FYI: I Outpitched You Ch 20

FYI: I Outpitched You Ch 20
Chapter 20
Wednesday – Final Challenge Week

Callie entered the shared workspace with her hair pulled back and her blazer sharp enough to double as armor. She didn’t slow her pace. Didn’t glance to either side. And certainly didn’t respond to the looks she knew were trailing behind her.

Miles stood from his desk, half a step forward before deciding against it. Peyton opened her mouth, hesitated, then sat back down. Both of them had questions—Miles for clarity, Peyton for caution—but Callie wasn’t offering answers today.

Not yet.

She passed Team Catalyst without ceremony, gave her new team an efficient nod, and launched into strategy updates. They had forty-eight hours to polish their pitch, and not a single hour could afford distractions.

\---

The morning unfolded in crisp bullet points and caffeine. Callie took note of Elise’s restrained attitude—polite, engaged, overly cooperative. It was almost... performative.

By mid-day, everything shifted.

A VitaRush rep entered the workspace. Right behind him: Tabitha.

She wore tailored charcoal slacks and a deep burgundy blouse—polished, predatory, unreadable. Her clipboard was pristine. Her smile was tight.

She moved through the space without so much as a glance at Miles or Callie.

Not even acknowledgment.

Callie caught the flicker of Miles’s reaction from across the room. Jaw set, eyes narrow. Neither said anything.

Tabitha circled the teams like she was browsing inventory.

When she paused near Elise’s pod, she lingered a few seconds longer than seemed necessary.

Callie felt it. Didn’t know what it meant—yet.

\---

Miles needed air. What he didn’t expect was Elise joining him.

She appeared beside him with a bottle of sparkling water and a smile that was far too coy.

“You look stressed,” she said. “Want help with that?”

Miles took a half-step back. “I’m good, Elise. Thanks.”

She brushed her fingers across his forearm. “You sure? I could grab coffee and we could talk. You’ve been so... distracted lately.”

He stiffened. “I’ve been focused on the campaign.”

Elise leaned in, bolder now. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I’ve seen how you look at me.”

Before he could respond, she closed the gap and pressed her lips to his—fast and deliberate.

Miles froze.

Then pulled back sharply.

“What the hell was that?”

Elise blinked, startled by the rejection.

Miles shook his head. “That’s not okay. I never wanted that.”

Her expression hardened.

“If I gave you any signal—any impression—that I saw this as more than professional, then I’m sorry. I didn’t. And I wouldn’t.”

She opened her mouth, but Miles wasn’t done.

“At the end of this challenge, you’ll be moved. New department, new team.”

Elise’s smile vanished.

“You’re reassigning me?”

Miles’s tone stayed polite. But firm. “Yes.”

He turned and walked away without another word.

Behind him, Elise’s hands curled around the bottle in her grip. Her eyes darted across the rooftop—settling on Callie. Laughing with her team. Bright. Effortless.

A flame of jealousy burned deep in Elise’s chest.

\---

A few steps away, in the shadow of the terrace, Tabitha watched.

She had seen everything.

Her lips curved into something that barely qualified as a smile—more venom than warmth.

She waited until Miles had left and Elise was halfway back inside before slipping into step beside her.

“You deserve better than this,” Tabitha murmured, voice like silk wrapped around thorns. “Your talent’s wasted where you are.”

Elise glanced over, wary.

Tabitha didn’t wait. “There’s an opportunity at VitaRush. Something faster. Better. But it’s competitive—and timing matters.”

Elise blinked. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” Tabitha’s smile sharpened. “If Team Catalyst’s pitch floundered, you’d look very valuable. Especially if you were the one who saw the cracks first.”

She didn’t explain.

She didn’t need to.

She walked away, leaving Elise with her thoughts—and the weight of an invitation that sounded suspiciously like a deal.

\---

The buzz of collaboration had lulled both teams into creative zones. Callie was refining storyboard concepts. Peyton was juggling moodboard feedback and digital sketches.

Miles spotted Callie alone and took his chance.

He crossed the floor quietly, lingering near the edge of her desk. “Hey.”

She looked up, eyes soft but guarded.

“I just want to talk,” Miles said. “About yesterday.”

Callie gave the faintest shake of her head. “Later.”

He blinked. “Later?”

“Too many ears,” she murmured. Then, brushing her fingers against his lightly, she squeezed once. “But I do want to talk.”

Before he could respond, she turned back to her screen. He stepped away, half-smiling, half aching.

\---

Across the room, Elise hovered near Callie’s desk.

She waited for the moment to strike—everyone distracted, Peyton mid-conversation, Miles stepping away.

She slid closer.

Opened Callie’s laptop.

Brows furrowed, fingers tense.

She searched folders with mounting frustration. Notes. Sketches. Strategy decks.

Where was the main commercial?

Then—found it.

She began deleting, rapid, deliberate. Her breath quickened.

She didn’t hear Peyton approaching.

“What are you doing?”

Elise jumped.

Peyton blinked, confused.

Elise recovered quickly. “Oh—just helping Callie organize her folders. She’s been slammed today.”

She smiled. Closed the laptop. Walked away.

Peyton frowned.

But she didn’t follow.

Not yet.

\---

Callie opened her laptop, slipped into her documents.

And froze.

Storyboards—gone.

Sketches—missing.

Strategy notes—nowhere.

She clicked folders in rapid succession, heart rising in her throat.

It felt like college all over again. That campaign theft her junior year. When she trusted the wrong person.

Callie opened her backup recovery.

Error.

Error.

Deleted.

She grabbed her phone and called Peyton.

“I need you to come over. Bring your laptop. It’s an emergency.”

\---

Wine bottles on the table. Sketch pads scattered. Moodboards re-drawn.

Callie and Peyton worked like survivalists—rewriting, redesigning, reviving.

Peyton was fast. Sharp. Loyal.

Callie was focused. Furious. Determined.

By midnight, they had something usable.

Not perfect.

But strong.

Callie opened the email she had drafted days ago—the backup concept she’d built and sent to Peyton, just in case.

She attached the files.

Hit send.

Meanwhile, Peyton submitted the mock-up they’d built together to VitaRush.

They both stared at their screens.

Neither spoke.

Just waited.

Hoped.

And braced for what tomorrow would bring.