
“Back to work?” he asked, almost reluctantly.
She nodded. “Back to war.”
They walked away in opposite directions, both smiling—but just enough to be dangerous.
As she returned to her team, the taste of the kiss lingered—not just on her lips, but in the curve of her smile and the lift in her stride. The day wasn’t any less stressful, the challenge no less sharp-edged. But something inside her had realigned. She felt steadier. Like her thoughts had stopped racing long enough to let her heart catch up.
\---
The sun had dipped low, spilling amber light across the pavement as Callie stepped outside, shoulders loose, mind still tangled in the quiet afterglow of that kiss. She hadn’t expected it—but then again, Miles never fit the expectations she built around him.
She was still smiling when she turned the corner.
And then stopped.
Roman stood at the edge of the steps, holding a bouquet.
Peonies, ranunculus, a few pale roses—a careful arrangement in a palette of blush and gold. The kind of bouquet that suggested someone had Googled “flowers that impress without pressure.”
“Hey,” he said, smiling with just the right amount of hope.
Callie blinked. “Roman.”
“Thought I’d catch you before you left,” he said. “You’ve had a crazy week. I figured you deserved something pretty.”
He extended the bouquet.
Callie hesitated.
“I also wanted to ask if you’d have dinner with me,” Roman added. “No campaign talk. Just… a reset.”
Behind her, across the courtyard, a door clicked closed.
Miles.
He froze mid-step, eyes settling on the scene like he wasn’t sure if he was interrupting or witnessing something he didn’t want to see.
Roman noticed. His smile didn’t falter—but it sharpened just slightly.
Callie glanced between them. The weight of her afternoon sat in her chest. The lightness from earlier curdled into something knotted and awkward.
She took the bouquet—polite. Automatic.
The kiss still lingered on her lips.
But so did the silence that followed.