Andrei (Part 3)

[duwinter]

Author: duwinter

Fandom: DWP

Pairing: Unspecified

Rating: PG

Setting: Some months after the end of the events in the movie. Movie Canon.

Summary: Miranda blacklists Andy after Paris. Andy needs a job.

Disclaimer: The Devil Wears Prada and it's characters do not belong to me. No profit being made here. I'm just playing with the characters for a short while and I promise to put them away neatly when I'm through.

Dedication: This story is dedicated to punky_96 who forges ahead each year with the July Fic-A-Thon. Thank you for your hard work on behalf of this community. Your efforts are appreciated.

Comment: Comments feed the muse and the muse is always hungry. Remember, a fat muse is a happy and productive muse. Comments and constructive criticism eagerly encouraged.

Credit Where Credit Is Due: Humble thanks to punky_96, who stepped in and betaed for me when my usual wonderful beta jah728 found her RL to busy to handle this installment. As always, Punky, your efforts make my work better. Thank you for helping me. This story has been significantly tweaked since the last beta read-through so any and all mistakes are strictly my own.

Andrei

Part 3

The fans of Chloe Milan knew her as one of the Disney Network's prodigy kids, following in the footsteps of those before her, such as Britney Spears or Christina Aguilera. Her resume to date included Disney kid's television, half a dozen movies aimed at tween fans, being a teen magazines heartthrob, an attempt at a truly awful pop CD, a carefully orchestrated reinvention by scandal aimed at introducing her to an older audience and now the hot young starlet was preparing to undertake a highly controversial and sexualized role in an upcoming hard “R” rated mainstream Hollywood film.

Her entourage and the select few she called friends knew her as a little diva that had been partying hard since she was twelve years old. They also knew her as product. She was something that the entourage fed off of, something that their livelihoods depended on. Their ship had come in as Chloe had, of late, become increasingly popular with the general public. So, as it had been, as it now was, and for the foreseeable future, it was in her entourage’s interest to keep Chloe entertained while doing everything possible to protect her image. So far they had managed to keep most of the starlet's more disastrous antics away from the cameras of paparazzi. Her handlers were realists, however. Even at their most vigilant and with attention to detail they all knew that with the amount that Chloe tended to act out, it was only a matter of time before something broke in the press.

As many of those young privileged child stars before her, in her personal life, Chloe was a deeply troubled young woman, yearning for guidance. She had never had the firm and loving hand that children not only need, but crave. She had been pushed out onto the world stage by an overenthusiastic stage-mother as a toddler and was the family's bread winner and sole means of support by the time she was six. By ten years of age she had experienced many of the negative aspects of being in the fast lane lifestyle of many of the Hollywood elite.

When Chloe was eleven, her mother and father divorced. The primary cause of the split was the fact that Chloe's father, a milquetoast-esque individual, had finally grown enough spine to start to object to the rigorous demands that life as a preteen celebrity was taking on his daughter's childhood. The divorce proceedings were a nightmare of charges and counter charges in the battle for sole custody of the young girl. Her mother, being far more ruthless than her father and not wanting her fame by association taken from her, manipulated her daughter into a conspiracy to assure that the court's decision went the way she wanted it to go. She had told her daughter that if her father got custody, Chloe's celebrity would be at an end. Without being famous, the big paychecks would disappear and the family would be destitute. She took Chloe on a tour of a neighborhood populated by the working-poor, telling her that this was what she had to look forward to, a job at McDonald's and no future in the lime-lights. To seal the deal, her mother had also promised that even though she would have legal custody of Chloe and guide her in her decision making in regards to her career, that Chloe would be allowed to see her father and spend time with him whenever she desired to do so.

Guilt weighed heavily on Chloe. Her mother struck where a media storm would most damage to her father in the eyes of the court. She accused her husband of molesting his daughter. The press, of course, ate the story up. Not fully appreciating the consequences of her actions and trusting her mother, Chloe sat in the judges chambers and lied about her father as she had been instructed to do. The custody proceedings went against Chloe's father and the firestorm around the accusations against him in the press and on television took their toll. His life a shambles, within minutes of the court's decision being hand down awarding sole custody of Chloe to his wife, he returned to the courthouse parking lot, got into the car his daughter had given him for his last birthday, put a gun in his mouth and blew his brains out.

In the depths of her grief Chloe realized that her mother had lied to her. Her father would not be alright and Chloe would not be spending any more time with the one person in her life that didn't give a damn if she just acted her age once-in-a-while. Within days of her father's death Chloe had begun to conspire with the other members of her entourage to freeze her mother out. This wasn't hard to arrange because most of Chloe's employees couldn't stand the pushy woman. Decisions about Chloe's career began to be made without her mother's input. Events arranged that her mother was not invited to. Her mother quickly ceased to be relevant in the money making enterprise that was Chloe's career. Frustrated and angry, her mother turned first to alcohol and then to drugs to ease her woes. Soon she was a useless addict. She still technically had custody of her minor daughter, but the truth was that, by that point, Chloe had been running her own show for quite some time. As long as her mother didn't get in the way, Chloe kept her in a nice house and well stocked with booze and pills.

The illusion of being in control of her own affairs had only made things go from bad to worse as far as her private life was concerned. The truth of the matter was that Chloe Milan's train wreck of a life seemed on a predetermined course destined to end in one of two ways. Either with her as one of those sad, laughing stock, reality television stars on some terrible low budget cable TV show, or with a spectacular burn-out, ending in death by drug overdose or suicide.

Chloe lounged indolently on the sofa of her luxury Malibu Beach condominium. She rolled the small diamond studded, solid gold straw, that she'd just used to snort two lines of cocaine from the mirror that sat on the coffee table, between two fingers. “Explain to me again why I'm going to be spending this evening entertaining a couple of brats instead of going to P. Diddy's party?” She demanded, petulantly.

“Because those brats are Miranda Priestly's kids,” her manager said. “They're crazy about you and their mother is crazy about them. Be nice to them Chloe,” he warned direly. “You want to be accepted as a star by an adult audience? Being featured in Runway will do that for you faster that doing nude scenes in your next five movies. This deal has taken more than a year to broker. If Miranda Priestly says you're what she wants in her magazine, you've made it as an epitome of style and class. Don't fuck this up. It leads to everything you said you want.”

Chloe sighed as if terribly put out. She sat up and leaning over, she brought the gold straw to her nose again. “Another few toots then,” she said, “just so I can make it through the hell that is a couple of fangirls.”

*****

The time between the twins leaving Andrei's bedroom to prepare for their dinner with Chloe and the time that he was to join Miranda for their dinner was spent by Andrei in extremes of frenetic contemplation. Fear gripped his heart. He was afraid that he would either give away the secret of his identity or slip up and kiss Miranda Priestly senseless. Either way the dinner with the woman he secretly loved increasingly felt like a suicide mission.

What the hell am I supposed to do? He thought worriedly. I'm pretty sure Miranda was flirting with me for most of the flight here and now she's insisting on dinner together! She seems to feel some of the weird attraction that Andrei seems to cause in a lot of the women he encounters! I have to keep distance between us, he thought as he dressed for dinner. Kill any chemistry she might think she feels. If I pretend to be a suck up snob or an asshole like her ex-husbands were... He shook his head, I don't know enough about how they acted on a day-to-day basis to pull it off. That would never work anyway, I'm way too nervous around her. What about dull,? I can do dull. She'll lose that interest if I'm dull. Now how do I be boring on a date with Miranda Priestly? Oh my God, I'm going on a date with Miranda Priestly! He thought for a moment he might start hyperventilating again. Boring! I have to be boring! Okay, time for a character rewrite. What is Andrei? He's a nose in a book, history geek, That's it. He hasn't done anything to write home about. An academic. No adventures, nothing but school and then taking care of kids. He does his job and reads history. That's all he does! Stick to topics that won't interest Miranda!

At the appointed time, Andrei stepped from his hotel bedroom into the common sitting room of the penthouse suite. He was immediately aware that the hotel staff had outdone themselves. An elegantly set table of china, crystal, silver and Battenburg lace sat adjacent to the sliding glass doors that lead out to the penthouse balcony. Candles burned both inside and outside those glass doors, in the early twilight. Andrei looked out at the spectacular panoramic view of downtown Los Angeles coming alive with evening lights. He drifted over to the window to take in the vista.

“You're prompt,” Miranda's voice, just a touch husky, said, coming from several feet behind him. “You are a rare young man indeed,” she continued as Andrei turned. His mouth went dry. Miranda Priestly, the Goddess, stood relaxed in a model's pose, with one leg forward and bent slightly at the knee. The stance accentuated the amazing garment she wore. The fabric flowed over her, shimmering and reflecting the dancing candlelight, showing off her body to magnificent effect. The slit nature of the garment's skirt gave Andrei a wonderful view of one perfect leg enshrouded in silk hose.

Andrei, flustered by the powerful vision of femininity before him, struggled to get his mind to catch up. He forced his eyes to track upwards. Miranda's face was unspeakably beautiful in the half light. One of her eyebrows was slightly raised and a small seductive smirk played on her lips. Andrei could read the amusement in the woman's demeanor. Miranda raised a highball glass to her lips and sipped at the amber liquid the squat crystal held. The clinking of the ice in the glass seemed very loud in the sudden quiet. Miranda continued to smirk as she drew the glass down from her lips, her eyes tracking the focus of her companion's gaze, aware that those dark as sin orbs stayed on her now wet lips.

She turned and, reaching out for a small side table, she lifted a second squat tumbler, offering it to him. “I want one thing straight between us from the start,” she said, her tone reminding Andrei of smokey blues music. “As of this moment, you are no longer on-duty tonight as far as being my children's caretaker. This Scotch is fifty years old and is one of the seven wonders of the world as far as the distiller's art is concerned. I will not do it the insult of drinking it alone.”

Andrei accepted the glass from Miranda's outstretched hand. The tips of their fingers brushed for a split second and Andrei felt a delightful frisson pass between them. He swallowed hard and thought yep, I'm pretty much totally screwed. Clutching the glass white knuckled, he downed about a third of the liquid. His eyes watered and it burned all the way down.

Miranda smiled, cat to canary. “That wasn't so bad, was it?” She asked, her tone far lighter than Andrei ever remembered hearing it.

“No,” Andrei answered, mirroring Miranda's leisurely movement towards the dining table. Miranda paused by her chair. Andrei didn't hesitate, drawing and holding the chair, waiting patiently for the lady to sit down. He then gently guided the chair to the table.

“Such formality and gentlemanly manners,” Miranda smiled. “You continue to be a refreshing surprise,” she continued, placing her napkin in her lap. She shook her head slightly, a rueful grin on her face. “Your holding my chair has given me a strong sense of déjà vu,” she offered to the conversation. “One of those moments that is there at the edge of memory, very familiar, but that you can't quite touch.”

Andrei smiled as he took his own seat. “When something similar happens to me I find that that I will be doing something else later on, not thinking about it and without conscious prompting, the answer presents itself.”

“Perhaps,” Miranda answered playfully as she removed the stainless steel cover from the plate room service had delivered her meal on and perused the gourmet preparations on her plate. “But I've read some fascinating articles in the last few years about past life regression through hypnosis. It might be interesting to discover which life I knew you in before.”

Andrei chuckled politely as he followed suit with his own meal. “Somehow I don't believe that The Miranda Priestly is a fan of the theory of reincarnation.”

Miranda smirked. “What do you know of The Miranda Priestly?” she asked, her delivery lilting, playful, so unlike the cold biting one she usually projected.

“I know two,” Andrei answered carefully. “The one the tabloid press presents and the one your daughters tell me about. I've seen some of the latter with my own eyes.” he continued, picking up his silverware.

“And which is the real me?” Miranda asked, her tone colder than it had been.

Even though on the uncertain ground of this most unusual dinner encounter, Andrei knew the woman seated across from him. Her tone had become defensive. He answered with assurance. “I would believe the tabloid press about as much as I would believe articles on past life regression and reincarnation,” he replied, his voice, although at a pleasant dinner conversation level, was both firm and unwavering. “Your daughters are both intelligent and level headed. Neither are prone to flights of fancy. They are honest and well mannered. Children model the behavior they have grown up observing. You have been the major influence in their lives. Working closely with them, getting to know each of them as individuals, I can extrapolate that it is extremely likely that you are a person it might be very worth knowing in private life.”

Flushing slightly, as if the room might be a bit too warm, Miranda paused over her meal. “You are my husband's Au Pair, Andrei. His employee, not mine. While what you say is quite complimentary, I am in no position to better your lot in any way, so you needn't feign interest in an old woman like me,” she quipped.

“I am not being disingenuous, Miranda,” he answered frankly, the chemistry between them tinglingly alive, swirling around them in the room. For a moment his secret love for the woman outweighing his good sense. “Your husband might rent my time for the tasks I perform for him, but I have my own mind. I think you a most fascinating woman. This invitation to dinner so that we could get to know a bit more about each other was not unwelcome in the least. I am honored to be given this opportunity to get to know you a little better.”

Miranda reached for her glass as she watched him speculatively “And what of what the press says? All three of my ex-husbands are far more likely to agree with its assessment of my character rather than yours,” she countered.

Andrei shrugged. “I would imagine that there is an element of truth to the legend of the Ice Queen of Runway magazine,” he responded. “You are a woman who climbed to the top of your field in a time when a woman in such a position was nearly unheard of. You have held that place for many years, making it possible for other women to gain ground in the highest levels of the workplace. You are bound to have made enemies in the process and I would think a firm hand and a reputation for a fierce demeanor would be tools one would use to accomplish the tasks necessary to keep you on top. Both of those things would engender gossip among both your staff and your rivals. Factor into that, that controversies and gossip are what engage the general public's prurient interests, which, in turn, sells newspapers and television time. In short, telling greater New York that you are a dragon that eats her employees makes you interesting to the reading public, which in turn sells papers. They take a fractional truth, exaggerating it for the pleasure of voyeuristic individuals and to the benefit of avaricious corporations for the sole purpose of profiting on the subjects of their stories misfortune. With all the articles written about you, all those tabloids should be cutting you checks. The unfortunate thing is that when a lie is spoken long enough, the majority of people will believe it. However, that doesn't make the lie, truth.”

Miranda looked at her dinner guest with something akin to wonder. Andrei couldn't be sure in the half light of the candles but he thought his companion might be blushing. She paused for a moment, speaking to herself, more than to her companion. “Your comment about the tabloids cutting me a check has again given me the strongest sense of déjà vu, she offered quietly, looking across the table at her companion with a penetrating gaze. She was still Miranda Priestly, however, and recovered quickly with aplomb.

Andrei could feel the tension in the room. The almost electric feeling between its two occupants. What am I doing?! He thought to himself. I just blew the bookworm cover because I'm too busy flirting with her! Am I out of my flipping mind?!

Returning to her meal, Miranda, fortunately, in Andrei's opinion, changed the course of conversation. “So you do not believe that you are the reincarnation of your noble ancestor?” She asked, her tone returning to easygoing, playful and encouraging.

“May the powers that be grant that it not be so,” he answered earnestly. “When I said I believe my ancestor a sadistic monster I wasn't kidding.” he shivered in his chair. “Vlad Ţepeş lived in a violent, horrific time and he was considered by many to be a monster even then.”

“Tell me about him,” Miranda asked, rising from the table long enough to refresh their glasses of liquor from the crystal decanter that held the potent libation. Then she returned to her chair and alluringly sank back into it.

Andrei was strongly reminded of just how attracted he was to the woman sexually. He accepted the refilled glass from her hand and sipped from it. He was already feeling the first glass of the potent drink and he knew that he was in danger in the company of this fascinating woman. He decided that it was well past time to guide this encounter in the direction he needed it to go. Operation Bore Miranda Stupid was a go. “Talk of his supposed atrocities is hardly polite dinner conversation,” Andrei dissuaded.

“Indulge me,” Miranda instructed. “I am far more unshakeable than you might imagine.”

Andrei sighed, pushed his plate away and took a long pull of his drink. “One of the contemporary German accounts, which is supported by an independent Russian account, claims that he had thirty thousand citizens of the Transylvanian city of Braşov impaled on Saint Bartholomew's Day in, historians think, Fourteen-Fifty-Nine. Men, women and children, set on stakes, according to their rank. The more important the rank of its occupant, the taller the stake. The stakes were set in concentric circles around the perimeter of the city and the bodies left there to rot as a warning to others as to what happened to those that opposed the ruling prince. There is a famous woodcut of him dining among the stakes as those impaled there died. A year later, another ten-thousand from the Transylvanian city of Sibiu were impaled outside of their city.” He glanced to Miranda, finding horror on her face, but a spark of revolted fascination in the twinkle in her eyes. He decided to continue, hoping that the gruesome subject would derail the earlier chemistry that the two dinner companions seemed to be exhibiting. “In Fourteen-sixty-two, the Ottoman Sultan, Mehmet the Second, invaded with an army of one-hundred-thousand at his back. A Turkish account says that he rode through a forest of twenty-thousand impaled rotting bodies. It is recorded in that account that he decided that he couldn't fight someone capable of such a terrible act and aborted the campaign, taking his army back across the Danube.”

Miranda, pale, looked at her companion. “When you said he was a sadistic monster, you weren't exaggerating,” she offered softly.

“Those are but a few of the tales of atrocities that supposedly occurred under his rule. He may very well be another example of where the sensational press may have had more to do with one's legend than the actual events of one's life,” Andrei shrugged. “The printing press was a new invention at the time and lurid accounts of my ancestor’s supposed barbarisms were apparently best sellers for fifty years after his death. There are, however, enough contemporary accounts from varying sources to make me believe that much of what was written about him was likely true.”

“And you said that Bram Stoker read some of the accounts of your ancestor’s actions in preparation for his novel,” Miranda commented. “I read the novel as a young woman and always wondered where Stoker came up with the name Dracula. Was it something real or fantasy made up from whole cloth?”

“There was an order of Knights at the time, invested by the Hungarian king as protectors of the Holy Roman empire,” Andrei responded. “They were given the title Dracul, which, at the time, translated as Dragon. Vlad's father had been awarded a place in that knightly order of the Dragon, so when his son took the hereditary title he added the “a” indicating “son of” making his title Dracula or son of the dragon. An interesting side fact is that over time the word dracul has ceased to mean dragon in the Romanian language and has now come to be translated most often as devil or fiend.”

“You seem well versed in his history,” Miranda offered, moving in her chair in a way that nearly stole Andrei's breath away. “Is your study of history based in the history of your native country?”

Andrei chuckled. “No,” he answered. “As a matter of fact my studies are centered far more around American history, primarily the Antebellum South, your Civil War and Reconstruction. My original plan had been to achieve my PhD and return to Romania to teach it in the classroom.”

Miranda looked interestedly across the table, “And yet here you are, an Au Pair rather than a teacher. What happened to your dream?”

Andrei shrugged. “Life.” he answered. “Post graduate work is expensive. My parents and I had a falling out, so what help they were able to give me dried up. I also have not been in your country long enough to have earned the appropriate credit rating necessary to get the kind of loans I would need. Now I take courses when I can in pursuit of my Master's degree, but having to work full-time while going on for a PhD is probably unrealistic.”

Miranda sat back and smiled. “We will have to discuss this subject at greater length some other time,” she said, a mysterious smile playing around her lips. She then turned the conversation back to inconsequential historical anecdotes.

*****

After listening to her daughters recounting of their excited tales of having dinner with Chloe Milan and seeing them tucked safely into their beds, Miranda sipped at yet another glass of the most excellent scotch and mused for a few moments on the seeming electric nature of the sexual chemistry between her and the young man she had dined with. His very presence seemed to arouse things in her that she had thought long dead. His ability to be formally proper, yet with a relaxed manner, called out to her in a way she had never experienced before. There was depth to him. Unplumbed secrets that made her want to break down those decorous walls that he kept himself behind.

Although she was usually one who was late to bed, with the long flight to L.A., the frenzy surrounding seeing her excited daughters off to their adventure and then her own interesting dinner with her daughters' Au Pair, Miranda admitted she was tired. She undressed quickly and after preforming her nightly ablutions, she put on her nightgown and lay down in bed. Not quite ready for sleep, she reached for her laptop computer, thinking that she would check her e-mails. Her dinner conversation, she realized, had made her curious as to what Andrei's monstrous ancestor might have looked like. It took her very little time to search out an image of the man. The picture was of a formal portrait depicting a handsome, long haired, moustachioed man in what she assumed was culturally appropriate period couture for the noble class. The image looked nothing like a monster that had ordered the horrible death of tens of thousands. Shutting her computer down and placing it on one of the bedside nightstands, she lay her head on the pillow and drifted off to sleep.

She was deep in the dream. Outside of the relatively small space she inhabited there was nothing but turbulent darkness. She reclined on a bed wearing Jean Paul Gaultier's newest peignoir design. It was the type of extravagance she would treat herself to when bedding a new man for the first time. The luxurious garment was translucent black chiffon, which clung in all the right places, playing peekaboo with the assets beneath. And what she wore underneath tonight was the sinful Agent Provocateur bra and thong she had worn to dinner that evening, complete with garter-belt and silk hose.

Taking stock of her position she discovered that she lay on her side, her body in an “S” configuration, bent slightly at waist and knees. Her wrists were tied together with sensual silk ropes, as were her ankles. Testing the bonds, she found them secure and unforgiving. She was incredibly turned on. Her breath was short and her body burned with want. There was something uncomfortable yet achingly familiar about the situation she found herself in. She knew with a dread certainty that her lover was there, just beyond the end of the huge bed, standing in the darkness.

“You think you want me,” Andrei's exotic Romanian accent came quietly to her ears from out in the gloom.

“Yes,” Miranda breathed in response.

Andrei stepped into the edge of the light. He looked as he had at dinner, save now he wore the rich and elaborate robes and head dress his ancestor wore in the portrait instead of the attractive casual outfit he had worn during their encounter. He looked at her with compassion on his face. “You see, but you don't understand,” he replied softly. “It's not me you want. You can't be free with me, Miranda,” he said sadly. “It is the same as when you were with any of the other men you've been with,” he continued. “On some level you understand that we aren't what you want. That we can't give you what you need.”

Miranda, her arousal surging through her, writhed on the bed, struggled against the bonds at wrist and ankle. “Please,” she whispered. “I need you.”

“No,” the man at the foot of the bed said, removing the elaborate head dress that he wore. “But I do have what you need. I have what can free you.” He raised a hand and showed her a long sharp looking fingernail. It was vampiresque, an image from a horror movie. He reached down and with a flick of that claw cut the bond that secured Miranda's feet. He grasped her by the ankles and flipped her onto her back. Spreading her legs, he drew her to him. Another sweep of that clawed finger and Miranda's panties fell away. Her desire surged. Her want was so great she felt her heart might burst from it.

The figure standing between her legs reached up and with that razor sharp talon he cut a thin red line starting at his forehead and down the center of his face. As his hand moved down the line of his throat Miranda was amazed to see the skin of head and face peel back like cloth, revealing the image of familiar doe brown eyes, lush brunette hair and sensual lips. It was an image from memory that she often found intruding on her daily life at the most inopportune times. “Haven't I always had what you needed, Miranda? Haven't I always done what you needed?” Her runaway ex-assistant whispered in a sultry voice that made Miranda ache with want. Hands still firmly holding each thigh, the girl slid down to her knees between Miranda's spread legs. “I have what you need.” she husked as her velvet tongue reached out and stroked the furnace that was Miranda's center.

Miranda awoke with a scream as the orgasm racked her body. Her back arched to the point that she wondered that it didn't break while tremor after tremor raced through her frame. The name that had issued from her lips was not that of the young man she had had dinner with the night before. Waves of pure pleasure crashed over her until at last she lay spent and panting on her bed. Never in her life had she experienced such an orgasm. Her body felt boneless and as if her flesh were melting into the mattress. She was grateful that the hotel she was in was five star and took their client's privacy seriously. The room was soundproofed so no one outside would have heard anything. She was exhausted and as she came down from that orgasmic rush, she realized that she was relaxed for the first time in recent memory. She closed her eyes and tried to recall the dream, but as before, the somnolent images were already confused and fading, receding from her consciousness. The only thing she was certain of was that both her daughter's Au Pair and her damned runaway assistant were again featured in staring roles. I will have to think about this in the morning, she thought to herself sternly, knowing that in her present condition nothing useful would be accomplished if she were to undertake the exercise at that moment. Something must be done about this! I don't like being this out-of-control! Never one to wait patiently, she did the one thing she could think of doing at that moment. Grabbing her cell phone she called her first assistant Emily Charlton, unconcerned that it was just going on three-thirty A.M. on the East Coast. The phone rang three times before Emily's sleep laden voice was on the line. “Find Andrea Sachs.” Miranda demanded without preamble. “Find out where she is living, where she is working, who she sees and what she has been doing since she walked out in Paris. I want a full report on my desk when I return from this trip,” she said rapid fire. “That's all,” she concluded, viciously snapping the cell phone shut. There, she thought. I've done something constructive. Now, perhaps I can sleep in peace without these disconcerting dreams plaguing me!

*****

"Chloe, baby," her manager pleaded, as he followed the angry woman into her beachfront condominium, “this will make your career!"

Chloe stalked to the French doors that led to the deck overlooking the ocean. Opening them she looked over her shoulder at her manager with narrow eyes. "I don't want to spend the rest of the week playing nursemaid to a couple of screaming tween fangirls! I'm a star, not a babysitter! I have things I want to do!" She said, stepping outside into the warm Malibu evening.

“Chloe, honey.” her manager cajoled as he quickly moved to the outdoor bar and made a strong vodka tonic. He rushed to deliver the drink to the agitated woman. “This is the cover of Runway magazine!” He pleaded. “The cover, Chloe. I said that the photo shoot in Runway would do more for your image with an adult audience that all the publicity that will be generated by the controversial scenes in your next movies! Add a Runway cover to that and we couldn't ask for more! You'll go from zero to sixty with an adult audience in the month that magazine hits the newsstands! And all you have to do to get it is to show those two brats around L.A. for a week! There are a lot of women in the industry that would have two kids to get an opportunity like this one!”

Chloe took a pull out of the tall glass in her hand. “What am I supposed to do with them?” She demanded. “It's not like I can take a couple of kids that age clubbing!” She whined.

Her manager nodded, “No, you need to keep it age appropriate. Miranda Priestly doesn't want her kids in the paparazzi's sights. Her Art Director, Nigel, was quite clear on that when he made Miranda's offer. How about you show them Hollywood tomorrow and then take them to the beach on Monday? You'll be on set at the photo shoot most of the day Tuesday doing the shoot. By Wednesday morning your publicist and I can come up with some other things you can do with them. For God's sake, Chloe, make those two brats your best friends! They're the key to getting everything you want in the next six months instead of five years from now!”

Chloe sighed, “Oh, all right,” she said pouting over the rim of her drink and sounding very put out. “I'll do it because you say it's the thing to do.” Her voice dropped into a warning register as she continued. “But this better work, Jimmy, or I'll be looking for new management,” she informed him ominously.

*****

Caroline and Cassidy were over the moon when they discovered that Chloe would be coming to pick them up and taking them to see Hollywood.

Andrei sat at the breakfast table with the family listening to the twins chat with each other excitedly.

Miranda read e-mails on her phone as she sipped her coffee. She spoke without looking at the girls' Au Pair. “I'll need for you to go with them today, Andrei,” she instructed. “I'll be working with my creative team, making the final decisions on which locations will be used for the photo shoot. While Chloe's people will, no doubt be about, I would much rather that someone I know is looking out for my girls is with them.”

“Of course, Miranda,” he answered. “I'll make sure the girls are well cared for.”

Miranda nodded brusquely in response, her thoughts seemingly elsewhere. She then glanced up at the young man across the table. Andrei was struck by the subtle, but uncertain flick of Miranda's eye and for a brief moment he thought she might be blushing slightly, “I believe that Chloe will again be having dinner at the restaurant here in the hotel this evening,” Miranda said. “If that is indeed how things pan out, I will expect,” she stopped herself mid sentence and tried again. “I would like it if you would have diner with me again.”

There was only one answer for Andrei in the face of Miranda Priestly. “Of course, Miranda. Here or shall I see about a reservation some place?”

Miranda smiled at him. A look that he had never seen on the Ice Queen's face before. The smile was grateful and almost timid. Andrei cursed himself as he felt another piece of his heart fall to the woman across the table from him.

*****

As large as it was, the back of Chloe's stretch limo seemed crowed to Andrei. After the twins made brief introductions, Chloe lounged on the curved back seat as she listened to the two girls chatter at her excitedly. Another woman, who had been introduced as Chloe's friend, Mandy, sat next to her. Mandy's attention seemed solely directed at her cell phone as she texted. Individuals that had been introduced as members of Chloe's entourage were scattered about, all trying to look busy doing important things for the woman they worked for. Andrei had seen this particular dodge a thousand times when working as his other-self at Runway. Miranda would enter a room and the clackers present would all suddenly be doing something vitally important, something worthy of keeping their jobs. He stayed quiet and let the twins, who, while very excited, were behaving themselves well considering the situation, have free reign. He allowed himself a moment of introspection. He had been both distracted and anxious while he and the twins waited to be picked up by Chloe Milan's car. His thoughts swirled around the fact that he'd done his best to be incredibly dull last evening and Miranda still wanted to have dinner with him again. It was disconcerting, especially when he drew his attention away from his inner thoughts and looked up into the eyes of Chloe's friend. The woman was looking over the top of her cell phone at him as if he were a feast and she a starving woman.

Andrei sighed, a headache forming behind his eyes. He was certain that life had been easier before this trip to California. Now he had to deal with the situation he found himself in and to prepare for another dinner with Miranda.

He heard Caroline and Cassidy giggling. Glancing up he saw both of the twins' and Chloe's eyes on him. Caroline leaned in and whispered something into Chloe's ear. Chloe glanced at her friend. “Tongue back in your mouth, Mandy, he's working and Cassidy here...”

“Caroline,” the girl that had just whispered to her, corrected.

“Caroline here tells me when he's working, he never fools around.” Chloe said, looking at Andrei speculatively. “But you know what they say, all work and no play...” she coaxed, a wicked little smile playing on her mouth.

Mandy glanced to Chloe and then back at Andrei. “Well, we'll just have to see about catching him when he gets off,” she answered suggestively, her look at him almost a leer.

Andrei was certain that the day was shaping up to be one of the longest in his life.

*****

Miranda was livid. They had been to three of the sights that had been proposed for the photo shoot and none of them where anywhere near the standards she demanded for Runway. She was going to have to make some drastic changes in the personnel of the team responsible for location scouting when she returned to New York, but that didn't solve the immediate problem. She had all the assets necessary to do a photo shoot in a city far from home and at considerable expense with nowhere to do the job they'd come to do. She felt a headache starting behind her eyes. She returned to her car in long angry strides, her second assistant close on her heels. When they were seated in the back, she turned to the woman. “Inform Nigel that I won't have any of the locations we've seen this morning in my magazine. Tell him that if there are not acceptable alternatives by tomorrow morning, heads are going to roll,” her demeanor reminded her assistant why one of the press's favorite sobriquets for Miranda was the Ice Queen. “I will speak with Nigel at breakfast tomorrow,” she continued. “He has until then to fix this mess. He might also do the location scouting team a kindness and inform them that they have an opportunity to redeem themselves in my eyes and save me the trouble of firing them when I get back,” she continued in the terribly quiet tone that all Runway employees feared. “I believe that the Japanese call the ritual seppuku. Nigel can assure them that it will be a more merciful end than what I intend to do to their careers.” She glanced out the window. Her girls were out with the woman Runway would be photographing the day after tomorrow. Andrei was with them. She sighed softly. “Cancel the rest of my day,” she instructed. “I won't need you, so you will stay here and assist Nigel. In the event of further catastrophe I will be available by telephone.”

As her assistant left the car, Miranda pondered for a moment. I'll call the girls. We rarely get to do something like sightseeing together, she thought to herself. For a brief moment she feared the sting of rejection. Her daughters were coming to the age where their mother might be perceived as an unwanted interloper when the girls where out with friends. The books on child rearing she had read and the discussions that she had had with child psychologists had told her so. She closed her eyes for a moment, and then pressed the button on her phone to speed dial Cassidy's phone. “Bobbsey,” she said when the girl answered. “I'm going to take the afternoon off. I was wondering if I might join you and your sister on your tour of Hollywood? Would that be okay with you and Caroline, my darling girl?” The excited whoop of her daughter lifted much of the immediacy of Miranda's foul mood. She heard Cassidy chatter excitedly to her sister away from the telephone's mouthpiece. Then the girl was back on the line with an enthusiastic yes. Miranda listened as Cassidy told her where they were heading so they could rendezvous. Miranda instructed her driver to deliver her to that place with all possible speed.

*****

The morning had been trying for Andrei. The tour, to that point, had been whirlwind. Several sights done in rapid succession and then back to the car and on to the next one. He'd been making sure that the twins behaved themselves, which was no small feat considering their level of excitement. On top of that the two young women that were acting as their hosts had begun to engage in some sort of competition with each other almost as soon as they had been introduced to the twins' Au Pair. The curious rules of the game seemed to involve one-upsmanship, each continuously flirting and speaking suggestive double-ententes to him whenever the twins were out of earshot.

Now the group waited in the patio area in front of the famous Grauman's Egyptian Theater in anticipation of Miranda's arrival. Chloe had excused herself for a few minutes to find a restroom. The twins and Mandy were examining the large hieroglyphic mural on one of the theater's exterior walls as Chloe returned. Passing close to Andrei, she reached out, pressing something warm and soft into his hand. At that moment, Andrei was aware of the change in the atmosphere that, in his experience, always seemed to herald Miranda's arrival. He turned to see the elegant and fearsome fashion icon stride into the patio.

The woman looked at him as she approached and uncharacteristically, she smiled a smile that reached her eyes. He glanced down at what he held in his hand. His eyes took in colorful lacy cloth. His brain, catching up, screamed panties! She just handed you her God-Damned panties! His eyes frantically left Miranda for a brief second and went to Chloe where she stood with the twins. She smiled at him wickedly and made a two finger phone me motion, the tip of her thumb to her ear and her pinky stretched toward her lips. He quickly gathered the offending material into a tight ball and stuffed them into his pocket. Looking up, he tried to keep his expression neutral to keep from giving his discomfort away. His problems had just been multiplied by a thousand times. He had been in love with Miranda for more than a year. Now, consciously trying to deflect the woman he desired interest, he noted that La Priestly, a woman who misses nothing, had not missed Chloe's gesture. Suddenly Miranda wasn't smiling anymore.

*****

After seeing the Egyptian Theater, the group of sightseers drove out to see the Hollywood sign and then went to Melrose Avenue, where Chloe had promised to take the twins to the “bitchenest” stores so they could do some of the tourist shopping thing. Miranda had, after joining the group, chosen to stand back and observe as her daughters interacted with their latest idol. She also kept a close eye on her daughter's Au Pair. To all appearances, Andrei was as all business as he had presented himself during their conversation on the flight to California. Chloe was still making discrete eyes at the young man, her behavior apparently restrained by Miranda's presence. Miranda was not naïve and she was also very good at reading people. She almost immediately recognized that one of Chloe's “assistants” was actually a handler. The woman was right there, whispering warnings into Chloe's ear. The woman would speak, Chloe would glance at Miranda and Miranda could see the young woman would curb whatever impulse that she had been about to unleash. Chloe's friend, Mandy, however, apparently didn't have any such constraints. She was continually circling Andrei like a shark, her flirtations blatant and excessive. Miranda watched the woman make several very forward passes, all of which seemed to be completely ignored by the young man.

When Miranda had seen an opportunity to have a moment alone with her daughters, she questioned them about the interactions. She was quite surprised by their response.

“It's like that every day, Mom.” Cassidy giggled, her tone supremely amused. “All of our friend's Au Pairs and older sisters drool over him, every time we're out. And it's like it all goes over his head. He never does anything to encourage any of them and he's always a perfect gentleman.” She shook her head. “He's made an art form of hiding behind a book.”

“Most men would be eating that kind of attention up,” Miranda replied skeptically, looking up the street as Chloe stopped and talked to the young man for a moment where he stood examining the merchandise in a store window. “Do either of you have any idea of why Andrei might not be interested in such attentions?” She had a sudden horrible thought. “Is he gay?” She asked her daughters.

“He's in love,” Caroline answered softly. “I asked if he had a girlfriend. He told me that he was in love with someone but he didn't believe that he had a chance with her. He thought it couldn't go anywhere, so he left. He's still trying to deal with it emotionally. The fallout was pretty intense. Now he's trying to build a new life without her in it.”

“How do you know such a thing about him?” Miranda asked.

“I asked.” Caroline shrugged. “He doesn't believe in lying to the children he's working with, so he answered my questions when I expressed curiosity. He doesn't make a big deal about it. He didn't talk about himself at all until I asked him directly. “

Miranda nodded her understanding of what her daughters had imparted. “Why don't the two of you catch up with Chloe? If you see anything in the stores that you want, just let me know. I have my platinum card with me,” she smiled to her beloved children, “and vacations are the time for special treats.” Caroline whooped excitedly and grabbing her sisters arm, hurried her down the street with an eager, “Let's go shopping, Sis!” Cassidy, smiling broadly, quickly followed.

Miranda paused and thought back on what she knew about Andrei and what little she had been told of his personal history. The most recent woman he'd been in close contact with was the female half of the anthropologist couple that he'd been working for. Is that the competition? She wondered silently. Is that why he didn't accompany the family on their expedition? Did she tell him she wouldn't leave her husband for him? Or was it that he is an honorable man and decided that he couldn't destroy their marriage, so he left to suffer in silence? Miranda closed her eyes and ground her teeth. Or is his ghost some earlier woman or girl from his past? Someone from his university or even his home country? She looked up from her sour musings and her eyes immediately sought to find the young man that was very much on her mind, seemingly all the time now. She watched Chloe's friend back Andrei into an alcove that served as the entrance to a store. Miranda moved toward the pair as quietly as the Manolo Blahnik's she wore would allow.

Approaching the couple she could see Mandy's hand suggestively on Andrei's chest. She could hear the woman's quiet voice. “I'll bet that Chloe handed you her panties," the woman said, her tone husky and full of promise. “It's her favorite party trick. Not a bad trick as far as it goes, but don't let it make you feel too special. She does it a lot. And I mean a lot, a lot. I might try it too if I wanted a guy to know I'm interested, ” she purposefully ran her hand down his chest towards his crotch, “but then again, I never wear panties.”

Andrei stepped back from her as if burned, but this, in Miranda's opinion, trailer trash temptress, had maneuvered him to where his back was against a wall and he had no avenue of escape. Something inside Miranda snapped. White hot emotion cascaded through her being and for a brief second she saw red. She immediately controlled her reaction and schooled her features into the impassive mask she wore for most of her professional life. “Andrei!” she called out to him. He was a good employee, she had to admit. He knew that one did not keep Miranda Priestly waiting. He immediately broke from where he stood and was beside her in seconds.

“Yes, Miranda?” he asked, slightly breathlessly, his demeanor skittish.

“Your services will no longer be required today now that I am here to supervise the girls,” she said, her tone curt.

Andrei, looking nervous, stiffened, but nodded his understanding. “If you believe that I have behaved less than professionally...” he began, his tone remorseful.

Miranda instantly intuited his agitation as based in her mood. She recognized that he could seemingly read her even beneath the veneer she showed the world. Such a talent was rare indeed. The only recent time she had encountered it was her errant assistant that had fled from her in Paris. She firmly reminded herself that it wasn't Andrei she was vexed with. His behavior, as far as she could discern, had been completely appropriate. She held up a hand effectively stopping anything he might say. She sighed and pursed her lips in an expression of extreme distaste. “I do not believe that you have done anything wrong, Andrei.” she replied, trying to communicate that her words were sincere. “The young woman that is accompanying Chloe's behavior is not something I want my daughters exposed too. She is far too forward in her flirtations towards you. As I can hardly order her to cease and desist, the simplest solution is to remove you from the equation.”

Andrei nodded his understanding. “Of course, Miranda.” he answered.

She went silent for a moment as if considering. “You said that you've never been to L.A.” she offered. “Why don't you go do something you might enjoy? Or you could return to the hotel and partake of the amenities there. There is a lovely spa and sauna, a gym and the pool. Go and have a good time. Just be back to the hotel before dinner. I'm sure with me sending you away that my daughters will want to assure themselves that I haven't fired you. You and I will continue getting to know one another over dinner tonight.”

Andrei glanced up the street to where both Chloe and Mandy stood with the twins. Miranda's daughters were chattering excitedly as they looked into the window of a trendy boutique specializing in handbags. Miranda noted that both Mandy's and Chloe's attention was not on the window but on where she and Andrei stood.

Andrei's gaze followed Mirnada's and then he looked back at her with a small sardonic smile. “I don't think I'll go back to the hotel,” he offered quietly. “I think I'll be a lot safer if I remain in well populated, very public areas.”

Miranda returned the expression. “I'll do what I can to mislead your huntress as to where you maybe headed,” she offered.

Andrei nodded. “Please tell the girls I'll see them tonight. It'll keep them from worrying and allow them to enjoy their time with you. They treasure the time that they have your full attention. They talk about it for days afterward.” Andrei offered Miranda a genuine smile and turned starting off up the street.

Miranda preened for a moment under the revelation that Andrei had just given her. This young man cared. He was concerned for her daughters' welfare and happiness and wanted Miranda to know that she was important to her daughters. He couldn't have done her a greater kindness. She watched him go for a moment and then turned, intent on focusing on her twin girls for the rest of the day.

*****

Knowing that another evening with Miranda loomed and not having come up with a better plan than to try and bore the woman to death, Andrei quickly located the local public library. The character being portrayed had been presented as having specific knowledge of the period centering around the American Civil War. Andrei presently had only generalized knowledge on the subject. Figuring that he needed to be better prepared than he was, he retreated there to spend the day reading up on trivia about the subject.

While perusing the library's catalog Andrei realized that there was a fly in the ointment of his plan. He was the twins' father's employee. He knew for a fact that Miranda was one of the most intelligent and intuitive people that he had ever encountered. His experience of her while working as his other-self at Runway was that she could smell a lie. Logically, his character should, in his subservient position, should want to impress Miranda in order to better his position vis-á-vis said contact. So now a balancing act would be necessary. He would need to pick topics of conversation that would, at least on the surface, be things Miranda could hold some interest in or she might begin to suspect that Andrei was purposely trying to derail interaction that most employees would be most desirous of fostering. He needed subject material that would meet this need while still actively trying to show her that he was terribly uninteresting and dull. It took only a moment to realize that fashion was a likely topic so research on the fashions of the period were in order. He spent the afternoon delving into the limited materials this particular branch of the library contained on the subject.

Dinner did not go as Andrei had anticipated. Upon his return to the hotel he could tell immediately that Miranda was not going to be the affable companion of the previous evening. He found her sitting in the suite's common room, her attention apparently focused out the windows at the panoramic view of the city. She was terribly still, her lips slightly pursed, as if she'd tasted something disagreeable. To anyone else, save perhaps her children, Miranda's posture and expression would offer no warning. Andrei knew better. His well honed and extensive ability to read the woman, earned at considerable personal expense when his other-self worked as her assistant at Runway, told him without doubt that she was both aggravated and troubled. Such a confluence of moods, he knew, made for a Miranda at her most volatile. Something was troubling the woman and Andrei suspected that it likely that something had occurred concerning her daughters and the young celebrity they had spent the day with. Having dealt with Miranda in similar moods when he had worked for her and desiring only to ease the woman's burdens, Andrei didn't go to his room to change for dinner but instead went directly to the wet bar in the living room of the suite. He didn't attempt any stealth in the action and he knew Miranda had seen him in her peripheral vision because she turned her head slightly and arched one of her beautiful eyebrows. He wordlessly prepared a stiff drink pouring several fingers of the scotch they had been drinking the previous evening over a few ice cubes. Without a word being exchanged, he delivered the libation to the seated woman. “You look like you could use a drink,” he offered quietly.

Miranda took the glass, her eyes now drawn from the view she had seemingly been lost in . She looked at him curiously. “Again your presence instills the strongest sense of déjà vu in me. As if we've done all of this before,” she offered before raising the glass of liquor to her lips and draining off about a third of it.

As she lowered her drink, Andrei found himself riveted by the tip of her pink tongue peeking out and tracing her upper lip. Something inside clenched and a wave of heat ran through him. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, reminding himself that he was here as a servant and employees who ogled the boss often did not stay employees very long.

Miranda continued to gaze at him speculatively. “You have just met me and yet you seem to know me better than my last two husbands ever did. You entered this room and knew I was vexed. Most people that know anything about me would have turned quietly around and gotten as far away from me as they could manage.” She shook her head and smiled, but there was nothing happy or pleasant in the expression. She rattled the ice in her glass. “Your first instinct was to offer me comfort by making me a drink.”

The observation the woman had made seemed rhetorical to Andrei and he had learned long ago that when Miranda was making such an observation that any response was inviting her to cut you into painfully small pieces with her acerbic comments and her sharp tongue. He stayed quiet.

Miranda continued to study him over the rim of her now half empty glass. “I would be curious to know what you thought when you walked into this room. What you think might have me in a condition where you believe I might need a drink.”

Andrei shrugged and moved as if he were uncomfortable. He licked his lips. “If I had to guess...” he began.

Miranda shook her head. “No,” she said. “Let's not play games with each other. You observe, you don't guess,” she asserted.

“Alright then,” Andrei nodded. “You went out with your daughters this afternoon in the company of Ms. Milan and her friend Mandy. At first your daughters were excited to see you, but as the outing progressed you found yourself something of a third wheel. Ms Milan spends a great deal of effort and energy fostering that effect. She is always 'on' and has a driving need to be the center of attention. Watching Caroline and Cassidy interact with her, you have realized that she and her friend are not the type of people that you want your daughters, who you treasure above all else, associating with. Seeing as you have already moved mountains to arrange this week for your girls to spend with their celebrity crush of the moment, you find yourself in a box. You can't go back on your word and forbid them the woman's company because you don't want to disappoint them again, but you also fear what they will pick up from spending time with the woman. I would suspect that you share my opinion that what they are likely to pick up from her could be less that an ideal situation.”

Miranda was silent for a long moment. She blinked at Andrei, and then took another drink from her glass. Andrei would have bet good money that the moments she took were covering the fact that he had surprised her. Of course she didn't know that he had the advantage of understanding exactly what was important to Miranda Priestly and what axis her world turned on. He kept himself from smiling only by a force of will.

“So,” Miranda said, affecting the bored attitude that Andrei had seen a hundred times before when Miranda was dealing in situations that made her less that comfortable. “What would you suggest?”

Now Andrei allowed himself to smile at the woman. “I would suggest that you went to the trouble of bringing the twins' nanny with you on this trip. I would suggest that you instruct him to do his job and see to it that the girls stay out of trouble while still allowing them the chance to spend time with their idol of the moment. That way, if there are any difficulties and someone must step in, I can play the heavy and the twins' displeasure doesn't fall on you. You can even dress me down for it in their presence afterwards.”

Miranda gazed at the man standing before her. “My ex-husband is not paying you enough,” she remarked seriously. She rattled the ice in the now empty glass in her hand. “Make me another one of these,” she continued. “Then you'd better get ready for dinner. The girls are supposed to meet Chloe in the restaurant downstairs in half an hour. Our dinner will have to wait. I would have someone I trust with my girls when they are in that woman's company.”

Andrei nodded. Taking the glass from her, he went to the bar and built another highball. “I am not about to question the reach of your influence,” he began carefully, “but if you could speak with Ms. Milan's people and have Mandy's presence removed from the equation, it would make my life simpler and allow me to better concentrate on my assigned duties.”

Miranda nodded once, brusquely, acknowledging the request as she accepted the fresh drink from his hand. Her fingers brushed his as she grasped the cool glass. There was an almost electric spark between them. Her eyes found his. “I'm sorry we will not get to continue our discussion this evening,” she confided. “I was looking forward to learning more about you,” she said, her expression all but unreadable even to someone that knew what to look for. “But I suppose that this small exchange has likely taught me a good deal more than I would have learned over dinner.”

“What will you do with your evening now?” Andrei dared to ask. “May I take the liberty of going ahead and ordering a meal for you from room service?”

Miranda nodded once again and looked at the man as he moved to the telephone to order a meal brought up to the room. “I will spend tonight coordinating with Nigel and the rest of my team to make sure they have found an acceptable place to do the photo-shoot we came here to do,” she answered his query. “I will be engaged for the majority of the day tomorrow rectifying my staff's incompetence. Chloe is apparently planing to take my daughters to the beach. I will need for you to plan to accompany them.”

Andrei nodded. He almost felt bad for those on Miranda's creative team, but he knew from experience that they had survived worse. Her immediate needs seen too, he turned toward the bedroom he was staying in with the intention of changing his clothes before joining the twins and going downstairs for dinner. “It will be taken care of Miranda,” he assured her.

He was surprised when an absent and quiet “thank you, Andrei,” floated from Miranda's lips.

(TBC)