Chapter 2
That morning, Andrea woke up even before her cellphone alarm went off. When she looked at the screen, she saw that it was only six in the morning, which would give her at least another hour of sleep. But adjusting to the French time zone, combined with the events of the previous night, were more than enough reasons to make returning to the world of dreams impossible. After spending ten minutes staring at the ceiling, Andrea sighed, resigned, and decided to start the day.
Miranda's schedule was packed with appointments starting at eight in the morning and ending only in the early evening, when Andrea held onto a little hope that she might finally be able to rest after an almost frantic week of work. Fortunately, the next day was already marked as the one when she would return to New York, something that left Andrea relieved but also anxious.
As she got ready, the young woman wondered what awaited her in New York, since, even before leaving for Europe, her relationship with Nate had already fallen apart. Andrea had decided to leave her ex-boyfriend in some forgotten corner of her mind during Paris Fashion Week, but on the second-to-last day of the event, Nate had crept back into her thoughts, along with feelings of guilt and sadness.
Andrea and Nate had met in college, when she was a journalism student and he was studying culinary arts. Between plans and dreams of a young, passionate couple, they had stayed together for six years. It was Andrea's longest relationship and the one she had invested in the most, so it was no surprise that she now felt lost and unsure of what to do with her new status as a single woman. At that moment, the only certainty she had was her job at Runway
Immediately, Miranda's face appeared in the young woman's thoughts, and a shiver ran down Andrea's skin. Would Miranda be a reflection of Andrea in the future? Was this what it meant to have only work as a certainty? To end up alone in a hotel suite after receiving a divorce request over the phone?
Andrea shook her head from side to side, trying to push away thoughts of a sad and lonely future. When she glanced at the watch on her wrist, she realized there were only twenty minutes left before she had to meet Miranda in the hotel lobby and head to the first appointment of the day.
As she waited for the elevator, Andrea checked her boss's schedule for the fifth time that morning and felt her shoulders grow heavy and her feet ache just at the thought of spending hours in high heels, walking back and forth alongside the editor-in-chief. The elevator door finally opened, and Andrea took a step back as soon as she realized who was inside. Before the door could close again, Miranda held it open with a quick gesture and gave a subtle nod, signaling for her assistant to step in beside her.
For a second, Andrea wondered if she was in a dream (or a nightmare). Miranda Priestly was willing to share the elevator? Realizing that the editor was losing patience as she still held the door open and stared at her sternly, Andrea quickly stepped into the small space she would now share with the ice queen.
"Good morning, Miranda," Andrea greeted softly, her heart pounding at the unexpected closeness to the editor-in-chief. Miranda didn’t respond to the greeting aloud, merely nodding her head slightly and continuing to stare straight ahead, her Prada sunglasses hiding any hint of her expression.
Andrea took advantage of the few seconds she still had alone with Miranda and began observing the woman beside her, who, dressed head to toe in designer pieces, showed no trace of the fragile version from the night before.
"Would you like a photo, Andrea?" Miranda asked suddenly, causing Andrea to jump and realize that her gaze on the older woman was anything but discreet.
Feeling her face flush with pure embarrassment at being caught in the act, Andrea quickly looked straight ahead and thanked the heavens when the elevator door opened again, finally allowing her to step away from Miranda's presence.
The ride from the hotel to the venue where the final shows of Fashion Week would take place was uncomfortable. Miranda was quieter than usual, and aside from a few low-voiced orders directed at Andrea, there was no exchange between the two women.
Andrea's attention to detail, especially when it came to Miranda, made her notice that the editor was avoiding her gaze—something that wasn't typical of her. Miranda always maintained firm eye contact, especially because she knew the intimidating power her eyes had over anyone in front of her. But that morning, Miranda didn't seem like herself. Even though the expensive clothes and accessories tried to ensure that everything was in order, Andrea could sense in the air around them that, in reality, everything was out of place.
"Are you okay?"
Definitely, Andrea wasn't expecting those words to come out of her own mouth—and, judging by the way Miranda stared at her, neither was the editor. It was as if the young woman had said the most absurd thing or, worse, had literally offended the editor-in-chief. When Miranda slowly removed her sunglasses, finally looking at Andrea more intently, the young woman felt her body go weak.
"Why are you asking me that?" Miranda replied, her voice colder and sharper than any tone she had ever used with Andrea.
Andrea took a deep breath and refused to feel intimidated. After all, she had only asked a simple question. And what could Miranda do? Kill her for asking if she was okay?
"I..." Andrea began, more nervous than she had imagined, noticing her voice trembling under Miranda's gaze. "It's just that last night..." Andrea closed her eyes briefly to gather courage, and when she opened them again, she added more conviction to her voice. "Are you okay after last night?"
The question sounded stupid even to Andrea's own ears. Of course Miranda wasn't okay—and how could she be?
If until that moment Miranda seemed reluctant to face Andrea, that stance was thrown out the window when she straightened her shoulders even more and stiffened her jaw before speaking:
"Whatever you think you saw last night that made you imagine you know me, forget it. We are not friends, we are not close. Do not dare to ask me questions like this again." Miranda put her sunglasses back on. "Are we clear, Andrea?"
Miranda's voice had never sounded so distant and threatening, forcing Andrea to quickly nod in agreement and then say:
"Crystal clear, Miranda."
Neither of them had noticed, but the car had stopped, indicating they had arrived at their destination. Andrea had never wished so much to go back home.