Chapter 2
Andy stares up at the ceiling from her bed. It still doesn’t feel real. For her to spend a whole year perfecting that ridiculous coffee order and doing everything that is humanly possible to ensure that Miranda’s mood never gets beyond ‘mildly miffed’ at the office, it just freaking sucks that this is how things end.
She lets out a derisive laugh. Sure, that’s why she’s unhappy. Because Miranda didn’t give her some nice going away speech for her services as her dutiful assistant in spite of the circumstance. Instead she just fucked Andy against the wall like some cheap whore and walked away.
Internal dilemma aside, she should probably change out of her clothes. The dried cum on her underwear is beginning to feel uncomfortable. But it’s just like her to start getting sentimental when she pats down her coat pocket and realizes that Miranda’s key isn’t there anymore. The proverbial anchor that she’d been carrying around in her pocket now lifted. She sucks in a deep breath, and it feels heavy in her chest. As though there’s a different kind of weight there now.
Slowly, her fingers reach for the hem of her skirt and lifts it up. She needs to feel something other than what she’s feeling right now. But when the elastic band of her underwear stretches over her thumb, she can’t bring herself to go any further. It’s like Miranda has ruined everyone for Andy, including herself.
”Damn you, Miranda.”
Her phone screen suddenly lights up silently next to her on the bed. George. She could pretend like she missed his call, but knowing him, he would exhaust every method of contact until he reached her. Better to get it over with now before something like a carrier pigeon flies through her window with his message. Andy swipes at the screen and presses the speaker button. “Sachs.”
“Andy, what have you done?” George’s voice fills the silence of her room. He’s irritated, and judging from the breathlessness of his voice, pacing. “What have you done, Andy?”
She would like an answer to that question as well. She sits up in her bed and clears the emotion from her voice. “I’m…not sure?”
“Please tell me that you did not sleep with Miranda Priestly.”
Great. That information didn’t take long to get out. “I could tell you I didn’t, but would you believe me?”
“For fuck’s sake Andy, why?”
“I don’t know, George. Why do you sleep with your wife?” Andy knows she’s pushing her luck speaking to her other boss this way. But she wants to lash out just this once to somebody because…fuck. She’s been lying in her bed for the past two hours, fully clothed and on the verge of tears. This end that she saw coming, was actively preparing for, facilitated, now feels like the biggest breakup of her life.
“Andy,” he begins, now in that fatherly voice of his, “she contacted me.”
Andy falls back onto the bed, head hitting the pillow, heart thumping erratically. “What did she have to say?”
“There were some not so thinly veiled threats. But the crux of the call was that she wants to meet tomorrow with a proposition.”
“A proposition,” Andy says slowly. “Where?”
“The Wardoff Hotel.”
“Did she give you details about what she wants?”
“No. Didn’t even give me a chance to ask her. She immediately hung up the phone.”
Of course Miranda doesn’t give George any details. She expects everyone to be able to read her goddamn mind and bend to her will at all times. Andy isn’t so naive to think that the events of the last few hours will suddenly make Miranda change her stripes. Still, something like affection stupidly blossoms in her chest at the thought of Miranda being…Miranda. “I’m coming with you,” she blurts out.
“Good,” he says matter-of-factly. “Because she asked that you come. Well, demanded your presence is more exact.”
—
The next day, Andy and George show up to the Wardoff Hotel at five, as instructed.
“You look like a lawyer right now,” Andy says, sizing up the big, brown briefcase at George’s side. This has got to be the most formal she’s ever seen him, aside from that one time he showed up to the office with a tie.
“I’m dressing the part, Andy. We can’t go into a meeting with Miranda Priestly looking business casual.” He takes a quick cursory glance at her outfit. “You suit up well. Looks like you managed to pick up a few fashion tips working at Runway.”
His comment is sincere because he isn’t aware of her fashion faux pas, at least in Miranda’s eyes. “Thanks, but hopefully she doesn’t remember that I’ve worn this outfit before.”
His bushy, gray brows knit together quizzically.
“It’s—forget about it. I was sort of operating on auto-pilot this morning and didn’t even notice it until I was on the subway.”
Chances are Miranda probably doesn’t even remember that this was the first outfit she wore after the makeover Nigel gave her.
“Alright, if you’re sure.”
They take the chairs in the corner of the lobby and before they can even warm up their seats, George gets a text on his phone.
“She’s telling us to go to Conference Room A and that she’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he says, rising.
A conference room. Andy wonders if Emily was the one to schedule it. She can’t imagine that Miranda would confide in Emily about this, but in what universe does Miranda Priestly call to book a conference room for herself?
“Coming?”
“Yeah,” she says distractedly.
The Wardoff Hotel isn’t too terribly confusing to navigate as they find their room in less than ten minutes. But Andy soon regrets it when George takes to pacing the remainder of their wait.
“George, relax. You’re making me more nervous.”
“Sorry, Andy. I just…” He sits back down and opens his briefcase, revealing actual papers and documents inside. “How do you do it every morning? This anticipation of her arrival. It’s—.”
“Nerve-wracking?” she supplies. “You eventually learn to live with it.” Also, knowing what it looks like between Miranda’s legs helps ease the nerves a bit. But Andy keeps that part to herself.
For a second, she thinks George can read her thoughts on her face because he suddenly looks at her seriously. They haven’t actually talked about it yet. How Andy’s poor judgement might actually blow this whole thing up for them.
“This is not how I had envisioned it, Andy,” he says, as if on cue.
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.” She shakes her own head in self-disapproval. “I just— lost my damn mind there.”
Before George can respond, they hear the door latch sound and turn their heads to the entrance. Miranda’s strolling through in a cream colored pants suit, looking fresh face like she had no trouble sleeping at all last night. It annoys Andy a little, especially when she slept like shit.
“You’re not going to run the story you have on Runway and Irv,” she says to George before even taking her seat across from them. She doesn’t deign a look Andy’s way.
“I thought you came with a proposition, Miranda. That sounds like a demand.”
To Andy’s surprise, George is remarkably cool in the face of Miranda’s chilliness. Perhaps it is the power of the briefcase.
“We already have three women’s accounts of his forcible touching in the workplace. And they claimed they were paid off by Runway.”
“So you probably know that they also signed an NDA and will clam up the minute Runway’s lawyers’ catch wind of the story and remind them of that.”
George anxiously taps his fingers on the table in the first sign that he’s not at all unaffected by Miranda’s presence. “I have faith that these women will want to tell the public their truths.”
“I don’t doubt the victim’s intentions here,” Miranda says tightly. “But you’re running fast and loose with this story.” She then turns her attention to Andy for the first time. “Besides, how do you think the world would feel about your scoop once they learn that the little journalist you sent to infiltrate Runway was sleeping with her boss?”
This time, George shifts in his seat uncomfortably. “You’re bluffing.”
“It’s your call.”
He holds her hard stare for an impressive amount of time before finally throwing his hands up in defeat. “Fine. What do you want Miranda?”
“Pull the story for now. I will get you everything you need to take Irv down without running Runway straight into the ground.”
“To me, it’s starting to sound like you’re asking us to buy you some more time while you think of a PR strategy for Runway. I’ll pass.”
“You idiot. I know that Runway isn’t going to come out of this unscathed. Rightfully so. But it doesn’t deserve to be completely obliterated when the jobs of hundreds are involved.”
“If you’re so confident that this story won’t go anywhere, why do any of this?”
“Because you imbeciles are putting these women in legal jeopardy by trying to run this story. And once you show Irv all your cards, he’ll smart from it.”
George looks at Andy, clearly searching her face for any kind of confirmation that Miranda’s trustworthy. She hates that he thinks she knows Miranda well enough to make that call. She hates that he’s right. Slowly, Andy nods her approval. Because despite Miranda’s cold, ruthless bitch reputation, Andy knows she’s not heartless. Well, notwithstanding the last twenty four hours.
“So what? You want us to sit on your hands while you collect your evidence?”
“No.” Miranda leans back in her chair coolly and looks at Andy again. And she swears she can feel the ice in her stare. “She stays and helps me.”
“What? But I thought you said that Irv found out about me.”
“Irv called and said that he got a tip that someone from within was helping The Times run an unsavory story about Runway. I was the one who pieced everything together after I made some calls myself. He doesn’t know that the story is about him, and that you’re effectively the mole.”
Damn. She doesn’t know how they managed to keep her identity under wraps for so long with Miranda’s connections and investigative skills.
George scrubs his face anxiously and sighs. “What do you think?” he asks Andy, a sign that he’s not totally against the idea.
She should shut this whole thing down. Because while Miranda might not be totally heartless, she can be very vindictive. And, right now, Andy can’t think of one person Miranda might hate more than her. The flip side to that is she walks away from this story and a year of work with her sanity intact.
“Okay, I’ll stay.”
Miranda is surprised by her answer, Andy can tell. It’s in that slight part of her lips, but she hides it fast.
“On one condition,” George says quickly, before gesturing between them. “This can’t continue.”
While George’s comment makes Andy want to crawl under a rock in a desolate cave somewhere, Miranda answers him like she’s giving her chauffeur instructions. “I can assure you that I have absolutely no interest in sleeping with Andy. Now or in the future.”
Ouch. A petty part of her wants to say I don’t either or I don’t believe you. But Andy chooses the high road instead and nods her own agreement.
“Okay.” George looks between the two of them warily. “You’ve got three months before we run this story.” And then he closes his briefcase and stands. Andy jumps to her own feet, trying her best to put together a united front. “Andy will fill me in on the progress of your efforts.”
Miranda nods, saying nothing else.
As George turns to leave, Andy leans over to him and whispers, “Go ahead and I’ll catch up with you in the lobby. I would like a minute alone with her.”
George looks surprised by her request but she’s thankful he doesn’t fight her on it.
“Be careful,” he says to her as he leaves, but she thinks she misses a few words at the end.
When the room slims to just the two of them, Andy takes a step closer to Miranda. Not enough to be considered intimate but hopefully it makes the gap between them feel more like a long jump than a massive crack in the earth. Andy tells herself that she’s at least going to try for the sake of her assignment. “Miranda.”
“I trust that you still remember my coffee order,” she says, lips thinned.
God she never makes anything easy. “Miranda," Andy tries again, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I know that this has gotten even more complicated but—“
“I think we’re way past complicated at this point, Andrea.” Miranda says each syllable of her name sing-songy, mocking her. “Ludicrous would be a more apt term.”
“Fine. Ludicrous. Stupid. Absurd. Pick an adjective.”
“Ah, playing the journalist card with a heavy hand now, are we?”
“God you’re insufferable.”
“Really.” Miranda steps closer to her, like Andy's words were goading her to. “I thought I was magnificent.”
“You—“ are, she doesn’t say. She sucks in a deep breath, trying her best not to fall into Miranda’s space like some lovesick puppy. Especially now that she no longer owns that privilege and Miranda looks at her without an ounce of softness in her eyes.
“You like this color.” Miranda presses her thumb to Andy’s bottom lip.
It’s the same color she’s been wearing all week. Her lips part by their own volition. “Yeah,” she whispers, and she suddenly remembers this color on Miranda’s skin and everything that happened in between.
Miranda must remember too because Andy doesn’t think she has ever seen Miranda stare at something so hard. Is she really about to kiss Andy? After that declaration to George just now?
Andy suddenly feels Miranda’s thumb press down on her more forcefully before she starts roughly wiping at her lip. The light catches on the smudged red lipstick on Miranda’s thumb.
“Don’t wear this color again,” she hisses. Miranda drops her hand back to her side and steps away from Andy. “I no longer want to see you in it.”