Fic: Damn Parisian
Title: Damn Parisian
Author: Me
Fandom: Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Miranda/Jacqueline. I KNOW! Its new.
Rating: PG
Warning: Does pining count?
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Archieving: With permission of author. My bet is I'll agree its merely to satisfy my large ego.
Many thanks to my beta yesssirrr. Who also comes up with the titles, your awesome.
A/N1: Wrote it just because I haven't seen anything of this sort.
A/N2: Its meant as a one-shot but who knows now.
A/N3: Dont kill me. Someone else should have done it, but I was sick of waiting.
Summary- Miranda thinks of a certain french woman.
Enjoy.
Miranda sat in her office while she watched Emily come and go, running insignificant errands she would give her just to get her out of the office. Truth be told she would get everyone out of the Elias-Clarke building but Irv would probably just wail like a whore, and at the moment she couldn’t deal with him. She needed to sort her thoughts, especially after Paris…
She had expected for Irv to try pull off his scheme in Paris, she had expected the Givenchy line to fail miserably, she had expected Valentino to be superb, she had anticipated Donatella to throw one of her fits, by the gods she even predicted that Andrea’s personal life would be up in flames by then. Let it be said that Miranda knew everything that was going on around her. What she hadn’t expected was for her to genuinely enjoy herself when it was just supposed to be a façade to get Jacqueline to agree to partner with James.
As she thought back to it, she became even more disgusted with herself. She remembered laughing alongside Jacqueline as if she weren’t the Miranda Priestly everyone knew. The dragon lady, the ice queen, a pompous bitch enjoying herself, with a French woman nonetheless. She pinched the bridge of her nose. The headaches this would cause could rival the ones George gave the democrats. Dear god, she refused to believe she was obsessing like a ten year old.
“Emily.”
She came in, anxiety oozing from the girl. She had every right. Miranda had been insufferable since coming back. She looked at the girl with a scrutinizing gaze.
Perhaps Emily is a lot older than her resume says. It’s the only answer I can find as to why her body hasn’t worked on whatever she stuffed herself with while I was gone.
“I want my four o’clock with the art department changed to two thirty. Make a list that whoever refuses to show is stating that they no longer wish to work for Runway or any other reputable fashion magazine.”
She heard the girl inhale deeply.
Miranda took off her glasses.
“Make sure the twins are on the right train this time. I don’t care for another catastrophe like ‘Emily’ made. Which leads me to ask why there isn’t a body taking up the empty desk, when clearly you aren’t able to take the responsibilities?”
Emily paled. “I called human resources and they said they had a few candidates that…”
Has Jacqueline started working with James yet?
Don’t you dare start along those lines.
Would it be odd if we had lunch?
Miranda Priestly!
Of course it’d be a business lunch.
Just a business lunch?
“… and I will get the scarves from Hermes at four.”
“Schedule a lunch with Jacqueline a week from now. Move the run through to three and get me Patrick.”
What was that incessant stuttering? “…Jacq…Jacqueline?”
Miranda put her glasses back on while tugging on her ear and staring at Emily over the top of her glasses. “Jacqueline Follet. Former editor of Runway Italia. Did you bump your little head on something while I was gone?”
“Jacqueline. Right,” Emily nodded and was just out of the door when a cool voice suffocated her.
“Oh, and Emily,” Emily turned just as her hand reached the handle, but Miranda was no longer looking at her but flipping through pages. “Lay off the pudding any bigger and we’ll know who to feed to the models. That’s all.”
She heard Emily whimper as she left her office.
The day passed along like it normally did. Lunch meetings, games played with the board and anyone up there, restating to employees that their duties needed to be met. The run through would be a few hours and Miranda most certainly did not feel like herself.
She had lunch with Michael and Dean from ads and the art department from Runway UK. Two old friends from the gory days when they were all just starting out and eager to make it to the top. Each getting reacquainted, it was almost formal. Then the time and food had let them all wind down. They breezed through subjects. They were touching on the occupational hazards, when SHE came up.
“I actually heard she’s doing well with James.”
Miranda froze, but only for mere seconds. No one noticed. “Is that so?”
Michael had roared with laughter. “Now Miranda, we know you certainly don’t have a taste for the woman but there is no need to be so blasé.”
Miranda merely pursed her lips. Taste indeed. Miranda had certainly sampled something, she did not want, but clearly her body was beginning to crave. She supposed taking heroin was equivalent, not that she had ever tried it. The unsightly track marks it would leave. Ridiculous.
Dean cut in. “In my opinion I think she does better as a designer’s partner than a magazine’s editor, especially one as renowned as Runway.”
Dean, always the one to take her side while Michael was never afraid to question her, to a point at least.
“Perhaps. She was still wet behind the ears, was she not?”
Both merely stared at her as the waiter came to retrieve their dishes.
“Well regardless, James won’t stop talking about her. Maybe a little too much, if you catch my meaning, love.”
Dean only chuckled while shaking his head. Miranda was another story.
Did she make him laugh as hard as she made her?
Had she leaned into him and whispered nonsense things about people in that accent that made you shiver?
Miranda remembered a time when they were walking down the hallway in Paris…
“… and did you see the models for the Versace line? It was catastrophic, nόn?” Jacqueline giggled as she leaned in.
Miranda was above gossiping, and of models of all things, but the way the words rolled off the woman’s tongue would give oysters a run for their money. Especially the word ‘catastrophic’… how ironic.
It was like a vintage wine. The way her tongue rolled the words making it sounds corporeal and rhythmic. An addiction was forming.
Dean and Michael quickly touched on James’s new line, their assistants or lack thereof, and the new theme for advertisements. Miranda merely thought about Jacqueline.
Why had she enjoyed her company so? It made no sense whatsoever. She was surrounded by many more competent people in their respective jobs and twice as many that she was positive could be of more use to her. These feelings she was having were useless especially for the person they were being directed at. What good would come of it? Miranda knew she was kidding herself when she thought Jacqueline would make a good ally. To what? Manipulate James? And for what? The man was already in fear of her and would do anything she said. By the gods she had practically made him.
Her friends were in the middle of a heated debate about the new Runway board members and a few inexperienced stock holders when she caught a whiff of something. Her heart sped up. It was light and airy. Almost like something you would smell when you went to get away from the world. When you were walking in the fields just enjoying the day and you could smell the flowers and honey…
Flowers? Did someone slip something in your water?
It reminds you of her. Shut your mouth.
Jacqueline’s fragrance was, in itself, the most unique thing Miranda ever smelt. It wasn’t made in a laboratory. In Paris, when they had lunch together, she had merely breezed over the smell. Jacqueline had stated that she made it herself. She had the essences imported and she mixed them at home. Miranda didn’t find things like that interesting but that day she had.
She inhaled again. It wasn’t the same. What made Jacqueline’s unique, was missing. Just as Miranda realized this she felt a twinge of disappointment. She pursed her lips in disgust.
She turned back to the conversation.
“Don’t you agree, Miranda?”
Miranda looked up, while picking up her glass.
“Michael, if you thought these insignificant trust fund children were so illsuited to own stocks of Runway just to play grown up, then why don’t you buy the rest Instead of bickering about it.”
Dean gave a small smile. She had seen it a few times over the time they had all known each other. The first time was when she announced that she had received the position of editor-in-chief.
“Some of us do not make two cents short of seven figures. That’s why.” It was said with a tone that let her know there was no malice behind the words. They had been through so much for that to ensue.
She gave a small smile.
“Does it not bother you, though?”
Miranda put her glass down. “Children are easy to manipulate. They may have some leeway but in the end it’s who has the most power, Michael. Would you rather children were in charge or men and women who think because they own a part of something it gives them the right and knowledge to run it?”
Michael and Dean agreed. “Speaking of children, how are Lucy and Ethel?”
Miranda gave a snort. Michael had long ago given Caroline and Cassidy those nicknames. When asked why, he said he didn’t think they wanted to cause harm so much as they merely got in trouble like the comedic duo. The conversation went from there, until they had to say their farewells.
Michael said he had to catch his plane but would be back in the states next month and would love to come by. He paid the bill and walked over to where his driver was parked. Miranda had the same intentions when she felt someone lightly grab her arm.
“People have lost their lives for a lot less.”
Dean merely chuckled. He could be quite charming, perhaps another time in another place it would’ve happened. And, of course, if she wasn’t so smitten with someone else. But at the moment she had to get back for the run through.
“I enjoyed seeing the two of you again. It’s been how long now? Two? Three years?”
Miranda simply stared.
“I haven’t seen you in all this time but I still know you ‘Randa. Are you well?”
She rolled her eyes at the childhood nickname choosing to ignore it completely. “If you know so much then you should already have figured out what was wrong. You are all knowing now, are you not?”
Used to her biting remarks he merely raised an eyebrow. He knew that when Miranda was livid or hurt she returned the favor to whoever was standing there.
She let out a sigh and brushed an unruly bang out of her way. “Another day has passed. I am still editor. Everything must be fine.”
He knew when to take the hint. A small smile showed as he helped her into her coat.
“You should stop by whenever you can. I know the girls will be happy to see you and Michael.”
“I’m taking holiday next month. I’ll talk to Michael and we can come by to the visit the twins.”
“I’ll have Emily call you then.” With that she was off and into the car.
She was now stepping out of her car with nothing and no one but a certain French woman taking over her thoughts. If there was one thing Miranda did not like it was feeling like she wasn’t in control, and at this very moment that was exactly how she felt. As she walked through the lobby, a mass of people parted for her. Once she was alone in the elevator she let her thoughts wander.
Throughout her life Miranda never needed anyone. She became who she was on her own. There was no one standing by her side giving her words of encouragement. No one whispering sweet nothings in her ear or telling her things would be fine. Perhaps she was the one that had gotten swindled in the end. All the while she was trying to get to get Jacqueline to take partner with James so she wouldn’t take her position. When she had opened and set herself up.
Jacqueline had whispered things to her, they may have held no importance but she certainly remembered them quite vividly. She was, for lack of a better word, infatuated. But this was not the way things were going to go. She decided who was best. She picked them, not the other way around. However, after the last divorce she didn’t think there was supposed to be anyone else for her. Her life was her girls and Runway, nothing and no one more. As she thought about this she felt a sense of déjà vu except it felt odd, it felt wrong.
Just as she thought about that the elevator doors opened and there was Emily waiting for her.
“Patrick called back and said he would try to reach you after everything was done. There are a few girls coming in to be interviewed tomorrow. Ralph’s assistant called inquiring about lunch. The shoes were picked up from Ferragamo, and everything is ready to start for the run through.”
“Let them in. Then call and cancel my lunch with Jacqueline.”
She was Miranda Priestly. She was god and she’d be damned if she’d let insignificant emotions run her.