Chapter 3
Caroline and Cassidy were already asleep; the atmosphere in the house after Stephen's departure wasn't the best, but it was still calmer than Miranda had imagined. She expected to be met with tears and complaints from the twins when she returned to New York, but all she witnessed were expressions of boredom, which could only be described as everyday reactions from two pre-teens. Miranda knew that her daughters were struggling with the departure of yet another stepfather—after all, they were children who easily became attached—but she decided to give it time and not push for a conversation that would be uncomfortable for everyone involved. Besides, Miranda had no idea how to talk to her own daughters.
"I'm sorry, girls, I ruined another marriage and made another father figure leave." Miranda felt her stomach churn just imagining that conversation.
But despite the scandals of the divorce, Miranda now felt… protected. She was sitting in her spacious living room with a cup of chamomile tea in her hands, while Patricia, the Saint Bernard, slept soundly at her feet on the couch. Finally, Miranda was home, indulging in the luxury of silence and with the certainty that her girls were safe upstairs.
Paris Fashion Week had been, by far, the worst of the editor-in-chief's entire career. Not only did she have to deal with everything that comes with the most stressful period of her job, but also with the drama of a divorce request an ocean away. Miranda could hardly believe she had returned to New York—for a moment, she had imagined that the past week would be endless and that she would be stuck in the French capital, under Andrea's pitying gaze.
As she took another sip of her chamomile tea, Miranda's thoughts returned to her personal assistant. When she decided to take Andrea to Paris instead of Emily, the editor-in-chief had made that decision purely based on practical criteria. Andrea had proven to be more agile and organized. Besides, it didn't take much time in the young woman's company to find her, at the very least, more likable than Emily, not to mention her far less irritating voice.
The pleasure Miranda felt upon seeing the frightened look in Andrea's eyes when she declared that she should be the one to break the news to Emily was almost palpable, and she had to make a considerable effort not to break into a wide smile upon realizing that the young woman was terrified at the idea of "stealing" Emily's place in Paris. The pleasure was even greater when Miranda noticed that Andrea would follow her order and wouldn't be weak enough to give up an opportunity like that over something as trivial as... moral principles.
Andrea was a surprise, to say the least, and Miranda often found herself deep in thought about the young woman, as few people managed to intrigue her. In less than a year, the girl in the cerulean blue sweater, frizzy hair, cheap cotton skirt, and shoes capable of blinding someone, had almost completely disappeared. Nigel had done an excellent job with Andrea, and Miranda still needed to thank him for sparing her the daily torture of witnessing her assistant's old outfits.
It wasn’t just Andrea’s clothes that had changed, but also her posture, her voice, and even her mannerisms—now much more refined and controlled. Not enough to classify her as a delicate person, of course, as it would take far more than just a few months to turn a goose into a swan, but enough to make being in the young woman’s presence bearable without wanting to gouge her own eyes out.
But what caught Miranda’s attention the most was how Andrea had the ability to anticipate her requests. Unlike so many other assistants who had passed through Runway, Andrea learned quickly, didn’t need to be told the same thing twice, and rarely made mistakes. This was also the main reason the young woman had been chosen for Paris Fashion Week: to make Miranda’s life easier to the point where she didn’t even need to open her mouth to give an order, as Andrea seemed to have the power to read her thoughts.
But now, back in New York, Miranda couldn’t have been more regretful about her decision.
It would have been infinitely easier if Emily had accompanied her to the French capital. If Miranda had known that a divorce awaited her in Paris, she certainly would have chosen the assistant on crutches to accompany her instead of the ever-so-helpful Andrea.
Miranda felt like pulling out every single strand of her white hair as memories of that dreadful night swirled in her thoughts. What was she thinking when she thought it was a good idea to cry in front of Andrea? Since that night, something had changed—starting with the younger woman’s gaze, which went from terrified to compassionate. Miranda definitely should have fired Andrea; it would have saved her countless headaches.
All of Andrea's efforts to build a minimally bearable work environment with Emily were thrown out the window after Paris Fashion Week. If before the redhead was merely spiteful, making jokes about Andrea's weight and her inability to tell apart two shades of blue, now she refused to exchange even a single word with the brunette.
Andrea had a lot to worry about: her job, an apartment whose rent she now had to cover on her own since Nate had left, and, of course, her personal relationships with family and friends, which seemed to deteriorate day by day—especially after the end of her relationship. Therefore, Emily would be the least of her problems. So, when she returned to New York and, on her very first day back at Runway, didn't even receive a "good morning" from her coworker, she simply didn't care.
She had decided that if she couldn’t control the emotions of a frustrated coworker, the end of her relationship, or the friends who had turned their backs on her, she would focus only on what was within her control: her work. As often happened when her life was in crisis, Andrea threw herself headfirst into her duties. Since returning from Paris, she had decided she would be the best assistant Miranda had ever had and that, in a few months, she would deserve a letter of recommendation for some newspaper in New York, and her life would get back on track.
Andrea was distracted, adjusting Miranda’s schedule on her computer screen, when the editor-in-chief arrived to start the workday. Andrea hadn’t seen her since they left the airport three days ago, when they both arrived in New York.
“Andrea, in my office. Now.” said the editor, tossing her bag and coat onto Emily’s desk and walking toward her own office. Andrea stood up, startled, and followed her boss’ order.
Before she could even close the door to Miranda’s office behind her, the older woman’s voice already filled the room.
“I don’t need two assistants.” Miranda said calmly, sitting down behind her desk.
The young woman literally felt dizzy upon hearing that sentence, automatically thinking about her bills and the full rent for her apartment. The last thing she needed was to be fired.
“What? No!” Andrea said, her voice loud, desperation already beginning to show as she felt agitation taking over her body.
Andrea never interrupted Miranda, something that surprised the editor, causing her to pause for a moment and look directly at the brunette, waiting for her to continue.
“Are you firing me because I asked how you were after the divorce request? Is that it, isn’t it?”
Suddenly, the words began spilling out of Andrea’s mouth without her control, as often happened when she was anxious.
“For God’s sake, I was just worried about you, I was…” — Andrea paused, realizing she had said too much, then finished firmly: — “You can’t fire me. Not now.”
Miranda stared at her with a strange expression on her face, despite trying to maintain her usual impassive demeanor. Andrea was about to speak again — and humiliate herself, if necessary — to keep her job when she heard:
“At what point exactly did you hear the word ‘fired,’ Andrea?”
The young woman blinked a few times and ran one of her hands through her long hair, trying to calm herself.
“You said you didn’t need—”
“Exactly. I don’t need two assistants. That’s why Emily will be reassigned to the creative department, alongside Nigel. And you will be promoted to first and only assistant.”
Miranda spoke as if explaining the obvious to a five-year-old, in a tone that made her listener feel small and pathetic. But Andrea didn’t have time to feel foolish, as the relief was far greater.
“Oh.” — was all Andrea managed to say, before placing a hand on her chest and giving a nervous smile. — “I thought that—”
Miranda interrupted her:
“I have a meeting with Pierpaolo Piccioli in an hour. Make sure the third-floor conference room is impeccable — white peonies, nothing less. Prepare the briefing, clear and flawless, printed. In the meantime, adjust my schedule — the Valentino event needs to be prioritized. Oh, and find out where my Celine sunglasses have gone. That’s all.”
“They’re in the top drawer of your desk,” Andrea replied, pointing to the indicated spot.
“What?” Miranda asked, momentarily confused.
“Your Celine sunglasses. You always keep them in the second drawer,” Andrea said, distracted by her notes.
Miranda had no idea where Andrea had gotten the notepad she was holding, but the young woman had just crossed something off the page when she looked up and said:
“The conference room is ready, the peonies are already in place. I also added some lilies — Mr. Piccioli’s favorites. I adjusted your schedule this morning; the Valentino event will take up your entire afternoon. I’ll make sure you’re not interrupted. Anything else?”
“No,” Miranda answered, feeling a bit dizzy. As always, Andrea’s efficiency continued to amaze the editor-in-chief.
Andrea promptly turned to head back to her desk, but then Miranda called her back.
“Stop by HR today. I want you to sign your promotion contract before the end of the day.