Losing Miranda (14/20), Miranda/Andy, PG13
Title: Losing Miranda
Chapter: 14 of 20
Fandom: Devil Wears Prada (movie)
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: PG13 (for now)
Beta:ladyvivien (thank you, lover) All remaining mistakes are mine.
Spoilers: AU, but borrowing heavily from the movie!verse. Plot owes a lot to the Helen Mirren movie 'Losing Chase'.
Disclaimer: Not mine! These characters belong to their respective owners and no profit is being made. Miranda's holiday home is based, predictably, on Anna Wintour's.
Summary: Miranda has retreated to her home in the Hamptons following a serious accident. The young and idealistic Andrea Sachs accepts a position as a nanny/assistant combo. Since Miranda is resistant to outside help and new faces, this doesn't go over well.
A/N: This fic belongs, truly, to the wonderful abina2810 . Although this is late, the fic is a reward for her generous charitable donations. Comments and feedback are gratefully received.
Andy can’t deny the little thrill she feels, stepping out of the Mercedes. There’s a doorman in full uniform, right down to the white gloves, and she’s dressed in what feels like a million dollars worth of fabulous. There’s a definite spring in her step as she’s ushered in through the hotel’s front door, and it’s all the more noticeable because she can finally walk in these killer heels.
She’s directed straight to the King Cole bar, with more of those professional smiles. It’s not hard to spot Christian, since he’s sitting at the bar and caught up in some kind of animated conversation with the bartender. He looks relaxed, in his light summer suit and open-necked shirt. For a moment, Andy entertains the fantasy of taking someone like this home to Ohio to meet her father. It could only end better than the few meetings he’d had with Nate.
Still, she chides herself, this is a business meeting. Depending how well she conducts herself, this could lead to knowing all the right people to actually get her work published. Andy isn’t naïve enough to believe that sheer talent is enough in an oversaturated media market like New York - she’s going to need a foot in the door.
And maybe it’s the knock-on effect of things being calm working for Miranda, but Andy thinks she might be writing some of her best pieces yet. She’s already sketched out a longer piece on the privileges of private education, and ideas about gender and power seem to pop into her mind whenever she’s around Miranda for any length of time. There might even be a novel to be mined from the world that this summer has introduced her to, if she’s careful.
Christian smiles when he catches her eye, and Andy’s just a little flattered that the sight of her stops him in mid-sentence. She has the impression that it’s not that easy to make this guy stop talking, for any reason, but she kind of likes that about him. He stands to greet her, like any good gentleman, but when he presses a kiss to her cheek Andy finds herself thinking for a moment about Miranda and how soft her face is. Shaking it off, she follows Christian to a table where they can talk a little more privately.
“I can’t believe this is your first time in the city since we met,” he begins. “Or have you been playing hard to get?”
“Trust me, I got here as soon as I could. Miranda has kept me really busy,” Andy explains, though she can hear the lie in the words even as she says them. Sure, Miranda has been requesting her presence a lot more often, but the workload hasn’t increased significantly. Andy’s been telling herself that Miranda is lonely without the twins around, but there’s a nagging suspicion that it’s something more.
“Miranda? Is that your boss?”
“Yeah,” Andy confirms with some reluctance. “I work for Miranda Priestly.”
Christian whistles through his teeth at that, his face falling in what looks like some kind of dismay.
“Wow, that’s a tough break. I had such high hopes for you, too. But nobody ever survives her and remains this nice, Miranda-girl.”
“You know her?” Andy sputters a little, indignant at the slurs against both Miranda and herself.
“I know of her, shall we say? Our paths cross from time to time. And everybody knows about the girls who work for her-they either break in a week, or turn out to be bitchy Miranda-clones. It’s kind of her thing.”
Andy wants to protest, wants to tell Christian how wrong he is, and that there’s a woman behind this hyped-up public persona. She thinks of the times she’s seen Miranda with a tear in her eye, or the way she laughs at the twins’ chatter. To do that would feel like betraying a trust, somehow, and so she chooses to defend her own honor instead.
“Well, I’m going to be the exception. I’ve been working for her at least a couple of months, and you tell me-do I seem like a stone cold bitch to you?”
That draws another dazzling smile from Christian, and she can see that he’s used to charming the ladies, that’s for damn sure. Andy almost feels the tug to fall for it herself, but she’s momentarily distracted by how many teeth he seems to have when he grins like that. It’s like sitting opposite the Cheshire Cat, and Andy doesn’t find him anywhere near as cute as she did in that nightclub.
“You don’t seem very cold at all, Andy Sachs. Maybe I’m wrong? So, let’s talk about this writing of yours.”
*
Two hours later and Andy’s head is spinning a little. She hasn’t drunk alcohol during the day since college, and although the champagne cocktails are terribly civilized and classy, they also keep appearing at a relentless rate. It’s safe to say she has a little bit of a buzz on.
Add to that the fact that Christian thinks and talks every bit as well as he writes, and Andy is halfway out of her mind. He seems to have pulled out everything she thought she had hidden in her writing, and a lot more besides that even she wasn’t aware of. Not that it’s all glowing, of course. She has a lot to learn, and Christian seems to believe in harsh but constructive criticism. Since he’s pretty much living her dream career right now, Andy clings desperately to every word and hopes she’s filing away every valuable piece of knowledge that he’s imparting.
“Thank you,” she says, when he finishes his thoughts about her short stories. “I mean it, Christian. I thought you would skim these and see if I could use punctuation. I never dreamed that you’d take so much time over it.”
He shrugs in that easy way that he has, and despite his caterpillar eyebrows, Andy confirms that he’s definitely crossed back over into the realms of cute. Eyebrows can always be plucked, after all.
“I was going to have my editor’s assistant look at it, but I happened to pick up the first article and I was hooked from there. You’re going to be a phenomenal writer some day, Andy. You just have to focus on it and not let being an assistant take over your life.”
She smiles at the warning, because she isn’t like these other girls who get seduced by a pretty dress or fancy shoes that cost about a month’s rent.
“I should have been writing down everything you said,” Andy realizes too late. “I think I got it all, but it was so helpful.”
Christian is unruffled by her sudden panic.
“I have my own notes, upstairs. I have a suite here when I’m in town. Maybe we could go fetch them?”
It’s not exactly the smoothest, and Andy knows a line when she hears one. Perhaps this kind of payoff is exactly what Christian had in mind when he offered to do her a favor.
And somehow, despite the burgeoning sense of outrage, of not wanting to be that kind of girl, Andy finds herself nodding at the proposition. Christian stands in one fluid movement, as though he hasn’t drunk so much as a drop of champagne and offers his hand to lead the way. Andy thinks one or two of the other patrons are watching as they leave, horrified for a brief second that they might mistake her for some kind of call girl.
She gets over any such embarrassment by the time they reach the elevators though, because the first thing Christian does when the doors close is draw her into a searing kiss (they’ve been holding hands the whole way, it suddenly occurs to her). Although she’s still a little conflicted over whether she really likes him or not, Andy can’t deny her body’s reaction. It’s been a long time since Nate, and that relationship fizzled out with a distinct lack of affection and contact. In fact, the only person Andy’s even kissed in almost a year is Miranda, which is just ridiculous really.
They stumble the short distance to his suite, and Andy has a brief second or two to notice that it looks exactly as rich and stuffy as the hotel seems to demand. She’s distracted by Christian’s wandering hands in an instant though, and he only pauses to shrug out of his artfully-mismatched designer blazer. Andy’s quite sure she isn’t the fashion devotee in the room, regardless of who her employer might be.
And damn, that’s the second time in as many minutes that Miranda has popped into her head. It’s one thing to be a bit flushed at the sight of a revealing swimsuit, or flustered by an accidental brushing of fingers over a sheet of paper or coffee cup, but when a hot and famous writer is seducing her, Andy is pretty sure she shouldn’t be thinking about the woman who has given her one of the most challenging summers of her life.
She’s focusing, for God’s sake, because Christian is kissing her neck in a quite pleasant way. Andy thinks she could definitely get into this when she bumps into the edge of the suite’s large bed. It’s only when she tilts backwards that Christian stops what he’s doing, apparently to clear some papers and prints from the top of the freshly-made bed. She’s smiling at him as he does, until she sees what looks like an issue of Runway in his hand, and really that’s just too good an opportunity to pass up.
“Now who’s a mindless Priestly drone?” She’s teasing as she grabs for it, and the surprise is enough to make Christian let go without a fight. He doesn’t look embarrassed, or even defiant though. In fact, he looks sort of… scared?
It’s only after a long few seconds of staring at the front cover that Andy gets it. She’s spent long weeks fetching back issues from Miranda’s collection, twice or three times a day. Between that and general office duties, she figures she’s seen almost all of the iconic covers by now. This one? This one she does not recognize at all.
Which isn’t such a shock, really, because she notices then that the date on the front page is for three months in the future. A quick flick through the magazine confirms that most of the pages are still blank or clearly just mock-ups. This looks a lot like The Book that Miranda sometimes mentions in her conversations about the office. Apparently it’s kind of a big deal, and it used to be hand-delivered to Miranda at her home every single evening.
“What the hell is this?” Andy asks, although she thinks she might already know.
“It’s uh,” Christian falters for the first time all day. “It’s the mock-up for Jacqueline Follet’s first official issue in charge of Runway.”
Andy shakes her head, because she does not want to be hearing this.
“You’re kidding, right? Miranda is still the editor. Taking her magazine away from her… she’d be devastated.”
Christian laughs at that, some of his earlier cockiness returning.
“Miranda’s a big girl, Andy. I doubt it’ll take her more than a couple of drinks and a long shower to get over it. You have to know that the big guns at Elias-Clarke want her out. Jacqueline’s a lot younger than Miranda-“
“So why do you have this in your hotel room?” Andy shoots back, not wanting to hear anything else about why Miranda should be replaced.
“Jacqueline has offered me control of all the editorial content. I’ll be hiring writers, commissioning features. Preferably young, up and coming writers looking to make a name for themselves.”
He waggles those damn eyebrows at her, and Andy feels sick to her stomach. To think that she’d betray someone she works for, someone she’s grown to care for, just for a quick leg up in the publishing industry? It’s repulsive to even think of. Not that she’s naïve, she knows how many people would bite Christian’s hand off at the mention of this implied offer, but Andy promised herself back in college that she’d rather go without work than get ahead in ways like this.
“So you’re helping her scheme the magazine away from Miranda? While she’s still recovering? Nice, Christian. Real nice.”
“Publishing waits for no man; or woman, no matter how scary she is. Times change, especially in fashion. In fact, I think Irv Ravitz is giving Miranda her severance package over lunch today. What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on that wall…”
In that moment, with his face lit up with a twisted sort of glee, Andy can’t see a single thing about Christian that’s attractive. That she let this guy kiss her and paw at her is going to take a while to get over, because she’s two minutes from throwing up right on his designer loafers.
“She doesn’t know? He’s just going to spring this on her?”
Andy thinks back over the past few weeks, of Miranda’s considerable improvement and the return of her more businesslike appearance. The girls have been bolstered by a return to the familiar, and Andy has found herself appreciating a full-strength Miranda even more too. To think of all that possibly being attacked over lunch, to think what a blow this might be to Miranda, is enough to send Andy into a tailspin of sudden panic.
Christian looks like he’s about to explain some more, or maybe patronize her about the real world, but Andy doesn’t give him the chance.
“I have to go. Now. Thanks for the writing advice.”
“Andy, come on-“
But that’s the last she hears as the door to his suite slams behind her. She panics for a moment, standing in the hallway with no idea of what to actually do with this new information. Thankfully, instinct takes over and she breaks into a run back towards the elevator bank. She has to get to Miranda and warn her; it’s exactly as simple as that.
Since Roy is no doubt waiting for Miranda back at the office already, Andy hails a cab and is pleased to see one screech to a halt before she even has to break stride. Seconds later she’s bundling herself on to the cracked leather seats and spitting out the office address of Elias-Clarke. The cab driver gives her a funny look in the rearview mirror, and from what little she can see of herself, Andy can see why.
Her previously smooth hair is a tousled mess, and judging by the smearing of her lipstick, it isn’t easy to tell exactly what she’s been up to in that hotel. She attempts a repair job with the limited supplies in her purse, but even the legendary Midtown traffic doesn’t hold them up for long. In fact, Andy realizes that they’ve probably only gone about ten blocks or so, but she has no internalized map of the city yet, having only spent a few weeks here at a time. Even then, it was mostly downtown with Lily’s art scene buddies, or lately in Brooklyn.
Throwing a few bills at the driver, she steps out onto the vast concrete concourse that seems only slightly less intimidating than on the day of her initial interview. Andy takes strides in her perilous Prada heels, and the effect is a lot more confident that she feels. Her first stop at the security desk goes smoothly enough, since Emily had anticipated Andy showing up for some kind of work purpose, a pass is still waiting. She loops the lanyard around her wrist like a new, cheap bracelet and goes to call an elevator.
All too soon, she’s walking out onto the 17th floor. The receptionist screws up her face in appraisal, but apparently Andy’s green dress is fashionable enough to allow her to pass. She’s just about to ask where Miranda’s office is when Emily comes sweeping out of one of the corridors that converge on the lobby area.
“Why are you here?” She’s asking even as she leads Andy by the elbow down another of the well-lit white corridors. “Miranda didn’t say anything about you working here when she got here.”
“Ow!” Andy protests as Emily’s grip gets a little too close to pinching. They walk into another reception area and from the first glance Andy can tell that they’re outside Miranda’s office. The room practically vibrates with her presence, even though the glass beyond the open glass doors is empty. A bored-looking girl in a shockingly pink dress sits at one of the two desks that Andy is standing between, filing her nails with frightening precision. Andy’s seen surgery performed with less attention to detail.
“You absolutely shouldn’t be here unless Miranda told you to be. I left the pass just in case,” Emily is explaining more for her own benefit than Andy’s. Over the past couple of months Andy has learned first-hand that Emily does her thinking out loud, even more the telephone. That thinking is usually punctuated by nasty little insults and hisses of displeasure, both of which seem to be lurking in Andy’s immediate future. She decides to get while the getting is good, and wrenches her arm free of Emily’s surprisingly strong grip.
“Where is Miranda? I need to see her right now.”
Andy tries to keep her voice steady, but she can hear the desperation for herself. Emily just laughs, that fake tinkling little laugh that drives Andy halfway insane on a good day. Today is definitely not a good day.
“She’s having lunch with Mr. Ravitz.” Emily is back at her computer, flicking through some kind of list on the screen. “She won’t be back for at least thirty minutes. Maybe you could take the time to straighten yourself up?”
Knowing she looks a little like what the cat dragged in, Andy can’t exactly fault Emily for that observation, but there just isn’t time.
“Emily. If you want to keep your job you will tell me exactly where she is. This is urgent.”
It looks like Emily is going to keep stonewalling, but at the last moment she relents. Making the concession seems to physically pain her, but there’s a flicker of panic that let’s Andy know she’s won.
“35th floor. They’re having lunch in his office. Not that you’ll get in there, but you can wait outside I suppose.”
That’s all Andy needs to hear and she takes off down the corridor as fast as her stupid shoes will let her. Her toes are pinched to the point of bleeding by now, but she powers through that and the sharp ache in her arches. If it gets too bad she’ll pull the damn things off and run barefoot.
She’s still trying Miranda on her cellphone, racking up what has to be the thirteenth or fourteenth attempt. Miranda is going to think the world has ended when she finally checks the number of missed calls on her display.
Emily wasn’t kidding about the resistance, Andy discovers with no small amount of dismay. It’s a struggle to even get past the security desk on the 35th floor, and Irv Ravitz’s secretary has a pretty intimidating air for someone whose main job is supposed to be typing and answering phones. Sucking in a deep breath, Andy takes her chance when the beep of incoming mail distracts the other woman, and she makes it all the way to the heavy doors before she’s caught.
She can let herself be pulled back now, Andy knows, or she can make one final attempt at warning Miranda. It’s nothing short of a miracle when she wriggles free and shoves at the door. She’s momentarily struck dumb at the sight of Miranda having a seemingly amicable lunch with a perfectly ordinary looking man. Over the past hour or so, Andy’s built him up to be the devil incarnate in her mind.
Miranda, as ever, fails to follow the mental script that Andy has written. Every plea falls on deaf ears until Miranda is actually threatening to fire Andy if she doesn’t leave the room. It’s a particularly harsh defeat, but Andy concedes eventually and tries not to cry as she slinks out in shame. Miranda looked so angry, and after their growing closeness of late, Andy finds that part the hardest to take.
She’s put out of her misery fifteen minutes later, when Miranda sweeps out of the office like someone who never so much as stubbed a toe, never mind shattered a femur. With an almost imperceptible nod, Miranda indicates that Andy should follow, and it takes a few awkward seconds for Andy to catch up and adapt to Miranda’s fast pace.
Only once they’re safely in the elevator does Miranda deign to speak. Andy feels frumpy next to her, because she knows her fixed makeup still isn’t quite right, and she’s pulled her hair back into a ponytail, but Miranda still looks exactly the way she did coming downstairs at the house hours ago. It just isn’t exactly fair, Andy muses as she watches their distorted reflections in the dull brass of the elevator doors.
“What were you thinking?” Miranda’s words are barely above a murmur, but Andy’s attuned and running on adrenalin so she doesn’t miss even a syllable.
Relieved to have a chance to speak at last, Andy lets it all flood out. From her arrival to St. Regis to barreling into Irv’s office she doesn’t miss anything out. Well, she maybe glosses over the making out that led her to Christian’s hotel room, but it’s clear from Miranda’s suddenly pursed lips that the implication hasn’t been lost on her.
“That’s what you chose to do with hours of leisure in Manhattan? Not for you the endless culture and countless unique experiences of the city. Oh no, Andrea. You choose to spend hours talking about your pipe dream of being a writer and letting that would-be Lothario bed you.”
“I didn’t sleep with him!” Andy knows she’s protesting a little too desperately (but she didn’t and it doesn’t matter why she cares that Miranda is absolutely clear on this point). “We uh, it was nothing really. It didn’t get very far. I rushed over here to warn you!”
The elevator makes a bored sort of ‘ping’ noise before the doors silently slide open. Andy steps back to let the waiting throng of people get on, but nobody does. They’re all muttering amongst themselves and avoiding eye contact with Miranda, while one or two shoot suspicious glances at Andy, as though she isn’t supposed to be there at all.
“Warn me about what?” Miranda snaps, and her voice is almost loud in the contained space.
“Irv wants to fire you and make Jacqueline permanent. She’s already lining up staff to hire!”
Of all the reactions Andy expected to her news (including, she’s ashamed to admit, a fantasy of Miranda grabbing her for a very grateful kiss) a snort of quickly suppressed laughter did not feature on the list at all.
“Miranda! I’m serious. Wasn’t that what Irv did over lunch?”
Composing herself with some difficulty, Miranda responds even though the doors have opened again and they’re striding out into the lobby.
“That might be what he attempted. He soon changed his mind when I presented him with the list.”
“The list of what?” Andy is struggling to keep up with Miranda both mentally and physically, the best exhibit yet of how far the editor’s recovery has advanced.
“The list of photographers, designers, artists and models who were found or nurtured by me,” Miranda explains. “All of whom have promised to follow me if, or when, I decide to leave Runway. When he saw those names, Irv knew he couldn’t afford to let me go.”
They’re walking across the concourse now, where Roy is waiting outside the car.
“What about Jacqueline?”
“I found an…opportunity for her. She’s not at the photoshoot in Miami; she has a meeting about a more lucrative role.”
The conversation is interrupted for a moment while they move to their respective sides of the car. Andy is in no mood to be patient, so she flips off the cars who hoot their horns about her opening the door while traffic is still streaming past.
“You got her a better job?” Andy asks, and there isn’t a drama school in the world that could teach her a way to keep the obvious incredulity out of her voice.
“Perhaps. She certainly seems to think so, from the way she snatched at the offer. Not that the job will last the year, but let her think she’s won for now,” Miranda chuckles as she finishes, and Andy can tell there’s a sparkle in her eyes behind those signature dark glasses.
She feels sick.
Having coming running to Miranda’s rescue, Andy is left to discover that Miranda is every bit as bad as the people scheming against her. And it’s stupid, really, for Andy to let her personal impressions count for more than well-established rumors about Miranda’s ruthlessness, but part of her just can’t believe anyone would enjoy screwing over a competitor quite so much. It’s hardly Jacqueline’s fault that she was tapped to cover for Miranda. Does she really deserve ruin for daring to covet the job on a more permanent basis?
The car is crawling through traffic as Andy plays with her seatbelt, not daring to look at Miranda and her satisfied smirk. Eventually the silence grows awkward, so Andrea forces herself to continue the conversation.
“Does this mean you’re going back to work full-time?” Her voice is a monotone around the words.
“Not just yet. If the doctors clear me I’ll be back just after Jacqueline leaves, but if there’s any overlap Nigel will step in.”
Andy thinks about Nigel, who has a friendly but bitchy phone manner. He might have mocked her during her interview, but has been a godsend ever since. She jokes that he’s her online best friend, since most of their contact is restricted to texts and emails. Nigel, who picked out this phenomenal summer wardrobe that Andy’s been working her way through, who just last week was raving about his new job…
“Miranda? Nigel said he’d talked to you about his new job-at James Holt? How can he do that and cover for you?”
That question gets a real reaction from Miranda, in that she removes her sunglasses at least. Her eyes are screwed up just a little in contemplation as she looks at her assistant, and Andy wonders how the hell she messed up this time. Was Nigel not supposed to tell her? How was that Andy’s fault?
“There has been a change of plan. The job I’ve found for Jacqueline is the one Nigel was going to take. I needed her to have it more, for obvious reasons.”
“But Nigel-“
“Will be staying at Runway.”
Andy knows better than to expect any further explanation or apology. It’s a miracle she got this much out of Miranda in the first place, but it’s clear that the other woman wants to brag about her latest victory, regardless of the human consequences. Closing her eyes for just a moment, visions of Nigel’s frantic but happy emails float through Andy’s mind - the abundance of exclamation marks, Nigel’s joyous words about freedom and escape and fresh starts. All gone--because Miranda needed something more.
Maybe it’s just how fashion (or publishing, or business) works, but it doesn’t make Andy like it any more. Just as she was repulsed by Christian’s smugness, she now feels uneasy around Miranda’s almost-indecent glow of success. There’s something powerfully attractive about it, but Andy refuses to let herself be drawn to it. She isn’t going to become like these people, not for the price of a challenging summer and a few pretty dresses. She’ll go back to school and get her law degree, hell, she’ll work in McDonald’s for minimum wage before she’ll let herself turn into this.
She thinks about the long drive back to the Hamptons, about the prospect of another quiet evening in Miranda’s company. Perhaps tonight it’ll be champagne instead of Scotch and Ketel One. Maybe after a few drinks, this simmering feeling in Andy’s stomach will have gone away, and she can go back to working hard and seeing out the summer.
“I was impressed,” Miranda continues after a moment. “With how intently you tried to warn me. You thought I didn’t know? I’ve known what was happening since the anesthesia wore off, Andrea. I just needed time to make my own plans.”
“And those plans included screwing over Nigel?” The words are out before Andy can stop them.
Miranda at least has the decency to purse her lips, forming an expression that might be mistaken for shame.
“That is unfortunate. But I always reward loyalty. Eventually.”
There’s a dangerous gleam in Miranda’s eyes as she says that, reminding Andy how close she came to betrayal this afternoon. Reckless now, Andy carries on.
“He said it was his dream job-a reward for all he’s put up with for the last twenty years. You’re just taking that away from him? I thought he was your friend.”
Not that Miranda really seems to have friends, Andy knows, but Nigel is definitely the closest. His calls are never ignored, and his opinion is always the first one sought. He’s visited a few times, often with Emily, but Miranda has never seemed irritated by his presence. Most importantly, he’s been the one advising Andy all these weeks in how best to survive Miranda, the little quirks and traits that she can use to her advantage.
“I had to secure my position. I’ll be back where I belong very soon. And you, Andrea, can be there by my side. A year as my assistant and you can have your pick of jobs in publishing; Emily must have mentioned that a few dozen times by now. I’ll let you write, if that’s what you really want.”
“You’ll… let me?” Andy can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. Miranda’s only response is to flick a switch on the door that causes a privacy screen to slide soundlessly down from the roof. Andy feels nervous, like she’s the idiot in a horror movie who went upstairs to investigate strange noises.
“I’ve been very pleased with your progress,” Miranda answers, staring out of the window with a thoroughly disinterested expression. “I thought you were entirely wrong for any kind of job with me. But you tried so hard with my girls…”
“You know I care about them,” Andy admits, scared of where the conversation is going.
“Of course, I’ll have to wait until they want to let you go before I take you to the office with me. Caroline is only just recovering from the loss of Cara, after all.”
And that’s when the last fragile strand of Andy’s patience snaps.
“Stop saying that.”
Miranda snaps her gaze back to Andy, stunned at the harsh tone.
“Stop what, exactly?” There’s no mistaking the challenge in her voice. Nobody tells Miranda Priestly what to do, not even the billionaire head of the company who employs her. Certainly not the nanny.
“Stop saying you’ll let me. Don’t I have a choice in this? Does it even matter to you that I might have plans or, yes, dreams of my own? Not everyone wants to live this life, you know.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Andrea. Everybody wants this; everybody wants to be us.”
The car rolls to a perfectly smooth stop at yet another set of traffic lights, and before she can think about it for even a second, Andy is snatching at her discarded purse and reaching for the door handle.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Miranda asks, and she sits forward in a panic, the seatbelt crushing the delicate silk of her camisole.
“I’m letting myself leave. I’m not your property, Miranda.”
And in one fluid motion, Andy is stepping out of the car. More car horns honk as she skips through two lanes of stalled traffic to reach the curb, and she doesn’t date look round in case Miranda is coming after her. The shrill ring of her cellphone heralds Andy’s successful arrival on the sidewalk, but she ignores it despite the almost Pavlovian-strength response to pick up.
Let Miranda play her real-life chess games and control everyone around her, but Andy is counting herself out. She’s not sure why it should dismay her so much, or why she has this nagging suspicion that she should somehow be more to Miranda, be exempt from these machinations. Shaking her head as the phone begins to ring again, Andy pulls it roughly from her bag and yanks the battery compartment open. As a quick and violent way of switching off, it’s quite satisfying.
Striding off into the Manhattan afternoon, Andy doesn’t care if she has no idea where she’s going. At least it’s her choice to make.
Chapter 15 -->
Chapter: 14 of 20
Fandom: Devil Wears Prada (movie)
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: PG13 (for now)
Beta:ladyvivien (thank you, lover) All remaining mistakes are mine.
Spoilers: AU, but borrowing heavily from the movie!verse. Plot owes a lot to the Helen Mirren movie 'Losing Chase'.
Disclaimer: Not mine! These characters belong to their respective owners and no profit is being made. Miranda's holiday home is based, predictably, on Anna Wintour's.
Summary: Miranda has retreated to her home in the Hamptons following a serious accident. The young and idealistic Andrea Sachs accepts a position as a nanny/assistant combo. Since Miranda is resistant to outside help and new faces, this doesn't go over well.
A/N: This fic belongs, truly, to the wonderful abina2810 . Although this is late, the fic is a reward for her generous charitable donations. Comments and feedback are gratefully received.
Andy can’t deny the little thrill she feels, stepping out of the Mercedes. There’s a doorman in full uniform, right down to the white gloves, and she’s dressed in what feels like a million dollars worth of fabulous. There’s a definite spring in her step as she’s ushered in through the hotel’s front door, and it’s all the more noticeable because she can finally walk in these killer heels.
She’s directed straight to the King Cole bar, with more of those professional smiles. It’s not hard to spot Christian, since he’s sitting at the bar and caught up in some kind of animated conversation with the bartender. He looks relaxed, in his light summer suit and open-necked shirt. For a moment, Andy entertains the fantasy of taking someone like this home to Ohio to meet her father. It could only end better than the few meetings he’d had with Nate.
Still, she chides herself, this is a business meeting. Depending how well she conducts herself, this could lead to knowing all the right people to actually get her work published. Andy isn’t naïve enough to believe that sheer talent is enough in an oversaturated media market like New York - she’s going to need a foot in the door.
And maybe it’s the knock-on effect of things being calm working for Miranda, but Andy thinks she might be writing some of her best pieces yet. She’s already sketched out a longer piece on the privileges of private education, and ideas about gender and power seem to pop into her mind whenever she’s around Miranda for any length of time. There might even be a novel to be mined from the world that this summer has introduced her to, if she’s careful.
Christian smiles when he catches her eye, and Andy’s just a little flattered that the sight of her stops him in mid-sentence. She has the impression that it’s not that easy to make this guy stop talking, for any reason, but she kind of likes that about him. He stands to greet her, like any good gentleman, but when he presses a kiss to her cheek Andy finds herself thinking for a moment about Miranda and how soft her face is. Shaking it off, she follows Christian to a table where they can talk a little more privately.
“I can’t believe this is your first time in the city since we met,” he begins. “Or have you been playing hard to get?”
“Trust me, I got here as soon as I could. Miranda has kept me really busy,” Andy explains, though she can hear the lie in the words even as she says them. Sure, Miranda has been requesting her presence a lot more often, but the workload hasn’t increased significantly. Andy’s been telling herself that Miranda is lonely without the twins around, but there’s a nagging suspicion that it’s something more.
“Miranda? Is that your boss?”
“Yeah,” Andy confirms with some reluctance. “I work for Miranda Priestly.”
Christian whistles through his teeth at that, his face falling in what looks like some kind of dismay.
“Wow, that’s a tough break. I had such high hopes for you, too. But nobody ever survives her and remains this nice, Miranda-girl.”
“You know her?” Andy sputters a little, indignant at the slurs against both Miranda and herself.
“I know of her, shall we say? Our paths cross from time to time. And everybody knows about the girls who work for her-they either break in a week, or turn out to be bitchy Miranda-clones. It’s kind of her thing.”
Andy wants to protest, wants to tell Christian how wrong he is, and that there’s a woman behind this hyped-up public persona. She thinks of the times she’s seen Miranda with a tear in her eye, or the way she laughs at the twins’ chatter. To do that would feel like betraying a trust, somehow, and so she chooses to defend her own honor instead.
“Well, I’m going to be the exception. I’ve been working for her at least a couple of months, and you tell me-do I seem like a stone cold bitch to you?”
That draws another dazzling smile from Christian, and she can see that he’s used to charming the ladies, that’s for damn sure. Andy almost feels the tug to fall for it herself, but she’s momentarily distracted by how many teeth he seems to have when he grins like that. It’s like sitting opposite the Cheshire Cat, and Andy doesn’t find him anywhere near as cute as she did in that nightclub.
“You don’t seem very cold at all, Andy Sachs. Maybe I’m wrong? So, let’s talk about this writing of yours.”
*
Two hours later and Andy’s head is spinning a little. She hasn’t drunk alcohol during the day since college, and although the champagne cocktails are terribly civilized and classy, they also keep appearing at a relentless rate. It’s safe to say she has a little bit of a buzz on.
Add to that the fact that Christian thinks and talks every bit as well as he writes, and Andy is halfway out of her mind. He seems to have pulled out everything she thought she had hidden in her writing, and a lot more besides that even she wasn’t aware of. Not that it’s all glowing, of course. She has a lot to learn, and Christian seems to believe in harsh but constructive criticism. Since he’s pretty much living her dream career right now, Andy clings desperately to every word and hopes she’s filing away every valuable piece of knowledge that he’s imparting.
“Thank you,” she says, when he finishes his thoughts about her short stories. “I mean it, Christian. I thought you would skim these and see if I could use punctuation. I never dreamed that you’d take so much time over it.”
He shrugs in that easy way that he has, and despite his caterpillar eyebrows, Andy confirms that he’s definitely crossed back over into the realms of cute. Eyebrows can always be plucked, after all.
“I was going to have my editor’s assistant look at it, but I happened to pick up the first article and I was hooked from there. You’re going to be a phenomenal writer some day, Andy. You just have to focus on it and not let being an assistant take over your life.”
She smiles at the warning, because she isn’t like these other girls who get seduced by a pretty dress or fancy shoes that cost about a month’s rent.
“I should have been writing down everything you said,” Andy realizes too late. “I think I got it all, but it was so helpful.”
Christian is unruffled by her sudden panic.
“I have my own notes, upstairs. I have a suite here when I’m in town. Maybe we could go fetch them?”
It’s not exactly the smoothest, and Andy knows a line when she hears one. Perhaps this kind of payoff is exactly what Christian had in mind when he offered to do her a favor.
And somehow, despite the burgeoning sense of outrage, of not wanting to be that kind of girl, Andy finds herself nodding at the proposition. Christian stands in one fluid movement, as though he hasn’t drunk so much as a drop of champagne and offers his hand to lead the way. Andy thinks one or two of the other patrons are watching as they leave, horrified for a brief second that they might mistake her for some kind of call girl.
She gets over any such embarrassment by the time they reach the elevators though, because the first thing Christian does when the doors close is draw her into a searing kiss (they’ve been holding hands the whole way, it suddenly occurs to her). Although she’s still a little conflicted over whether she really likes him or not, Andy can’t deny her body’s reaction. It’s been a long time since Nate, and that relationship fizzled out with a distinct lack of affection and contact. In fact, the only person Andy’s even kissed in almost a year is Miranda, which is just ridiculous really.
They stumble the short distance to his suite, and Andy has a brief second or two to notice that it looks exactly as rich and stuffy as the hotel seems to demand. She’s distracted by Christian’s wandering hands in an instant though, and he only pauses to shrug out of his artfully-mismatched designer blazer. Andy’s quite sure she isn’t the fashion devotee in the room, regardless of who her employer might be.
And damn, that’s the second time in as many minutes that Miranda has popped into her head. It’s one thing to be a bit flushed at the sight of a revealing swimsuit, or flustered by an accidental brushing of fingers over a sheet of paper or coffee cup, but when a hot and famous writer is seducing her, Andy is pretty sure she shouldn’t be thinking about the woman who has given her one of the most challenging summers of her life.
She’s focusing, for God’s sake, because Christian is kissing her neck in a quite pleasant way. Andy thinks she could definitely get into this when she bumps into the edge of the suite’s large bed. It’s only when she tilts backwards that Christian stops what he’s doing, apparently to clear some papers and prints from the top of the freshly-made bed. She’s smiling at him as he does, until she sees what looks like an issue of Runway in his hand, and really that’s just too good an opportunity to pass up.
“Now who’s a mindless Priestly drone?” She’s teasing as she grabs for it, and the surprise is enough to make Christian let go without a fight. He doesn’t look embarrassed, or even defiant though. In fact, he looks sort of… scared?
It’s only after a long few seconds of staring at the front cover that Andy gets it. She’s spent long weeks fetching back issues from Miranda’s collection, twice or three times a day. Between that and general office duties, she figures she’s seen almost all of the iconic covers by now. This one? This one she does not recognize at all.
Which isn’t such a shock, really, because she notices then that the date on the front page is for three months in the future. A quick flick through the magazine confirms that most of the pages are still blank or clearly just mock-ups. This looks a lot like The Book that Miranda sometimes mentions in her conversations about the office. Apparently it’s kind of a big deal, and it used to be hand-delivered to Miranda at her home every single evening.
“What the hell is this?” Andy asks, although she thinks she might already know.
“It’s uh,” Christian falters for the first time all day. “It’s the mock-up for Jacqueline Follet’s first official issue in charge of Runway.”
Andy shakes her head, because she does not want to be hearing this.
“You’re kidding, right? Miranda is still the editor. Taking her magazine away from her… she’d be devastated.”
Christian laughs at that, some of his earlier cockiness returning.
“Miranda’s a big girl, Andy. I doubt it’ll take her more than a couple of drinks and a long shower to get over it. You have to know that the big guns at Elias-Clarke want her out. Jacqueline’s a lot younger than Miranda-“
“So why do you have this in your hotel room?” Andy shoots back, not wanting to hear anything else about why Miranda should be replaced.
“Jacqueline has offered me control of all the editorial content. I’ll be hiring writers, commissioning features. Preferably young, up and coming writers looking to make a name for themselves.”
He waggles those damn eyebrows at her, and Andy feels sick to her stomach. To think that she’d betray someone she works for, someone she’s grown to care for, just for a quick leg up in the publishing industry? It’s repulsive to even think of. Not that she’s naïve, she knows how many people would bite Christian’s hand off at the mention of this implied offer, but Andy promised herself back in college that she’d rather go without work than get ahead in ways like this.
“So you’re helping her scheme the magazine away from Miranda? While she’s still recovering? Nice, Christian. Real nice.”
“Publishing waits for no man; or woman, no matter how scary she is. Times change, especially in fashion. In fact, I think Irv Ravitz is giving Miranda her severance package over lunch today. What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on that wall…”
In that moment, with his face lit up with a twisted sort of glee, Andy can’t see a single thing about Christian that’s attractive. That she let this guy kiss her and paw at her is going to take a while to get over, because she’s two minutes from throwing up right on his designer loafers.
“She doesn’t know? He’s just going to spring this on her?”
Andy thinks back over the past few weeks, of Miranda’s considerable improvement and the return of her more businesslike appearance. The girls have been bolstered by a return to the familiar, and Andy has found herself appreciating a full-strength Miranda even more too. To think of all that possibly being attacked over lunch, to think what a blow this might be to Miranda, is enough to send Andy into a tailspin of sudden panic.
Christian looks like he’s about to explain some more, or maybe patronize her about the real world, but Andy doesn’t give him the chance.
“I have to go. Now. Thanks for the writing advice.”
“Andy, come on-“
But that’s the last she hears as the door to his suite slams behind her. She panics for a moment, standing in the hallway with no idea of what to actually do with this new information. Thankfully, instinct takes over and she breaks into a run back towards the elevator bank. She has to get to Miranda and warn her; it’s exactly as simple as that.
Since Roy is no doubt waiting for Miranda back at the office already, Andy hails a cab and is pleased to see one screech to a halt before she even has to break stride. Seconds later she’s bundling herself on to the cracked leather seats and spitting out the office address of Elias-Clarke. The cab driver gives her a funny look in the rearview mirror, and from what little she can see of herself, Andy can see why.
Her previously smooth hair is a tousled mess, and judging by the smearing of her lipstick, it isn’t easy to tell exactly what she’s been up to in that hotel. She attempts a repair job with the limited supplies in her purse, but even the legendary Midtown traffic doesn’t hold them up for long. In fact, Andy realizes that they’ve probably only gone about ten blocks or so, but she has no internalized map of the city yet, having only spent a few weeks here at a time. Even then, it was mostly downtown with Lily’s art scene buddies, or lately in Brooklyn.
Throwing a few bills at the driver, she steps out onto the vast concrete concourse that seems only slightly less intimidating than on the day of her initial interview. Andy takes strides in her perilous Prada heels, and the effect is a lot more confident that she feels. Her first stop at the security desk goes smoothly enough, since Emily had anticipated Andy showing up for some kind of work purpose, a pass is still waiting. She loops the lanyard around her wrist like a new, cheap bracelet and goes to call an elevator.
All too soon, she’s walking out onto the 17th floor. The receptionist screws up her face in appraisal, but apparently Andy’s green dress is fashionable enough to allow her to pass. She’s just about to ask where Miranda’s office is when Emily comes sweeping out of one of the corridors that converge on the lobby area.
“Why are you here?” She’s asking even as she leads Andy by the elbow down another of the well-lit white corridors. “Miranda didn’t say anything about you working here when she got here.”
“Ow!” Andy protests as Emily’s grip gets a little too close to pinching. They walk into another reception area and from the first glance Andy can tell that they’re outside Miranda’s office. The room practically vibrates with her presence, even though the glass beyond the open glass doors is empty. A bored-looking girl in a shockingly pink dress sits at one of the two desks that Andy is standing between, filing her nails with frightening precision. Andy’s seen surgery performed with less attention to detail.
“You absolutely shouldn’t be here unless Miranda told you to be. I left the pass just in case,” Emily is explaining more for her own benefit than Andy’s. Over the past couple of months Andy has learned first-hand that Emily does her thinking out loud, even more the telephone. That thinking is usually punctuated by nasty little insults and hisses of displeasure, both of which seem to be lurking in Andy’s immediate future. She decides to get while the getting is good, and wrenches her arm free of Emily’s surprisingly strong grip.
“Where is Miranda? I need to see her right now.”
Andy tries to keep her voice steady, but she can hear the desperation for herself. Emily just laughs, that fake tinkling little laugh that drives Andy halfway insane on a good day. Today is definitely not a good day.
“She’s having lunch with Mr. Ravitz.” Emily is back at her computer, flicking through some kind of list on the screen. “She won’t be back for at least thirty minutes. Maybe you could take the time to straighten yourself up?”
Knowing she looks a little like what the cat dragged in, Andy can’t exactly fault Emily for that observation, but there just isn’t time.
“Emily. If you want to keep your job you will tell me exactly where she is. This is urgent.”
It looks like Emily is going to keep stonewalling, but at the last moment she relents. Making the concession seems to physically pain her, but there’s a flicker of panic that let’s Andy know she’s won.
“35th floor. They’re having lunch in his office. Not that you’ll get in there, but you can wait outside I suppose.”
That’s all Andy needs to hear and she takes off down the corridor as fast as her stupid shoes will let her. Her toes are pinched to the point of bleeding by now, but she powers through that and the sharp ache in her arches. If it gets too bad she’ll pull the damn things off and run barefoot.
She’s still trying Miranda on her cellphone, racking up what has to be the thirteenth or fourteenth attempt. Miranda is going to think the world has ended when she finally checks the number of missed calls on her display.
Emily wasn’t kidding about the resistance, Andy discovers with no small amount of dismay. It’s a struggle to even get past the security desk on the 35th floor, and Irv Ravitz’s secretary has a pretty intimidating air for someone whose main job is supposed to be typing and answering phones. Sucking in a deep breath, Andy takes her chance when the beep of incoming mail distracts the other woman, and she makes it all the way to the heavy doors before she’s caught.
She can let herself be pulled back now, Andy knows, or she can make one final attempt at warning Miranda. It’s nothing short of a miracle when she wriggles free and shoves at the door. She’s momentarily struck dumb at the sight of Miranda having a seemingly amicable lunch with a perfectly ordinary looking man. Over the past hour or so, Andy’s built him up to be the devil incarnate in her mind.
Miranda, as ever, fails to follow the mental script that Andy has written. Every plea falls on deaf ears until Miranda is actually threatening to fire Andy if she doesn’t leave the room. It’s a particularly harsh defeat, but Andy concedes eventually and tries not to cry as she slinks out in shame. Miranda looked so angry, and after their growing closeness of late, Andy finds that part the hardest to take.
She’s put out of her misery fifteen minutes later, when Miranda sweeps out of the office like someone who never so much as stubbed a toe, never mind shattered a femur. With an almost imperceptible nod, Miranda indicates that Andy should follow, and it takes a few awkward seconds for Andy to catch up and adapt to Miranda’s fast pace.
Only once they’re safely in the elevator does Miranda deign to speak. Andy feels frumpy next to her, because she knows her fixed makeup still isn’t quite right, and she’s pulled her hair back into a ponytail, but Miranda still looks exactly the way she did coming downstairs at the house hours ago. It just isn’t exactly fair, Andy muses as she watches their distorted reflections in the dull brass of the elevator doors.
“What were you thinking?” Miranda’s words are barely above a murmur, but Andy’s attuned and running on adrenalin so she doesn’t miss even a syllable.
Relieved to have a chance to speak at last, Andy lets it all flood out. From her arrival to St. Regis to barreling into Irv’s office she doesn’t miss anything out. Well, she maybe glosses over the making out that led her to Christian’s hotel room, but it’s clear from Miranda’s suddenly pursed lips that the implication hasn’t been lost on her.
“That’s what you chose to do with hours of leisure in Manhattan? Not for you the endless culture and countless unique experiences of the city. Oh no, Andrea. You choose to spend hours talking about your pipe dream of being a writer and letting that would-be Lothario bed you.”
“I didn’t sleep with him!” Andy knows she’s protesting a little too desperately (but she didn’t and it doesn’t matter why she cares that Miranda is absolutely clear on this point). “We uh, it was nothing really. It didn’t get very far. I rushed over here to warn you!”
The elevator makes a bored sort of ‘ping’ noise before the doors silently slide open. Andy steps back to let the waiting throng of people get on, but nobody does. They’re all muttering amongst themselves and avoiding eye contact with Miranda, while one or two shoot suspicious glances at Andy, as though she isn’t supposed to be there at all.
“Warn me about what?” Miranda snaps, and her voice is almost loud in the contained space.
“Irv wants to fire you and make Jacqueline permanent. She’s already lining up staff to hire!”
Of all the reactions Andy expected to her news (including, she’s ashamed to admit, a fantasy of Miranda grabbing her for a very grateful kiss) a snort of quickly suppressed laughter did not feature on the list at all.
“Miranda! I’m serious. Wasn’t that what Irv did over lunch?”
Composing herself with some difficulty, Miranda responds even though the doors have opened again and they’re striding out into the lobby.
“That might be what he attempted. He soon changed his mind when I presented him with the list.”
“The list of what?” Andy is struggling to keep up with Miranda both mentally and physically, the best exhibit yet of how far the editor’s recovery has advanced.
“The list of photographers, designers, artists and models who were found or nurtured by me,” Miranda explains. “All of whom have promised to follow me if, or when, I decide to leave Runway. When he saw those names, Irv knew he couldn’t afford to let me go.”
They’re walking across the concourse now, where Roy is waiting outside the car.
“What about Jacqueline?”
“I found an…opportunity for her. She’s not at the photoshoot in Miami; she has a meeting about a more lucrative role.”
The conversation is interrupted for a moment while they move to their respective sides of the car. Andy is in no mood to be patient, so she flips off the cars who hoot their horns about her opening the door while traffic is still streaming past.
“You got her a better job?” Andy asks, and there isn’t a drama school in the world that could teach her a way to keep the obvious incredulity out of her voice.
“Perhaps. She certainly seems to think so, from the way she snatched at the offer. Not that the job will last the year, but let her think she’s won for now,” Miranda chuckles as she finishes, and Andy can tell there’s a sparkle in her eyes behind those signature dark glasses.
She feels sick.
Having coming running to Miranda’s rescue, Andy is left to discover that Miranda is every bit as bad as the people scheming against her. And it’s stupid, really, for Andy to let her personal impressions count for more than well-established rumors about Miranda’s ruthlessness, but part of her just can’t believe anyone would enjoy screwing over a competitor quite so much. It’s hardly Jacqueline’s fault that she was tapped to cover for Miranda. Does she really deserve ruin for daring to covet the job on a more permanent basis?
The car is crawling through traffic as Andy plays with her seatbelt, not daring to look at Miranda and her satisfied smirk. Eventually the silence grows awkward, so Andrea forces herself to continue the conversation.
“Does this mean you’re going back to work full-time?” Her voice is a monotone around the words.
“Not just yet. If the doctors clear me I’ll be back just after Jacqueline leaves, but if there’s any overlap Nigel will step in.”
Andy thinks about Nigel, who has a friendly but bitchy phone manner. He might have mocked her during her interview, but has been a godsend ever since. She jokes that he’s her online best friend, since most of their contact is restricted to texts and emails. Nigel, who picked out this phenomenal summer wardrobe that Andy’s been working her way through, who just last week was raving about his new job…
“Miranda? Nigel said he’d talked to you about his new job-at James Holt? How can he do that and cover for you?”
That question gets a real reaction from Miranda, in that she removes her sunglasses at least. Her eyes are screwed up just a little in contemplation as she looks at her assistant, and Andy wonders how the hell she messed up this time. Was Nigel not supposed to tell her? How was that Andy’s fault?
“There has been a change of plan. The job I’ve found for Jacqueline is the one Nigel was going to take. I needed her to have it more, for obvious reasons.”
“But Nigel-“
“Will be staying at Runway.”
Andy knows better than to expect any further explanation or apology. It’s a miracle she got this much out of Miranda in the first place, but it’s clear that the other woman wants to brag about her latest victory, regardless of the human consequences. Closing her eyes for just a moment, visions of Nigel’s frantic but happy emails float through Andy’s mind - the abundance of exclamation marks, Nigel’s joyous words about freedom and escape and fresh starts. All gone--because Miranda needed something more.
Maybe it’s just how fashion (or publishing, or business) works, but it doesn’t make Andy like it any more. Just as she was repulsed by Christian’s smugness, she now feels uneasy around Miranda’s almost-indecent glow of success. There’s something powerfully attractive about it, but Andy refuses to let herself be drawn to it. She isn’t going to become like these people, not for the price of a challenging summer and a few pretty dresses. She’ll go back to school and get her law degree, hell, she’ll work in McDonald’s for minimum wage before she’ll let herself turn into this.
She thinks about the long drive back to the Hamptons, about the prospect of another quiet evening in Miranda’s company. Perhaps tonight it’ll be champagne instead of Scotch and Ketel One. Maybe after a few drinks, this simmering feeling in Andy’s stomach will have gone away, and she can go back to working hard and seeing out the summer.
“I was impressed,” Miranda continues after a moment. “With how intently you tried to warn me. You thought I didn’t know? I’ve known what was happening since the anesthesia wore off, Andrea. I just needed time to make my own plans.”
“And those plans included screwing over Nigel?” The words are out before Andy can stop them.
Miranda at least has the decency to purse her lips, forming an expression that might be mistaken for shame.
“That is unfortunate. But I always reward loyalty. Eventually.”
There’s a dangerous gleam in Miranda’s eyes as she says that, reminding Andy how close she came to betrayal this afternoon. Reckless now, Andy carries on.
“He said it was his dream job-a reward for all he’s put up with for the last twenty years. You’re just taking that away from him? I thought he was your friend.”
Not that Miranda really seems to have friends, Andy knows, but Nigel is definitely the closest. His calls are never ignored, and his opinion is always the first one sought. He’s visited a few times, often with Emily, but Miranda has never seemed irritated by his presence. Most importantly, he’s been the one advising Andy all these weeks in how best to survive Miranda, the little quirks and traits that she can use to her advantage.
“I had to secure my position. I’ll be back where I belong very soon. And you, Andrea, can be there by my side. A year as my assistant and you can have your pick of jobs in publishing; Emily must have mentioned that a few dozen times by now. I’ll let you write, if that’s what you really want.”
“You’ll… let me?” Andy can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. Miranda’s only response is to flick a switch on the door that causes a privacy screen to slide soundlessly down from the roof. Andy feels nervous, like she’s the idiot in a horror movie who went upstairs to investigate strange noises.
“I’ve been very pleased with your progress,” Miranda answers, staring out of the window with a thoroughly disinterested expression. “I thought you were entirely wrong for any kind of job with me. But you tried so hard with my girls…”
“You know I care about them,” Andy admits, scared of where the conversation is going.
“Of course, I’ll have to wait until they want to let you go before I take you to the office with me. Caroline is only just recovering from the loss of Cara, after all.”
And that’s when the last fragile strand of Andy’s patience snaps.
“Stop saying that.”
Miranda snaps her gaze back to Andy, stunned at the harsh tone.
“Stop what, exactly?” There’s no mistaking the challenge in her voice. Nobody tells Miranda Priestly what to do, not even the billionaire head of the company who employs her. Certainly not the nanny.
“Stop saying you’ll let me. Don’t I have a choice in this? Does it even matter to you that I might have plans or, yes, dreams of my own? Not everyone wants to live this life, you know.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Andrea. Everybody wants this; everybody wants to be us.”
The car rolls to a perfectly smooth stop at yet another set of traffic lights, and before she can think about it for even a second, Andy is snatching at her discarded purse and reaching for the door handle.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Miranda asks, and she sits forward in a panic, the seatbelt crushing the delicate silk of her camisole.
“I’m letting myself leave. I’m not your property, Miranda.”
And in one fluid motion, Andy is stepping out of the car. More car horns honk as she skips through two lanes of stalled traffic to reach the curb, and she doesn’t date look round in case Miranda is coming after her. The shrill ring of her cellphone heralds Andy’s successful arrival on the sidewalk, but she ignores it despite the almost Pavlovian-strength response to pick up.
Let Miranda play her real-life chess games and control everyone around her, but Andy is counting herself out. She’s not sure why it should dismay her so much, or why she has this nagging suspicion that she should somehow be more to Miranda, be exempt from these machinations. Shaking her head as the phone begins to ring again, Andy pulls it roughly from her bag and yanks the battery compartment open. As a quick and violent way of switching off, it’s quite satisfying.
Striding off into the Manhattan afternoon, Andy doesn’t care if she has no idea where she’s going. At least it’s her choice to make.
Chapter 15 -->