Chasing You Back

Chapter 001 - Sugar-Coated Memories

The New York Design Expo was a chaotic symphony of clinking wine glasses, overpriced artisanal coffee, and egos bigger than the Empire State Building. Joyce Bowen adjusted her blazer, weaving through a crowd of hipsters clutching sketchbooks and architects pretending they didn't care about the free pastries. She was here for one reason: to pitch her sustainable design concept to a tech company looking to revamp its office. A big win could cement her name in the industry—and maybe buy her a decent apartment that didn't smell like last week's takeout.

"Joyce! Over here!" Chloe Quinn's voice cut through the buzz like a foghorn. Joyce spotted her best friend waving from a corner booth, her auburn curls bouncing as she juggled a coffee cup and a stack of business cards. Chloe worked in advertising, but she'd tagged along for moral support—and to scope out the snack table.

"Tell me you've got this pitch locked down," Chloe said as Joyce slid into the seat across from her. "Because I'm not letting you leave without at least one client drooling over your genius."

Joyce smirked, pulling out her tablet to scroll through her presentation slides. "Oh, they'll drool. I've got sleek lines, eco-friendly materials, and a vibe that screams 'I'm productive but also chill.' It's Pinterest perfection."

Chloe snorted. "Pinterest perfection? Careful, you're starting to sound like one of those influencers who thinks beige is a personality."

"Hey, beige is timeless," Joyce shot back, nudging her friend's arm. "And it's better than whatever neon disaster you'd pitch."

They were still laughing when a shadow fell over the table. Joyce glanced up, expecting another pretentious designer ready to monologue about minimalist chic. Instead, she froze. Standing there, all six-foot-something of him, was a man with dark hair swept back just enough to look effortlessly cool, a tailored jacket hugging his broad shoulders, and a smirk that could melt steel—or piss her off. Probably both.

"Xander Wyatt," she said, the name slipping out before she could stop it. Her stomach did a little flip, like it used to when they were kids and he'd chase her around the playground. Except now he wasn't holding a stick pretending it was a lightsaber. Now he looked like he'd walked out of a GQ cover shoot.

"Joyce Bowen," he replied, his voice low and smooth, that smirk widening as he leaned against the booth. "Long time no see. Still mad about that Snickers bar?"

Her jaw tightened. Of all the people in New York, it had to be him. Xander Wyatt, the boy who'd stolen her favorite candy bar at age twelve, laughed in her face when she demanded it back, and then had the audacity to grow up into... this. She hadn't seen him since high school graduation, when she'd left for Chicago to escape the small-town memories—and him. Apparently, the universe had a twisted sense of humor.

"Snickers bar?" Chloe piped up, eyebrows shooting to her hairline. "Okay, I need context."

Joyce waved her off. "Ancient history. Let's just say Xander here has a talent for taking what's mine and acting like it's no big deal."

Xander slid into the booth uninvited, stretching his long legs under the table. "I was twelve, Joyce. And I offered you half. You're the one who stormed off like I'd committed grand theft chocolate."

"You ate the whole thing in front of me," she countered, crossing her arms. "And then you said I'd get cavities anyway."

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that made her want to punch him—and also kind of hug him, which was infuriating. "Fair. I was a jerk. But you've got to admit, it was a good Snickers."

Joyce glared, but the corner of her mouth twitched. Damn him and that stupid charm. "What are you even doing here, Wyatt? Last I heard, you were some tech hotshot. Don't tell me you're slumming it with the design crowd now."

"Slumming it?" He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward just enough to make her acutely aware of the cedar-and-leather scent wafting off him. "I'm here on business. My company's looking for a redesign. New office, new vibe. Thought I'd check out the talent."

"Your company?" Joyce's brain clicked into gear, suspicion creeping in. "Wait. You're not... Wyatt Innovations?"

"Bingo." He tapped the table with a finger, still smirking. "And you're pitching to us today, right? Saw your name on the list."

Her stomach dropped. Of course. Of course the universe would pull this stunt. She'd spent weeks perfecting her pitch for Wyatt Innovations, a rising tech firm known for its sleek gadgets and insane growth. She'd pictured some faceless CEO in a suit, not her childhood nemesis turned annoyingly hot entrepreneur.

Chloe let out a low whistle. "Well, this just got interesting. You two have history, huh?"

"History is a strong word," Joyce said quickly, shooting Chloe a look that screamed shut up. "More like a minor annoyance I forgot about until five seconds ago."

"Ouch." Xander clutched his chest in mock offense. "And here I thought we were bonded by that epic hide-and-seek game in seventh grade."

"You cheated at that too," Joyce muttered, but she couldn't stop the tiny grin tugging at her lips. He'd always been good at getting under her skin—and, apparently, he still was.

Before she could fire off another jab, a voice crackled over the expo's loudspeaker: "Next up, Joyce Bowen, pitching to Wyatt Innovations. Please proceed to Room 3."

Joyce straightened, smoothing her blazer as she stood. "That's my cue. Try not to sabotage this one, Wyatt."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, standing too, his height towering over her just enough to be irritating. "Impress me, Bowen. I've got high standards."

She rolled her eyes, grabbing her tablet and marching toward Room 3, Chloe trailing behind with a grin that said she was enjoying this way too much. Joyce's heart pounded—not from nerves about the pitch, but from the realization that Xander Wyatt was back in her life, and he still knew exactly how to push her buttons.

Inside the small conference room, she set up her slides, projecting images of minimalist desks, recycled wood accents, and a green wall that screamed sustainability. The panel—three suits and Xander—watched as she launched into her spiel.

"Wyatt Innovations isn't just about tech; it's about innovation in every sense," she began, her voice steady despite the way Xander's gaze locked onto hers. "This design blends functionality with eco-consciousness. Think natural light, modular furniture, and a space that feels alive—not like some sterile cubicle farm."

The suits nodded, scribbling notes. Xander leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, that infuriating smirk still in place. "Nice pitch," he said when she finished. "But it's a little... safe. Where's the edge?"

"Edge?" Joyce bristled, stepping closer to the screen. "This isn't a sci-fi movie set, Wyatt. It's an office. People want comfort, not a spaceship."

"Fair point," he conceded, tilting his head. "But my team thrives on bold. Give me something that screams 'we're the future,' not 'we're cozy.'"

She narrowed her eyes. "Bold doesn't mean impractical. I can tweak it—add a statement piece, maybe a tech-infused accent wall. But cozy's not a dirty word."

One of the suits coughed, clearly sensing the tension. "We'll review your proposal, Ms. Bowen. Thank you."

Joyce nodded, packing up her things as the panel filed out—except for Xander, who lingered by the door. "Not bad," he said, hands in his pockets. "You've still got that fire. Just like when you chased me down for that Snickers."

"I didn't chase you," she snapped, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "I tackled you. Big difference."

He laughed, stepping aside to let her pass. "Good luck, Joyce. You're gonna need it if you're working with me."

She brushed past him, ignoring the way her pulse kicked up a notch. Back at the booth, Chloe pounced. "Spill. Who is he, and why are you blushing?"

"I'm not blushing," Joyce grumbled, sinking into the seat. "He's just... Xander. My old neighbor. A pain in my ass then, and apparently still one now."

"Uh-huh." Chloe grinned, sipping her coffee. "A pain in your ass who's hotter than a summer day in Brooklyn. This project's about to get real fun."

Joyce groaned, burying her face in her hands. Fun wasn't the word she'd use. Trouble, maybe. Because if there was one thing she remembered about Xander Wyatt, it was that he never played fair—and she'd be damned if he stole anything from her again. Especially not her focus. Or her heart.