Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
brITTANY
T he morning Brittany left for Kickoff really should’ve been the indication that the day was going to be a shithole of a dumpster fire.
She’d had a morning meeting with Champagne, a high-end fashion design company that was looking to start doing capsule collections with popular fashion influencers. Which, on the surface, was Brittany’s dream, the one she had been working toward since college when she posted her first outfit of the day to social media.
However, this meeting had quickly devolved from a dream into a nightmare.
Her first sketches had been cocktail dresses based around different facets of her personality. Brittany was known for mood dressing, and for her first real collection she wanted to capture the feeling of that for her buyers.
Champagne hated it.
Now she was dodging phone calls from her mom, not wanting to feel even worse than she already did. So she was distractedly sending yet another call to voice mail when she stopped short at the sight of the package outside her apartment door.
He’d left another one.
When the DMs had first come through, the ones promising love and affection from a nameless, faceless social media account, Brittany hadn’t really paid them any attention. As a fashion influencer, she often posted pictures of herself in various states of dress, nothing salacious, but enough to show her followers what undergarments worked with what outfits. Brittany was a firm believer in the underwear making the outfit, and so had never shied away from talking about it or showing what worked for her. But Brittany was a public figure on the internet, so no matter what, any skin showing got her attention from the wrong crowd. As a result, she got marriage proposals every other week from both fans and creepers. When she had gotten the first message it wasn’t out of the normal, just some compliments with an abundance of rose emojis. But slowly, the DMs had gotten more and more explicit and disturbing. Brittany had eventually blocked the account and reported them. But, of course, it didn’t stop there. Whoever sent the messages simply created a new account, sending Brittany more aggressive attacks and threats. It had gotten so bad she had reported them to the police, several times. But the police weren’t able to track the messages, and there wasn’t much they could do in the meantime other than to warn her to be careful and to keep everything for evidence in a possible future case.
Then Brittany had started getting gifts left at her apartment in Los Angeles. Flowers—always red roses. Some candies. The hair ties she liked to wear on her stream.
And then he had started drawing her. The art was objectively terrible, ranging from something as mundane as drawing an Instagram post of hers, to explicit paintings of whatever the creep was currently imagining about her. Brittany hated them, wanted to burn them, but the police had warned her to keep them, just in case. They were currently collecting dust in the very back of her hall closet, waiting for the day Brittany was finally allowed to stage a bonfire.
Now, here was another package, wrapped in fancy gift wrap and a ribbon in a way that would make Martha Stewart jealous. She looked up and down the hall, knowing it was futile, knowing the guy was long gone, but it was still unnerving. Brittany slowly approached the package and opened her door, kicking it inside.
She let it sit on her floor while she went through her other chores for the morning. There was a lot of prep involved in going to Kickoff, and she couldn’t get distracted and forget something. She spent an hour going through her packing checklist, making sure everything was ready until she couldn’t pretend the package wasn’t sitting there anymore. Finally, Brittany grit her teeth and opened the box.
The note was inside, in a red envelope of high-quality cardstock, just like it always was. Brittany saved it for last, knowing whatever he had written was going to be disgusting and make her spiral. She pulled back the layers of carefully folded tissue paper to find what she had already known was there.
A red rose, the stalker’s signature. And a painting. Of Brittany, to be exact, splayed out on a bed without a stitch of clothing on, her legs spread and her mouth open in what Brittany could only assume was meant to be a moan. Brittany did her best to examine the painting dispassionately, trying not to let the image unnerve her. Whoever the guy was, he would never make it as a professional artist, but Brittany could see enough of herself in the painting to be creeped out.
And then she noticed the dried substance caked onto the small canvas.
She dropped the painting immediately, going to wash her hands twice before she picked up the card the creep had included. And immediately regretted it.
Can’t wait to see you this weekend. Hoping you’ll spread just for me while I pound your—
Brittany threw down the note before she could read any more. His notes had slowly gotten more and more graphic. The last one she read all the way through had made her nauseous for the rest of the day, and frankly she had too much to do to put herself through that. Instead, she took a few photos of the package and sent the pics to her mom, remembering too late that she had been avoiding her call.
Immediately, her phone rang. Brittany, accepting the inevitable, answered.
“Were you avoiding me?”
Leave it to Kathleen to react to a picture of her stalker’s latest ‘gifts’ with only thoughts of herself.
“I have a lot to do today, that’s all. I wasn’t avoiding you.”
“Can we talk about your complete disaster of a meeting?”
Britt’s jaw clenched at her mother’s words, the gaping feeling of failure expanding in her chest. Kathleen Jenssen had a lot of expectations. She’d been amassing them since Brittany was old enough to enter pre-school, and she had slowly moved down her list as Brittany aged. Spelling Bee champion. Honor student. Captain of the volleyball team. Prom queen. Top of her class for her business degree.
And it was there that it all went to shit.
Because college was where Brittany met Min. Min, whose mother encouraged her to follow her dreams. Min, who discovered she could stream herself playing video games. Min, who showed Brittany how to monetize something she naturally did every day—showing her friends how to dress for various life events.
From there, BrittKneeSocks had taken off, her streaming channel where she shared fashion tips, her outfit choice of the day, and her sock choices for her chronically cold feet. Somehow, her content led to a large online following, people asking her advice on what to wear, how to wear a piece, or just wanting to see what she put together for the day. Brittany loved it, loved the sense of community and the feeling of actually helping people with a small aspect of their day.
Kathleen had hated her streaming at first, calling it a “useless hobby” that took time away from Brittany pursuing a real business career. Brittany somewhat understood her point. Growing up, Brittany had often heard the story about how Kathleen had wasted her youth waiting for Brittany’s father to leave his wife. It wasn’t until Brittany was a teenager that Kathleen finally saw the reality, that she was simply a side piece to Brittany’s absent father and that he would never break up his home for her. After a brief depression, Kathleen had bounced back and completely focused on making sure Brittany didn’t make the same mistakes she did.
Which is why the streaming thing wasn’t ideal to Kathleen, who thought Brittany was wasting her time. But after the first sponsorship with a sock company, a small bit of income but still exciting, Kathleen changed her tune and threw herself into managing Brittany’s career as a fashion influencer. It had been Kathleen who had brokered the deal with Champagne, and this post-meeting call was just as terrible as Brittany had known it would be.
“You’re overreacting, Mom.” Brittany tried to keep her tone light, professional. She glared down at her manicure, the gel nails making it impossible for her to bite through. Yet another thing in her life keeping her from what she wanted.
“You’re not designing for your college friends anymore, Brittany. This is the real deal. Champagne wants high-end luxury, not your usual cheap clubwear.”
Brittany couldn’t distinguish which part of the conversation was making her angrier—her mother speaking to her like a child, her calling Brittany’s designs cheap, or the fact that she hadn’t even commented on the photo she had sent. But Kathleen was right, Champagne wanted high-end, and Brittany wanted to deliver. This deal would make her career, propel her from just another online influencer to her dream of actually designing and creating fashion.
She just had to figure out what they wanted from her.
“Okay, Mom. I’ll rework the designs and get some new ideas in the next couple weeks.”
“Weeks? Why not tomorrow?”
Brittany blew out an impatient breath. “Because I’m heading to Kickoff, Mom. My train leaves tonight. You know this.”
The silence over the phone told Brittany that, while her mother had definitely known this, she had put it aside and pretended it didn’t exist like she did with everything she didn’t approve of.
“I still can’t believe you’re wasting time at that fan convention.” Her voice was cold, and Brittany braced herself for the passive-aggressive argument that was about to follow. Brittany hated when her mother was like this. If Brittany argued with someone, she wanted it to be loud, she wanted to get everything out in the open and not hide behind expectations or proper words.
But her mother was built different. As she liked to constantly remind Brittany.
“It’s great exposure. And it’s fun. I have several big meet-and-greets planned, I have panels I’m speaking on. Min’s here—”
The sound Kathleen made on the other side of the phone line could only be described as a derisive grunt. But if you asked Kathleen, women never grunted, so instead it was a sound that existed for her with no name and no intention other than for Brittany to feel judged. And while Brittany was willing to take a lot of her mother’s passive-aggressive comments, she felt her spine straighten at the thought of Kathleen judging her best friend.
Kathleen just couldn’t help herself. “I find it hard to believe you’re still friendly with that woman after what she did.”
And that’s all it took. Brittany saw red, and there was no putting her temper back on leash.
“She didn’t ‘do’ anything, Mom. Her asshole ex took a video of them together against her consent and posted it. She’s the victim, and it’s crap that you don’t recognize that, especially considering your history with men.”
Okay, the last part was definitely out of line, and Brittany braced herself for Kathleen’s reaction.
Her mother’s long-suffering sigh could’ve powered the sun.
“Have you even once considered that my ‘history with men’ as you call it, is perhaps why I am worried about you. I don’t want you to fall for the same traps I did at your age.”
Brittany’s mouth gaped open at that.
“Mom, it’s a stalker, not a married guy who strung me along for years.”
The silence on the other end of the phone was deafening, and Brittany was suddenly happy she wasn’t having this conversation in person. Brittany had a volatile temper, but her mother could go nuclear at the drop of a hat. And the subject of Brittany’s sperm donor was something that could trigger an attack.
Luckily, Kathleen was already focused on something else.
“All I’m saying is that if you want to be taken seriously in the fashion world, you need to pay closer attention to the people in your life that you associate with. Minerva is a nice girl, but even without those pictures, she doesn’t really fit the brand you’re creating. I’m trying to elevate you, and this deal with Champagne will do just that. I wish you would get on board with your own success, especially now that you don’t have to worry about that man anymore.”
“That man” was Robbie, who since the incident at his apartment had continued his whirlwind of dating in an attempt to stick his dick in as many people as possible, with his current date of choice being a popular cosmetic influencer Brittany admired. But Brittany hadn’t been lying to Gus when she said destroying Robbie’s equipment was the end of it. Her temper had flared out shortly after arriving home that night, and while she wasn’t exactly remorseful, she also wasn’t satisfied. She’d been left feeling empty and slightly worried she had disappointed Gus, which was annoying. Gus was a good guy, had always been, and him thinking poorly of her was rubbing her the wrong way for some reason.
Not that she wanted to think about that.
An alarm went off on Brittany’s phone, telling her it was time to leave to catch her train, thank god.
“Mom, I gotta go. I have to make my train.”
Kathleen sighed but shared Brittany’s hatred with being late. “Okay, your security should be meeting you when you arrive tonight.”
Brittany froze.
“Security?”
“Yes, I hired someone because of your problem.”
Brittany bit back her irritation, reminding herself that she loved her mother.
“Don’t you think that’s a little overblown?”
“Well, he just sent you another disgusting package, so no, nothing is overblown when it comes to your safety. A man is stalking you, and you’re about to be in a public situation. This is to give both you and me peace of mind while you’re at this convention you insist on attending.”
“Mom—”
She wasn’t listening, already on to whatever new thing she had deemed important.
“Accept the security, Brittany. I’ll text you later about the designs. Don’t ignore me.”
Brittany shoved her phone into her back pocket, trying not to be irritated. Kathleen loved her, and this was how she showed it. Brittany just had to accept that. Besides, it would bring Brittany peace of mind to have some burly guy following her around and watching her back, even if it felt like she was getting saddled with a babysitter.
Of course, having some bodyguard following her around was going to get in the way of one thing Brittany had been planning on doing while she was in Kimball.
Getting laid.
It was time to get back on the horse, so to speak, and Kickoff was a great time to find some convention fling and work out her built-up tension. But if she was going to be saddled with some meathead, she was going to have to talk with him about not scaring off the guys she wanted to talk to.
Brittany grabbed her bag and left, heading for the train station, finally letting herself feel the excitement about attending Kickoff.
The Kimball International Convention for Fans was an event Brittany looked forward to all year. Sure, she was a fashion influencer, but there was no better place to see how clever and creative people could be with their outfits than at Kickoff, where creators could invent entire looks to mimic their favorite characters, jokes, memes, all of it. The joy of the convention invigorated Brittany, and the majority of her followers loved her Kickoff content. And yes, while Brittany wanted to design and be recognized, she didn’t know that she agreed with her mother that she had to give up this nerdy, geeky side of herself in order to succeed.
The train ride to Kimball was thankfully uneventful, although by the time she arrived, Brittany was ready to curl up and fall asleep. As she exited the train, Brittany sent a text to her roommates who were already checked into the hotel. Since Brittany wasn’t with Robbie anymore, Brittany had agreed to share a room with five other influencers she was friendly with in order to stay at a more expensive hotel closer to the convention center. It wasn’t ideal, but the alternative was taking Min up on her offer to split a room. Brittany knew this weekend was also Min and her boyfriend Hayden’s anniversary. Brittany was a lot of things, but she wasn’t a cockblocker. Especially since Hayden was launching his first game this weekend and would most likely want to celebrate with Min. In a loud, sexy way that would probably get complaints from the other guests at the hotel.
Brittany braced herself for sleeping on the floor of a crowded hotel room. It would be fine.
She hoped.
“Brittany?”
She spun, the sound of her name pulling her out of her reverie and froze at the sight of the man waiting for her. His dark hair had grown since she last saw him, a curl hanging over his eyes in a way that would make him the perfect Clark Kent cosplay. His hands were shoved into his pockets as if he were completely at ease. But she knew him too well. The set of his jaw was clenched, which he only did when he didn’t like what he was about to say. And though he was filling out his T-shirt well, she could see the tension in his body from here, probably uncertain how she was going to react to seeing him, especially considering their last interaction all those months ago.
Unluckily for him, Brittany’s entire shit of a day had put her in a terrible mood. She crossed her arms in front of her and planted her feet for the fight she knew was coming.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Gus?”