Chasing You Back

Chapter 002 - Coffee and Critique

Joyce Bowen stared at the email on her tablet, the words blurring into a neon sign screaming You've Got to Be Kidding Me. The subject line read: "Wyatt Innovations - Project Approval." She'd landed the gig. Her sustainable design pitch had impressed the suits enough to greenlight her concept for their new office. She should've been popping champagne—or at least the cheap prosecco Chloe kept stashed in her fridge. Instead, she was stuck on the last line: Project lead: Xander Wyatt. Looking forward to working closely with you.

"Closely?" Joyce muttered, slumping onto her couch. "What's that supposed to mean? Is he planning to hover over my shoulder the whole time?"

Her Brooklyn apartment hummed with the usual soundtrack—traffic horns filtering through the window, the faint buzz of her neighbor's TV. She kicked off her sneakers, letting them thud against the hardwood floor, and glared at the ceiling like it was personally responsible for putting Xander Wyatt back in her life.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. Chloe's name flashed across the screen, and Joyce answered with a groan. "Don't say it."

"Say what?" Chloe's voice was all innocence, but Joyce could hear the grin. "That you're about to spend weeks with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Smirky? Congrats, by the way. I knew you'd nail it."

"Yeah, well, I didn't know nailing it meant working with him," Joyce said, rubbing her temples. "He's already picking apart my design. Called it 'safe.' Safe! Like I'm pitching a grandma's living room instead of a cutting-edge tech office."

Chloe laughed, the sound crackling through the speaker. "Oh, come on. He's just pushing your buttons. You've got this. Besides, a little tension could be fun. You two were practically flirting at the expo."

"Flirting?" Joyce shot upright, nearly knocking over a half-empty mug of yesterday's coffee. "I was two seconds from strangling him with his own tie. That's not flirting, Chloe. That's self-defense."

"Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that." Chloe paused, probably sipping something far fancier than Joyce's stale brew. "So, what's the plan? You're not gonna let him steamroll you, right?"

"Steamroll me?" Joyce snorted. "Please. I've dealt with worse clients than Xander Wyatt. I'll tweak the design, throw in some bold crap he can't resist, and keep him in line. He's not stealing this project from me like he stole that Snickers."

"There's the spirit," Chloe said. "Go kick his ass. And maybe enjoy the view while you're at it."

Joyce hung up with an exaggerated eye roll, but a tiny part of her—buried deep under layers of sarcasm and caffeine withdrawal—wondered if Chloe had a point. Not about the view. Definitely not that. She grabbed her tablet and started sketching, determined to prove Xander wrong. Safe? She'd give him edge so sharp he'd cut himself on it.

The next morning, Joyce strode into Wyatt Innovations' headquarters, a glass-and-steel monstrosity in Midtown Manhattan that screamed money and ambition. She'd swapped her blazer for a sleek black turtleneck and jeans—professional, but with enough attitude to match her mood. Her bag swung against her hip, stuffed with revised sketches and a travel mug of coffee she'd guarded like a dragon hoarding gold.

The receptionist, a perky blonde with a headset, waved her toward the elevator. "Mr. Wyatt's expecting you. Tenth floor, corner office."

"Of course he has a corner office," Joyce muttered under her breath, jabbing the button. She spent the ride up mentally rehearsing her pitch tweaks: a tech-infused accent wall with LED panels, a modular desk system that screamed futuristic, and a splash of cobalt blue to wake up the space. Bold, not safe. Take that, Wyatt.

The elevator dinged, and she stepped into a hallway lined with framed patents and awards—Xander's ego in physical form, apparently. His office door was ajar, and she caught a glimpse of him before knocking: leaning back in a leather chair, tie loosened, staring at a laptop with that same infuriating smirk. He looked up as she entered, and the smirk widened.

"Bowen," he said, shutting the laptop with a soft click. "Right on time. I was starting to think you'd bail."

"And miss the chance to prove you wrong?" Joyce dropped her bag onto a chair and crossed her arms. "Not a chance. I've got your 'edge' right here."

He gestured to the seat across from his desk. "Let's see it, then. Impress me."

She pulled out her tablet, swiping to the revised slides. "Fine. Picture this: an accent wall with integrated LED panels that shift colors based on the time of day—productivity boost in the morning, calm vibes at night. Modular desks with built-in charging stations, rearrangeable for team huddles or solo work. And a cobalt accent to tie it all together. Bold enough for you?"

Xander leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he studied the screen. His silence stretched just long enough to make her fidget, but she refused to break first. Finally, he nodded. "Not bad. The LED wall's a nice touch. But cobalt? Feels a little... trendy."

"Trendy?" Joyce's voice rose an octave. "It's dynamic. It pops. You said bold, not boring."

"Boring's not the issue," he said, tapping a pen against the desk. "It's whether my team can live with it. Cobalt might be too loud for a workspace. What about something subtler—graphite gray, maybe?"

"Graphite gray?" She stared at him, incredulous. "That's not bold, Xander. That's what you paint a basement when you're hiding water damage."

He laughed, a genuine burst of sound that caught her off guard. "Okay, fair. But I'm serious—gray could ground it. Make the tech pop without screaming at everyone."

Joyce huffed, leaning back in her chair. "Fine. I'll mock up a gray version. But if it looks like a prison cell, don't blame me."

"Deal." He stood, circling the desk to perch on its edge, uncomfortably close. "You're good at this, you know. Pushing back. Most people just nod and say 'yes, Mr. Wyatt.'"

"Most people don't know you're a candy thief," she shot back, but the edge in her voice softened. His proximity was doing annoying things to her pulse, and she hated it.

He grinned, unfazed. "Speaking of candy, you want a coffee? We've got a machine in the break room that's basically a barista robot."

She narrowed her eyes, suspicious. "Is this a peace offering or a trap?"

"Peace offering," he said, holding up his hands. "Scout's honor."

"You were never a scout," she muttered, but she grabbed her mug and followed him anyway. The break room was a sleek space with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a counter lined with snacks, and the promised coffee machine—a shiny beast with more buttons than her TV remote.

Xander punched in a code, and the machine whirred to life, dispensing a stream of dark roast into her mug. "See? I can be nice."

"Nice isn't the word I'd use," she said, taking a sip. It was good—damn good—and she hated that he'd scored a point. "Manipulative, maybe."

"Ouch again." He filled his own mug, leaning against the counter. "You're tough, Bowen. I like that."

"Don't get used to it," she warned, but the warmth of the coffee—and maybe his stupid grin—was thawing her resolve. "We've got a long road ahead if you're nitpicking every color."

"Long road's fine by me," he said, his tone dropping just enough to make her wonder if he meant more than the project. "Keeps things interesting."

She rolled her eyes, hiding a smirk behind her mug. "Keep dreaming, Wyatt. I'm here to design your office, not inflate your ego."

"Too late for that," he quipped, pushing off the counter. "Let's get back to it. I've got notes on the desk layout too."

Joyce groaned, trailing him back to the office. Notes? Of course he had notes. This was Xander Wyatt—king of pushing buttons and stealing snacks. But as she settled into the chair, tablet in hand, a tiny part of her—the part she'd never admit to Chloe—thought maybe, just maybe, this project wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. As long as she kept her coffee close and her guard up.