Page 11 of Tainted By My Enemy Fiancé

Later on, at least from what I understood, Parker and Brittany had had a thing, but it was only sporadic dates, or one-night stands. Or at least that's what the tabloids said, since it seems their relationship isn't solid, or at least she doesn't mind him dating three or four other girls at the same time.

Whatever the case, Brittany's gaze is fixed on me at the moment, making me want to disappear, though I know I have to stand my ground.

"What an unexpected surprise to see you here," Brittany says as Parker removes himself from her embrace.

Is it just me, or did he have an annoyed expression when he pulled away from her, as if he is tired of her?

"Wait, are you here as an assistant to one of the designers?" Brittany asks me with feigned innocence, in what is an obvious dig.

Unfortunately for her, her insults can't touch me. I had heard before that she disparaged my brand, claiming that she would never work for me. As if I had ever thought of hiring her.

I wouldn’t hire her if she was the last model on earth.

"As a matter of fact, I've come as a featured designer for my own brand," I tell her in a calm manner, not allowing my tone to convey the slightest hint of annoyance.

Brittany's eyes widen comically, like saucers. "Wow, good for you. I didn't know fashion week was giving amateur designers a chance to present some of their work."

This time, the smile on her red lips is genuinely ridiculous. She is no longer beating around the bush but making it perfectly clear that she doesn't consider me a professional.

That is no surprise. What is unexpected is that Parker seems as irritated with her as I feel.

"Penny is here in a professional capacity. Her clothing line is making a big splash," he says, which takes my breath away.

Does Parker know about my designs? Has he been keeping track of me like I’ve kept track of him?He turns away from both of us, choosing to focus on what one of the design assistants is telling him. Brittany takes the opportunity to sneer at me, staring at me like she is looking for a place to strike.

"Anyway, it's lovely that your designs have come this far. They always seemed so retro to me. But I'm sure there are plenty of people who like them. I mean, not every designer dares to make clothes just for older ladies. That's very daring of you, honey."

Smiling and crossing my arms, I exhale sharply as I try to keep my cool. Brittany has always been a constant reminder of how grateful I am to have taken yoga and meditation classes in my youth, instead of something like boxing.

If things had been different, my response to her words may have be more violent than calm.

Although, I would be lying if I say the thought of breaking her nose hasn’t crossed my mind more than once.

After all, there is only so much that one person can take before they reach their breaking point.

"Well, sure. I see what you mean. My designs are aimed at the beauty that exists in all kinds of bodies and age groups. It's important to remember that diversity is a means of empowerment, and we shouldn’t limit ourselves to the plasticity of this industry that’s so focused on editing women to make them ‘acceptable,’" I say, remembering that in her early years in the fashion industry, Brittany had undergone several surgeries, which had been all over the media.

Part of me thought, at the time, that I might put an end to her cruelty by more explicitly mentioning that piece of truth again.

But I’m not like that, and I refuse to allow her to bring out a side of my personality that goes against my principles.

Kill them with kindness.

"You're right. Someone has to think about the fatties!" she says, laughing and shaking her head like people who weigh more than she does are beneath her. "The designers I work with always forget that, and sometimes, it's infuriating. I have to remind them that their tight-fitting outfits don't always suit full-breasted women like me, for example."

As soon as she says it, she rests her hands on her breasts as a sort of display of her pronounced curves. Somehow, that display seems to get the attention of everyone present. Everyone, that is, except Parker.

If anything, he looks like he is trying to ignore her.

Brittany sighs and latches onto his arm again. "Anyway, I was looking for you, Parker Hamilton, because you forgot about our lunch plans again."

"I'm sorry," he says without looking at her or even a hint of guilt in his voice. "I’ve been quite busy with preparations for this event."

A sigh leaves Parker's lips as his fingers wander through his black hair as a nervous gesture that was uncharacteristic of him. Brittany stares at him, her lips parting slightly as if she is going to start whining.

"Do you have a couple of hours to spare?" he asks me, completely ignoring the look on Brittany’s face.

"No," I say, crossing my arms.

---