Take It All 1/2
Take It All 1/2
Title: Take it All
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Characters are property of the film and their distributors. I do not claim to own them.
Summary: You don't ask Miranda anything. Andy tells a secret about herself and Miranda at the Runway Christmas party. Nigel tries to help.
Author's Notes: This is my very first time ever writing this fandom .I am very nervous about the reception of it, but I was just introduced to it recently and I loved it, so I had to give it a shot.
For D.
"Nigel! Nigel come do come do a sh-hot with me!" Andy enthusiastically asked of the man in the crowded Runway cafeteria while Emily continued to gag behind her after just having been tricked into a double shot of Cuervo with the inebriated brunette.
The Christmas party seemed be just about the only time that the Runway employees really let go and let their garters loose, Andy had noted. And she was going to take full advantage of it. Not to mention all the free alcohol. She stumbled in her borrowed Jimmy Choos and did a little dance as her favorite verse of Come On Eileen sounded against the walls.
Nigel who did not seem phased by the three and a half Manhattan’s he’d consumed in the past two hours, raised a bemused eyebrow and stood back calmly as the mess that was Andy Sachs managed to spill a fourth of the tequila in both glasses in her hands by walking all of five feet over to him.
“Don’t dance, Six, it’s not very becoming.” He said dryly.
Andy laughed, outstretching her arm, and spilling even more of the yellow-ish substance in the process, “Come on, Nigel! It’s Christmas!”
“And I say you’ve had enough.” He told her blankly, taking one glass after the other and placing them securely on the table behind him.
Andy licked her lips and looked about the room for Miranda. She thought she had seen her earlier--before all the Tequila--and had opted to shy away until she was drunk enough to say something even remotely witty. It seemed to fit the occasion. But, she might have gotten a little carried away, because she was now having a difficult time standing still, she had lost feeling of her bottom lip, which she could not stop biting, and the barely there-unnoticeable-nothing Miranda infatuation that had developed over time, since day one, was becoming an unbearable urge to find the woman and inappropriately take advantage of one of the various mistletoe scattered over the entry ways.
That part had actually been Emily’s idea. “Just pull the woman under that mistletoe over there and give her a good--snogging already, Andrea, Jesus Christ--” She had drunkenly babbled, then muttered against her drink, "--it's embarrassing."
"Where's Maranda?" Andy slurringly asked Nigel, scratching the side of her nose as she continued to search the party for the silver haired woman.
Nigel watched the young assistant with pity. The girl was completely smitten. He'd seen it before. Miranda Priestly was a woman of power, a symbol of sophistication and femininity to be envied and desired and he could count on two hands all the young women that had gone through that building and had found themselves completely enthralled by the infamous ice queen. This, however, was getting sad.
"Andy, honey--" He started, slowly and calmly, placing his hand on her shoulder to get her attention, "--hey, listen--" He snapped his fingers in front of her face once the gentle first grade teacher voice didn't take, until she had turned to idly face him, "--this little crush on Mi-randa is a little inappropriate, don't you think?"
Andy opened her mouth to speak, but failed to make a sound when Emily came up from behind, beating her to the punch, "Try absolutely disturbing and not to mention disgustingly cliché. Young, fashionably challenged girl falling for the head of everything boss?" The red head rolled her eyes and stood next to Nigel, bracing herself on his shoulder as she bent her knee and adjusted the shoe strap around her ankle until she mumbled finally, "Owe, these hurt..."
"It's not a crush--" Andy, informed them sternly, fanning herself as the warmth of the alcohol in her system rose up to her cheeks, leaving a rosy blush, "--I will have you know."
"Right," Emily snorted in return.
"It's not!"
"Andy, honey, it's really--just stop." Nigel replied.
"Miranda and I have kissed before okay!" Andy hissed, and there was silence. A long silence. And she thanked god that she was drunk enough to blurt that out and not be completely embarrassed about it.
What pissed her off, however, was the burst of loud, disbelieving laughter Emily released and the look of utter confusion on Nigel's face. No. Not confusion. Pity, again.
"Andy, you are completely bonkers when you're wasted..." Emily managed to say in between side splitting laughter.
"I'm--excuse me!" Andy, cut in, evidently offended, "We have!"
Nigel shook his head and said softly, "Oh, honey. Just stop while you're ahead."
"I'm not lying!"
An unbelievably loud howl of laughter left Emily as she bent over, no longer able to contain herself--not that she had been trying in the first place-- as she tried to speak, "Stop it, I'm going to pee myself--"
Andy stood, staring ahead, angry and unimpressed as Emily cackled her way back towards the bar. The brunette turned slowly towards the bald man looking at her like she was Annie the orphan and she glared, "Stop looking at me like that."
"Andy, come on. You can't blame her for laughing."
"I may be a former fashion victim, but I am no liar."
Nigel's demeanor changed from deep concern for her mental stability, to that of shock and quick realization as he quickly looked around the room to make sure no one had heard before pulling Andy by the arm and dragging her to a corner table, where he sat her down and leaned in close.
"Owe, Nigel!" Andy whined, rubbing at her arm and closing her eyes briefly, "Oh, the room is spinning."
"Andy, you need to keep your mouth shut about this. Do you hear me?" He warned her sternly. He knew about Miranda's past indiscretions. He was sure he was the only one. And while she never admitted them to him directly, there was an unspoken understanding between the two. He understood that her private matters were no one's business where business was concerned, and so he turned a blind eye, and she, in her own Miranda Priestly way, was appreciative. He did still have a job after all. But now, looking at the alcohol soaked, enamored assistant, he was suddenly scared for Miranda's reputation. Never once had she slipped and taken on with an assistant, out of all people.
He almost felt sorry for the poor girl. She was pouting and miserable and a walking nightmare for everyone involved.
"Andy, listen to me--" he started again, tilting her chin in his direction, "--you need to forget about it. A woman of Miranda's stature--she--"
"I know, she's out of my league, blah-blah-- but we had a moment, Nigel! And she kissed me!"
He stopped for a second and tried to consider that Miranda was capable of having a "moment" with anyone. He grimaced. No. Impossible. "I'm sure you did." He nodded, "But it won't go further than that. Okay? So just--forget it! Go home and sleep it off."
"She's a great kisser--" She told him with a wicked smile as she remembered the brief encounter in Paris. The taste of Miranda's lipstick--everything, "--and she's got a great ass, Nigel. It's almost embarrassing--how great her ass is--"
"Andy, stop talking." He told her firmly, "You understand why you can't talk about this, don't you? It would destroy Miranda."
"I don't care. She's destroyed me." She stopped and rolled her eyes at the sound of her own sentence, "Oh, god, I am drunk." She sighed and let her head fall back with an audible groan, "Nigel, what is wrong with me?"
"Nothing," He told her frankly, "Come here, Six--" He tugged gently at her.
She groaned, "No..."
"Come HERE." He insisted, grabbing both her hands and pulling her up straight until sad doe eyes were staring back at him. He patted her hands softly, and touched her cheek briefly, "I don't blame you. I really don't. But if you can keep yourself from going there again, do it. Save yourself all the heartache it will bring you. Trust someone who's seen more than a few casualties. "
"I already have heartache," She mumbled pathetically.
"From one kiss?" He asked doubtfully.
"It was really good." She heaved a breath and scrunched up her nose, "You're right. I should go home."
"Good girl." He nodded, helping her to her feet, "You okay to walk?"
"Yeah, I'm just going to go up to the office to grab my things and I'll call a cab."
"Alright."
"Let's just not mention this again, shall we?" She whispered.
"Oh, trust me, this is a topic of conversation I wish to have erased from my memory. With bleach."
She snorted a laugh and slapped his cheek harder than intended, "You're funny."
The walk to the elevator was difficult. She tried to summarize the number of cocktails in her head, but she lost count rather quickly after the bottle of Cuervo was placed in front of her. She stumbled into the elevator and she had to squint to see the floor numbers clearly. Finally, with her tongue sticking out at the corner of her mouth, intent and in deep concentration, she leaned forward until she was mere inches from the buttons and steadily, she directed her index finger against what she hoped was the right one.
She breathed a sigh of relief when the elevator started into motion, and quickly fell back against the side wall. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on ignoring the slow elevation. However, the only thoughts to distract her were that of Miranda's lips against hers, the taste of scotch on her tongue and the smell of something expensive in her nose. It had been months before and she still couldn't shake it. It became a lot more difficult to just put it to rest. For the most part, at night. Especially after a few drinks.
Something resembling a groan and a squeal reminiscent of a childish tantrum escaped her lips as she stomped her foot and bitter tears rimmed her eyes.
She laughed at herself when the elevator finally landed at her floor and the doors opened. The entire floor was darkened and her shoes made a claccker-like sound against the floor as she walked up the long corridor. Every damn hallway in that building seemed to be modeled after actual runways. She smiled as she gave her walk a little strut and then the humming started, which quickly evolved into actual whisper level singing as she gained a little confidence and her hips garnered a little swing as she walked.
"...I'm a model, you know what I mean. And I do my little turn on the catwalk..." She attempted a fancy twirl, which sent her crashing against a wall. She laughed and straightened herself out before continuing. This time, however, she focused on simply--walking, her humming dissolving into silence as she reached her desk. She flopped down in her seat and picked up the phone, dialing the number she'd memorized a long time ago. Knowing a good cab company was essential in New York City, and she learned that rather quickly after her move there.
"--on the catwalk...yeah...hi!" She said cheerily into the receiver. The cab would be well on its way. In the meantime, she busied herself with readying her purse and coat, then sitting back for a moment, looking up at the high ceiling for a long while before her impatience got the best of her and she pulled herself up and out of the chair.
The walking thing was not getting any easier. After nearly tipping over, she braced herself on the edge of the desk and waited until she had steadied herself to continue moving. She could not remember the last time she had been that drunk, if ever.
Miranda's office was intimidating even without her in it. Everything was in its place. Andy was sure, that even the blank yellow post-it on the far right of the desk top was there for a reason. She didn't dare turn on the light. She didn't need to. She only wanted to take in the feeling of Miranda's surroundings being at peace for once. She ran her index finger along the edge of the large desk.
"I thought you were a plunderer."
The voice behind her was soft. Not at all altered, as always. But it made Andy jump out of her skin nonetheless and she yelped before turning sharply to be met by a impeccably dressed Miranda.
This was getting ridiculous. She was dressed in the outfit she'd worn to work. All day. Never once had Andy seen Miranda Priestly touch up her make up and now, at eleven-thirty at night, she still looked flawless.
She stood under the doorway, the dim light coming from Andy's computer screen creating a soft glowing frame behind her.
"Miranda--what are you doing here? I mean, STILL doing here--I mean--"
"This is still my office, is it not?" The woman replied before fully stepping into her office, not even a minimal glance in Andy's direction as she breezed past her, the scent of some custom created sweet scent lingering in her wake for Andy to obsess over.
"Yes, I'm sorry, you just--you scared me." Andy offered lamely as Miranda stood behind her desk and gathered a stack of papers together. It was then that Andy noticed Miranda's lap top on sleep mode, tiny green light flashing back. How had she missed that?
"I scared you," Miranda echoed in that frighteningly cold tone.
Except, to Andy, it had become more annoying in the last few seconds as she recognized the obvious mocking in her statement.
"I do hope you're not doing any last minute work in your--" Miranda glanced up ever so briefly, "--condition."
"I--no, I was just calling a cab..."
"In my office--" Miranda uttered blankly, pushing a few buttons on her keyboard, still not bothering to sit.
Andy wondered if this was an intimidation tactic. But then again, Miranda didn't need tactic. All she had to do was breathe in someone's direction and they'd most likely wet their pants. Her eyes scanned the older woman's figure as she leaned over just slightly. Her right leg bent at the knee, while one hand rested on her hip. Andy wondered what her work out regimen consisted of. She also wondered if she looked as good naked.
Shaking her head at the thought before it became embarrassing, she let the sudden realization that she'd been caught somewhere she was not supposed to be, hit her and she blushed furiously.
"Yes, Andrea. is there anything you needed from in here that you couldn't find at your own desk?" Miranda asked after a moment of Andy just standing there.
"N-no--" The brunette stammered, turning to leave, but then aggravated, both with herself for allowing this woman to affect her in this manner and with the lack of acknowledgement. She turned on her heel before she was past the desk and said firmly, "--actually yes, maybe look at me when you're talking to me."
Miranda's hand slid over the keyboard for about a sentence more before her eyes darted up in Andy's direction over the rim of the thick frame of her glasses, "Excuse me?" She asked. Same well mannered voice, even and steady as a surgeon's hand.
Icy blue eyes met Andy's fearful brown ones and she almost took a step back before mentally asserting herself. Except, now, Miranda was waiting for an explanation and Andy wasn't sure she had one. Shit.
There was an uncomfortable pause. Uncomfortable for Andy, anyway. Because she was sure that Miranda actually grew younger as she fed off of fear.
And then, Miranda's lip turned up in the slightest of smirks before letting her eyes fall back on the screen and uttering in an almost bored breath, "That's all."
This enraged Andy and her mouth opened and closed a few times before she finally blurted, "You kissed me!"
Miranda's hands stopped moving over the keyboard and Andy half expected her to look up, but she never did. It was a short moment before she continued in silence.
"You were drunk and sad and you kissed me in an elevator and you liked it. Or did you forget?" Andy continued bravely, suddenly feeling a strong surge of confidence. She wondered if she was still drunk. She couldn't tell.
Miranda's reply was quiet and blasé, "I never forget anything." Two final clicks of her mouse finally allowing her to regard Andy fully, "What is it that you want to discuss, exactly?"
"You can't just kiss someone and then brush it off like it was nothing." Andy exclaimed. She was on a roll. She felt slightly agitated and felt a rush of adrenaline as the words left her mouth.
Miranda, however, was not amused, or affected for that matter. She took a breath and asked, "And what was it exactly? If it wasn't nothing."
This, she was not prepared for. Andy searched her brain for something smart and smarmy. But she had nothing. All she had was the question she had been playing over and over in her head since it happened, "Why did you kiss me?"
Miranda's gaze was serene as she took no time to think of her response, "You were there."
Andy swallowed audibly and licked her lips before she found the next sentence, which was released in a low, disbelieving note with a soft shake of her head, "That's not true."
A low, nearly unheard chuckle left Miranda's beautifully glossed lips as she swiftly removed her glasses and rested her hip against the edge of the desk, "Please. Enlighten me. What was it then?"
"You kissed me because you wanted to kiss me."
Miranda's head tilted to the side in evident perplexity.
Andy quickly corrected herself as she repeated, "You kissed me because you wanted to kiss me. Not because you needed someone to kiss, and you know that."
"Clearly, in your current state of inebriation you're unable to decipher the difference between an actual display of affection and a sloppy drunken kiss in a hotel elevator, which was clearly--" She motioned dismissively with her hand at Andy, "--a mistake, since it has you suddenly behaving like a smitten schoolgirl." She took a deep, disinterested breath and added, "At any rate, I assure you, Andrea, that it will not happen again. I'm sure your cab is waiting."
While Andy felt the sudden urge to cry, the stubborn rush in her would not rest and she stood her ground firmly, "No. You will not dismiss me."
Miranda seemed suddenly amused, her eyes turning up in a faint smile.
Andy wanted to shake her.
She stalked forward and the fact that Miranda remained unaffected, unnerved her. She stopped only inches away and turned her chin up to somehow fake even a fragment bravado, her breath ragged as she exhaled through her nostrils.
Miranda waited. Her chest rose and fell in cadence with her even breathing. Her posture and stance remained unstirred. Andy felt laughed at.
Exhaling a tacit scoff, Miranda finally stepped aside. It was not in avoidance, it was not hurried. She was simply--not amused enough.
The following three seconds seemed to travel in slow motion as Andy tried to reason why she'd done what she'd done. What was she expecting to do standing this close to her? But the feeling of having that woman at such a close proximity again was almost electric.
Miranda brushed her shoulder in passing, and there was a sudden jolt, causing Andy's hand to fly out and grab her arm.
She didn't know what to expect; her hand to fall off, eternal damnation, a slow painful death. However, as soon as their lips met, Andy soon decided that she didn't care.
Miranda stiffened at first, her hands going up to push at Andy's shoulders, she, in turn, applied more pressure and turned the woman over to trap her against the desk and the initially rejecting hands turned soft and fell off swiftly.
Andy had no idea what had possessed her in that moment, but she was glad it had, whatever it was.
Miranda's lips parted and Andy could have sworn there was the shiver when their tongues touched.
She tasted like coffee, as opposed to Andy, who probably tasted like Tequila, salt and lime. But it was great nonetheless.
The kiss turned hungry quickly, as Andy noted that whenever it softened, Miranda seemed to begin to lose interest, so pressed tighter against her, forcing her leg between Miranda's knees until her thigh was pressed against her core.
Miranda's lips tore away from Andy's in a gasp, then slid against her cheek, her hips jerking forward, her eyes drifting shut.
There were no words. The older woman's hands never even moved up to touch, instead, they gripped the edge of the desk tightly.
Andy quickly figured out that a woman like Miranda didn't desire submissive lovers. She wanted someone who could take what they wanted from her, someone who wasn't afraid of her when it came down to it. You didn't ask Miranda for things, you took them.
So she took what she wanted.
Her hands were greedy in their assault, moving over hips and waist. Until an annoyingly persistent voice that sounded a lot like Nigel's kept nagging in her head, "Casualties-casualties-casualties..."
With reluctance, she pulled back, her lips almost aching at the all too sudden loss, while Miranda released a disapproving groan.
The older woman leaned back, blouse slightly ruffled, lips swollen and parted, that single strand of hair in her eye, breathing labored.
Andy wanted her more than anything. But she also wanted more than a quick, dirty fuck in Miranda's office. She shivered at the mental image, but made herself gain restraint. She did not want to be another casualty to the --probably--long list of lovers, used and thrown away.
However, when the brunette reached up to brush the hair out of Miranda's hair, the choice was stapled for her, as the woman pulled away from her touch and out of the confinement of Andy's body and the glass desk behind her.
Andy watched in awe as Miranda quickly composed herself, ran her fingers through her hair all of one time and was soon back to her usual self.
That air of disinterest was back as well all too quickly as she moved around her desk, gathering her things calmly, efficiently, as she did everything in her life.
Andy cursed herself for stopping. She wondered if Miranda was angry. Only a minute ago, she had been kissing her back. Her body responded to Andy's touch with such ease and sensuality...there was no trace of that in this Miranda, however.
She cleared her throat and swung her purse over her shoulder and grabbed a stack of mock ups adorned with sticky notes peaking out at the sides, rested them on her hip and met Andy's eyes as she said casually, "Re-schedule the run-through to an hour earlier tomorrow."
She was walking out of the office before Andy had a moment to think and she turned in time to see the other woman well on her way to the elevator, confidence coated walk bursting in sparks with every pounce of her heels against the floor. Andy prayed for her to turn and at least look at her one more time. Bark another order. Anything to convince Andy that she hadn't just imagined the whole thing.
But she got nothing.
And now as she sighed and sank into the nearest chair, she wondered what she was going to do now to have another excuse to kiss her boss.
Title: Take it All
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Characters are property of the film and their distributors. I do not claim to own them.
Summary: You don't ask Miranda anything. Andy tells a secret about herself and Miranda at the Runway Christmas party. Nigel tries to help.
Author's Notes: This is my very first time ever writing this fandom .I am very nervous about the reception of it, but I was just introduced to it recently and I loved it, so I had to give it a shot.
For D.
"Nigel! Nigel come do come do a sh-hot with me!" Andy enthusiastically asked of the man in the crowded Runway cafeteria while Emily continued to gag behind her after just having been tricked into a double shot of Cuervo with the inebriated brunette.
The Christmas party seemed be just about the only time that the Runway employees really let go and let their garters loose, Andy had noted. And she was going to take full advantage of it. Not to mention all the free alcohol. She stumbled in her borrowed Jimmy Choos and did a little dance as her favorite verse of Come On Eileen sounded against the walls.
Nigel who did not seem phased by the three and a half Manhattan’s he’d consumed in the past two hours, raised a bemused eyebrow and stood back calmly as the mess that was Andy Sachs managed to spill a fourth of the tequila in both glasses in her hands by walking all of five feet over to him.
“Don’t dance, Six, it’s not very becoming.” He said dryly.
Andy laughed, outstretching her arm, and spilling even more of the yellow-ish substance in the process, “Come on, Nigel! It’s Christmas!”
“And I say you’ve had enough.” He told her blankly, taking one glass after the other and placing them securely on the table behind him.
Andy licked her lips and looked about the room for Miranda. She thought she had seen her earlier--before all the Tequila--and had opted to shy away until she was drunk enough to say something even remotely witty. It seemed to fit the occasion. But, she might have gotten a little carried away, because she was now having a difficult time standing still, she had lost feeling of her bottom lip, which she could not stop biting, and the barely there-unnoticeable-nothing Miranda infatuation that had developed over time, since day one, was becoming an unbearable urge to find the woman and inappropriately take advantage of one of the various mistletoe scattered over the entry ways.
That part had actually been Emily’s idea. “Just pull the woman under that mistletoe over there and give her a good--snogging already, Andrea, Jesus Christ--” She had drunkenly babbled, then muttered against her drink, "--it's embarrassing."
"Where's Maranda?" Andy slurringly asked Nigel, scratching the side of her nose as she continued to search the party for the silver haired woman.
Nigel watched the young assistant with pity. The girl was completely smitten. He'd seen it before. Miranda Priestly was a woman of power, a symbol of sophistication and femininity to be envied and desired and he could count on two hands all the young women that had gone through that building and had found themselves completely enthralled by the infamous ice queen. This, however, was getting sad.
"Andy, honey--" He started, slowly and calmly, placing his hand on her shoulder to get her attention, "--hey, listen--" He snapped his fingers in front of her face once the gentle first grade teacher voice didn't take, until she had turned to idly face him, "--this little crush on Mi-randa is a little inappropriate, don't you think?"
Andy opened her mouth to speak, but failed to make a sound when Emily came up from behind, beating her to the punch, "Try absolutely disturbing and not to mention disgustingly cliché. Young, fashionably challenged girl falling for the head of everything boss?" The red head rolled her eyes and stood next to Nigel, bracing herself on his shoulder as she bent her knee and adjusted the shoe strap around her ankle until she mumbled finally, "Owe, these hurt..."
"It's not a crush--" Andy, informed them sternly, fanning herself as the warmth of the alcohol in her system rose up to her cheeks, leaving a rosy blush, "--I will have you know."
"Right," Emily snorted in return.
"It's not!"
"Andy, honey, it's really--just stop." Nigel replied.
"Miranda and I have kissed before okay!" Andy hissed, and there was silence. A long silence. And she thanked god that she was drunk enough to blurt that out and not be completely embarrassed about it.
What pissed her off, however, was the burst of loud, disbelieving laughter Emily released and the look of utter confusion on Nigel's face. No. Not confusion. Pity, again.
"Andy, you are completely bonkers when you're wasted..." Emily managed to say in between side splitting laughter.
"I'm--excuse me!" Andy, cut in, evidently offended, "We have!"
Nigel shook his head and said softly, "Oh, honey. Just stop while you're ahead."
"I'm not lying!"
An unbelievably loud howl of laughter left Emily as she bent over, no longer able to contain herself--not that she had been trying in the first place-- as she tried to speak, "Stop it, I'm going to pee myself--"
Andy stood, staring ahead, angry and unimpressed as Emily cackled her way back towards the bar. The brunette turned slowly towards the bald man looking at her like she was Annie the orphan and she glared, "Stop looking at me like that."
"Andy, come on. You can't blame her for laughing."
"I may be a former fashion victim, but I am no liar."
Nigel's demeanor changed from deep concern for her mental stability, to that of shock and quick realization as he quickly looked around the room to make sure no one had heard before pulling Andy by the arm and dragging her to a corner table, where he sat her down and leaned in close.
"Owe, Nigel!" Andy whined, rubbing at her arm and closing her eyes briefly, "Oh, the room is spinning."
"Andy, you need to keep your mouth shut about this. Do you hear me?" He warned her sternly. He knew about Miranda's past indiscretions. He was sure he was the only one. And while she never admitted them to him directly, there was an unspoken understanding between the two. He understood that her private matters were no one's business where business was concerned, and so he turned a blind eye, and she, in her own Miranda Priestly way, was appreciative. He did still have a job after all. But now, looking at the alcohol soaked, enamored assistant, he was suddenly scared for Miranda's reputation. Never once had she slipped and taken on with an assistant, out of all people.
He almost felt sorry for the poor girl. She was pouting and miserable and a walking nightmare for everyone involved.
"Andy, listen to me--" he started again, tilting her chin in his direction, "--you need to forget about it. A woman of Miranda's stature--she--"
"I know, she's out of my league, blah-blah-- but we had a moment, Nigel! And she kissed me!"
He stopped for a second and tried to consider that Miranda was capable of having a "moment" with anyone. He grimaced. No. Impossible. "I'm sure you did." He nodded, "But it won't go further than that. Okay? So just--forget it! Go home and sleep it off."
"She's a great kisser--" She told him with a wicked smile as she remembered the brief encounter in Paris. The taste of Miranda's lipstick--everything, "--and she's got a great ass, Nigel. It's almost embarrassing--how great her ass is--"
"Andy, stop talking." He told her firmly, "You understand why you can't talk about this, don't you? It would destroy Miranda."
"I don't care. She's destroyed me." She stopped and rolled her eyes at the sound of her own sentence, "Oh, god, I am drunk." She sighed and let her head fall back with an audible groan, "Nigel, what is wrong with me?"
"Nothing," He told her frankly, "Come here, Six--" He tugged gently at her.
She groaned, "No..."
"Come HERE." He insisted, grabbing both her hands and pulling her up straight until sad doe eyes were staring back at him. He patted her hands softly, and touched her cheek briefly, "I don't blame you. I really don't. But if you can keep yourself from going there again, do it. Save yourself all the heartache it will bring you. Trust someone who's seen more than a few casualties. "
"I already have heartache," She mumbled pathetically.
"From one kiss?" He asked doubtfully.
"It was really good." She heaved a breath and scrunched up her nose, "You're right. I should go home."
"Good girl." He nodded, helping her to her feet, "You okay to walk?"
"Yeah, I'm just going to go up to the office to grab my things and I'll call a cab."
"Alright."
"Let's just not mention this again, shall we?" She whispered.
"Oh, trust me, this is a topic of conversation I wish to have erased from my memory. With bleach."
She snorted a laugh and slapped his cheek harder than intended, "You're funny."
The walk to the elevator was difficult. She tried to summarize the number of cocktails in her head, but she lost count rather quickly after the bottle of Cuervo was placed in front of her. She stumbled into the elevator and she had to squint to see the floor numbers clearly. Finally, with her tongue sticking out at the corner of her mouth, intent and in deep concentration, she leaned forward until she was mere inches from the buttons and steadily, she directed her index finger against what she hoped was the right one.
She breathed a sigh of relief when the elevator started into motion, and quickly fell back against the side wall. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on ignoring the slow elevation. However, the only thoughts to distract her were that of Miranda's lips against hers, the taste of scotch on her tongue and the smell of something expensive in her nose. It had been months before and she still couldn't shake it. It became a lot more difficult to just put it to rest. For the most part, at night. Especially after a few drinks.
Something resembling a groan and a squeal reminiscent of a childish tantrum escaped her lips as she stomped her foot and bitter tears rimmed her eyes.
She laughed at herself when the elevator finally landed at her floor and the doors opened. The entire floor was darkened and her shoes made a claccker-like sound against the floor as she walked up the long corridor. Every damn hallway in that building seemed to be modeled after actual runways. She smiled as she gave her walk a little strut and then the humming started, which quickly evolved into actual whisper level singing as she gained a little confidence and her hips garnered a little swing as she walked.
"...I'm a model, you know what I mean. And I do my little turn on the catwalk..." She attempted a fancy twirl, which sent her crashing against a wall. She laughed and straightened herself out before continuing. This time, however, she focused on simply--walking, her humming dissolving into silence as she reached her desk. She flopped down in her seat and picked up the phone, dialing the number she'd memorized a long time ago. Knowing a good cab company was essential in New York City, and she learned that rather quickly after her move there.
"--on the catwalk...yeah...hi!" She said cheerily into the receiver. The cab would be well on its way. In the meantime, she busied herself with readying her purse and coat, then sitting back for a moment, looking up at the high ceiling for a long while before her impatience got the best of her and she pulled herself up and out of the chair.
The walking thing was not getting any easier. After nearly tipping over, she braced herself on the edge of the desk and waited until she had steadied herself to continue moving. She could not remember the last time she had been that drunk, if ever.
Miranda's office was intimidating even without her in it. Everything was in its place. Andy was sure, that even the blank yellow post-it on the far right of the desk top was there for a reason. She didn't dare turn on the light. She didn't need to. She only wanted to take in the feeling of Miranda's surroundings being at peace for once. She ran her index finger along the edge of the large desk.
"I thought you were a plunderer."
The voice behind her was soft. Not at all altered, as always. But it made Andy jump out of her skin nonetheless and she yelped before turning sharply to be met by a impeccably dressed Miranda.
This was getting ridiculous. She was dressed in the outfit she'd worn to work. All day. Never once had Andy seen Miranda Priestly touch up her make up and now, at eleven-thirty at night, she still looked flawless.
She stood under the doorway, the dim light coming from Andy's computer screen creating a soft glowing frame behind her.
"Miranda--what are you doing here? I mean, STILL doing here--I mean--"
"This is still my office, is it not?" The woman replied before fully stepping into her office, not even a minimal glance in Andy's direction as she breezed past her, the scent of some custom created sweet scent lingering in her wake for Andy to obsess over.
"Yes, I'm sorry, you just--you scared me." Andy offered lamely as Miranda stood behind her desk and gathered a stack of papers together. It was then that Andy noticed Miranda's lap top on sleep mode, tiny green light flashing back. How had she missed that?
"I scared you," Miranda echoed in that frighteningly cold tone.
Except, to Andy, it had become more annoying in the last few seconds as she recognized the obvious mocking in her statement.
"I do hope you're not doing any last minute work in your--" Miranda glanced up ever so briefly, "--condition."
"I--no, I was just calling a cab..."
"In my office--" Miranda uttered blankly, pushing a few buttons on her keyboard, still not bothering to sit.
Andy wondered if this was an intimidation tactic. But then again, Miranda didn't need tactic. All she had to do was breathe in someone's direction and they'd most likely wet their pants. Her eyes scanned the older woman's figure as she leaned over just slightly. Her right leg bent at the knee, while one hand rested on her hip. Andy wondered what her work out regimen consisted of. She also wondered if she looked as good naked.
Shaking her head at the thought before it became embarrassing, she let the sudden realization that she'd been caught somewhere she was not supposed to be, hit her and she blushed furiously.
"Yes, Andrea. is there anything you needed from in here that you couldn't find at your own desk?" Miranda asked after a moment of Andy just standing there.
"N-no--" The brunette stammered, turning to leave, but then aggravated, both with herself for allowing this woman to affect her in this manner and with the lack of acknowledgement. She turned on her heel before she was past the desk and said firmly, "--actually yes, maybe look at me when you're talking to me."
Miranda's hand slid over the keyboard for about a sentence more before her eyes darted up in Andy's direction over the rim of the thick frame of her glasses, "Excuse me?" She asked. Same well mannered voice, even and steady as a surgeon's hand.
Icy blue eyes met Andy's fearful brown ones and she almost took a step back before mentally asserting herself. Except, now, Miranda was waiting for an explanation and Andy wasn't sure she had one. Shit.
There was an uncomfortable pause. Uncomfortable for Andy, anyway. Because she was sure that Miranda actually grew younger as she fed off of fear.
And then, Miranda's lip turned up in the slightest of smirks before letting her eyes fall back on the screen and uttering in an almost bored breath, "That's all."
This enraged Andy and her mouth opened and closed a few times before she finally blurted, "You kissed me!"
Miranda's hands stopped moving over the keyboard and Andy half expected her to look up, but she never did. It was a short moment before she continued in silence.
"You were drunk and sad and you kissed me in an elevator and you liked it. Or did you forget?" Andy continued bravely, suddenly feeling a strong surge of confidence. She wondered if she was still drunk. She couldn't tell.
Miranda's reply was quiet and blasé, "I never forget anything." Two final clicks of her mouse finally allowing her to regard Andy fully, "What is it that you want to discuss, exactly?"
"You can't just kiss someone and then brush it off like it was nothing." Andy exclaimed. She was on a roll. She felt slightly agitated and felt a rush of adrenaline as the words left her mouth.
Miranda, however, was not amused, or affected for that matter. She took a breath and asked, "And what was it exactly? If it wasn't nothing."
This, she was not prepared for. Andy searched her brain for something smart and smarmy. But she had nothing. All she had was the question she had been playing over and over in her head since it happened, "Why did you kiss me?"
Miranda's gaze was serene as she took no time to think of her response, "You were there."
Andy swallowed audibly and licked her lips before she found the next sentence, which was released in a low, disbelieving note with a soft shake of her head, "That's not true."
A low, nearly unheard chuckle left Miranda's beautifully glossed lips as she swiftly removed her glasses and rested her hip against the edge of the desk, "Please. Enlighten me. What was it then?"
"You kissed me because you wanted to kiss me."
Miranda's head tilted to the side in evident perplexity.
Andy quickly corrected herself as she repeated, "You kissed me because you wanted to kiss me. Not because you needed someone to kiss, and you know that."
"Clearly, in your current state of inebriation you're unable to decipher the difference between an actual display of affection and a sloppy drunken kiss in a hotel elevator, which was clearly--" She motioned dismissively with her hand at Andy, "--a mistake, since it has you suddenly behaving like a smitten schoolgirl." She took a deep, disinterested breath and added, "At any rate, I assure you, Andrea, that it will not happen again. I'm sure your cab is waiting."
While Andy felt the sudden urge to cry, the stubborn rush in her would not rest and she stood her ground firmly, "No. You will not dismiss me."
Miranda seemed suddenly amused, her eyes turning up in a faint smile.
Andy wanted to shake her.
She stalked forward and the fact that Miranda remained unaffected, unnerved her. She stopped only inches away and turned her chin up to somehow fake even a fragment bravado, her breath ragged as she exhaled through her nostrils.
Miranda waited. Her chest rose and fell in cadence with her even breathing. Her posture and stance remained unstirred. Andy felt laughed at.
Exhaling a tacit scoff, Miranda finally stepped aside. It was not in avoidance, it was not hurried. She was simply--not amused enough.
The following three seconds seemed to travel in slow motion as Andy tried to reason why she'd done what she'd done. What was she expecting to do standing this close to her? But the feeling of having that woman at such a close proximity again was almost electric.
Miranda brushed her shoulder in passing, and there was a sudden jolt, causing Andy's hand to fly out and grab her arm.
She didn't know what to expect; her hand to fall off, eternal damnation, a slow painful death. However, as soon as their lips met, Andy soon decided that she didn't care.
Miranda stiffened at first, her hands going up to push at Andy's shoulders, she, in turn, applied more pressure and turned the woman over to trap her against the desk and the initially rejecting hands turned soft and fell off swiftly.
Andy had no idea what had possessed her in that moment, but she was glad it had, whatever it was.
Miranda's lips parted and Andy could have sworn there was the shiver when their tongues touched.
She tasted like coffee, as opposed to Andy, who probably tasted like Tequila, salt and lime. But it was great nonetheless.
The kiss turned hungry quickly, as Andy noted that whenever it softened, Miranda seemed to begin to lose interest, so pressed tighter against her, forcing her leg between Miranda's knees until her thigh was pressed against her core.
Miranda's lips tore away from Andy's in a gasp, then slid against her cheek, her hips jerking forward, her eyes drifting shut.
There were no words. The older woman's hands never even moved up to touch, instead, they gripped the edge of the desk tightly.
Andy quickly figured out that a woman like Miranda didn't desire submissive lovers. She wanted someone who could take what they wanted from her, someone who wasn't afraid of her when it came down to it. You didn't ask Miranda for things, you took them.
So she took what she wanted.
Her hands were greedy in their assault, moving over hips and waist. Until an annoyingly persistent voice that sounded a lot like Nigel's kept nagging in her head, "Casualties-casualties-casualties..."
With reluctance, she pulled back, her lips almost aching at the all too sudden loss, while Miranda released a disapproving groan.
The older woman leaned back, blouse slightly ruffled, lips swollen and parted, that single strand of hair in her eye, breathing labored.
Andy wanted her more than anything. But she also wanted more than a quick, dirty fuck in Miranda's office. She shivered at the mental image, but made herself gain restraint. She did not want to be another casualty to the --probably--long list of lovers, used and thrown away.
However, when the brunette reached up to brush the hair out of Miranda's hair, the choice was stapled for her, as the woman pulled away from her touch and out of the confinement of Andy's body and the glass desk behind her.
Andy watched in awe as Miranda quickly composed herself, ran her fingers through her hair all of one time and was soon back to her usual self.
That air of disinterest was back as well all too quickly as she moved around her desk, gathering her things calmly, efficiently, as she did everything in her life.
Andy cursed herself for stopping. She wondered if Miranda was angry. Only a minute ago, she had been kissing her back. Her body responded to Andy's touch with such ease and sensuality...there was no trace of that in this Miranda, however.
She cleared her throat and swung her purse over her shoulder and grabbed a stack of mock ups adorned with sticky notes peaking out at the sides, rested them on her hip and met Andy's eyes as she said casually, "Re-schedule the run-through to an hour earlier tomorrow."
She was walking out of the office before Andy had a moment to think and she turned in time to see the other woman well on her way to the elevator, confidence coated walk bursting in sparks with every pounce of her heels against the floor. Andy prayed for her to turn and at least look at her one more time. Bark another order. Anything to convince Andy that she hadn't just imagined the whole thing.
But she got nothing.
And now as she sighed and sank into the nearest chair, she wondered what she was going to do now to have another excuse to kiss her boss.