New fic: Step Up, DWP, 1/1
Title: Step Up
Author: chilly_flame
Rating: R
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Summary: The next story in the Sick Day series, following Busted.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything related to The Devil Wears Prada. Alas.
Notes: Distractions have been a problem lately, but here is the next installment. Hope you enjoy. Thanks to Xander for the read through!
For previous episodes, read:
Sick Day
The Righteous Dead
Hooked
The Upper Hand
The Cut
Busted
---
Lucien is the one Andy speaks to once she decides to move on from Runway. She’s been there long enough, and even though her next move might kill her career, she’s ready.
Apparently, Miranda’s ready too. She’s the one who asks Andy how long they’ll have to wait for what Andy has now termed the “big reveal.”
“What?” Andy had squawked as they lay next to one another in the king-sized bed. They’d both been reading-Andy an extended essay in the New Yorker, and Miranda the Book, as usual.
“I just wondered how much longer you want to keep this under wraps.” Miranda had drawn a neat little line with her red pen across a section of text deemed unnecessary. “I don’t mind waiting longer, but it’s up to you.”
Andy had just sputtered. There had been no warning, just the straight question, out of the blue in the silence of the room. “Up to me? You’re not serious.”
With that, Miranda had glanced over, lowered her reading glasses, and said, “I am completely serious.”
“But I thought-I think-“ Andy paused, flummoxed. “I think it should be a decision we make together.”
Miranda had sniffed. “Well, consider my half of the decision made.” She’d pushed her glasses back up her nose and returned to her work. “If you’d like me to start asking around, say the word. Let me know when you’re certain.”
Certainty is the last thing Andy needs to achieve; she’s been sure she loved Miranda for well over a year. Acceptance is more of what she aims for, not of her relationship, but of the understanding that she will not be able to control others’ perception of her. After weeks of uneasiness once Jocelyn found out about them, Andy has grown used to the idea, and figures that now is as good a time as any. Particularly since Miranda is ready.
Normally, Miranda doesn’t hint when she wants something-she simply tells Andy exactly what she wants. Her clarity often leaves little room for interpretation. Examples: “I want an aubergine blouse for my birthday. There’s one in Donna Karan’s new ready to wear collection; phone Siegfried at the store on Madison and have it delivered.” Or, “Wear the black Malizia tonight. I want to know what I have to look forward to after dinner.” This makes life much easier than it had been when she was an assistant, when Andy was constantly trying to guess what Miranda needed or wanted 18 hours a day, and dreaming about it the other 6.
Two weeks after their extremely brief conversation in bed, Andy thinks it’s time to get a move on. Not long after she finishes her morning latte, she walks into Lucien’s office and shuts the door.
He glances up in surprise. “Good morning,” he says, then frowns when he sees the look on her face. “You need to talk?”
Andy nods. She has planned what she’ll say, but anticipating the other half of the conversation has never been her strong suit. “You might not like it though.”
Lucien’s frown deepens, and he pushes his laptop away. “Tell me you’re not leaving,” he says firmly, then glances at the ceiling at Andy’s extended silence. “Oh, merde. Just when everything was going so beautifully.”
“I’m not going yet,” Andy assures him. “I was, well, I was hoping you might be able to help me look around for something that might suit me. Something outside Runway.”
“But Andy, I thought you were so happy here. You never complain, you’re always cheerful-“ At her laugh of disbelief, he adds, “You always seem cheerful at least, and you’re exceptional at your job. One can’t fake that sort of dedication. I was certain you were in it for the long haul.” He sighs, and leans back in his seat. “What’s changed?”
It’s on the tip of her tongue; after confiding in Jocelyn, it seems safe to tell him. She resists the impulse. “It’s always been my goal to do more writing, serious writing, in the long term. I could try freelance, but I’ve so enjoyed being part of the team here that I’d like to do more of that, just not so much in fashion.”
His eyebrows rise. “But you know fashion. You’re as sharp as anyone here about designers, save Nigel and Miranda.”
Andy shakes her head to deny it, even though it pains her to do so. She’s spent an inordinate amount of time poring through collections from decades past, including quite a few nights at home browsing Miranda’s library of Runways in the upstairs office. She focuses on the task at hand, doing her best to convince him. “I know fashion, but I don’t live it, or breathe it. I hate to do this to you, but I’m just… yearning for something more.”
Lucien stares at her for long moments, and Andy wonders if he suspects. Eventually, he glances at his computer. “I’ll send out feelers. I can’t believe I’m doing this for you. Nigel will kill me. No, I will kill myself before he kills me.”
Laughing, Andy says, “Oh, stop. You’ll be fine. And who knows how long it might take to find something else? I am happy here, and I enjoy the work. And the company I keep.” She gets anxious briefly. “You’re not going to fire me, are you?”
“Ridiculous,” he mutters, shaking his head. “If I didn’t adore you so much, I would never have agreed to this. And of course your departure will help you to make more filthy lucre, after which you may return to Runway and ask for even more. It is how the world works, so think about how much you want to be making, oui?”
“Okay,” Andy replies, thinking that may be the perfect plan. Leave, come out, get some experience, come back. Work and live with Miranda, openly. It’s like a dream.
“Now go away. I have to mourn a little in private.” His hands return to the keyboard, and Andy is urged up and out of her seat by the sound his computer makes when an email arrives.
“Got it. Let me know if you hear of anything, okay?”
“I won’t. Now, shoo.” He waves a hand, and she departs with a grin.
That went far better than she expected. She wonders how long she’ll have to wait to hear.
---
Four weeks pass with Andy scouring the job boards online, never asking Miranda for a hand. She absolutely won’t involve her in the search. One Tuesday morning, Lucien stops at her desk and motions toward his office. Hope flares in Andy’s chest, and she follows him in.
“So,” Lucien begins, dropping into his chair. “A friend, Anna, is an associate copy editor at Vanity Fair, and she’s looking for an assistant.”
Andy’s heart sinks. “I didn’t really want to start out as an assistant all over again-“
“No, no, an assistant copy editor. It’s a good step, not lateral. They had a round of layoffs a few months ago and she’s short-handed. It’s a risk, I’ll be honest-they’ve cut their staff a great deal over the last three years. But Anna is extremely competent, and I’ve told her all about you. She’d like to speak with you, this week if possible.”
Andy inhales, trying hard to control the strange combination of nerves and excitement that have just come over her. “Wow. Seriously, Lucien. Wow. That is… amazing.”
He looks unconvinced. “Runway is healthy right now, Andy. Miranda is good at her job, and no matter how much Irv complains about her, she has cut costs this year without having to lose headcount. I don’t know if Vanity Fair is experiencing the same success.”
Andy doesn’t want to tell him that money doesn’t matter so much; although she contributes to the bills on a monthly basis, she wants for nothing. And she’s actually fine with that, to her surprise. Being taken care of is not something she aspired to as a child, but it’s turned out to be remarkably comforting as an adult. She also knows how much Miranda enjoys pampering her, so it’s difficult to resist. “I’m not that worried about long-term-who knows where the business is going. I don’t really see any job as permanent, but I think it’s a great opportunity. I’d love to get in touch with her.”
He hands her a card. “Call her today, if you can.”
She laughs. “I’ll call her right now!”
“Fine, fine,” he scowls. “Not in here. I don’t want to hear the beginning of my misery first-hand. I don’t know how we’re going to replace you.”
“Thanks, Luce. You’ll never know how much I appreciate this.”
He almost smiles, but hides it with a huff of exasperation. “Stop being lovely and go away, I have work to do.”
She leaves, grabbing her phone and heading to the 20th floor. She parks herself in the hallway, pad in hand, not far from the bathroom where she and Miranda used to “spend time.” Five minutes later, she hangs up and texts Miranda.
busy?
She waits thirty seconds, and gets a reply. Have a few minutes.
BR? Andy replies with a grin. She hadn’t really planned to get busy today, but it’s as good a place as any to give her the good news.
There is almost no wait time before the answer: be right there.
Andy waits, and has an idea. In thick letters, she scrawls a sign and shoves it into the tiny space between the bathroom door’s narrow frosted window and its wood frame. OUT OF ORDER, it reads. It’s far from official, but it will probably work. In fact, even Miranda hesitates because of it, knocking softly before Andy opens the door.
“Hi,” she drawls, beaming.
Miranda’s eyebrow rises. “Hello.” There’s a funny moment of awkwardness between them; it’s been months since they’ve had a daytime quickie, but Miranda remembers quickly enough and moves in for a kiss. “Oh,” she sighs, “I forgot how much I missed this,” she purrs. There’s another kiss, and another before Miranda backs them into their regular stall and locks the door.
Andy is warm as Miranda’s hands smooth over her backside, short nails raking over the soft cotton of her trousers. When Miranda nibbles her ear, the warm turns to hot, and she gasps happily. They kiss some more, their rhythm slow and steady, pushing against one another before Andy starts to ease Miranda’s zipper down so she can get her hand down the front of her skirt. That works much better than pulling it up; they’ve learned to avoid wrinkles whenever possible. Miranda bites at her lower lip in a wordless groan when Andy’s hand touches skin, damp and swollen. “Not inside today,” Miranda murmurs, and Andy has no problem with that. She finds her goal and circles, teasing enough to get Miranda revved up. Miranda’s breath catches, and she tips her head back for Andy to attack her throat with little nips of her teeth. Miranda’s legs spread as she leans back against the wall more heavily while Andy works her magic. Miranda’s blouse is thin and silky; she can’t lick through it because she’d leave a conspicuous wet spot. Instead she just noses down, leaving a trail of lipstick against Miranda’s pale skin till she reaches a nipple. With that Miranda jumps, covering the hand between her legs. “So good,” she whispers while Andy sucks and rubs her into an orgasm that takes Andy by surprise. Usually it takes a little longer; Miranda must have already been up for it when Andy called. As she pulls her head away from Miranda’s blouse, she notes the remnant streak of red and reaches for some toilet paper to wipe it away.
But Miranda doesn’t want to wait for Andy to clean her up; instead she grabs Andy’s head and devours her mouth. Andy loses her breath when Miranda lowers herself to the ground, unzipping Andy’s trousers as she goes. “Don’t-your knees-“
“Don’t worry,” Miranda says with a dark smirk. “It won’t take long.”
Andy can do nothing but nod as Miranda’s mouth falls against her skin in an open mouth kissed that swallows her whole. Andy has nothing to hold on to, so she leans against the wall and tries not to squeal when Miranda flicks her tongue in and out. Miranda wasn’t kidding-she’s really into it today, and her hum of delight sends a vibration through Andy that starts her ascent into orgasm. “That’s it, that’s it,” she pants, “oh yeah,” and again, “That’s it,” and she’s there, her cry muffled as she shoves her face against her arm.
She sighs deeply, and contentment settles over her. Even though she has such big news, she wants to revel in this feeling for a little while longer. Carefully she helps Miranda up off the floor, dusting off knees that are a little red, but otherwise unscathed.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Andy laughs, finally going after that red lipstick streak across Miranda’s chest.
“Only for you,” Miranda says, and Andy knows it’s true. “That was unexpected, but well-timed. I had hoped that we could find some alone time this evening.”
“Maybe we still could,” Andy says, with a subtle leer. “I could be up for it.” It’s been a while since they’ve had a two-fer, and Andy’s hopeful. Particularly today.
Miranda smiles, and Andy knows they’ll be up late tonight. “That might be nice.” She leans in for a kiss, soft and satisfying in its thoroughness.
“Um, this wasn’t all I wanted to, uh, talk to you about though,” Andy says, hating to break the mood, but knowing that Miranda is busy and will have to get back to the office.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s Lucien. He gave me a lead on a job today.”
Miranda’s face doesn’t change much, but Andy notes the flicker of anticipation in her eyes. “Oh?”
“At Vanity Fair. Assistant copy editor.”
“Hmm,” Miranda says. “Are you interested?”
“Absolutely. Don’t you think I should be?”
“It’s not that,” Miranda assures her, tucking some hair behind Andy’s ear. “It’s only that the copy desk is exceptionally detail oriented, and won’t allow a great opportunity for much originality. I’d hate to see your creative impulse stifled.”
Andy shrugs. “Sure, but it’s at Conde Nast, and once I’m in, who knows-maybe something at The New Yorker might open up. I could always try to meet people-“
“Darling, you will meet people. Don’t trouble yourself about that,” Miranda says, and Andy remembers that she isn’t only reaching for a new job. She’s going to be a fixture on Miranda’s arm, in public. At parties, and dinners, and benefits, and who knows where else. “I simply don’t want you to leap into the first open position on impulse. Think carefully about it before you choose. All right?”
“Sure, I can do that,” Andy says, grateful for the support. Not like she expected anything else. “I think I’d be good at it, though. Lucien talked me up.”
“I didn’t’ realize you’d spoken to him. About looking,” Miranda says, and Andy hears the unspoken question in her voice.
“I only told him I wanted to expand my horizons. Nothing else.”
Miranda nods. “I imagine he was quite disappointed.”
Andy grins. “A bit. He’ll live.”
“I’ll hear nothing but complaints until we fill your position.”
“Hey, let’s not go assuming I’ll just get this spot at Vanity Fair-“
“Darling,” Miranda interrupts her with a kiss, “you’ll get the job. All you’ll have to do is walk through the door and say yes.”
---
Andy can’t quite believe it, but Miranda’s right. Her first interview is Wednesday afternoon, and the second is the following Monday morning. She finally has a fifteen minute sit-down with the managing editor, and gets a call the next day with an offer. It’s good, but at home, Miranda insists that she can do better. Andy negotiates and two days later, she ends up with a solid bump up from her current salary and an offer letter in hand.
Andy stares at it, the logo of Vanity Fair shimmering back at her with its familiar type and long history. There’s a great sense of excitement brewing in her belly, mixed with a bit of loss. She’s spent more than three years rushing through the white halls of Runway, the early days balancing coffee and blouses, then later printouts and laptops and pages in need of last-minute edits. She’s grown into herself during those years, her amorphous creative drive evolving into a solid career path that will continue to shift and change the longer she spends at it. It strikes her that this is an end to the comfort and safety of working where her lover steers the ship, and that sends a small frisson of discomfort through her. It’s a necessary evil, though, and one that will help her stay focused on doing great work. She smiles as she recalls the nights she used to spend at the beginning of her assistant days, terrified of the one misstep that would send her back out into the big bad world, jobless and broke. Thank goodness she managed to last, otherwise, where would she be?
She doesn’t tell Lucien, or Jocelyn, or anyone about the offer before she leaves work. Instead, she takes it home, signs it, and spends a few pleasant minutes fantasizing about things that are yet to come.
She saves the news until Miranda gets home that night. Her patience comes to an end the moment she hears Miranda unlock the door, and she races toward her and spills everything immediately.
“I told you,” Miranda replies as Andy helps her off with her coat. “I knew they’d want you. You’re exactly right for the job, and they’re lucky to have you.” Miranda’s arms open, and Andy walks into them. “I’m very, very proud of you.”
Tears prick at Andy’s eyes; she feels grateful and happy and filled with hope. “Thanks, Miranda. I love you so much.” She sniffles, and Miranda holds her more tightly.
“Ugh,” she hears from a few yards away, and chuckles lightly as Cassidy retreats into the kitchen. “Tell me when it’s over.”
Miranda kisses Andy’s neck, her lips lingering on the softness behind her ear. “It’s not even close to being over,” Miranda breathes.
Andy nods her head, nuzzling closer. “You said it, sweetheart.”
~end
Author: chilly_flame
Rating: R
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Summary: The next story in the Sick Day series, following Busted.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything related to The Devil Wears Prada. Alas.
Notes: Distractions have been a problem lately, but here is the next installment. Hope you enjoy. Thanks to Xander for the read through!
For previous episodes, read:
Sick Day
The Righteous Dead
Hooked
The Upper Hand
The Cut
Busted
---
Lucien is the one Andy speaks to once she decides to move on from Runway. She’s been there long enough, and even though her next move might kill her career, she’s ready.
Apparently, Miranda’s ready too. She’s the one who asks Andy how long they’ll have to wait for what Andy has now termed the “big reveal.”
“What?” Andy had squawked as they lay next to one another in the king-sized bed. They’d both been reading-Andy an extended essay in the New Yorker, and Miranda the Book, as usual.
“I just wondered how much longer you want to keep this under wraps.” Miranda had drawn a neat little line with her red pen across a section of text deemed unnecessary. “I don’t mind waiting longer, but it’s up to you.”
Andy had just sputtered. There had been no warning, just the straight question, out of the blue in the silence of the room. “Up to me? You’re not serious.”
With that, Miranda had glanced over, lowered her reading glasses, and said, “I am completely serious.”
“But I thought-I think-“ Andy paused, flummoxed. “I think it should be a decision we make together.”
Miranda had sniffed. “Well, consider my half of the decision made.” She’d pushed her glasses back up her nose and returned to her work. “If you’d like me to start asking around, say the word. Let me know when you’re certain.”
Certainty is the last thing Andy needs to achieve; she’s been sure she loved Miranda for well over a year. Acceptance is more of what she aims for, not of her relationship, but of the understanding that she will not be able to control others’ perception of her. After weeks of uneasiness once Jocelyn found out about them, Andy has grown used to the idea, and figures that now is as good a time as any. Particularly since Miranda is ready.
Normally, Miranda doesn’t hint when she wants something-she simply tells Andy exactly what she wants. Her clarity often leaves little room for interpretation. Examples: “I want an aubergine blouse for my birthday. There’s one in Donna Karan’s new ready to wear collection; phone Siegfried at the store on Madison and have it delivered.” Or, “Wear the black Malizia tonight. I want to know what I have to look forward to after dinner.” This makes life much easier than it had been when she was an assistant, when Andy was constantly trying to guess what Miranda needed or wanted 18 hours a day, and dreaming about it the other 6.
Two weeks after their extremely brief conversation in bed, Andy thinks it’s time to get a move on. Not long after she finishes her morning latte, she walks into Lucien’s office and shuts the door.
He glances up in surprise. “Good morning,” he says, then frowns when he sees the look on her face. “You need to talk?”
Andy nods. She has planned what she’ll say, but anticipating the other half of the conversation has never been her strong suit. “You might not like it though.”
Lucien’s frown deepens, and he pushes his laptop away. “Tell me you’re not leaving,” he says firmly, then glances at the ceiling at Andy’s extended silence. “Oh, merde. Just when everything was going so beautifully.”
“I’m not going yet,” Andy assures him. “I was, well, I was hoping you might be able to help me look around for something that might suit me. Something outside Runway.”
“But Andy, I thought you were so happy here. You never complain, you’re always cheerful-“ At her laugh of disbelief, he adds, “You always seem cheerful at least, and you’re exceptional at your job. One can’t fake that sort of dedication. I was certain you were in it for the long haul.” He sighs, and leans back in his seat. “What’s changed?”
It’s on the tip of her tongue; after confiding in Jocelyn, it seems safe to tell him. She resists the impulse. “It’s always been my goal to do more writing, serious writing, in the long term. I could try freelance, but I’ve so enjoyed being part of the team here that I’d like to do more of that, just not so much in fashion.”
His eyebrows rise. “But you know fashion. You’re as sharp as anyone here about designers, save Nigel and Miranda.”
Andy shakes her head to deny it, even though it pains her to do so. She’s spent an inordinate amount of time poring through collections from decades past, including quite a few nights at home browsing Miranda’s library of Runways in the upstairs office. She focuses on the task at hand, doing her best to convince him. “I know fashion, but I don’t live it, or breathe it. I hate to do this to you, but I’m just… yearning for something more.”
Lucien stares at her for long moments, and Andy wonders if he suspects. Eventually, he glances at his computer. “I’ll send out feelers. I can’t believe I’m doing this for you. Nigel will kill me. No, I will kill myself before he kills me.”
Laughing, Andy says, “Oh, stop. You’ll be fine. And who knows how long it might take to find something else? I am happy here, and I enjoy the work. And the company I keep.” She gets anxious briefly. “You’re not going to fire me, are you?”
“Ridiculous,” he mutters, shaking his head. “If I didn’t adore you so much, I would never have agreed to this. And of course your departure will help you to make more filthy lucre, after which you may return to Runway and ask for even more. It is how the world works, so think about how much you want to be making, oui?”
“Okay,” Andy replies, thinking that may be the perfect plan. Leave, come out, get some experience, come back. Work and live with Miranda, openly. It’s like a dream.
“Now go away. I have to mourn a little in private.” His hands return to the keyboard, and Andy is urged up and out of her seat by the sound his computer makes when an email arrives.
“Got it. Let me know if you hear of anything, okay?”
“I won’t. Now, shoo.” He waves a hand, and she departs with a grin.
That went far better than she expected. She wonders how long she’ll have to wait to hear.
---
Four weeks pass with Andy scouring the job boards online, never asking Miranda for a hand. She absolutely won’t involve her in the search. One Tuesday morning, Lucien stops at her desk and motions toward his office. Hope flares in Andy’s chest, and she follows him in.
“So,” Lucien begins, dropping into his chair. “A friend, Anna, is an associate copy editor at Vanity Fair, and she’s looking for an assistant.”
Andy’s heart sinks. “I didn’t really want to start out as an assistant all over again-“
“No, no, an assistant copy editor. It’s a good step, not lateral. They had a round of layoffs a few months ago and she’s short-handed. It’s a risk, I’ll be honest-they’ve cut their staff a great deal over the last three years. But Anna is extremely competent, and I’ve told her all about you. She’d like to speak with you, this week if possible.”
Andy inhales, trying hard to control the strange combination of nerves and excitement that have just come over her. “Wow. Seriously, Lucien. Wow. That is… amazing.”
He looks unconvinced. “Runway is healthy right now, Andy. Miranda is good at her job, and no matter how much Irv complains about her, she has cut costs this year without having to lose headcount. I don’t know if Vanity Fair is experiencing the same success.”
Andy doesn’t want to tell him that money doesn’t matter so much; although she contributes to the bills on a monthly basis, she wants for nothing. And she’s actually fine with that, to her surprise. Being taken care of is not something she aspired to as a child, but it’s turned out to be remarkably comforting as an adult. She also knows how much Miranda enjoys pampering her, so it’s difficult to resist. “I’m not that worried about long-term-who knows where the business is going. I don’t really see any job as permanent, but I think it’s a great opportunity. I’d love to get in touch with her.”
He hands her a card. “Call her today, if you can.”
She laughs. “I’ll call her right now!”
“Fine, fine,” he scowls. “Not in here. I don’t want to hear the beginning of my misery first-hand. I don’t know how we’re going to replace you.”
“Thanks, Luce. You’ll never know how much I appreciate this.”
He almost smiles, but hides it with a huff of exasperation. “Stop being lovely and go away, I have work to do.”
She leaves, grabbing her phone and heading to the 20th floor. She parks herself in the hallway, pad in hand, not far from the bathroom where she and Miranda used to “spend time.” Five minutes later, she hangs up and texts Miranda.
busy?
She waits thirty seconds, and gets a reply. Have a few minutes.
BR? Andy replies with a grin. She hadn’t really planned to get busy today, but it’s as good a place as any to give her the good news.
There is almost no wait time before the answer: be right there.
Andy waits, and has an idea. In thick letters, she scrawls a sign and shoves it into the tiny space between the bathroom door’s narrow frosted window and its wood frame. OUT OF ORDER, it reads. It’s far from official, but it will probably work. In fact, even Miranda hesitates because of it, knocking softly before Andy opens the door.
“Hi,” she drawls, beaming.
Miranda’s eyebrow rises. “Hello.” There’s a funny moment of awkwardness between them; it’s been months since they’ve had a daytime quickie, but Miranda remembers quickly enough and moves in for a kiss. “Oh,” she sighs, “I forgot how much I missed this,” she purrs. There’s another kiss, and another before Miranda backs them into their regular stall and locks the door.
Andy is warm as Miranda’s hands smooth over her backside, short nails raking over the soft cotton of her trousers. When Miranda nibbles her ear, the warm turns to hot, and she gasps happily. They kiss some more, their rhythm slow and steady, pushing against one another before Andy starts to ease Miranda’s zipper down so she can get her hand down the front of her skirt. That works much better than pulling it up; they’ve learned to avoid wrinkles whenever possible. Miranda bites at her lower lip in a wordless groan when Andy’s hand touches skin, damp and swollen. “Not inside today,” Miranda murmurs, and Andy has no problem with that. She finds her goal and circles, teasing enough to get Miranda revved up. Miranda’s breath catches, and she tips her head back for Andy to attack her throat with little nips of her teeth. Miranda’s legs spread as she leans back against the wall more heavily while Andy works her magic. Miranda’s blouse is thin and silky; she can’t lick through it because she’d leave a conspicuous wet spot. Instead she just noses down, leaving a trail of lipstick against Miranda’s pale skin till she reaches a nipple. With that Miranda jumps, covering the hand between her legs. “So good,” she whispers while Andy sucks and rubs her into an orgasm that takes Andy by surprise. Usually it takes a little longer; Miranda must have already been up for it when Andy called. As she pulls her head away from Miranda’s blouse, she notes the remnant streak of red and reaches for some toilet paper to wipe it away.
But Miranda doesn’t want to wait for Andy to clean her up; instead she grabs Andy’s head and devours her mouth. Andy loses her breath when Miranda lowers herself to the ground, unzipping Andy’s trousers as she goes. “Don’t-your knees-“
“Don’t worry,” Miranda says with a dark smirk. “It won’t take long.”
Andy can do nothing but nod as Miranda’s mouth falls against her skin in an open mouth kissed that swallows her whole. Andy has nothing to hold on to, so she leans against the wall and tries not to squeal when Miranda flicks her tongue in and out. Miranda wasn’t kidding-she’s really into it today, and her hum of delight sends a vibration through Andy that starts her ascent into orgasm. “That’s it, that’s it,” she pants, “oh yeah,” and again, “That’s it,” and she’s there, her cry muffled as she shoves her face against her arm.
She sighs deeply, and contentment settles over her. Even though she has such big news, she wants to revel in this feeling for a little while longer. Carefully she helps Miranda up off the floor, dusting off knees that are a little red, but otherwise unscathed.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Andy laughs, finally going after that red lipstick streak across Miranda’s chest.
“Only for you,” Miranda says, and Andy knows it’s true. “That was unexpected, but well-timed. I had hoped that we could find some alone time this evening.”
“Maybe we still could,” Andy says, with a subtle leer. “I could be up for it.” It’s been a while since they’ve had a two-fer, and Andy’s hopeful. Particularly today.
Miranda smiles, and Andy knows they’ll be up late tonight. “That might be nice.” She leans in for a kiss, soft and satisfying in its thoroughness.
“Um, this wasn’t all I wanted to, uh, talk to you about though,” Andy says, hating to break the mood, but knowing that Miranda is busy and will have to get back to the office.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s Lucien. He gave me a lead on a job today.”
Miranda’s face doesn’t change much, but Andy notes the flicker of anticipation in her eyes. “Oh?”
“At Vanity Fair. Assistant copy editor.”
“Hmm,” Miranda says. “Are you interested?”
“Absolutely. Don’t you think I should be?”
“It’s not that,” Miranda assures her, tucking some hair behind Andy’s ear. “It’s only that the copy desk is exceptionally detail oriented, and won’t allow a great opportunity for much originality. I’d hate to see your creative impulse stifled.”
Andy shrugs. “Sure, but it’s at Conde Nast, and once I’m in, who knows-maybe something at The New Yorker might open up. I could always try to meet people-“
“Darling, you will meet people. Don’t trouble yourself about that,” Miranda says, and Andy remembers that she isn’t only reaching for a new job. She’s going to be a fixture on Miranda’s arm, in public. At parties, and dinners, and benefits, and who knows where else. “I simply don’t want you to leap into the first open position on impulse. Think carefully about it before you choose. All right?”
“Sure, I can do that,” Andy says, grateful for the support. Not like she expected anything else. “I think I’d be good at it, though. Lucien talked me up.”
“I didn’t’ realize you’d spoken to him. About looking,” Miranda says, and Andy hears the unspoken question in her voice.
“I only told him I wanted to expand my horizons. Nothing else.”
Miranda nods. “I imagine he was quite disappointed.”
Andy grins. “A bit. He’ll live.”
“I’ll hear nothing but complaints until we fill your position.”
“Hey, let’s not go assuming I’ll just get this spot at Vanity Fair-“
“Darling,” Miranda interrupts her with a kiss, “you’ll get the job. All you’ll have to do is walk through the door and say yes.”
---
Andy can’t quite believe it, but Miranda’s right. Her first interview is Wednesday afternoon, and the second is the following Monday morning. She finally has a fifteen minute sit-down with the managing editor, and gets a call the next day with an offer. It’s good, but at home, Miranda insists that she can do better. Andy negotiates and two days later, she ends up with a solid bump up from her current salary and an offer letter in hand.
Andy stares at it, the logo of Vanity Fair shimmering back at her with its familiar type and long history. There’s a great sense of excitement brewing in her belly, mixed with a bit of loss. She’s spent more than three years rushing through the white halls of Runway, the early days balancing coffee and blouses, then later printouts and laptops and pages in need of last-minute edits. She’s grown into herself during those years, her amorphous creative drive evolving into a solid career path that will continue to shift and change the longer she spends at it. It strikes her that this is an end to the comfort and safety of working where her lover steers the ship, and that sends a small frisson of discomfort through her. It’s a necessary evil, though, and one that will help her stay focused on doing great work. She smiles as she recalls the nights she used to spend at the beginning of her assistant days, terrified of the one misstep that would send her back out into the big bad world, jobless and broke. Thank goodness she managed to last, otherwise, where would she be?
She doesn’t tell Lucien, or Jocelyn, or anyone about the offer before she leaves work. Instead, she takes it home, signs it, and spends a few pleasant minutes fantasizing about things that are yet to come.
She saves the news until Miranda gets home that night. Her patience comes to an end the moment she hears Miranda unlock the door, and she races toward her and spills everything immediately.
“I told you,” Miranda replies as Andy helps her off with her coat. “I knew they’d want you. You’re exactly right for the job, and they’re lucky to have you.” Miranda’s arms open, and Andy walks into them. “I’m very, very proud of you.”
Tears prick at Andy’s eyes; she feels grateful and happy and filled with hope. “Thanks, Miranda. I love you so much.” She sniffles, and Miranda holds her more tightly.
“Ugh,” she hears from a few yards away, and chuckles lightly as Cassidy retreats into the kitchen. “Tell me when it’s over.”
Miranda kisses Andy’s neck, her lips lingering on the softness behind her ear. “It’s not even close to being over,” Miranda breathes.
Andy nods her head, nuzzling closer. “You said it, sweetheart.”
~end