Fic: The Right Thing, Final Chapter (6D), Miranda/Andy, NC17
Title: The Right Thing (part 6D/6)
Author: damelola
Rating: PG this part, NC17 eventually
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Word Count: ~7500 (this chapter). The whole story clocks in at approx. 57000 words.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, these characters remain the property of Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. No profit is being made, and no harm is intended (except the fun kind!) This story borrows from real-life events in cases such as Martha Stewart's, but I promise to keep it light on boring corporate stuff as much as possible.
Summary: Set after the movie!verse of DWP. Andy is working at the Mirror and receives an unexpected phone call. Miranda needs her, again. It seems Miranda has run into a little legal trouble, and who better to help get her side of the story out, right?
With a million thanks to shesgottaread for a sterling beta a job :) She really goes above and beyond, and this story wouldn't be in any kind of shape without her! This is the final chapter and although I have a sequel in mind, some other stories will be taking precedence. I have also learned my lesson about finishing WIPs instead of posting as I go along!
Previous Parts: (you may need a refresher, sorry again for the delay!)
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |
Chapter 5A | Chapter 5B | Chapter 5C | Chapter 6A | Chapter 6B | Chapter 6C
Andy stumbled up the stairs to her apartment with legs that seemed to have turned to lead. She fumbled with the keys for so long that she contemplated just shoulder-charging the flimsy piece of wood, but all the locks that Nate had installed when he lived there reminded her of how painful a stupid idea like that would be.
She had barely finished dumping her things and washing her face when Lily began buzzing frantically on her intercom. Leaving the front door ajar, Andy had already taken up residence in full pathetic mode on the sofa when her friend came barreling into the room.
"Oh wow, it is as bad as it sounded."
Still in her reasonably smart court clothes, Andy had settled for kicking off her low heels and crawling under the ratty throw that had graced her dorm rooms and off-campus housing before being dragged to New York. Everyone who encountered it begged Andy to put the scrappy wool out of its misery, but she had clung to it defiantly. Lily used to call her Linus in teasing, and the fact that she didn't make even one sarcastic remark on seeing Andy wrapped up in it meant that Andy had achieved the dubious distinction of being pathetic beyond mockery. Great.
Lily held up the grocery bag she was toting along with her laptop and portfolio cases, and the sight of a tequila bottle peeping out over the brown paper brim was a sight for Andy's already sore eyes. Crying in non-waterproof mascara could do that to a girl, she reasoned.
Knowing better than to push, Lily busied herself with setting up their drinks before collapsing next to Andy on the lumpy sofa.
"Spill, girl. You've obviously been holding this one in for too long if you're already at the crying in the street stage."
Andy might have been offended by Lily's assessment if it wasn't painfully accurate. Damn friends who knew her better than she knew herself.
"Well, there's this woman I'm sort of into--"
Lily nodded, unfazed since Andy's little nightclub revelation.
"Any chance you're going to tell me who it is? Someone at work? Or has Linda the soccer player moved to New York?"
With her head in her hands, Andy groaned at even the thought of confessing the name out loud. This was definitely no-taking-it-back territory and only the thought of it being real and known to another person messed with her head more than actually having feelings for Miranda in the first place.
"Miranda."
To Lily's credit, it didn't take her very long to put the pieces together. She stared at Andy open-mouthed as the realization dawned, even as she tried to act like everything was still normal and the world hadn't just about flipped itself upside down. Andy felt an awful lot of love towards her best friend in that moment.
"And yes, Lils, I do mean Miranda Priestly. I know it doesn't make sense--"
Lily burst out laughing.
"Doesn't make sense?" She managed to squeeze the words out between hoots of laughter. "Andy, you had such a case of hero-worship by the time you left that damn magazine that it wouldn't have surprised me if you were screwing her every morning after getting the Starbucks. I just can’t believe you’re finally admitting it to yourself."
It was difficult, but Andy resisted the urge to get mad at Lily's reaction. Here she was, after all, in emotional pain while Lily struggled to get her giggles under control.
"Nothing happened while I worked for her."
That snapped Lily back to attention in an instant. She reached out to pat Andy on the arm, concern in her eyes.
"You're saying something's happened now? Hell, when you said crush I thought it was some one-sided thing. Isn't she, you know, kind of straight? I heard she bites the heads off guys after she sleeps with them."
Andy threw the nearest cushion at Lily before reaching for one of the brimming shot glasses on the coffee table. The tequila burned just enough as she felt it side down her throat, and she didn't answer Lily's question until she'd had a second shot.
"Oh God, where should I start?"
It turned out to be a pretty long night.
----
When dawn came screaming through Andy's living room window, she cursed herself silently for not pulling the curtains closed before passing out on the sofa. The complaint was soon overridden when she made the foolish mistake of moving her head. The pounding of kettledrums somewhere behind her forehead took second place to the shooting pain coursing from the base of her skull down through what had previously been a perfectly normal neck.
Jose Cuervo had a lot to answer for. Throwing an arm out blindly, there was a grunt as her hand made contact with Lily, who was still very much asleep. Figuring that Lily was old enough to fend for herself by now, Andy summoned the Herculean effort required to get off the couch and stagger into the bathroom.
Having showered the worst of the night before away, Andy padded through to put on a strong pot of coffee, swallowing two Advil and downing the best part of a carton of Tropicana while she waited for the bubbling and brewing to provide her with a hot drink and caffeine. As though she’d been summoned by the coffee maker, Lily came shuffling in before Andy could finish filling the two waiting mugs.
“So, it wasn’t some crazy dream?” Lily looked as though she might tip over at any moment, but her tone was serious. “You really have got the hots for the Snow Queen?”
Andy grunted in assent, which was about as much as she could manage in her fragile state.
“Okay. So, is there any chance of breakfast now that Nate doesn’t live here?”
The thought of cooking, and all the noises and smells that came with it, made Andy feel queasy all over again.
“Go grab a shower. I’ll check my email. Then pancakes? At the uh, diner?”
Every word took way more effort than normal, but Lily seemed to be in agreement. Feeling better at the thought of imminent carbs, Andy made her way into the bedroom, laying out clean and comfortable clothes for Lily to borrow before dressing herself in jeans and a plain black sweater. With her biker boots to complete the ensemble, Andy felt ready to face the world, or at least the two block walk to the diner.
She had her laptop fired up and logged in back in the living room when she heard Lily come out of the bathroom. Andy was surprised to see more than fifty messages waiting in her in-box, something that usually only happened after vacation time. She'd cleared it out before leaving the office yesterday, but she noticed with some trepidation that at least two of the waiting emails were from her boss. Not filing about Miranda's verdict had maybe been something of a big deal.
Flicking between tabs, she scanned the New York Times website and then over to the Mirror's. It wasn't disloyalty, exactly, she had to keep up with the competition after all. The pictures of Miranda on each made Andy's heart beat a little faster while her stomach performed a mutinous half-somersault. She really had to get away from silver-haired celebrities and closer to butter-laden pancakes, for the sake of her sanity.
In fact, Andy was just closing the browser window when she finally registered her own name glaring back at her from the Mirror's main page. It didn't make any sense, that she should be featured when . . . oh, crap.
Josh had filed the story she'd been too chicken to post, and he'd been enough of a gentleman to give her the credit. A less scrupulous journalist would have tweaked just enough to claim the story as their own, but Andy's eyes drank in the words of the polemic she'd battered out on her keyboard while Miranda's kisses had still been fresh in her mind.
The condemnation of the FBI, the US Attorney and the media themselves rang out from every sentence, Andy had to admit. She held up Miranda's countless achievements in place of the slander and gossip that had filled the pages for months, and lambasted the people who reveled in tearing down someone successful, simply because she had the nerve to be a woman, wealthy and powerful all at the same time.
No mention of Emily, of Stephen, or sordid affairs. In fact, Josh hadn't added anything that detracted from the tone of the piece--it stood intact as a defense of Miranda Priestly and the wrongs that had been visited upon her.
Andy was really, truly screwed.
Not in the work sense, as the emails she subsequently read confirmed. John was full of praise in his emails, basking once more in the reflected glory. Josh hadn't emailed to confess his act of friendship, but Andy had already decided to repay him in beer and the phone number of any model he wanted from her days at Runway. Well, after she beat the living crap out of him for ignoring her very specific request.
Lily had wandered into the bedroom to get dressed, and she emerged fully dressed in borrowed clothes and in search of the breakfast that was rightfully hers. Andy offered her the laptop with a forced smile, and Lily perched on the edge of the sofa to read it.
"I swear to God, Andy, this might be the best thing you've ever written."
The compliment was wonderful, but not at all what Andy needed to hear.
"How do you think Miranda's going to like it?"
"She won't. Which is why it wasn't supposed to be printed."
Lily closed the laptop and placed it carefully on the sofa. She thought for a moment before taking the best possible course of action.
"Let's get some food. We can worry about the rest later."
Which was a perfect plan, at least until they made it to the sidewalk outside Andy's building. In fact, Andy had barely cleared the bottom step before a small English hurricane came striding towards her at a speed that should have been impossible in spike heels. Emily didn't care much for the laws of physics, nor did she care if she scared the ever-living crap out of Andy by grabbing her arm with fingers that would put a vise to shame.
"You. Are. Coming. With. Me."
Andy protested, looking towards Lily for support. Lily had a distinctly wicked grin on her face, and Andy's heart sank at the sight of it.
"Hey, you're Emily, right?"
Emily nodded at Lily, her eyes narrowing in suspicion that a 'nobody' would know her name.
"Let me guess, Miranda sent you here to get Andy?"
"What if she did?"
With her hands on her hips and wearing an expression of undisguised loathing, Emily didn't look as scary as she obviously thought she did. Although Andy felt strangely compelled to do whatever she said, perhaps a kind of sympathy for Emily having bared her soul in court. Well, what was left of her soul, anyway.
"I'm not complaining, Posh Spice. In fact, I think Andy going to see Miranda is about the best idea anybody has had in a long time. Can I come? This is a fight I would pay to see."
Lily looked almost giddy at the thought of Andy and Miranda getting into an explosive argument, all signs of her tequila-induced suffering had evaporated at the prospect of trouble. Andy pulled her hands up into the sleeves of her leather jacket, her body temperature seemingly having dropped way more than the weather could be responsible for. Turning first to her friend and then Emily, Andy decided to cut off the bitching and malicious glee before it could get dangerous.
“No, Lils. I’m going to go and see Miranda, and you’re going to go have the breakfast that was rightfully mine. Emily, you’re going to stop looking at me like I’m dressed in yesterday’s trash; it’s called casual wear. Then maybe I’ll come with you.”
The derisive snort from Emily was about as good as Andy was going to get, so she hugged Lily quickly and moved toward the waiting town car. Emily gave Andy a sharp push when she neglected to get in quickly enough, and it took all of Andy’s restraint not to turn around and push back. Only curiosity and her apparently compulsive need to see Miranda kept Andy in the car.
She stared out of the tinted window as the downtown traffic whizzed by. Despite the tourists, traffic moved a lot better on the weekend, something that had frequently helped her out when running impossible errands for Miranda. Emily sat across from her on the backseat, pressing her skinny frame right into the corner to show that she still had no intention of getting close to her former colleague. Her Blackberry was in her hands, tapping away at a frantic pace while she resolutely ignored Andy.
The coffee she'd needed to wake her up and restore some of her humanity was now sloshing uncomfortably in her stomach, even the smooth motion of a good car with an experienced driver was enough to make her feel almost car sick for the first time since childhood. Determined to focus on anything but the queasiness, Andy took the risky step of engaging with Emily.
“Sorry about your promotion, Em.”
It wasn’t the nicest way to broach the subject, but Andy wasn’t really in the mood for small talk that Emily would only deflect with sarcasm. It was almost worth the pang of guilt to watch Emily’s jaw drop ever so slightly.
“I’m sure I don’t know what on Earth you’re talking about, Andrea. Maybe you don’t either, since you’re clearly suffering from either a hangover or a head injury.”
Ah, the warm embrace of Emily’s friendship. Andy was reminded once more why she hadn’t really missed it, other than in her most masochistic moments (coincidentally the times when she had also felt nostalgic for Miranda’s company).
“We’ve already covered me looking like crap, remember?” Andy rolled her eyes at having to concede the point, since she looked perfectly acceptable by any sane person’s standards. “And all I meant was that Miranda probably wasn’t too happy about you publicly discussing… well, you know … and it has to suck being stuck there as her assistant when you had the chance to escape once and for all.”
Expecting Emily to babble her way off-topic again, Andy was surprised to see a smile forming on Emily’s violently pink lips.
“Oh, did you-“ An honest-to-God giggle, which stunned Andy even further. “Did you think Miranda was going take away my promotion for helping her win the case?”
“Well, yeah,” Andy replied. “She looked pretty pissed in court.”
“I hardly think so. Once I drop your sorry self off, I can collect my reference and go home to pack.”
“Wait, what?” Andy’s head was beginning to hurt all over again. “She fired you? She’s having you deported?”
Emily rolled her eyes so hard that for a brief second Andy worried they would get stuck that way, permanently staring at too much eyeliner and iridescent green eyeshadow.
“Oh, pay attention, Andrea. I took a role at Runway UK: Junior Editor. Which means I get to go home, something I haven’t managed in three years. I might even get a decent cup of tea while I’m there.”
Picturing Emily drinking anything other than Starbucks almost blew Andy’s mind. Before she could question Emily any further, the ringing of the Blackberry filled the car and Emily was soon chattering at a million miles an hour to someone more important than her ex-colleague. Which would be just about anyone, in Emily’s book.
Unfortunately, not-Roy was obviously very adept at getting a car quickly through Manhattan. Cutting through cross-streets and zig-zagging as if he was handling a Formula One racer, he had them cruising along East 73rd way before Andy was ready for it.
Not that Emily was leaving time to adjust either; she ended her call and practically jumped out of the car. Andy was just about to tug on the handle when she realized that she did have a choice about going in there. Miranda didn’t own her, didn’t employ her and would probably forget about some minor slight from a nobody if Andy got out of the car and marched straight to the nearest subway station instead. That, in fact, would be the sane thing to do.
But for the same reason that she had so willingly come along with the bossy Emily and surrendered her chance of pancakes, Andy knew she would walk up those steps and confront the woman who had been driving her insane. Hell, maybe letting Miranda get in a few more verbal blows would cure Andy of these pointless feelings once and for all. If she ignored the butterflies in her stomach, that reason almost sounded plausible.
To Andy’s dismay, Emily accompanied her only as far as the first of the many tables with flowers. A cream-colored envelope was quickly slipped into Emily’s Kate Spade purse, and when she turned to leave so quickly, Andy panicked and grabbed her former colleague’s arm.
“Don’t you have to-“
“Come in there? With you?” Emily snorted. “You’ve made your own bed, Andrea, and now you’ll have to lie in it.”
Wresting herself free from Andy’s desperate clutches, Emily made for the front door. Realizing that she was facing her doom, Andy made one last ditch effort at building up some good karma.
“Good luck, Em, with everything.”
Emily nodded stiffly, her hand already on the door handle. Her lips twitched slightly, as though a smile might escape despite her best efforts.
“Yes, well. I have a lot to do.”
With that, Andy’s last line of defense walked out of the door and on with her new life. It was like the Runwayequivalent of the Witness Protection program, Andy supposed, while kicking herself for not asking Emily more about what had happened after court, particularly with Stephen.
As the last fleeting strains of freedom beckoned to her, Andy was short-circuited by the sound of her name floating down the hallway toward her.
“Andréa?”
Her feet were set in motion before she could stop herself, a Pavlovian response to Miranda’s voice that she had yet to grow out of.
She found Miranda in the white expanse of the kitchen, which seemed like the domestic equivalent of Miranda’s office, with the track lighting and artfully arranged decorations in the sea of brightness. For her part, Miranda looked oddly at home in the one room Andy had never been able to imagine her in. Leaning against the island in the middle of the room, Miranda didn’t bother to look around at Andy’s entrance, but there was no mistaking the sight of multiple copies of the Mirror behind her, between the fruit bowl and a half-full mug of coffee.
With a burst of bravado, Andy sat on one of the tall stools opposite Miranda’s back and reached for an apple from the bowl. Only when she took an exaggerated, crunching bite from it did Miranda deign to turn around, almost causing Andy to choke on her mouthful. Miranda’s expression was impossible to read, Andy noted with some dismay. She concentrated on chewing while silently praying for Miranda to break the silence. Only then would she have a chance of gauging the mood.
“As love letters go, you’re no Lord Byron.”
It was really lucky that Andy had already swallowed her bite of the apple, because she really would have choked otherwise. Unless her eyes were deceiving her, she thought that might actually have been the flicker of a smile tugging at the corners of Miranda’s mouth.
“You’re uh,” Andy floundered, words deserting her in the glare of Miranda’s full attention. “You’re not mad?”
“Did you know I never intended to see you again after yesterday? When I left you in the car?”
Answering a question with questions: Miranda at her most impossible. Andy really had to get her head examined for having feelings for this woman.
“I would never have guessed, you know, from the cruel dismissal and the fact that you never looked back.”
Miranda’s eyes narrowed at the sarcasm; a little hypocrisy on her part given that it was essentially her second language, just edging out French. For a moment, Andy was back in the unpleasant limbo of wondering whether she’d blown it every time she spoke. But Miranda traced a finger down the edge of Andy’s article, apparently distracted by the newsprint, and Andy allowed herself to exhale.
“I still don’t know why I called you, Andréa.”
As the protest formed on Andy’s tongue, that Miranda had not in fact called her, choosing instead to send Emily to collect Andy like a bunch of Calvin Klein skirts, the actual meaning of Miranda’s words dawned on her. She meant calling Andy in the first place, those few endless months ago.
“Maybe because I’m a good journalist?” Miranda’s response was an infuriating head tilt, as though that reason stretched the very boundaries of possibility. Andy pushed on before she could get angry. “Or maybe you just missed me?”
The flush on Miranda’s cheeks suggested that Andy had struck a little close to home, and she was holding her breath as she waited for a response.
“Stranger things have happened, I suppose,” Miranda conceded without any particular grace.
Andy had a thousand other questions still to ask, ranging from Miranda’s job security to the current location of the twins. She wanted an honest answer about how Miranda felt about the charges being thrown out, not to mention the potentially explosive subject of Emily, Stephen and the courtroom revelations that were currently splashed across the Saturday papers and hundreds of blogs. Though the journalist in her vied for control of her thought processes, it stood no chance in the face of Miranda standing there, looking good enough to eat in a dark-blue wrap dress that even Andy the Philistine recognized as DvF.
Slipping off the stool, Andy made her way around the kitchen island with cautious steps. Miranda didn’t flinch, watching with a guarded expression once Andy started moving. When there was no more than a foot between them, Andy asked the one question that really couldn’t wait any longer.
“Why am I here, Miranda?”
Folding the newspaper in half, Miranda looked away as she answered.
“That’s a bit philosophical for a Saturday morning, isn’t it?”
Sighing in frustration, Andy leaned in a little closer. Repeating her question, she was rewarded by Miranda turning to face her. By way of an answer, Miranda reached out with one slightly trembling hand, which she placed on Andy’s upper chest, following the v-neck line of her sweater as the hand came to rest. Whether she intended to push Andy away, or simply buy herself a further moment to think, was unclear but Andy felt ready to explode from the simple contact. Miranda’s surprisingly warm hand, that looked like porcelain but had none of the expected coolness, felt perfectly at home even through the soft wool of Andy’s sweater.
“Why am I here?” Andy whispered, not daring to raise her voice for fear of disrupting whatever had compelled Miranda to touch her.
“I don’t know,” Miranda replied. Andy had no choice but to believe her, since the confusion on her face seemed completely genuine.
“To say…thank you?” The words almost choked her in their unfamiliarity, and Andy could recall only one other time when Miranda had allowed those words to fall from her lips, mouthed across a crowded ballroom.
“For writing that article?”
Miranda bit down lightly on her bottom lip, as though forcing herself to concentrate. She met Andy’s gaze with a tentative one of her own. She still hadn’t removed her hand, and Andy was beginning to feel almost dizzy with the excitement of it. Her heart was beating so hard that she had no doubt Miranda could feel every rapid beat under her palm.
“Yes. Well, apart from your collapse into cliché around paragraph seven.” The jab was pure Miranda, tempered only by the warmth in her voice. “And the fact that you make me out to be some kind of victim for a large part of it.” Not quite so warm now, since that idea clearly irritated Miranda.
“Those were the nicest things anyone has said about me in years.”
That made it Andy’s turn to tip her head slightly to one side, unable to hide her disbelief.
“You’re kidding me, right?” Miranda simply stared in return. “You have an entire building kissing your ass on an hourly basis, not to mention practically every designer and photographer.”
“Unlike them, you actually seemed sincere.”
Andy nodded; a concession on her part. She had certainly meant every word she’d written. But before she could explain exactly that, Miranda made to remove her hand from its comfortable location on Andy’s chest. Without time to think, Andy simply reacted, grasping gently but firmly at Miranda’s wrist. Miranda gasped softly at the unexpected touch, but relaxed into it, allowing Andy to pull her closer.
Well, here they were all over again. Andy decided to stop thinking, stop asking for explanations that never came, and just do what the hell she felt like doing.
Which started, at least, with kissing Miranda. No need for tentative now, not when they’d already gotten so good at it. Andy summoned up every scrap of lust and frustration and tried to express them through her lips, relentless in their pursuit of Miranda’s. Andy knew by now that Miranda might be a reluctant to let her tongue tangle with Andy’s own, but a surefire way to achieve just that result was to begin sucking on Miranda’s lower lip. That made Miranda moan somewhere deep in her throat, a sound that caused Andy’s knees to wobble just slightly. When she released Miranda’s lip, they resumed a more mutual kind of kiss, one where Miranda’s warm, wet tongue began to explore Andy’s mouth in earnest.
Guiding Miranda, one hand still on her wrist while the other sought out the perfect curve of her hip, Andy backed her up against the breakfast table. Less passive now, Miranda freed her arm from Andy’s grip only to wind it around the younger woman’s neck and pull her flush against Miranda’s apparently very responsive body. Dizzy from the slight lack of oxygen and the heady feeling of touching and kissing Miranda, Andy was briefly worried about making a complete idiot of herself. Miranda apparently had a similar thought.
“Really?” She breathed between kisses. “In the kitchen, Andréa?”
Which succeeded in achieving two things: first, clearing Andy’s head with the prospect of a challenge she absolutely wouldn’t allow herself to fail; and secondly, making Andy very determined to show Miranda that the kitchen was good for a lot more than making coffee.
“Yes, really,” she replied. Before Miranda could mock or protest any further, Andy was kissing her soundly, cupping her ass through the sheer blue material of Miranda’s dress. Which was fine with Miranda, if the way she tilted her hips towards Andy was any indication. Andy upped the ante further by seeking out the simple knot that held Miranda’s wraparound dress together, her eager fingers undoing it in seconds.
As the material began to give way, Andy was relieved that Miranda made no move to stop her, although she might well have been distracted by the trail of kisses that Andy was now pressing against her neck. Andy let her tongue swipe over Miranda’s pulse point, pleased with how rapidly it was beating. Any lingering doubts about Miranda being into this had finally evaporated, and Andy took that as her cue to show Miranda exactly what she’d almost missed out on.
Daring to pull away for a moment, Andy sighed happily at the sight she’d created. Miranda, with an enticing flush on her cheeks, her dress fallen open to reveal dark-blue lingerie that complemented the outfit to perfection. Of freakin’ course, Miranda Priestly coordinated down to the last detail for a morning of reading the newspaper in her own home. Andy couldn’t even pretend to be surprised, but she was sure as hell enjoying the view. Not that she dared provoke Miranda’s legendary impatience, for fear of never finishing what they’d started weeks ago.
Andy's fingers sought out the dark-blue lace over Miranda's breasts, which caused Miranda to drop her head back in approval; there was no disguising the moan that escaped her lips. Forcing herself to focus, Andy revelled in the soft scratch of the expensive material under her fingertips, it proved a very flimsy barrier to the warmth and softness of Miranda's skin beneath. If this was what years of expensive products and a beauty regimen that made the army look slack on discipline earned, then Andy was already sure it had been worth every penny.
"You want this?" It was a miracle Andy could still form words, but she had to be sure before losing herself completely. Quite sure that she'd cry if Miranda said no, she held her breath to await the response. Miranda's head snapped forward, exasperation apparent on her face.
"I'm not in the habit," she breathed, "of letting people undress me against my will. Get on with it."
Well, if nothing else, Andy remembered how to follow a direct order. Letting her hands roam freely over Miranda's exposed skin, she leaned in to claim another kiss, letting passion overwhelm finesse for the first time. Miranda certainly wasn't complaining, given the fervour with which she kissed back, tangling her hands in Andy's now-loose hair as she did. A simple ponytail was no match for a determined Miranda, after all.
With only the briefest of fumbles, Andy let her hands skim across the smooth lines of Miranda's back, seeking out the clasp of her bra which thankfully cooperated on the first attempt. The sigh of relief was quiet, but Andy smothered it by letting her mouth roam over the newly freed breasts that she'd been fantasizing about for too long. Teasing at first with soft presses from her lips, Andy simply breathed across one nipple, enough to harden it instantly. Following her initial tease with intermittent flickers of her tongue, there was no mistaking the hum of approval from Miranda. She was breathing heavier now, and Andy was still pretty impressed that she was the one to have this effect on her permanently unflappable former boss.
Not that there was time to dwell on her achievement, not when there was so much still to explore, to taste, to enjoy. Feeling bold once more, Andy tugged at Miranda's panties while sucking on her other nipple, Hoping she still had a decent amount of upper body strength, Andy lifted Miranda onto the breakfast table, ignoring the squeak of protest as Miranda's frankly exquisite ass made contact with the smooth white surface.
With her dress hanging from her shoulders, her bra shoved out of the way and her panties somewhere on the floor, Miranda was a sight for Andy's sore eyes. Seeing Miranda lose control in any way felt like some kind of victory, and the thought of taking it even further thrilled Andy in a way that made her throb between her legs.
Stroking her hands along Miranda’s thighs, Andy discovered it didn’t take much persuasion to part them. With a cursory brushing of her fingertips, Andy gasped aloud at how wet Miranda already was.
“Last chance to back out; I don’t want any more head games.”
“You can stop anytime you want, Andréa,” Miranda breathed, the tilting of her hips towards Andy’s touch betraying her outward coolness. “But I would seriously advise against it.”
Andy didn’t need to be told twice, so without stopping to remove any of her own clothing, she dropped to her knees in front of Miranda. Stroking her thumbs along Miranda’s silky inner thighs (Andy couldn’t decide whether the lack of stockings was a convenience or a blow to her fantasies, but she didn’t dwell on it). Andy was thrilled at the twitch of desperation the simple act provoked from Miranda. Trying to cover her own excitement, Andy let her mouth follow the path of her fingers, pressing soft and teasing kisses closer and closer to Miranda’s center. Knowing better than to tease indefinitely, Andy summoned her courage and went for it.
The first casual swipe of Andy’s tongue drew a whispered ‘fuck’ from Miranda that might officially have been the biggest turn-on to date. Not to mention that Miranda was already scandalously wet, which had Andy feeling pretty damn confident, thank you. Miranda tasted delicious, rich and just slightly bitter in a way that had Andy eager to keep running her tongue over every inch of her. As Andy’s tongue explored, lapping gently, then massaging with a pulsing motion, Miranda was quickly losing her coherence. She squirmed under the pleasant assault of Andy’s mouth, in one moment pulling away before thrusting her hips forward again.
Being around Miranda was never easy, but it turned out that in one very important regard, she had almost simple tastes. Adding fingers, two of which slipped very easily inside Miranda, turned out to be a popular decision, if the oh, oh, oh that Miranda began to chant as some kind of mantra was any indication.
Andy had intended to take it slow, to tease and torment and make Miranda beg, but it turned out that she didn’t quite have the willpower. Finally being able to touch Miranda this way, to draw those whimpers and muttered curse words from her was too addictive and Andy became almost relentless in her attentions. Having flicked rhythmically at Miranda’s clit, Andy could feel the tension build under her tongue. As Miranda began to clamp down around her gently thrusting fingers, Andy couldn’t stop herself from sucking hard on Miranda’s clit. It turned out to be exactly what Miranda needed, if the gasping cry and sudden surge of wetness were any indication.
Indeed, when Andy pulled back and looked up at the woman who’d been driving her crazy for longer than she cared to admit, she felt really quite proud of herself. Miranda was definitely disheveled, her previously immaculate hair falling around her face in wild strands. The flush across her chest was a deep pink that Andy found a much more appealing shade than any dress she’d ever seen at Runway. God, if she wasn’t already on the verge of coming without being touched, the sight of a well-fucked Miranda was certainly getting her there.
Wiping her chin with the back of her hand, Andy staggered back to standing, Miranda’s stone kitchen floor having been less than kind to her knees. She was surprised but pleased when Miranda’s first conscious act was to draw Andy into a slow but determined kiss, tasting herself on Andy’s tongue as their mouths met. It was as close as Andy had gotten to bliss in Miranda’s presence, at least until Miranda decided to speak.
“What the hell are you wearing?”
Andy stepped backwards, more wounded by Miranda’s jibe than she wanted to admit. Seconds ago, Miranda had been recovering from a pretty impressive orgasm, and now she was criticizing Andy’s wardrobe choices? She hadn’t seemed to mind the clothes when her perfectly manicured nails had been threatening to tear through the leather of Andy’s jacket.
“God! Nothing changes with you, does it?”
Miranda seemed stunned by Andy’s snappish reply. It didn’t take long for a pout to form on her lips.
“Oh for God’s sake…I was suggesting that you take your clothes off! Am I speaking another language or something?”
Obtuse, poorly explained and enough to drive an otherwise calm person to madness: yeah, more classic Miranda. Andy let her shoulders drop in relief, the indignation draining from her as a fresh surge of arousal replaced it. Miranda looked sexy as hell, just fucked on her pristine kitchen table. The flush on her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes, made her look younger, more alive than Andy had ever seen her before. It was nothing short of breathtaking.
Not that Miranda let Andy stare for too long. With agility, but not much of her trademark grace, Miranda lowered herself back onto the floor. Her shoes were kicked off in an instant, and when she approached Andy there was no mistaking the predatory gleam in her eyes.
Andy swallowed, hard.
Her jacket was dispatched with before they cleared the kitchen door, and her sweater was surrendered somewhere near the foot of the staircase. Andy took a brief second to hope that none of the house’s other occupants were expected home soon, before deciding she didn’t actually give a damn. Especially since the next step in Miranda’s quest to kiss-stroke-push Andy towards somewhere more comfortable-presumably a bedroom-was to begin unfastening Andy’s bra. Slow and steady had nothing on Miranda with a goal in mind, and Andy was just happy to go along for the ride.
And damn, what a ride it was, Andy thought.
Her jeans, non-designer but easily shucked off, were discarded somewhere on the second floor landing, after a brief but efficient wrestling match with her heavy boots. Attempting to hold her own, Andy got Miranda’s dress the rest of the way off, as well as her unhooked bra. This left her hands free to roam over every inch of the now fully-naked Miranda that she could reach, amidst the distraction of Miranda’s searing kisses.
One more set of stairs, with Andy’s underwear the last casualty of their fumbling, stumbling trip upwards, and they were half-falling through the door of Miranda’s bedroom. As attracted to Miranda as Andy was, and although she was turned on to the point of practically sobbing her need, the room was impressive enough to provide a quick distraction. The space alone was mind-blowing, lit as beautifully as any of Runway’s shoots, with rich fabrics draped everywhere that Andy found herself itching to touch.
She got her wish in short order, as Miranda, breathing heavily, led her towards the luxurious sheets of the bed. Andy had no measuring tape to verify, but she was willing to bet that this bed was bigger than her entire dorm room at Northwestern. Then Miranda’s hands were cupping Andy’s breasts and she stopped caring about the furnishings altogether.
A little more trial and error this time, because for once Miranda’s enthusiasm seemed to overrule her natural coolness. She confessed, in a whisper, “I’ve never done this before,” and the vague wave of her hand over Andy’s naked body served as explanation enough. Not knowing quite how to reassure Miranda, Andy settled for a deep kiss that she hoped would show Miranda that for once complete perfection wasn’t being demanded.
Andy couldn’t help the moans of excitement when Miranda got a little bit rough, and well, Miranda didn’t need telling twice. In fact, things got close to perfect pretty quickly, Andy realized.
As Miranda alternated between teeth and tongue to ravish Andy’s very erect nipples, she let her hand trail across Andy’s abdomen. Unable to hide her desperation, Andy found herself arching up to encourage Miranda’s hand lower. Worried about coming at the first contact on her clit, Andy tried to calm herself a little, but it was a lost cause as soon as Miranda’s fingertips coasted over the considerable wetness between Andy’s legs.
With curses that put her Catholic school education to shame, Andy felt the wave of climax begin to build in earnest. Miranda’s hand was relentless, stroking with purpose before plunging two and then three fingers inside. Andy had expected finesse, but was enjoying the rougher, more passionate actions way, way more. Miranda began muttering between licks and bites and kisses, just words of encouragement at first, then Andy’s name falling from her lips as though it were something special, which caused a thrill that shot right along Andy’s spine. Eventually, over her own ragged breathing, Andy heard the instruction she could really no longer ignore.
“Come for me, Andréa. Please, please come for me.”
Wow. Between the begging and the thrusting and the holy damn her mouth when she does that sensations, Andy had very little choice in the matter. She felt her body tense in the most delicious way before her vision got a little bright around the edges and she was falling back against the sheets as Miranda’s fingers gradually slowed inside her. Twitching slightly, clenching her thighs around the hand that had sent her hurtling over the edge, Andy briefly regained some sense and worried that she might have injured Miranda with the force of her reaction.
But hell, it would have been worth it. She was altogether too fucking happy to feel anything like guilt in that moment. Miranda didn’t seem anything but content, judging by the way that she withdrew her fingers and slowly licked them, letting her eyes flutter closed as she savored the taste. If Andy had any lingering doubts about how mutual the attraction between them was, those doubts were obliterated once and for all in those moments.
“You liar!” Andy gasped as soon as she could muster words again.
“Excuse me?” Miranda propped herself up on one elbow, eyebrows raised to a frankly dangerous height. Undeterred, Andy managed to stare her down.
“Never been with a woman before, my ass.” Andy muttered, confident in her accusation.
Miranda drew herself up into a sitting position with her customary grace. Andy was momentarily distracted from her train of thought at the sight of Miranda stretching, and the almost hypnotic lift of her breasts as she continued to breathe heavily.
“Why would I lie about that? I haven’t.” Miranda’s protest seemed sincere, Andy noted, but no way was that the first time she’d fucked another woman. Nobody was that good first time, so lacking in nerves or hesitation … unless, well, Miranda could be pretty damn sure of herself. Covering her eyes with a groan, Andy slumped back against the pillows in defeat.
“Trust you to be a natural on the first attempt.”
Miranda smiled, one of her rare genuine smiles that reached her eyes and made them sparkle in a way that Harry Winston could only dream of.
“I do have a reputation for excellence.”
Andy found herself able to move again, and celebrated by rolling towards Miranda for another kiss.
“We still have a lot to talk about,” Andy ventured when she could bear to break the contact.
Miranda rolled her eyes, and made absolutely no attempt to disguise it. Running a hand through her hair, restoring some semblance of order to it, she sighed heavily before pulling a silk sheet over their cooling, naked bodies.
“And, I would imagine, plenty of time to talk about it.”
Forming a protest, Andy opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by Miranda continuing.
“We will. Just, can we enjoy this for now? I promise you can interrogate me to your heart’s content later. Preferably tomorrow.”
That was a pretty big concession on Miranda’s part, and Andy decided to pick her battles for once. After all, she had a gorgeous woman lying next to her who had suggested they not talk for at least a day. Andy had made some idiotic decisions in her life, like throwing company property into a fountain for example, but she knew better than to throw away the best Saturday she could think of.
“You know, Miranda, I’m really pleased the charges were dropped. Obviously, I’m glad.” Andy hesitated as Miranda shifted position, turning her head to look at her. “But it seriously screwed up my conjugal visit fantasy.”
Andy didn’t get a chance to affect a fake pout before one of the massive pillows came flying towards her head. She laughed uproariously, the joy of the past few hours spilling out as she collapsed once more onto the ridiculously soft sheets. Miranda propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes betraying her own amusement.
“We’ll just have to improvise, won’t we?”
And suddenly Andy didn’t feel much like laughing any more, not when Miranda was looking at her with such a clear invitation for an encore.
Sometimes, doing the right thing really did pay off.
--FIN--
Author: damelola
Rating: PG this part, NC17 eventually
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Word Count: ~7500 (this chapter). The whole story clocks in at approx. 57000 words.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, these characters remain the property of Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. No profit is being made, and no harm is intended (except the fun kind!) This story borrows from real-life events in cases such as Martha Stewart's, but I promise to keep it light on boring corporate stuff as much as possible.
Summary: Set after the movie!verse of DWP. Andy is working at the Mirror and receives an unexpected phone call. Miranda needs her, again. It seems Miranda has run into a little legal trouble, and who better to help get her side of the story out, right?
With a million thanks to shesgottaread for a sterling beta a job :) She really goes above and beyond, and this story wouldn't be in any kind of shape without her! This is the final chapter and although I have a sequel in mind, some other stories will be taking precedence. I have also learned my lesson about finishing WIPs instead of posting as I go along!
Previous Parts: (you may need a refresher, sorry again for the delay!)
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |
Chapter 5A | Chapter 5B | Chapter 5C | Chapter 6A | Chapter 6B | Chapter 6C
Andy stumbled up the stairs to her apartment with legs that seemed to have turned to lead. She fumbled with the keys for so long that she contemplated just shoulder-charging the flimsy piece of wood, but all the locks that Nate had installed when he lived there reminded her of how painful a stupid idea like that would be.
She had barely finished dumping her things and washing her face when Lily began buzzing frantically on her intercom. Leaving the front door ajar, Andy had already taken up residence in full pathetic mode on the sofa when her friend came barreling into the room.
"Oh wow, it is as bad as it sounded."
Still in her reasonably smart court clothes, Andy had settled for kicking off her low heels and crawling under the ratty throw that had graced her dorm rooms and off-campus housing before being dragged to New York. Everyone who encountered it begged Andy to put the scrappy wool out of its misery, but she had clung to it defiantly. Lily used to call her Linus in teasing, and the fact that she didn't make even one sarcastic remark on seeing Andy wrapped up in it meant that Andy had achieved the dubious distinction of being pathetic beyond mockery. Great.
Lily held up the grocery bag she was toting along with her laptop and portfolio cases, and the sight of a tequila bottle peeping out over the brown paper brim was a sight for Andy's already sore eyes. Crying in non-waterproof mascara could do that to a girl, she reasoned.
Knowing better than to push, Lily busied herself with setting up their drinks before collapsing next to Andy on the lumpy sofa.
"Spill, girl. You've obviously been holding this one in for too long if you're already at the crying in the street stage."
Andy might have been offended by Lily's assessment if it wasn't painfully accurate. Damn friends who knew her better than she knew herself.
"Well, there's this woman I'm sort of into--"
Lily nodded, unfazed since Andy's little nightclub revelation.
"Any chance you're going to tell me who it is? Someone at work? Or has Linda the soccer player moved to New York?"
With her head in her hands, Andy groaned at even the thought of confessing the name out loud. This was definitely no-taking-it-back territory and only the thought of it being real and known to another person messed with her head more than actually having feelings for Miranda in the first place.
"Miranda."
To Lily's credit, it didn't take her very long to put the pieces together. She stared at Andy open-mouthed as the realization dawned, even as she tried to act like everything was still normal and the world hadn't just about flipped itself upside down. Andy felt an awful lot of love towards her best friend in that moment.
"And yes, Lils, I do mean Miranda Priestly. I know it doesn't make sense--"
Lily burst out laughing.
"Doesn't make sense?" She managed to squeeze the words out between hoots of laughter. "Andy, you had such a case of hero-worship by the time you left that damn magazine that it wouldn't have surprised me if you were screwing her every morning after getting the Starbucks. I just can’t believe you’re finally admitting it to yourself."
It was difficult, but Andy resisted the urge to get mad at Lily's reaction. Here she was, after all, in emotional pain while Lily struggled to get her giggles under control.
"Nothing happened while I worked for her."
That snapped Lily back to attention in an instant. She reached out to pat Andy on the arm, concern in her eyes.
"You're saying something's happened now? Hell, when you said crush I thought it was some one-sided thing. Isn't she, you know, kind of straight? I heard she bites the heads off guys after she sleeps with them."
Andy threw the nearest cushion at Lily before reaching for one of the brimming shot glasses on the coffee table. The tequila burned just enough as she felt it side down her throat, and she didn't answer Lily's question until she'd had a second shot.
"Oh God, where should I start?"
It turned out to be a pretty long night.
----
When dawn came screaming through Andy's living room window, she cursed herself silently for not pulling the curtains closed before passing out on the sofa. The complaint was soon overridden when she made the foolish mistake of moving her head. The pounding of kettledrums somewhere behind her forehead took second place to the shooting pain coursing from the base of her skull down through what had previously been a perfectly normal neck.
Jose Cuervo had a lot to answer for. Throwing an arm out blindly, there was a grunt as her hand made contact with Lily, who was still very much asleep. Figuring that Lily was old enough to fend for herself by now, Andy summoned the Herculean effort required to get off the couch and stagger into the bathroom.
Having showered the worst of the night before away, Andy padded through to put on a strong pot of coffee, swallowing two Advil and downing the best part of a carton of Tropicana while she waited for the bubbling and brewing to provide her with a hot drink and caffeine. As though she’d been summoned by the coffee maker, Lily came shuffling in before Andy could finish filling the two waiting mugs.
“So, it wasn’t some crazy dream?” Lily looked as though she might tip over at any moment, but her tone was serious. “You really have got the hots for the Snow Queen?”
Andy grunted in assent, which was about as much as she could manage in her fragile state.
“Okay. So, is there any chance of breakfast now that Nate doesn’t live here?”
The thought of cooking, and all the noises and smells that came with it, made Andy feel queasy all over again.
“Go grab a shower. I’ll check my email. Then pancakes? At the uh, diner?”
Every word took way more effort than normal, but Lily seemed to be in agreement. Feeling better at the thought of imminent carbs, Andy made her way into the bedroom, laying out clean and comfortable clothes for Lily to borrow before dressing herself in jeans and a plain black sweater. With her biker boots to complete the ensemble, Andy felt ready to face the world, or at least the two block walk to the diner.
She had her laptop fired up and logged in back in the living room when she heard Lily come out of the bathroom. Andy was surprised to see more than fifty messages waiting in her in-box, something that usually only happened after vacation time. She'd cleared it out before leaving the office yesterday, but she noticed with some trepidation that at least two of the waiting emails were from her boss. Not filing about Miranda's verdict had maybe been something of a big deal.
Flicking between tabs, she scanned the New York Times website and then over to the Mirror's. It wasn't disloyalty, exactly, she had to keep up with the competition after all. The pictures of Miranda on each made Andy's heart beat a little faster while her stomach performed a mutinous half-somersault. She really had to get away from silver-haired celebrities and closer to butter-laden pancakes, for the sake of her sanity.
In fact, Andy was just closing the browser window when she finally registered her own name glaring back at her from the Mirror's main page. It didn't make any sense, that she should be featured when . . . oh, crap.
Josh had filed the story she'd been too chicken to post, and he'd been enough of a gentleman to give her the credit. A less scrupulous journalist would have tweaked just enough to claim the story as their own, but Andy's eyes drank in the words of the polemic she'd battered out on her keyboard while Miranda's kisses had still been fresh in her mind.
The condemnation of the FBI, the US Attorney and the media themselves rang out from every sentence, Andy had to admit. She held up Miranda's countless achievements in place of the slander and gossip that had filled the pages for months, and lambasted the people who reveled in tearing down someone successful, simply because she had the nerve to be a woman, wealthy and powerful all at the same time.
No mention of Emily, of Stephen, or sordid affairs. In fact, Josh hadn't added anything that detracted from the tone of the piece--it stood intact as a defense of Miranda Priestly and the wrongs that had been visited upon her.
Andy was really, truly screwed.
Not in the work sense, as the emails she subsequently read confirmed. John was full of praise in his emails, basking once more in the reflected glory. Josh hadn't emailed to confess his act of friendship, but Andy had already decided to repay him in beer and the phone number of any model he wanted from her days at Runway. Well, after she beat the living crap out of him for ignoring her very specific request.
Lily had wandered into the bedroom to get dressed, and she emerged fully dressed in borrowed clothes and in search of the breakfast that was rightfully hers. Andy offered her the laptop with a forced smile, and Lily perched on the edge of the sofa to read it.
"I swear to God, Andy, this might be the best thing you've ever written."
The compliment was wonderful, but not at all what Andy needed to hear.
"How do you think Miranda's going to like it?"
"She won't. Which is why it wasn't supposed to be printed."
Lily closed the laptop and placed it carefully on the sofa. She thought for a moment before taking the best possible course of action.
"Let's get some food. We can worry about the rest later."
Which was a perfect plan, at least until they made it to the sidewalk outside Andy's building. In fact, Andy had barely cleared the bottom step before a small English hurricane came striding towards her at a speed that should have been impossible in spike heels. Emily didn't care much for the laws of physics, nor did she care if she scared the ever-living crap out of Andy by grabbing her arm with fingers that would put a vise to shame.
"You. Are. Coming. With. Me."
Andy protested, looking towards Lily for support. Lily had a distinctly wicked grin on her face, and Andy's heart sank at the sight of it.
"Hey, you're Emily, right?"
Emily nodded at Lily, her eyes narrowing in suspicion that a 'nobody' would know her name.
"Let me guess, Miranda sent you here to get Andy?"
"What if she did?"
With her hands on her hips and wearing an expression of undisguised loathing, Emily didn't look as scary as she obviously thought she did. Although Andy felt strangely compelled to do whatever she said, perhaps a kind of sympathy for Emily having bared her soul in court. Well, what was left of her soul, anyway.
"I'm not complaining, Posh Spice. In fact, I think Andy going to see Miranda is about the best idea anybody has had in a long time. Can I come? This is a fight I would pay to see."
Lily looked almost giddy at the thought of Andy and Miranda getting into an explosive argument, all signs of her tequila-induced suffering had evaporated at the prospect of trouble. Andy pulled her hands up into the sleeves of her leather jacket, her body temperature seemingly having dropped way more than the weather could be responsible for. Turning first to her friend and then Emily, Andy decided to cut off the bitching and malicious glee before it could get dangerous.
“No, Lils. I’m going to go and see Miranda, and you’re going to go have the breakfast that was rightfully mine. Emily, you’re going to stop looking at me like I’m dressed in yesterday’s trash; it’s called casual wear. Then maybe I’ll come with you.”
The derisive snort from Emily was about as good as Andy was going to get, so she hugged Lily quickly and moved toward the waiting town car. Emily gave Andy a sharp push when she neglected to get in quickly enough, and it took all of Andy’s restraint not to turn around and push back. Only curiosity and her apparently compulsive need to see Miranda kept Andy in the car.
She stared out of the tinted window as the downtown traffic whizzed by. Despite the tourists, traffic moved a lot better on the weekend, something that had frequently helped her out when running impossible errands for Miranda. Emily sat across from her on the backseat, pressing her skinny frame right into the corner to show that she still had no intention of getting close to her former colleague. Her Blackberry was in her hands, tapping away at a frantic pace while she resolutely ignored Andy.
The coffee she'd needed to wake her up and restore some of her humanity was now sloshing uncomfortably in her stomach, even the smooth motion of a good car with an experienced driver was enough to make her feel almost car sick for the first time since childhood. Determined to focus on anything but the queasiness, Andy took the risky step of engaging with Emily.
“Sorry about your promotion, Em.”
It wasn’t the nicest way to broach the subject, but Andy wasn’t really in the mood for small talk that Emily would only deflect with sarcasm. It was almost worth the pang of guilt to watch Emily’s jaw drop ever so slightly.
“I’m sure I don’t know what on Earth you’re talking about, Andrea. Maybe you don’t either, since you’re clearly suffering from either a hangover or a head injury.”
Ah, the warm embrace of Emily’s friendship. Andy was reminded once more why she hadn’t really missed it, other than in her most masochistic moments (coincidentally the times when she had also felt nostalgic for Miranda’s company).
“We’ve already covered me looking like crap, remember?” Andy rolled her eyes at having to concede the point, since she looked perfectly acceptable by any sane person’s standards. “And all I meant was that Miranda probably wasn’t too happy about you publicly discussing… well, you know … and it has to suck being stuck there as her assistant when you had the chance to escape once and for all.”
Expecting Emily to babble her way off-topic again, Andy was surprised to see a smile forming on Emily’s violently pink lips.
“Oh, did you-“ An honest-to-God giggle, which stunned Andy even further. “Did you think Miranda was going take away my promotion for helping her win the case?”
“Well, yeah,” Andy replied. “She looked pretty pissed in court.”
“I hardly think so. Once I drop your sorry self off, I can collect my reference and go home to pack.”
“Wait, what?” Andy’s head was beginning to hurt all over again. “She fired you? She’s having you deported?”
Emily rolled her eyes so hard that for a brief second Andy worried they would get stuck that way, permanently staring at too much eyeliner and iridescent green eyeshadow.
“Oh, pay attention, Andrea. I took a role at Runway UK: Junior Editor. Which means I get to go home, something I haven’t managed in three years. I might even get a decent cup of tea while I’m there.”
Picturing Emily drinking anything other than Starbucks almost blew Andy’s mind. Before she could question Emily any further, the ringing of the Blackberry filled the car and Emily was soon chattering at a million miles an hour to someone more important than her ex-colleague. Which would be just about anyone, in Emily’s book.
Unfortunately, not-Roy was obviously very adept at getting a car quickly through Manhattan. Cutting through cross-streets and zig-zagging as if he was handling a Formula One racer, he had them cruising along East 73rd way before Andy was ready for it.
Not that Emily was leaving time to adjust either; she ended her call and practically jumped out of the car. Andy was just about to tug on the handle when she realized that she did have a choice about going in there. Miranda didn’t own her, didn’t employ her and would probably forget about some minor slight from a nobody if Andy got out of the car and marched straight to the nearest subway station instead. That, in fact, would be the sane thing to do.
But for the same reason that she had so willingly come along with the bossy Emily and surrendered her chance of pancakes, Andy knew she would walk up those steps and confront the woman who had been driving her insane. Hell, maybe letting Miranda get in a few more verbal blows would cure Andy of these pointless feelings once and for all. If she ignored the butterflies in her stomach, that reason almost sounded plausible.
To Andy’s dismay, Emily accompanied her only as far as the first of the many tables with flowers. A cream-colored envelope was quickly slipped into Emily’s Kate Spade purse, and when she turned to leave so quickly, Andy panicked and grabbed her former colleague’s arm.
“Don’t you have to-“
“Come in there? With you?” Emily snorted. “You’ve made your own bed, Andrea, and now you’ll have to lie in it.”
Wresting herself free from Andy’s desperate clutches, Emily made for the front door. Realizing that she was facing her doom, Andy made one last ditch effort at building up some good karma.
“Good luck, Em, with everything.”
Emily nodded stiffly, her hand already on the door handle. Her lips twitched slightly, as though a smile might escape despite her best efforts.
“Yes, well. I have a lot to do.”
With that, Andy’s last line of defense walked out of the door and on with her new life. It was like the Runwayequivalent of the Witness Protection program, Andy supposed, while kicking herself for not asking Emily more about what had happened after court, particularly with Stephen.
As the last fleeting strains of freedom beckoned to her, Andy was short-circuited by the sound of her name floating down the hallway toward her.
“Andréa?”
Her feet were set in motion before she could stop herself, a Pavlovian response to Miranda’s voice that she had yet to grow out of.
She found Miranda in the white expanse of the kitchen, which seemed like the domestic equivalent of Miranda’s office, with the track lighting and artfully arranged decorations in the sea of brightness. For her part, Miranda looked oddly at home in the one room Andy had never been able to imagine her in. Leaning against the island in the middle of the room, Miranda didn’t bother to look around at Andy’s entrance, but there was no mistaking the sight of multiple copies of the Mirror behind her, between the fruit bowl and a half-full mug of coffee.
With a burst of bravado, Andy sat on one of the tall stools opposite Miranda’s back and reached for an apple from the bowl. Only when she took an exaggerated, crunching bite from it did Miranda deign to turn around, almost causing Andy to choke on her mouthful. Miranda’s expression was impossible to read, Andy noted with some dismay. She concentrated on chewing while silently praying for Miranda to break the silence. Only then would she have a chance of gauging the mood.
“As love letters go, you’re no Lord Byron.”
It was really lucky that Andy had already swallowed her bite of the apple, because she really would have choked otherwise. Unless her eyes were deceiving her, she thought that might actually have been the flicker of a smile tugging at the corners of Miranda’s mouth.
“You’re uh,” Andy floundered, words deserting her in the glare of Miranda’s full attention. “You’re not mad?”
“Did you know I never intended to see you again after yesterday? When I left you in the car?”
Answering a question with questions: Miranda at her most impossible. Andy really had to get her head examined for having feelings for this woman.
“I would never have guessed, you know, from the cruel dismissal and the fact that you never looked back.”
Miranda’s eyes narrowed at the sarcasm; a little hypocrisy on her part given that it was essentially her second language, just edging out French. For a moment, Andy was back in the unpleasant limbo of wondering whether she’d blown it every time she spoke. But Miranda traced a finger down the edge of Andy’s article, apparently distracted by the newsprint, and Andy allowed herself to exhale.
“I still don’t know why I called you, Andréa.”
As the protest formed on Andy’s tongue, that Miranda had not in fact called her, choosing instead to send Emily to collect Andy like a bunch of Calvin Klein skirts, the actual meaning of Miranda’s words dawned on her. She meant calling Andy in the first place, those few endless months ago.
“Maybe because I’m a good journalist?” Miranda’s response was an infuriating head tilt, as though that reason stretched the very boundaries of possibility. Andy pushed on before she could get angry. “Or maybe you just missed me?”
The flush on Miranda’s cheeks suggested that Andy had struck a little close to home, and she was holding her breath as she waited for a response.
“Stranger things have happened, I suppose,” Miranda conceded without any particular grace.
Andy had a thousand other questions still to ask, ranging from Miranda’s job security to the current location of the twins. She wanted an honest answer about how Miranda felt about the charges being thrown out, not to mention the potentially explosive subject of Emily, Stephen and the courtroom revelations that were currently splashed across the Saturday papers and hundreds of blogs. Though the journalist in her vied for control of her thought processes, it stood no chance in the face of Miranda standing there, looking good enough to eat in a dark-blue wrap dress that even Andy the Philistine recognized as DvF.
Slipping off the stool, Andy made her way around the kitchen island with cautious steps. Miranda didn’t flinch, watching with a guarded expression once Andy started moving. When there was no more than a foot between them, Andy asked the one question that really couldn’t wait any longer.
“Why am I here, Miranda?”
Folding the newspaper in half, Miranda looked away as she answered.
“That’s a bit philosophical for a Saturday morning, isn’t it?”
Sighing in frustration, Andy leaned in a little closer. Repeating her question, she was rewarded by Miranda turning to face her. By way of an answer, Miranda reached out with one slightly trembling hand, which she placed on Andy’s upper chest, following the v-neck line of her sweater as the hand came to rest. Whether she intended to push Andy away, or simply buy herself a further moment to think, was unclear but Andy felt ready to explode from the simple contact. Miranda’s surprisingly warm hand, that looked like porcelain but had none of the expected coolness, felt perfectly at home even through the soft wool of Andy’s sweater.
“Why am I here?” Andy whispered, not daring to raise her voice for fear of disrupting whatever had compelled Miranda to touch her.
“I don’t know,” Miranda replied. Andy had no choice but to believe her, since the confusion on her face seemed completely genuine.
“To say…thank you?” The words almost choked her in their unfamiliarity, and Andy could recall only one other time when Miranda had allowed those words to fall from her lips, mouthed across a crowded ballroom.
“For writing that article?”
Miranda bit down lightly on her bottom lip, as though forcing herself to concentrate. She met Andy’s gaze with a tentative one of her own. She still hadn’t removed her hand, and Andy was beginning to feel almost dizzy with the excitement of it. Her heart was beating so hard that she had no doubt Miranda could feel every rapid beat under her palm.
“Yes. Well, apart from your collapse into cliché around paragraph seven.” The jab was pure Miranda, tempered only by the warmth in her voice. “And the fact that you make me out to be some kind of victim for a large part of it.” Not quite so warm now, since that idea clearly irritated Miranda.
“Those were the nicest things anyone has said about me in years.”
That made it Andy’s turn to tip her head slightly to one side, unable to hide her disbelief.
“You’re kidding me, right?” Miranda simply stared in return. “You have an entire building kissing your ass on an hourly basis, not to mention practically every designer and photographer.”
“Unlike them, you actually seemed sincere.”
Andy nodded; a concession on her part. She had certainly meant every word she’d written. But before she could explain exactly that, Miranda made to remove her hand from its comfortable location on Andy’s chest. Without time to think, Andy simply reacted, grasping gently but firmly at Miranda’s wrist. Miranda gasped softly at the unexpected touch, but relaxed into it, allowing Andy to pull her closer.
Well, here they were all over again. Andy decided to stop thinking, stop asking for explanations that never came, and just do what the hell she felt like doing.
Which started, at least, with kissing Miranda. No need for tentative now, not when they’d already gotten so good at it. Andy summoned up every scrap of lust and frustration and tried to express them through her lips, relentless in their pursuit of Miranda’s. Andy knew by now that Miranda might be a reluctant to let her tongue tangle with Andy’s own, but a surefire way to achieve just that result was to begin sucking on Miranda’s lower lip. That made Miranda moan somewhere deep in her throat, a sound that caused Andy’s knees to wobble just slightly. When she released Miranda’s lip, they resumed a more mutual kind of kiss, one where Miranda’s warm, wet tongue began to explore Andy’s mouth in earnest.
Guiding Miranda, one hand still on her wrist while the other sought out the perfect curve of her hip, Andy backed her up against the breakfast table. Less passive now, Miranda freed her arm from Andy’s grip only to wind it around the younger woman’s neck and pull her flush against Miranda’s apparently very responsive body. Dizzy from the slight lack of oxygen and the heady feeling of touching and kissing Miranda, Andy was briefly worried about making a complete idiot of herself. Miranda apparently had a similar thought.
“Really?” She breathed between kisses. “In the kitchen, Andréa?”
Which succeeded in achieving two things: first, clearing Andy’s head with the prospect of a challenge she absolutely wouldn’t allow herself to fail; and secondly, making Andy very determined to show Miranda that the kitchen was good for a lot more than making coffee.
“Yes, really,” she replied. Before Miranda could mock or protest any further, Andy was kissing her soundly, cupping her ass through the sheer blue material of Miranda’s dress. Which was fine with Miranda, if the way she tilted her hips towards Andy was any indication. Andy upped the ante further by seeking out the simple knot that held Miranda’s wraparound dress together, her eager fingers undoing it in seconds.
As the material began to give way, Andy was relieved that Miranda made no move to stop her, although she might well have been distracted by the trail of kisses that Andy was now pressing against her neck. Andy let her tongue swipe over Miranda’s pulse point, pleased with how rapidly it was beating. Any lingering doubts about Miranda being into this had finally evaporated, and Andy took that as her cue to show Miranda exactly what she’d almost missed out on.
Daring to pull away for a moment, Andy sighed happily at the sight she’d created. Miranda, with an enticing flush on her cheeks, her dress fallen open to reveal dark-blue lingerie that complemented the outfit to perfection. Of freakin’ course, Miranda Priestly coordinated down to the last detail for a morning of reading the newspaper in her own home. Andy couldn’t even pretend to be surprised, but she was sure as hell enjoying the view. Not that she dared provoke Miranda’s legendary impatience, for fear of never finishing what they’d started weeks ago.
Andy's fingers sought out the dark-blue lace over Miranda's breasts, which caused Miranda to drop her head back in approval; there was no disguising the moan that escaped her lips. Forcing herself to focus, Andy revelled in the soft scratch of the expensive material under her fingertips, it proved a very flimsy barrier to the warmth and softness of Miranda's skin beneath. If this was what years of expensive products and a beauty regimen that made the army look slack on discipline earned, then Andy was already sure it had been worth every penny.
"You want this?" It was a miracle Andy could still form words, but she had to be sure before losing herself completely. Quite sure that she'd cry if Miranda said no, she held her breath to await the response. Miranda's head snapped forward, exasperation apparent on her face.
"I'm not in the habit," she breathed, "of letting people undress me against my will. Get on with it."
Well, if nothing else, Andy remembered how to follow a direct order. Letting her hands roam freely over Miranda's exposed skin, she leaned in to claim another kiss, letting passion overwhelm finesse for the first time. Miranda certainly wasn't complaining, given the fervour with which she kissed back, tangling her hands in Andy's now-loose hair as she did. A simple ponytail was no match for a determined Miranda, after all.
With only the briefest of fumbles, Andy let her hands skim across the smooth lines of Miranda's back, seeking out the clasp of her bra which thankfully cooperated on the first attempt. The sigh of relief was quiet, but Andy smothered it by letting her mouth roam over the newly freed breasts that she'd been fantasizing about for too long. Teasing at first with soft presses from her lips, Andy simply breathed across one nipple, enough to harden it instantly. Following her initial tease with intermittent flickers of her tongue, there was no mistaking the hum of approval from Miranda. She was breathing heavier now, and Andy was still pretty impressed that she was the one to have this effect on her permanently unflappable former boss.
Not that there was time to dwell on her achievement, not when there was so much still to explore, to taste, to enjoy. Feeling bold once more, Andy tugged at Miranda's panties while sucking on her other nipple, Hoping she still had a decent amount of upper body strength, Andy lifted Miranda onto the breakfast table, ignoring the squeak of protest as Miranda's frankly exquisite ass made contact with the smooth white surface.
With her dress hanging from her shoulders, her bra shoved out of the way and her panties somewhere on the floor, Miranda was a sight for Andy's sore eyes. Seeing Miranda lose control in any way felt like some kind of victory, and the thought of taking it even further thrilled Andy in a way that made her throb between her legs.
Stroking her hands along Miranda’s thighs, Andy discovered it didn’t take much persuasion to part them. With a cursory brushing of her fingertips, Andy gasped aloud at how wet Miranda already was.
“Last chance to back out; I don’t want any more head games.”
“You can stop anytime you want, Andréa,” Miranda breathed, the tilting of her hips towards Andy’s touch betraying her outward coolness. “But I would seriously advise against it.”
Andy didn’t need to be told twice, so without stopping to remove any of her own clothing, she dropped to her knees in front of Miranda. Stroking her thumbs along Miranda’s silky inner thighs (Andy couldn’t decide whether the lack of stockings was a convenience or a blow to her fantasies, but she didn’t dwell on it). Andy was thrilled at the twitch of desperation the simple act provoked from Miranda. Trying to cover her own excitement, Andy let her mouth follow the path of her fingers, pressing soft and teasing kisses closer and closer to Miranda’s center. Knowing better than to tease indefinitely, Andy summoned her courage and went for it.
The first casual swipe of Andy’s tongue drew a whispered ‘fuck’ from Miranda that might officially have been the biggest turn-on to date. Not to mention that Miranda was already scandalously wet, which had Andy feeling pretty damn confident, thank you. Miranda tasted delicious, rich and just slightly bitter in a way that had Andy eager to keep running her tongue over every inch of her. As Andy’s tongue explored, lapping gently, then massaging with a pulsing motion, Miranda was quickly losing her coherence. She squirmed under the pleasant assault of Andy’s mouth, in one moment pulling away before thrusting her hips forward again.
Being around Miranda was never easy, but it turned out that in one very important regard, she had almost simple tastes. Adding fingers, two of which slipped very easily inside Miranda, turned out to be a popular decision, if the oh, oh, oh that Miranda began to chant as some kind of mantra was any indication.
Andy had intended to take it slow, to tease and torment and make Miranda beg, but it turned out that she didn’t quite have the willpower. Finally being able to touch Miranda this way, to draw those whimpers and muttered curse words from her was too addictive and Andy became almost relentless in her attentions. Having flicked rhythmically at Miranda’s clit, Andy could feel the tension build under her tongue. As Miranda began to clamp down around her gently thrusting fingers, Andy couldn’t stop herself from sucking hard on Miranda’s clit. It turned out to be exactly what Miranda needed, if the gasping cry and sudden surge of wetness were any indication.
Indeed, when Andy pulled back and looked up at the woman who’d been driving her crazy for longer than she cared to admit, she felt really quite proud of herself. Miranda was definitely disheveled, her previously immaculate hair falling around her face in wild strands. The flush across her chest was a deep pink that Andy found a much more appealing shade than any dress she’d ever seen at Runway. God, if she wasn’t already on the verge of coming without being touched, the sight of a well-fucked Miranda was certainly getting her there.
Wiping her chin with the back of her hand, Andy staggered back to standing, Miranda’s stone kitchen floor having been less than kind to her knees. She was surprised but pleased when Miranda’s first conscious act was to draw Andy into a slow but determined kiss, tasting herself on Andy’s tongue as their mouths met. It was as close as Andy had gotten to bliss in Miranda’s presence, at least until Miranda decided to speak.
“What the hell are you wearing?”
Andy stepped backwards, more wounded by Miranda’s jibe than she wanted to admit. Seconds ago, Miranda had been recovering from a pretty impressive orgasm, and now she was criticizing Andy’s wardrobe choices? She hadn’t seemed to mind the clothes when her perfectly manicured nails had been threatening to tear through the leather of Andy’s jacket.
“God! Nothing changes with you, does it?”
Miranda seemed stunned by Andy’s snappish reply. It didn’t take long for a pout to form on her lips.
“Oh for God’s sake…I was suggesting that you take your clothes off! Am I speaking another language or something?”
Obtuse, poorly explained and enough to drive an otherwise calm person to madness: yeah, more classic Miranda. Andy let her shoulders drop in relief, the indignation draining from her as a fresh surge of arousal replaced it. Miranda looked sexy as hell, just fucked on her pristine kitchen table. The flush on her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes, made her look younger, more alive than Andy had ever seen her before. It was nothing short of breathtaking.
Not that Miranda let Andy stare for too long. With agility, but not much of her trademark grace, Miranda lowered herself back onto the floor. Her shoes were kicked off in an instant, and when she approached Andy there was no mistaking the predatory gleam in her eyes.
Andy swallowed, hard.
Her jacket was dispatched with before they cleared the kitchen door, and her sweater was surrendered somewhere near the foot of the staircase. Andy took a brief second to hope that none of the house’s other occupants were expected home soon, before deciding she didn’t actually give a damn. Especially since the next step in Miranda’s quest to kiss-stroke-push Andy towards somewhere more comfortable-presumably a bedroom-was to begin unfastening Andy’s bra. Slow and steady had nothing on Miranda with a goal in mind, and Andy was just happy to go along for the ride.
And damn, what a ride it was, Andy thought.
Her jeans, non-designer but easily shucked off, were discarded somewhere on the second floor landing, after a brief but efficient wrestling match with her heavy boots. Attempting to hold her own, Andy got Miranda’s dress the rest of the way off, as well as her unhooked bra. This left her hands free to roam over every inch of the now fully-naked Miranda that she could reach, amidst the distraction of Miranda’s searing kisses.
One more set of stairs, with Andy’s underwear the last casualty of their fumbling, stumbling trip upwards, and they were half-falling through the door of Miranda’s bedroom. As attracted to Miranda as Andy was, and although she was turned on to the point of practically sobbing her need, the room was impressive enough to provide a quick distraction. The space alone was mind-blowing, lit as beautifully as any of Runway’s shoots, with rich fabrics draped everywhere that Andy found herself itching to touch.
She got her wish in short order, as Miranda, breathing heavily, led her towards the luxurious sheets of the bed. Andy had no measuring tape to verify, but she was willing to bet that this bed was bigger than her entire dorm room at Northwestern. Then Miranda’s hands were cupping Andy’s breasts and she stopped caring about the furnishings altogether.
A little more trial and error this time, because for once Miranda’s enthusiasm seemed to overrule her natural coolness. She confessed, in a whisper, “I’ve never done this before,” and the vague wave of her hand over Andy’s naked body served as explanation enough. Not knowing quite how to reassure Miranda, Andy settled for a deep kiss that she hoped would show Miranda that for once complete perfection wasn’t being demanded.
Andy couldn’t help the moans of excitement when Miranda got a little bit rough, and well, Miranda didn’t need telling twice. In fact, things got close to perfect pretty quickly, Andy realized.
As Miranda alternated between teeth and tongue to ravish Andy’s very erect nipples, she let her hand trail across Andy’s abdomen. Unable to hide her desperation, Andy found herself arching up to encourage Miranda’s hand lower. Worried about coming at the first contact on her clit, Andy tried to calm herself a little, but it was a lost cause as soon as Miranda’s fingertips coasted over the considerable wetness between Andy’s legs.
With curses that put her Catholic school education to shame, Andy felt the wave of climax begin to build in earnest. Miranda’s hand was relentless, stroking with purpose before plunging two and then three fingers inside. Andy had expected finesse, but was enjoying the rougher, more passionate actions way, way more. Miranda began muttering between licks and bites and kisses, just words of encouragement at first, then Andy’s name falling from her lips as though it were something special, which caused a thrill that shot right along Andy’s spine. Eventually, over her own ragged breathing, Andy heard the instruction she could really no longer ignore.
“Come for me, Andréa. Please, please come for me.”
Wow. Between the begging and the thrusting and the holy damn her mouth when she does that sensations, Andy had very little choice in the matter. She felt her body tense in the most delicious way before her vision got a little bright around the edges and she was falling back against the sheets as Miranda’s fingers gradually slowed inside her. Twitching slightly, clenching her thighs around the hand that had sent her hurtling over the edge, Andy briefly regained some sense and worried that she might have injured Miranda with the force of her reaction.
But hell, it would have been worth it. She was altogether too fucking happy to feel anything like guilt in that moment. Miranda didn’t seem anything but content, judging by the way that she withdrew her fingers and slowly licked them, letting her eyes flutter closed as she savored the taste. If Andy had any lingering doubts about how mutual the attraction between them was, those doubts were obliterated once and for all in those moments.
“You liar!” Andy gasped as soon as she could muster words again.
“Excuse me?” Miranda propped herself up on one elbow, eyebrows raised to a frankly dangerous height. Undeterred, Andy managed to stare her down.
“Never been with a woman before, my ass.” Andy muttered, confident in her accusation.
Miranda drew herself up into a sitting position with her customary grace. Andy was momentarily distracted from her train of thought at the sight of Miranda stretching, and the almost hypnotic lift of her breasts as she continued to breathe heavily.
“Why would I lie about that? I haven’t.” Miranda’s protest seemed sincere, Andy noted, but no way was that the first time she’d fucked another woman. Nobody was that good first time, so lacking in nerves or hesitation … unless, well, Miranda could be pretty damn sure of herself. Covering her eyes with a groan, Andy slumped back against the pillows in defeat.
“Trust you to be a natural on the first attempt.”
Miranda smiled, one of her rare genuine smiles that reached her eyes and made them sparkle in a way that Harry Winston could only dream of.
“I do have a reputation for excellence.”
Andy found herself able to move again, and celebrated by rolling towards Miranda for another kiss.
“We still have a lot to talk about,” Andy ventured when she could bear to break the contact.
Miranda rolled her eyes, and made absolutely no attempt to disguise it. Running a hand through her hair, restoring some semblance of order to it, she sighed heavily before pulling a silk sheet over their cooling, naked bodies.
“And, I would imagine, plenty of time to talk about it.”
Forming a protest, Andy opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by Miranda continuing.
“We will. Just, can we enjoy this for now? I promise you can interrogate me to your heart’s content later. Preferably tomorrow.”
That was a pretty big concession on Miranda’s part, and Andy decided to pick her battles for once. After all, she had a gorgeous woman lying next to her who had suggested they not talk for at least a day. Andy had made some idiotic decisions in her life, like throwing company property into a fountain for example, but she knew better than to throw away the best Saturday she could think of.
“You know, Miranda, I’m really pleased the charges were dropped. Obviously, I’m glad.” Andy hesitated as Miranda shifted position, turning her head to look at her. “But it seriously screwed up my conjugal visit fantasy.”
Andy didn’t get a chance to affect a fake pout before one of the massive pillows came flying towards her head. She laughed uproariously, the joy of the past few hours spilling out as she collapsed once more onto the ridiculously soft sheets. Miranda propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes betraying her own amusement.
“We’ll just have to improvise, won’t we?”
And suddenly Andy didn’t feel much like laughing any more, not when Miranda was looking at her with such a clear invitation for an encore.
Sometimes, doing the right thing really did pay off.
--FIN--