Maya woke to the relentless buzz of her phone alarm, the Seattle skyline outside her apartment window still cloaked in pre-dawn gray. She groaned, swiping the alarm off and rubbing her eyes. Her pitch deck was only half-finished, and the investor meeting was two days away. The pressure was a vice around her chest, squeezing tighter with every tick of the clock. But as she dragged herself out of bed and into her morning routine—coffee, yoga, and a quick scroll through her inbox—one thought kept sneaking in: Ethan Harper.
She didn't want to admit it, but the Bandwidth Bandit had wormed his way into her head. His stupid grin, his easy banter, the way he'd actually listened when she talked about ArtVibe—it was distracting. And Maya Chen did not do distracted. She had a startup to save, a team counting on her, and a dream to make real for her mom and every other artist like her. There was no room for hazel-eyed freelancers with questionable Wi-Fi etiquette.
By the time she reached Brew & Byte, the morning rush was in full swing—baristas calling out orders, the hiss of the espresso machine cutting through the chatter. Maya's heart sank as she spotted her table. Empty. No Ethan. She told herself it was a relief, but the twinge in her gut felt suspiciously like disappointment.
She claimed the table, plugged in her laptop, and connected to the Wi-Fi, which was—miraculously—running smoothly. Too smoothly. She frowned, glancing around the café. No sign of Ethan's messy curls or overstuffed backpack. Had he actually listened to her complaints and found a new spot? The thought should've been a victory, but instead, it left her oddly deflated.
Focus, she scolded herself, opening her pitch deck. She dove into the financial projections slide, tweaking numbers and triple-checking her math. ArtVibe needed funding to scale—servers, marketing, a bigger dev team. If she nailed this pitch, it could mean the difference between her app thriving or fizzling out like so many startups before it.
An hour later, she was deep in a spreadsheet when the chair across from her scraped against the floor. She looked up, expecting a stranger, but there was Ethan, balancing a coffee cup and a blueberry scone, his hoodie swapped for a faded band tee that looked unfairly good on him.
"Morning, Maya Chen," he said, dropping into the seat like he'd been invited. "Miss me?"
She arched an eyebrow, ignoring the flutter in her stomach. "You're late. I thought I'd finally scared you off."
"Scared? Nah." He broke off a piece of scone and popped it into his mouth. "Had a client call. Some people actually pay me to make their brands look good."
"Lucky them," Maya said dryly, but her lips twitched. "Wi-Fi's been fine today, so you must've kept your bandwidth karma in check."
He grinned, leaning forward. "Told you I'm a team player. So, how's the pitch deck coming? Ready to wow the investors?"
Maya hesitated, her fingers hovering over her keyboard. She didn't usually talk about work stress—her team got enough of her venting—but something about Ethan's easy vibe made her want to spill. Just a little.
"It's… a lot," she admitted, pushing her glasses up her nose. "The app's solid, but investors want numbers, vision, the whole package. And I'm not exactly a public-speaking pro."
Ethan nodded, his expression softening. "Stage fright? Or just hate selling yourself?"
"Both," she said with a small laugh. "I'm better with code than charisma."
"Bet you're selling yourself short," he said, his voice low and warm. "You've got passion for this thing. That's half the battle. What's the other half?"
Maya sighed, glancing at her screen. "Proving we can make money without screwing over the artists. Most platforms take huge cuts. ArtVibe's different—low fees, transparent. But investors hear 'low fees' and think 'low profits.'"
Ethan whistled softly. "Tough sell. But you're fighting the good fight. That's gotta count for something." He paused, then reached into his backpack and pulled out a sketchpad. "Want a tip from a guy who's pitched to clients who think Comic Sans is a personality?"
Maya snorted. "Desperate enough to say yes."
"Visuals," he said, flipping open the sketchpad to reveal a sleek logo mockup. "People eat with their eyes. Make your slides pop—clean design, bold colors. It's like putting a cherry on a sundae. They'll listen to your numbers if the package looks good."
She tilted her head, considering. "You offering to help, Bandit?"
"Maybe." He smirked, tapping his pencil against the pad. "For a price. Say… you let me keep this table for the week."
Maya laughed, shaking her head. "You're relentless."
"And you're stubborn," he shot back, but his eyes were warm. "Think about it. I could whip up some graphics for your pitch. No charge, just good karma."
She studied him, searching for the catch. But all she saw was that damn grin, and a spark of something genuine behind it. "I'll think about it," she said finally, turning back to her laptop to hide the heat creeping up her neck.
They worked in companionable silence for a while, the café's hum a steady backdrop. Maya chipped away at her slides, sneaking glances at Ethan's sketchpad as he worked on a vibrant design—bold lines, a splash of teal. It was good. Really good. She hated how much she wanted his help.
"Hey," she said after a while, her voice quieter. "Why do you care? About my pitch, I mean. You don't even know me."
Ethan looked up, his pencil pausing. For a moment, he seemed to weigh his words. "Maybe I just like rooting for the underdog. Or maybe…" He leaned forward, his voice dropping. "Maybe I think you're kinda cool, Maya Chen."
Her heart did a stupid flip, and she covered it with a scoff. "Smooth. You say that to all the coders you steal Wi-Fi from?"
"Only the ones who steal my heart first," he said, winking.
Maya rolled her eyes so hard she nearly sprained something, but she was smiling as she turned back to her screen. The Wi-Fi was strong, her pitch was taking shape, and Ethan Harper was still in her chair. For once, she didn't mind the glitch.