Chapter 1
Andy slides out from under the covers. The cold air blowing from the vent makes her reach for the robe hanging off a nearby chair to cover her nakedness. She knows it isn’t hers the second that expensive, floral scent at the collar hits her nose. Miranda. But she makes no attempt to correct her mistake as she makes her way to the kitchen to run the tap over a glass.
This is the last night that she will be sharing Miranda’s bed. Because by tomorrow evening, it will be over for them, the illusion gone. They had sex earlier, and she wonders if Miranda will hate herself for letting Andy fuck her so many times over the last three months after the truth’s been revealed. Or if the Ice Queen will try to blackball her across all of New York City. Probably some combination of both.
“Thirsty?”
Miranda is standing at the doorway, blue eyes soft…playful. The post coital tousled hair look is unfairly appealing on her, Andy admits to herself. No one will ever believe she got this close to Miranda Priestly, Editor-In-Chief of Runway, when a year ago the most expensive item in her closet was a pair of jeans from The GAP. Andy still couldn’t believe it herself.
“You kinda wore me out.” She inclines her head and smiles at Miranda, hoping she doesn’t look too dopey. Slowly, Miranda steps closer. She stops just before there’s any skin contact between them, and Andy can see the outline of Miranda’s hardened nipples under the robe she’s wearing. Andy’s robe.
Her traitorous body leans in for a kiss but is stopped by a delicate finger pressed against her lips. Miranda is staring intently at her like she’s studying a painting of some kind. Her gaze travels from Andy’s brows, to her nose, and then finally when Miranda withdraws her finger, to Andy’s lips. “You’re very pretty,” she says.
Up close, Andy can see all the wrinkles on Miranda’s face, make out the bump on the bridge of her nose. It makes her feel oddly relieved to know that Miranda is still imperfect in some ways. Like a very expensive painting with its own small blemishes. Yet she can’t help but wonder if a Miranda Priestly with those corrections would be as attractive as the one standing in front of her right now. “You’re magnificent.” The words fall out of her mouth before she could think better of it.
Miranda leans in this time and gently nips at Andy’s lower lip with her teeth. It’s almost imperceptible if not for the hot breath on her skin. And then, slowly, achingly, Miranda releases her. In a husky voice, she whispers against Andy’s mouth, “Your lipstick is all gone.”
Reaching for Miranda’s robe, Andy gently pushes it aside, revealing smooth, soft skin at the collarbone that’s been smeared with Andy’s red colored lipstick. She runs her fingers over the area. The robe dips further and new skin, all ruined by her in the last hours, appear. It makes her feel a certain way, but Andy doesn’t want to put a name to it. Can’t put a name to it. Because how does the English language wholly describe this visceral feeling, like wanting to wrestle an ox with her bare hands, when she sees her mark on Miranda this way.
“Why?” Andy couldn’t help but ask. If this is their last night together, Andy wants that one curiosity of hers satisfied. “Why me when you could have anyone?”
Miranda strokes a finger along Andy’s jawline and hums. “Because you’re different.”
Different. Andy launches at Miranda’s neck and the robe drops to the floor. In the quietness of the kitchen, Andy fucks her again. Different.
--
They arrive at work separately, a plan they both agreed to so that no one would suspect. Like usual, Andy deposits the coffee on Miranda’s desk and retreats to her own station to await her arrival. When the elevator doors open seconds later and Miranda walks through, Andy gives her a quick greeting and Miranda’s gaze doesn’t linger. Just like how they practiced it. And everything can carry on as usual now that the entire Elias-Clark building has been sufficiently unnerved by The Queen’s arrival.
“She’s in a good mood today,” Emily remarks from her desk.
Good sex will have that effect on anyone, Andy tries not to say. She opens Miranda’s calendar for the day and stares at the very last slot. Only a few more hours to go and Andy’s year-long undercover project will come to an end. Unable to help herself, she steals a peek from behind the monitor. The sight of Miranda now seated in her chair with her glasses perched on her nose going over a spread makes Andy’s heart hammer in her chest. As if sensing Andy’s eyes on her, Miranda suddenly looks up and meets her gaze.
“Andrea,” Miranda calls out.
Andy stands from her chair and hurries into Miranda’s office. “Yes, Miranda?”
She pretends to busy herself with the papers on her desk as she speaks to Andy in a volume only they could hear. “Dinner tonight?”
Andy’s knee-jerk reaction is to say yes. But she imagines that Miranda wouldn’t want to see her face again once she breaks the news to her, let alone dine opposite her at the table. “Well-“
Miranda turns a sheet, eyes still glued to her desk. “Do you have prior plans?”
“I—yes. Sorry.”
There is a flash of disappointment on her face, but Miranda hides it quickly. “That’s quite alright.” She takes a short pause and then turns that same sheet back. “Tomorrow night then?”
The guilt climbs up Andy’s throat and she agrees to something she knows she won’t be able to do. “Sure, dinner tomorrow night” she says. It’s not like she’s never broken a promise before. Miranda will survive this. Will survive her.
“Very good.” Still not taking her eyes off that same sheet of paper, Miranda dismisses Andy out of her office, “That’s all.”
The next few hours float by without much fanfare, except that Andy starts to feel her body do some sort of internal countdown the closer it gets to five. By around four o’clock, after she’d gone through the whole gamut of anxiety-related physiological symptoms, a call from Irv himself comes through for Miranda.
From her desk, Andy sees Miranda distractedly pick up the receiver as her attention remains fixed on the scarves laid out in front of her. But something Irv says must have been interesting enough that Miranda straightens her back and turns away from her task momentarily. There’s a lot of talking on his end and a lot of listening on hers, Andy can tell. Miranda suddenly looks Andy’s way, eyes serious, and she immediately returns her gaze to her monitor, embarrassed at being caught staring.
The phone call is short, no more than five minutes. But whatever Irv tells Miranda sends her out of her office, cutting her day short and keeping Andy from sharing her truth with Miranda. She thinks about just phoning it in and letting Miranda find out with the rest of the world. Just leave the office today and never come back. But that would be too cruel. Too…would Miranda even care? A betrayal is a betrayal is a betrayal. But before Andy could decide on her exit strategy, a text comes through on her phone.
My house tonight. Seven.
They agreed to dinner for tomorrow night, and Andy hardly thinks Miranda would have forgotten in the short time since. She looks over at Emily sitting at her desk, still trying to decipher Miranda’s abrupt departure herself. It must be something work-related with the sequence of events that’s just unfolded. Andy leans back in her chair and lets the universe decide for her. Miranda’s house it is. She will tell her everything then.
—
Andy lets herself inside Miranda’s home with the key she was given and hangs her coat in the closet with a familiarity she shouldn’t have taken to. The house is peaceful while the twins are away, allowing Miranda all the down time she needs. Outside of the sex she has with Andy. The faint sound of the cello comes from the living room, and Andy makes her way over there. As she gets closer, it becomes apparent that the piece is Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major. Miranda’s favorite. Andy clears her throat upon entering, as not to startle her. “Hi.”
Miranda doesn’t budge an inch at Andy’s sudden presence. Her gaze focused on the liquor in her glass. Whiskey, most likely. Andy stands there waiting for the hell to rain down on the special fool that’s ticked her off today. Perhaps it was a bad idea for her to do this tonight. Miranda seems particularly pissed.
“I received a phone call from Irv this afternoon,” she finally says.
“About?”
Miranda swirls the liquid in her glass and looks up at Andy. “You.”
She swallows. “Me.”
“Really, Andrea, The Times?“ It’s been a while since Miranda’s used that tone with her. The one laced with condescension and resentment, almost. Not since the day she showed up in her cerulean sweater. But that tone was back tonight and it was as fierce as it was merciless.
“So Irv told you,” she says, not backing down. Andy didn’t know how Irv found out that The Times was her employer, but that detail seems unimportant at this point.
“You’re not denying it,” Miranda chuckles and lays down her glass on the table.
“I was going to tell you tonight.”
“And what, clear your conscience? Ask for forgiveness?”
Andy shakes her head. “Miranda, I’m an investigative journalist. There’s been numerous allegations against Runway and Irv, you must know that.”
“And The Times thought the best way to get the scoop on this was through subterfuge?”
“I’m not going to apologize for what I did,” she says calmly. “But I will apologize for this.” Andy points to the space between them, feeling something ache in her chest. “I wanted you to hear the truth from me first.”
Miranda stands from the couch, cheeks flushed. “I think people will question your journalistic integrity when they find out that you were fucking Miranda Priestly half the time you were at Runway supposedly investigating.”
“You wouldn’t let that information go public.”
Miranda takes five steps towards Andy and Andy takes five steps back, feeling the wall behind her. “You vastly underestimate what I will do when I feel slighted.”
“Is this what all of this is?” Andy asks, feeling unreasonably hurt by the lax words. “You feeling slighted?”
Miranda steps closer, and Andy uses the last few inches of space behind her before her back finally hits the wall. “You naive girl,” she hisses in Andy’s ear before pressing their bodies together. Andy could practically taste the whiskey off of Miranda’s breath this close. “You might have fooled me into a good fuck, but that is all it, you, will ever be. Just another blip on my radar.”
Andy laughs painfully at Miranda’s words. “Liar.”
She feels Miranda’s hand graze the bare skin of her outer thigh before moving under her skirt, unreserved in its exploration of Andy’s body this time. Her hand quickly finds Andy’s lacy underwear and pushes it aside. Fingers play at her clit and then slide down to her entrance. “Don’t overestimate yourself,” Miranda says angrily. “I will have forgotten you by next season.” And she plunges two fingers inside of Andy roughly, eliciting a whimper from her in the middle of Bach’s movement. Andy’s head drops onto Miranda’s shoulder.
“By next season,” Miranda repeats as she pumps in and out of Andy.
“Miranda,” Andy moans as she holds onto Miranda’s arms for support. “Miranda,” she says again, not sure what she’s asking for at this point. She rides Miranda’s fingers shamelessly through the entire movement until her body quakes from the orgasm. Miranda makes a choked sound in her ear as Andy clenches around her. Again and again and again. Until the wave subsides and Miranda gently withdraws her fingers from inside of her. Carefully, Miranda pulls Andy’s underwear back into place and wipes her fingers clean on the outside of it. And it takes everything Andy has to not rock against Miranda’s fingers, the hand that’s cupping her so intimately. She disentangles herself from Miranda and lets her head fall back against the wall.
“That is all,” Miranda whispers one final time before turning to leave.