Fic: Colorblind (part 4/7)
Fandom: Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: T
Summary: (see earlier chapters)
Nigel had been confused. Now Nigel was slightly annoyed, although more concerned for his friend and boss.
Miranda had knocked on his door loudly until he opened up, at which point she flew through his room, searching the mini-bar until she found what she was looking for, which was scotch. After throwing back a couple fingers of the amber liquid Miranda had demanded that he contact Andrea and get her to agree to some sort of meeting - a lunch, a drink, a bench in the park, anything.
Nigel, of course, after asking what had happened to set the woman off just hours after they’d arrived and receiving no response, did just that.
“Hello?”
“Six,” he said curtly - after all, Miranda was standing over him watching with her hawk’s eye - “It’s me. Nigel.”
“Is Miranda there with you?”
“Yes. How’d you know?”
“She just saw me. Or I saw her, or whatever, just across the street from the hotel.”
“Well perhaps we can get together and have a little chat,” he suggested.
“No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Come on, Six. What if I promise Miranda won’t be there?” Miranda gave him a glare and sat down on the couch across from him.
Andy gave a strained laugh, “I’m not that naïve, Nigel, and honestly, I do have a lot of work to do.”
“Yes, I know. Apparently you have a show in six days time.” He paused, waiting for a response, but got none. “So it’s true then?”
“What’s that?”
“You know.”
“Do you?”
“Are you really the designer behind Eliza Elisabeth?” sounding a little annoyed he even had to ask the question. Miranda had crossed her legs and turned to look at something else, not that she wasn’t listening to his half of the conversation with rapt attention.
“All evidence points towards that fact, yes.”
Nigel cleared his throat. “Why…“ he stopped himself, not wanting to sound petty but then not really caring. “Why didn’t you tell me? Or anyone, for that matter?”
“That’s a whole other conversation.”
“Come to lunch and we can have it.”
Andy laughed again, “No, I don’t think so. I don’t want to bait the beast.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know…”
“Actually this time I really don’t,” he sounded genuinely confused.
“I expect that after this week Miranda will blacklist me from the fashion world. I’m not attached to any publication, but I’m sure her influence extends at least in part to the high-end places where my clothes sell. I don’t need her to bite my head off at lunch on top of that.” Andy said this last part quietly, the hurt evident in her voice.
“Six -“
“Nigel, I really am quite busy,” she paused for a moment but he didn’t say anything, sensing she wasn’t quite done. “I will give you this though - I’m showing two collections on Thursday.”
“Two collections?” His voice was incredulous. Miranda looked at him sharply, desperately wanting to know the other half of the conversation. “Since when?”
“New York.”
“New York? Andy that was less than a week ago.” Nigel was stunned, as was Miranda.
“I know. Like I said, I’ve been busy.”
“You really think you can pull this off with so little time? That’s a huge undertaking,” his voice held warning. Miranda nodded slightly, as if to second his opinion.
“Yeah, it’s - I was inspired while sitting in Central Park. I saw - am I on speaker?”
“No.”
“She can’t know this, Nigel. Promise me if I tell you, you won’t tell her.”
“I can do that.”
Andy sighed. “I saw Cassidy and Caroline in the park.” Nigel murmured his surprise. Miranda was going crazy not knowing, and she started fidgeting. “They weren’t wearing anything fancy, but, well you know them - and then Miranda - and so they were put together nicely. Obviously their own styles, even though they’re identical, but Nigel, you should have seen it - two completely different people. It was… quite a sight. I had my sketchbook with me, and I sat there until I lost the light and then I went back to my hotel, I didn’t sleep a wink,” she chuckled at that. “That’s where the second collection comes from. It’s a young sophistication. Each piece is paired, but only slightly - you’ll see,” she broke off for a moment. “You are coming, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Six. Not for the world.” He could practically hear her grin over the phone.
After they hung up Nigel relayed all that Andy had said, save for the part about Cassidy and Caroline.
“What were you two talking about towards the end?” Miranda could sense it was something important.
“Well, you know, she’s going for two collections. Very ambitious.”
Miranda scoffed, “I’ll say. What does she think, that everyone will just ‘stick around’ while the other shows happen?”
“If her first collection is anything like last year’s, or the four before that, I think people will be more than willing to hang around for the second.” Nigel stood then, grabbing some scotch for himself.
“Well, did she give any hint as to what this great second collection will be?” Miranda was thirsty for information, but waved her hand slightly in an effort to look like she didn’t care.
Nigel chuckled. “Miranda, you’ve never had any information about any of Eliza’s work before it’s walked, what makes you think this time is different?”
“Tell me what you know, Nigel,” Miranda growled.
He shook his head. “I promised her I wouldn’t, but you’ll definitely want to stick around for the second act, it sounds most compelling.”
**
Andy tossed her phone onto the table a few feet away and looked down at what she’d been working on during her phone call with Nigel.
It was a portrait of Miranda as Andy remembered her from that night in Paris when she’d opened up all those years ago. Andy had been shocked when she’d been allowed to see Miranda without her walls up, and it was then that she’d first acknowledged that the feelings she had for her boss weren’t quite appropriate.
After struggling to warn Miranda and failing she had felt defeated. Sitting in that car, riding through the streets of Paris, Andy wondered why she had tried so desperately to defend the woman sitting next to her. When she found her answer she knew she couldn’t stay. It wouldn’t have been right.
Monica had called her on her bullshit, as usual. What she felt for the Ice Queen hadn’t dissipated. Perhaps it had gone into hibernation for a while. Andy had seen other people, although only a few and never for very long. Mostly it was about sex. Because she’d have a fleeting thought about her old boss and she’d shove herself back into work, breaking off whatever ‘relationship’ she was in.
Andy looked at the likeness she’d created - it was beautiful, raw. The fact that she cared so much for a woman who would never feel the same - who was married with a husband and two children - made her heart feel like it was being tossed around, eventually landing and shattering into a thousand pieces.
Nevertheless, Andy knew she’d have to show her face now. Now that Miranda knew, she couldn’t hide any longer. Although, she reckoned, this would probably be her last show if Miranda had anything to say bout it. Better make it count, she thought, and started sketching a suit for her big reveal. It would be cerulean.
**
Miranda was not a happy camper. As her car pulled up to the next venue, she thought about the show she’d just come from. Vera Wang, as expected, had been… uninspired. What was worse was that Miranda had expected to have a few of her pieces in next month’s issue of Runway. That was no longer true, although what had she expected, really? Especially after the preview she’d had to wrangle.
Fashion Week in Paris had only just started however, as it was only Tuesday. The shows would last until Saturday evening, when the opulent parties would commence. Miranda wondered if Andrea would attend any of the parties this year, now that her secret was known.
Of course, Miranda would never divulge that piece of information, and she was certain Nigel wouldn’t either. In fact, she’d been quite angry on Friday when she’d learned that Andrea expected a blacklisting after this week. It occurred to Miranda that before Nigel had mentioned it, blacklisting the name Eliza Elisabeth hadn’t even crossed her mind. How can she think I would do such a thing? Does she not see the enormous talent she possesses?
Brushing those thoughts aside Miranda took her seat for Dior. It looked promising.
Deciding to have lunch at the hotel instead of at the Dior luncheon, Miranda made her way back to the town car. The show was perfectly acceptable, some of the pieces even excited her. No pursed lips, always a plus.
On their way back to the hotel Miranda turned to Clarissa, startling the poor girl. She sighed and rolled her eyes.
“Get me a list - names and phone numbers - of everyone we know in Paris who can help track somebody down. I’ll need it during lunch.”
Clarissa nodded, her platinum blond hair brushing the tops of her shoulders. “Is this about the Eliza show?”
Miranda glared. “No.” She gave no further explanation.
Halfway through lunch with Nigel and a few other department heads from Runway, Clarissa slipped Miranda a list of about seven names with corresponding phone numbers, who then excused herself to her suite.
Making the calls, Miranda waited impatiently for the information she desired to surface. Half an hour later she was pleased to hold in her hand a paper with the address of one Andrea Sachs, American. To Miranda’s pleasure, it was an address not too far from the hotel.
Slipping out of the hotel and to her waiting town car, Miranda found herself in front of an old, but beautiful brick building. Buzzing for Andrea’s apartment, she got no answer, but slipped in when a man in his early twenties came out. Apartment 7D. She knocked, then again, and again. Evidently, there was no one home.
Miranda sighed and left, feeling foolish for even having come. Versace was waiting.
**
Across town, Andy bit her lip as blood dripped down her thumb. Shit. Just what I need... it comes with the profession, I suppose.
Sucking on her thumb while searching for a bandage Andy heard Monica on the phone with de la Renta’s people. He’d done an excellent job. Vera Wang… had not. Andy shook her head, focusing herself.
Her show was in two days. She only had three more dresses to make for the new collection, which she’d entitled Stessa. It was Italian for sameness, for being like one. At least she hoped. The Italian guy who lived in her building was very old and knew very little French and even less English.
Gathering her hair up into a short ponytail she went back to work. She still had the suit to make for herself, as well.
Later that evening she was still working, one dress down two to go, when Monica interrupted her with baguette and coffee. May the heavens look upon you kindly, Monica.
“How many do you have left?” Monica had the bad habit of talking with her mouth full. Whatever, there were times when Andy did, too.
“Just two, and they’ll be done by morning.”
“You know, you could, like, I don’t know - sleep.” Andy rolled her eyes and Monica continued, “You have time now. I don’t know how the hell you got all this done by yourself in a week, but you can breathe now.”
“I just have two more dresses. I’ll feel better when I know they’re done.”
“Well, you know you could have hired seamstresses. You certainly have the money.”
Andy sighed. It was true. And it would make life a lot easier, but, “You know I like to make all the dresses that are gonna walk on the runway.” Monica nodded. Andy had always been firm about that, and her work was impeccable and always on time.
They talked and ate for a few more minutes before Monica approached the subject Andy could see she’d been skirting. “You’re finally gonna do it, aren’t you?”
“I… huh?” What in the world is she talking about?
“You’re gonna get up on that runway and show the world who’s behind Eliza.” Oh. That would be it, yes.
“Um, yeah, I am. I know we haven’t talked about it, but…”
“Andy,” Monica placed her hand over her friend’s, “these are your designs. You do what you want with them and with yourself,” she said reassuringly, and then, to add a bit of levity, “just be sure to give me a cut when you become rich and famous.”
Andy barked her laughter at that. “Thanks Monica.”
“You know if it’d been up to me you would never had hidden from the press - you deserve the credit of your designs.” Monica released her hand and went back to her food.
“There’s a real possibility that this’ll be our last show.” Monica furrowed her eyebrows, confused. “Miranda could blacklist me from the fashion industry. I can’t imagine she’s happy with me right now.”
“Well, I guess we’ll see what happens. Your designs have never been featured in any magazine, so there might not be much she can do.” Andy nodded, but voiced her concern again, just to make sure Monica understood what might happen.
“Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’m gonna start passing around the office number to some of the designers, letting them know that we’re open to contact and that sort of thing. You going out there won’t do much good if no one can reach us.” Andy agreed, and Monica went to work.
She didn’t sleep that night, staying at the studio until eight AM to get the dresses finished. They were really gowns, and they’d be the last pieces of the show. She couldn’t be prouder of them, either. They truly did work hand in hand.
After a few hours sleep in her bed, and worked from home, creating the suit she’d wear when she walked out onto the runway with the models displaying her work.
Nigel had called on Monday to ask if she’d reconsider drinks, but she’d declined. She half thought Miranda might call her herself - she had her number after all, but no dice. Andy didn’t really know what she’d say to Miranda if she had called anyway, so there was that.
Falling asleep in her chair on Wednesday night, her suit complete on a mannequin next to her, Andy was woken the next morning by Monica, who had a key, shaking her.
“Come on, Andy, your show is in less than ten hours.” That got her up.
****
Miranda’s insides thrummed with nervous anticipation, and it was driving her bat-shit crazy. Since when did Miranda Priestly get butterflies before a fashion show? She’d only been to hundreds of them.
Eliza Elisabeth’s show was at six, and it was only one now. Whatever was she supposed to do with herself for five hours? She supposed she had waited five years, but patience was not something Miranda was gifted with.
“Nervous?” Nigel was sitting next to her - they were waiting for the Saint Laurent show to begin.
“What exactly am I supposed to be nervous about?”
Nigel rolled his eyes. “The show, of course,” he said slowly.
“Well I’ve already seen the drawings in the preview. It’s nothing inspiring, but the pieces are solid - they’ll do well in the December issue.”
“Miranda you know that’s not the show I’m talking about.” She gave him the look. “Fine,” he threw his hands up, “but I am. It’s okay to want her to do well.”
It was Miranda’s turn to roll her eyes. “Of course I want her to do well. If it ever got out that she used to work at Runway and she doesn’t do well, it would reflect poorly on the magazine and I would be very disappointed,” she muttered.
“You’re impossible,” sighed Nigel. “No one even knows who she is, and…” Just then the lights went down and the music changed. The show was about to start.
**
They were backstage now, prepping the models. The show would begin in less than ten minutes. Monica watched on as Andy fluttered about, touching up the dresses, making sure everything was perfect.
Which it was, it had been for weeks… or days, in the case of the second collection, Stessa. Monica thought again how brilliant her friend was and turned away to take a call.
She’d spent all of yesterday discretely making it clear that the Eliza Elisabeth show was going to be huge, passing around information under the table that the designer might be backstage tonight. Not only would the designer be backstage, eventually she’d be on it - but the rest of the world didn’t need to know that. Monica couldn’t help the anticipation growing in her belly - Andy was finally going to be recognized for her work.
“Um, Monica?” A young assistant tapped her shoulder.
“What is it?”
“There’s a man wanting to get backstage, he says he knows a friend of the designer - Andrea Sachs.”
Monica smirked. “What’s his name?”
“Christian Thompson. I think he’s a writer.”
“Okay. Don’t let him back just yet.” Monica needed to find Andy. A friend of the designer? Was she hooking up with some famous writer and I had no idea?
“Andy!” she called, grabbing her friend’s elbow.
“Monica, now is really not a great time.”
“Yeah, there’s a Christian Thompson wanting to get backstage. Yes or no?”
Andy grimaced and set her shoulders. “No. Definitely no.”
Monica would take care of this one herself. “Mr. Thompson, is it?” She’d been pointed towards a tall man with blond hair; good-looking. Monica could see how Andy would be into this guy... except that she was sure Andy was into no guy right now. Just one very distinguished lady.
“Yes, I’m looking for my friend, Andy Sachs? She’s friends with the designer, and I told her I’d drop by,” he gave her a charming smile and Monica could see why Andy had reacted the way she’d reacted.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Thompson, but no one’s allowed backstage at this time. Perhaps after the show.”
“Did you talk to Andy? I don’t know if she knew I’d be here, maybe -“
“Mr. Thompson, why don’t you take a seat and maybe you can find your friend after the show.” She gave him a stern look and walked away. If he really was a writer, he’d probably been trying to get an exclusive, thinking Andy would be the bridge between him and the first interview with the mysterious designer. Obviously the man didn’t know Andy at all.
She heard an assistant call three minutes and saw Andy turn green. Hopefully she wouldn’t puke like the first time.
**
Nigel followed closely behind Miranda to their seats, the show would begin in a few minutes. Usually Miranda got to her seat as early - and as fashionable - as possible, however she’d delayed departure for this show, and as it was they had maybe two minutes until the lights were dimmed. Nigel thought it probably had something to do with nerves, although Miranda would never admit it.
He looked to his left and saw the large letters tacked onto the wall reading Eliza Elisabeth. He saw Miranda do the same.
The rest of the Runway crew filed into the row behind them. He and Miranda were sitting dead center in the front row, as always.
The lights dimmed then and Nigel waited with bated breath.
**
Miranda watched with rapt attention as the first models graced the runway, and in an instant she was entranced, barely blinking throughout the entire show.
The first collection of models wearing their garb lined up on the catwalk, signaling the end of the show, and the crowd stood and gave thunderous applause. Of course no one expected the designer to appear. And she did not. As the models made their way off stage, however, the music changed, gradually increasing in volume.
An unusual choice for a fashion show, although, thought Miranda, nothing about this is usual. No, the first collection had been magnificent - a breath of fresh air, it excited the room and kept the crowd - even Miranda - at the edge of their seats, waiting to see the next design.
With the last of the models from the first collection off stage, but the music still going and the lights dimmed down again, people began to understand that the show was far from over.
And then came the models, two by two. Miranda looked down at her leaflet briefly, at the bottom, in small, elegant letters, read: Two; Stasso.
That must be the name of this second collection. At first thinking the ‘two’ referred to the fact that this was collection number two of the evening, Miranda saw that she was quite wrong indeed.
The models had been paired together deliberately, each a side of the same coin, as it were. The pairings wore different styles that, in a way Miranda had never before imagined might be possible, worked. It was then that Miranda thought of her girls, how they would have adored this show. In fact, Miranda mused that this collection was very much like her girls - each piece identically different, and radically so.
The last models to walk wore beautiful gowns - sure to become classics in fashion history. One was silvery with hints of turquoise, the other brick red. However different the color schemes however, the cut was extremely similar. Not the same, though. Subtle, but obvious enough.
Once again the crowd got to their feet to offer deafening applause as the models made their way, two by two, onto the runway. Miranda was gazing at a particularly intriguing skirt when the applause died down, and suddenly it was so silent one could have heard a pin drop. There, under her label at the end of the runway, was Andrea, wearing… cerulean, of all things. A black, low-cut silk blouse was tucked into high-waisted, skinny cerulean pants that ended at her ankles, meeting four-inch ivory pumps. The jacket was cerulean as well, as far as Miranda could tell, and clasped at only one point an inch above the waistline of the pants. However as Andrea made her way down the runway, the room still silent, Miranda saw the ivory paneled back, complete with intricate beading.
She was striking.
It was in that moment that Miranda realized the room had turned to her, looking for any sort of cue as to how to proceed.
Miranda tilted her head slightly, and then she smiled - the resulting effect was emphatic applause.
**
Andy beamed as she made her way backstage. The last hour and a half had been like hell on earth for her, but somehow she’d managed to get through it.
It helped that Monica was there to tell her to snap out of it every few minutes. As she had changed and prepared herself for her debut, all she could think about was Miranda. She’d peeked out into the audience a few times during the show, and as far as she could tell Miranda was enjoying herself. Although it was always hard to tell with that woman, unless she really detested something.
Or, as Andy soon found out, really liked something. As soon as she’d stepped onto the runway the room had fallen silent. Well, here goes everything. She’d slowly made her way down the row of models, stopping where Miranda was standing and looking down at her. She could tell the room - and especially herself - was waiting for a response. Any response, because right now Miranda was staring at her expressionless.
Andy thought maybe Miranda hadn’t realized all eyes were on her, as her eyes had been thoroughly examining Andy’s designs. When she finally became cognizant of the fact that the room was waiting for her signal, she looked straight into Andy’s eyes and she smiled.
The biggest smile Andy had ever seen her give. Maybe she smiled at her daughters that way, but not designers, and certainly not ex-assistants.
Andy beamed back at her and continued to make her way down the catwalk, stopping at the end for a few pictures, a wave, and finally turning and walking back, models in tow.
Now she was backstage, waiting for everyone to join her. She thought she might be hyperventilating, but Monica was there with a bottle of water, so she pulled herself together. Actually, what I could really use is some wine, she thought wryly.
Sipping her water, Andy watched as famous designers and celebrities poured into the room, the paparazzi not far behind. She was approached by everyone, paparazzi included, and thanked God she’d taken the time to touch up her makeup before she went out there.
And as everyone came to offer her congratulations, Andy spotted Miranda’s white coif above the crowd and it was as if the room melted away, and there was a deathly tension between the two women.
They made their way towards each other, stopping just a few feet apart.
“Andréa.” Miranda inclined her head, “Or should I say Eliza Elisabeth.”
Her voice was like honey and Andy wanted to lap it up. “Miranda, I’m glad you came.” They leaned in for Miranda’s signature air-kiss, however Miranda allowed her lips to graze Andy’s cheek, and it was as though she had electricity coursing through her bloodstream.
“I wouldn’t have missed this,” she gave a small, secret smile.
“Well -“
“Six!”
“Nigel!” Andy smiled, glancing back at Miranda, who’d adopted a bemused expression.
“That was gorgeous, Andy, really. Truly the best we’ve seen so far.”
“I think it’s safe to say instead that it’s the best we will see,” Miranda provided.
Andy smiled shakily, not sure what to do with that. She’d never been good at receiving praise, although she often craved it. “Oh, I don’t know Miranda, I hear Prada has something up their sleeve.”
Miranda gave her another soft smile. “No, Andréa, I’m sure this is the best of the season,” she said, with warmth and sincerity clear in her tone.
Just then she was pulled away by Marc Jacobs, who gave a quick “mazel tov” and apologized, but, “I need to speak with Miranda urgently.”
“No doubt about those kilts he’s planning on showing tomorrow,” said Nigel, sounding none too impressed. “So,” he raised his eyebrows, “the best of the season.”
“She was being kind,” supplied Andy, to which Nigel held up a hand and reminded her that when it came to fashion, Miranda didn’t do kind. Not unless she really meant it.
An hour later and most of the crowd had died down as most of the models and celebrities made their way to a Stella McCartney party, although a few big designers had hung around to chat with each other, enjoying the quiet. Andy was speaking with Valentino about his newest line of skirts when Andy saw Christian out of the corner of her eye. He was coming right towards her.
What she didn’t see was Miranda, Nigel, and a woman from Dior discretely turn themselves so they could watch the events unfold.
“Andy!” He went in to hug her and she allowed it, not wanting to be rude.
“Christian, this is -“
“I know who this is, Andy, we’ve met several times.” He nodded toward Valentino.
“Oh, well, we were just talking about -“
“I’m sorry,” Christian was no longer talking to her, but to the powerful man to her side. “Would you mind if I stole her away for just a moment?” Valentino looked at her curiously but nodded, walking towards Miranda’s group. Christian now had his hand on her shoulder. She tried to brush it off but he was persistent. “Andy, Andy, Andy, you’ve been hiding something from me!” He teased.
She gave him a tight smile, “I’ve been hiding something from everyone Christian, don’t take it personally.”
“I don’t. I was a little hurt you didn’t tell me that night on the bridge, but I think I’ll get over it,” his tone was light but his eyes were glaring at her, accusing, and his hand tightened ever so slightly on her shoulder. He took her elbow in his other hand. “Come, why don’t we go somewhere a little more private.”
She held her ground, “No, Christian. I have people to talk to.”
“I’ve been waiting over an hour to talk to you. Just come with me Andy - just over there,” he pointed to a semi-secluded corner. Then he shrugged playfully, “If not I’ll be forced to inform the room of the birth mark you have on -“
“Okay. Okay.” He smirked. Jerk.
They made their way over to the corner, Andy now very aware that they were being watched. She was wary of the paparazzi. “What do you want?”
“Oh Andy, your words sting! Can’t a guy just want a little pleasant conversation?” She raised an eyebrow. “Alright, I get it. I just want to know - honestly - why you didn’t tell me the other night. Especially since you were planning on revealing yourself anyway. I could have gotten word out - you could have gotten great press.”
Andy was taken aback and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know if you’d noticed, Christian, but I did just fine with the press. And I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t any of your business.” She finished with a bite in her tone.
“Okay, okay,” he said soothingly. “Well, let me at least make it up to you - or you to me - however you look at it.” However I look at it? “Let me take you to dinner, say tomorrow night? We’ll have a night on the town.” He smiled down at her, uncrossing her arms by pulling on one of them and taking a hand.
“I don’t know… I don’t think -“
He stepped closer to her, so that there was barely any space left between the two of them. “Please?” he grinned down at her. “Remember how good last time was? Let’s do it again,” his other hand came up to grab her waist so that she had to lean back a little. “Spend the night in Paris with me, cherie.” He pulled her in, meshing his mouth against hers the way he did just a few nights ago.
And once again, she pushed away. Or, she tried to push away, but he came with her, pinning her up against the wall, tongue still invading her mouth. A sense of panic overwhelmed her has his hands took both of hers and trapped them next to her hips, pressing his body up against hers. She was trying to wriggle free but he was well-muscled, and soon she heard herself making pathetic little noises in her attempt at freedom.
And then, just as quickly as it had started, it ended. Because there was Miranda Priestly, pinching Christian Thompson’s ear between her perfectly manicured nails. Andy shoved his chest hard with her newly-freed hands, forcing Miranda to let go. And then Andy did the only reasonable thing to do in these sorts of situations, and she slapped him. Hard. She was wearing a ring, too. Must hurt like a bitch. I Hope it does.
She felt a warm hand take hold of her upper arm. “Are you alright, Andréa?” Her voice was barely audible, but Andy could hear the menace. She nodded.
“Thank you.” Miranda tilted her head almost imperceptibly. They watched as security escorted Mr. Thompson out of the building.
“Come, Andréa, let’s find a drink. I know I could use one, I daresay you could too.” All Andy could do was smile in agreement and be led out into the night, Miranda’s hand on the small of her back.
To Be Continued...
PART FIVE
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: T
Summary: (see earlier chapters)
Nigel had been confused. Now Nigel was slightly annoyed, although more concerned for his friend and boss.
Miranda had knocked on his door loudly until he opened up, at which point she flew through his room, searching the mini-bar until she found what she was looking for, which was scotch. After throwing back a couple fingers of the amber liquid Miranda had demanded that he contact Andrea and get her to agree to some sort of meeting - a lunch, a drink, a bench in the park, anything.
Nigel, of course, after asking what had happened to set the woman off just hours after they’d arrived and receiving no response, did just that.
“Hello?”
“Six,” he said curtly - after all, Miranda was standing over him watching with her hawk’s eye - “It’s me. Nigel.”
“Is Miranda there with you?”
“Yes. How’d you know?”
“She just saw me. Or I saw her, or whatever, just across the street from the hotel.”
“Well perhaps we can get together and have a little chat,” he suggested.
“No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Come on, Six. What if I promise Miranda won’t be there?” Miranda gave him a glare and sat down on the couch across from him.
Andy gave a strained laugh, “I’m not that naïve, Nigel, and honestly, I do have a lot of work to do.”
“Yes, I know. Apparently you have a show in six days time.” He paused, waiting for a response, but got none. “So it’s true then?”
“What’s that?”
“You know.”
“Do you?”
“Are you really the designer behind Eliza Elisabeth?” sounding a little annoyed he even had to ask the question. Miranda had crossed her legs and turned to look at something else, not that she wasn’t listening to his half of the conversation with rapt attention.
“All evidence points towards that fact, yes.”
Nigel cleared his throat. “Why…“ he stopped himself, not wanting to sound petty but then not really caring. “Why didn’t you tell me? Or anyone, for that matter?”
“That’s a whole other conversation.”
“Come to lunch and we can have it.”
Andy laughed again, “No, I don’t think so. I don’t want to bait the beast.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know…”
“Actually this time I really don’t,” he sounded genuinely confused.
“I expect that after this week Miranda will blacklist me from the fashion world. I’m not attached to any publication, but I’m sure her influence extends at least in part to the high-end places where my clothes sell. I don’t need her to bite my head off at lunch on top of that.” Andy said this last part quietly, the hurt evident in her voice.
“Six -“
“Nigel, I really am quite busy,” she paused for a moment but he didn’t say anything, sensing she wasn’t quite done. “I will give you this though - I’m showing two collections on Thursday.”
“Two collections?” His voice was incredulous. Miranda looked at him sharply, desperately wanting to know the other half of the conversation. “Since when?”
“New York.”
“New York? Andy that was less than a week ago.” Nigel was stunned, as was Miranda.
“I know. Like I said, I’ve been busy.”
“You really think you can pull this off with so little time? That’s a huge undertaking,” his voice held warning. Miranda nodded slightly, as if to second his opinion.
“Yeah, it’s - I was inspired while sitting in Central Park. I saw - am I on speaker?”
“No.”
“She can’t know this, Nigel. Promise me if I tell you, you won’t tell her.”
“I can do that.”
Andy sighed. “I saw Cassidy and Caroline in the park.” Nigel murmured his surprise. Miranda was going crazy not knowing, and she started fidgeting. “They weren’t wearing anything fancy, but, well you know them - and then Miranda - and so they were put together nicely. Obviously their own styles, even though they’re identical, but Nigel, you should have seen it - two completely different people. It was… quite a sight. I had my sketchbook with me, and I sat there until I lost the light and then I went back to my hotel, I didn’t sleep a wink,” she chuckled at that. “That’s where the second collection comes from. It’s a young sophistication. Each piece is paired, but only slightly - you’ll see,” she broke off for a moment. “You are coming, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Six. Not for the world.” He could practically hear her grin over the phone.
After they hung up Nigel relayed all that Andy had said, save for the part about Cassidy and Caroline.
“What were you two talking about towards the end?” Miranda could sense it was something important.
“Well, you know, she’s going for two collections. Very ambitious.”
Miranda scoffed, “I’ll say. What does she think, that everyone will just ‘stick around’ while the other shows happen?”
“If her first collection is anything like last year’s, or the four before that, I think people will be more than willing to hang around for the second.” Nigel stood then, grabbing some scotch for himself.
“Well, did she give any hint as to what this great second collection will be?” Miranda was thirsty for information, but waved her hand slightly in an effort to look like she didn’t care.
Nigel chuckled. “Miranda, you’ve never had any information about any of Eliza’s work before it’s walked, what makes you think this time is different?”
“Tell me what you know, Nigel,” Miranda growled.
He shook his head. “I promised her I wouldn’t, but you’ll definitely want to stick around for the second act, it sounds most compelling.”
**
Andy tossed her phone onto the table a few feet away and looked down at what she’d been working on during her phone call with Nigel.
It was a portrait of Miranda as Andy remembered her from that night in Paris when she’d opened up all those years ago. Andy had been shocked when she’d been allowed to see Miranda without her walls up, and it was then that she’d first acknowledged that the feelings she had for her boss weren’t quite appropriate.
After struggling to warn Miranda and failing she had felt defeated. Sitting in that car, riding through the streets of Paris, Andy wondered why she had tried so desperately to defend the woman sitting next to her. When she found her answer she knew she couldn’t stay. It wouldn’t have been right.
Monica had called her on her bullshit, as usual. What she felt for the Ice Queen hadn’t dissipated. Perhaps it had gone into hibernation for a while. Andy had seen other people, although only a few and never for very long. Mostly it was about sex. Because she’d have a fleeting thought about her old boss and she’d shove herself back into work, breaking off whatever ‘relationship’ she was in.
Andy looked at the likeness she’d created - it was beautiful, raw. The fact that she cared so much for a woman who would never feel the same - who was married with a husband and two children - made her heart feel like it was being tossed around, eventually landing and shattering into a thousand pieces.
Nevertheless, Andy knew she’d have to show her face now. Now that Miranda knew, she couldn’t hide any longer. Although, she reckoned, this would probably be her last show if Miranda had anything to say bout it. Better make it count, she thought, and started sketching a suit for her big reveal. It would be cerulean.
**
Miranda was not a happy camper. As her car pulled up to the next venue, she thought about the show she’d just come from. Vera Wang, as expected, had been… uninspired. What was worse was that Miranda had expected to have a few of her pieces in next month’s issue of Runway. That was no longer true, although what had she expected, really? Especially after the preview she’d had to wrangle.
Fashion Week in Paris had only just started however, as it was only Tuesday. The shows would last until Saturday evening, when the opulent parties would commence. Miranda wondered if Andrea would attend any of the parties this year, now that her secret was known.
Of course, Miranda would never divulge that piece of information, and she was certain Nigel wouldn’t either. In fact, she’d been quite angry on Friday when she’d learned that Andrea expected a blacklisting after this week. It occurred to Miranda that before Nigel had mentioned it, blacklisting the name Eliza Elisabeth hadn’t even crossed her mind. How can she think I would do such a thing? Does she not see the enormous talent she possesses?
Brushing those thoughts aside Miranda took her seat for Dior. It looked promising.
Deciding to have lunch at the hotel instead of at the Dior luncheon, Miranda made her way back to the town car. The show was perfectly acceptable, some of the pieces even excited her. No pursed lips, always a plus.
On their way back to the hotel Miranda turned to Clarissa, startling the poor girl. She sighed and rolled her eyes.
“Get me a list - names and phone numbers - of everyone we know in Paris who can help track somebody down. I’ll need it during lunch.”
Clarissa nodded, her platinum blond hair brushing the tops of her shoulders. “Is this about the Eliza show?”
Miranda glared. “No.” She gave no further explanation.
Halfway through lunch with Nigel and a few other department heads from Runway, Clarissa slipped Miranda a list of about seven names with corresponding phone numbers, who then excused herself to her suite.
Making the calls, Miranda waited impatiently for the information she desired to surface. Half an hour later she was pleased to hold in her hand a paper with the address of one Andrea Sachs, American. To Miranda’s pleasure, it was an address not too far from the hotel.
Slipping out of the hotel and to her waiting town car, Miranda found herself in front of an old, but beautiful brick building. Buzzing for Andrea’s apartment, she got no answer, but slipped in when a man in his early twenties came out. Apartment 7D. She knocked, then again, and again. Evidently, there was no one home.
Miranda sighed and left, feeling foolish for even having come. Versace was waiting.
**
Across town, Andy bit her lip as blood dripped down her thumb. Shit. Just what I need... it comes with the profession, I suppose.
Sucking on her thumb while searching for a bandage Andy heard Monica on the phone with de la Renta’s people. He’d done an excellent job. Vera Wang… had not. Andy shook her head, focusing herself.
Her show was in two days. She only had three more dresses to make for the new collection, which she’d entitled Stessa. It was Italian for sameness, for being like one. At least she hoped. The Italian guy who lived in her building was very old and knew very little French and even less English.
Gathering her hair up into a short ponytail she went back to work. She still had the suit to make for herself, as well.
Later that evening she was still working, one dress down two to go, when Monica interrupted her with baguette and coffee. May the heavens look upon you kindly, Monica.
“How many do you have left?” Monica had the bad habit of talking with her mouth full. Whatever, there were times when Andy did, too.
“Just two, and they’ll be done by morning.”
“You know, you could, like, I don’t know - sleep.” Andy rolled her eyes and Monica continued, “You have time now. I don’t know how the hell you got all this done by yourself in a week, but you can breathe now.”
“I just have two more dresses. I’ll feel better when I know they’re done.”
“Well, you know you could have hired seamstresses. You certainly have the money.”
Andy sighed. It was true. And it would make life a lot easier, but, “You know I like to make all the dresses that are gonna walk on the runway.” Monica nodded. Andy had always been firm about that, and her work was impeccable and always on time.
They talked and ate for a few more minutes before Monica approached the subject Andy could see she’d been skirting. “You’re finally gonna do it, aren’t you?”
“I… huh?” What in the world is she talking about?
“You’re gonna get up on that runway and show the world who’s behind Eliza.” Oh. That would be it, yes.
“Um, yeah, I am. I know we haven’t talked about it, but…”
“Andy,” Monica placed her hand over her friend’s, “these are your designs. You do what you want with them and with yourself,” she said reassuringly, and then, to add a bit of levity, “just be sure to give me a cut when you become rich and famous.”
Andy barked her laughter at that. “Thanks Monica.”
“You know if it’d been up to me you would never had hidden from the press - you deserve the credit of your designs.” Monica released her hand and went back to her food.
“There’s a real possibility that this’ll be our last show.” Monica furrowed her eyebrows, confused. “Miranda could blacklist me from the fashion industry. I can’t imagine she’s happy with me right now.”
“Well, I guess we’ll see what happens. Your designs have never been featured in any magazine, so there might not be much she can do.” Andy nodded, but voiced her concern again, just to make sure Monica understood what might happen.
“Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’m gonna start passing around the office number to some of the designers, letting them know that we’re open to contact and that sort of thing. You going out there won’t do much good if no one can reach us.” Andy agreed, and Monica went to work.
She didn’t sleep that night, staying at the studio until eight AM to get the dresses finished. They were really gowns, and they’d be the last pieces of the show. She couldn’t be prouder of them, either. They truly did work hand in hand.
After a few hours sleep in her bed, and worked from home, creating the suit she’d wear when she walked out onto the runway with the models displaying her work.
Nigel had called on Monday to ask if she’d reconsider drinks, but she’d declined. She half thought Miranda might call her herself - she had her number after all, but no dice. Andy didn’t really know what she’d say to Miranda if she had called anyway, so there was that.
Falling asleep in her chair on Wednesday night, her suit complete on a mannequin next to her, Andy was woken the next morning by Monica, who had a key, shaking her.
“Come on, Andy, your show is in less than ten hours.” That got her up.
****
Miranda’s insides thrummed with nervous anticipation, and it was driving her bat-shit crazy. Since when did Miranda Priestly get butterflies before a fashion show? She’d only been to hundreds of them.
Eliza Elisabeth’s show was at six, and it was only one now. Whatever was she supposed to do with herself for five hours? She supposed she had waited five years, but patience was not something Miranda was gifted with.
“Nervous?” Nigel was sitting next to her - they were waiting for the Saint Laurent show to begin.
“What exactly am I supposed to be nervous about?”
Nigel rolled his eyes. “The show, of course,” he said slowly.
“Well I’ve already seen the drawings in the preview. It’s nothing inspiring, but the pieces are solid - they’ll do well in the December issue.”
“Miranda you know that’s not the show I’m talking about.” She gave him the look. “Fine,” he threw his hands up, “but I am. It’s okay to want her to do well.”
It was Miranda’s turn to roll her eyes. “Of course I want her to do well. If it ever got out that she used to work at Runway and she doesn’t do well, it would reflect poorly on the magazine and I would be very disappointed,” she muttered.
“You’re impossible,” sighed Nigel. “No one even knows who she is, and…” Just then the lights went down and the music changed. The show was about to start.
**
They were backstage now, prepping the models. The show would begin in less than ten minutes. Monica watched on as Andy fluttered about, touching up the dresses, making sure everything was perfect.
Which it was, it had been for weeks… or days, in the case of the second collection, Stessa. Monica thought again how brilliant her friend was and turned away to take a call.
She’d spent all of yesterday discretely making it clear that the Eliza Elisabeth show was going to be huge, passing around information under the table that the designer might be backstage tonight. Not only would the designer be backstage, eventually she’d be on it - but the rest of the world didn’t need to know that. Monica couldn’t help the anticipation growing in her belly - Andy was finally going to be recognized for her work.
“Um, Monica?” A young assistant tapped her shoulder.
“What is it?”
“There’s a man wanting to get backstage, he says he knows a friend of the designer - Andrea Sachs.”
Monica smirked. “What’s his name?”
“Christian Thompson. I think he’s a writer.”
“Okay. Don’t let him back just yet.” Monica needed to find Andy. A friend of the designer? Was she hooking up with some famous writer and I had no idea?
“Andy!” she called, grabbing her friend’s elbow.
“Monica, now is really not a great time.”
“Yeah, there’s a Christian Thompson wanting to get backstage. Yes or no?”
Andy grimaced and set her shoulders. “No. Definitely no.”
Monica would take care of this one herself. “Mr. Thompson, is it?” She’d been pointed towards a tall man with blond hair; good-looking. Monica could see how Andy would be into this guy... except that she was sure Andy was into no guy right now. Just one very distinguished lady.
“Yes, I’m looking for my friend, Andy Sachs? She’s friends with the designer, and I told her I’d drop by,” he gave her a charming smile and Monica could see why Andy had reacted the way she’d reacted.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Thompson, but no one’s allowed backstage at this time. Perhaps after the show.”
“Did you talk to Andy? I don’t know if she knew I’d be here, maybe -“
“Mr. Thompson, why don’t you take a seat and maybe you can find your friend after the show.” She gave him a stern look and walked away. If he really was a writer, he’d probably been trying to get an exclusive, thinking Andy would be the bridge between him and the first interview with the mysterious designer. Obviously the man didn’t know Andy at all.
She heard an assistant call three minutes and saw Andy turn green. Hopefully she wouldn’t puke like the first time.
**
Nigel followed closely behind Miranda to their seats, the show would begin in a few minutes. Usually Miranda got to her seat as early - and as fashionable - as possible, however she’d delayed departure for this show, and as it was they had maybe two minutes until the lights were dimmed. Nigel thought it probably had something to do with nerves, although Miranda would never admit it.
He looked to his left and saw the large letters tacked onto the wall reading Eliza Elisabeth. He saw Miranda do the same.
The rest of the Runway crew filed into the row behind them. He and Miranda were sitting dead center in the front row, as always.
The lights dimmed then and Nigel waited with bated breath.
**
Miranda watched with rapt attention as the first models graced the runway, and in an instant she was entranced, barely blinking throughout the entire show.
The first collection of models wearing their garb lined up on the catwalk, signaling the end of the show, and the crowd stood and gave thunderous applause. Of course no one expected the designer to appear. And she did not. As the models made their way off stage, however, the music changed, gradually increasing in volume.
An unusual choice for a fashion show, although, thought Miranda, nothing about this is usual. No, the first collection had been magnificent - a breath of fresh air, it excited the room and kept the crowd - even Miranda - at the edge of their seats, waiting to see the next design.
With the last of the models from the first collection off stage, but the music still going and the lights dimmed down again, people began to understand that the show was far from over.
And then came the models, two by two. Miranda looked down at her leaflet briefly, at the bottom, in small, elegant letters, read: Two; Stasso.
That must be the name of this second collection. At first thinking the ‘two’ referred to the fact that this was collection number two of the evening, Miranda saw that she was quite wrong indeed.
The models had been paired together deliberately, each a side of the same coin, as it were. The pairings wore different styles that, in a way Miranda had never before imagined might be possible, worked. It was then that Miranda thought of her girls, how they would have adored this show. In fact, Miranda mused that this collection was very much like her girls - each piece identically different, and radically so.
The last models to walk wore beautiful gowns - sure to become classics in fashion history. One was silvery with hints of turquoise, the other brick red. However different the color schemes however, the cut was extremely similar. Not the same, though. Subtle, but obvious enough.
Once again the crowd got to their feet to offer deafening applause as the models made their way, two by two, onto the runway. Miranda was gazing at a particularly intriguing skirt when the applause died down, and suddenly it was so silent one could have heard a pin drop. There, under her label at the end of the runway, was Andrea, wearing… cerulean, of all things. A black, low-cut silk blouse was tucked into high-waisted, skinny cerulean pants that ended at her ankles, meeting four-inch ivory pumps. The jacket was cerulean as well, as far as Miranda could tell, and clasped at only one point an inch above the waistline of the pants. However as Andrea made her way down the runway, the room still silent, Miranda saw the ivory paneled back, complete with intricate beading.
She was striking.
It was in that moment that Miranda realized the room had turned to her, looking for any sort of cue as to how to proceed.
Miranda tilted her head slightly, and then she smiled - the resulting effect was emphatic applause.
**
Andy beamed as she made her way backstage. The last hour and a half had been like hell on earth for her, but somehow she’d managed to get through it.
It helped that Monica was there to tell her to snap out of it every few minutes. As she had changed and prepared herself for her debut, all she could think about was Miranda. She’d peeked out into the audience a few times during the show, and as far as she could tell Miranda was enjoying herself. Although it was always hard to tell with that woman, unless she really detested something.
Or, as Andy soon found out, really liked something. As soon as she’d stepped onto the runway the room had fallen silent. Well, here goes everything. She’d slowly made her way down the row of models, stopping where Miranda was standing and looking down at her. She could tell the room - and especially herself - was waiting for a response. Any response, because right now Miranda was staring at her expressionless.
Andy thought maybe Miranda hadn’t realized all eyes were on her, as her eyes had been thoroughly examining Andy’s designs. When she finally became cognizant of the fact that the room was waiting for her signal, she looked straight into Andy’s eyes and she smiled.
The biggest smile Andy had ever seen her give. Maybe she smiled at her daughters that way, but not designers, and certainly not ex-assistants.
Andy beamed back at her and continued to make her way down the catwalk, stopping at the end for a few pictures, a wave, and finally turning and walking back, models in tow.
Now she was backstage, waiting for everyone to join her. She thought she might be hyperventilating, but Monica was there with a bottle of water, so she pulled herself together. Actually, what I could really use is some wine, she thought wryly.
Sipping her water, Andy watched as famous designers and celebrities poured into the room, the paparazzi not far behind. She was approached by everyone, paparazzi included, and thanked God she’d taken the time to touch up her makeup before she went out there.
And as everyone came to offer her congratulations, Andy spotted Miranda’s white coif above the crowd and it was as if the room melted away, and there was a deathly tension between the two women.
They made their way towards each other, stopping just a few feet apart.
“Andréa.” Miranda inclined her head, “Or should I say Eliza Elisabeth.”
Her voice was like honey and Andy wanted to lap it up. “Miranda, I’m glad you came.” They leaned in for Miranda’s signature air-kiss, however Miranda allowed her lips to graze Andy’s cheek, and it was as though she had electricity coursing through her bloodstream.
“I wouldn’t have missed this,” she gave a small, secret smile.
“Well -“
“Six!”
“Nigel!” Andy smiled, glancing back at Miranda, who’d adopted a bemused expression.
“That was gorgeous, Andy, really. Truly the best we’ve seen so far.”
“I think it’s safe to say instead that it’s the best we will see,” Miranda provided.
Andy smiled shakily, not sure what to do with that. She’d never been good at receiving praise, although she often craved it. “Oh, I don’t know Miranda, I hear Prada has something up their sleeve.”
Miranda gave her another soft smile. “No, Andréa, I’m sure this is the best of the season,” she said, with warmth and sincerity clear in her tone.
Just then she was pulled away by Marc Jacobs, who gave a quick “mazel tov” and apologized, but, “I need to speak with Miranda urgently.”
“No doubt about those kilts he’s planning on showing tomorrow,” said Nigel, sounding none too impressed. “So,” he raised his eyebrows, “the best of the season.”
“She was being kind,” supplied Andy, to which Nigel held up a hand and reminded her that when it came to fashion, Miranda didn’t do kind. Not unless she really meant it.
An hour later and most of the crowd had died down as most of the models and celebrities made their way to a Stella McCartney party, although a few big designers had hung around to chat with each other, enjoying the quiet. Andy was speaking with Valentino about his newest line of skirts when Andy saw Christian out of the corner of her eye. He was coming right towards her.
What she didn’t see was Miranda, Nigel, and a woman from Dior discretely turn themselves so they could watch the events unfold.
“Andy!” He went in to hug her and she allowed it, not wanting to be rude.
“Christian, this is -“
“I know who this is, Andy, we’ve met several times.” He nodded toward Valentino.
“Oh, well, we were just talking about -“
“I’m sorry,” Christian was no longer talking to her, but to the powerful man to her side. “Would you mind if I stole her away for just a moment?” Valentino looked at her curiously but nodded, walking towards Miranda’s group. Christian now had his hand on her shoulder. She tried to brush it off but he was persistent. “Andy, Andy, Andy, you’ve been hiding something from me!” He teased.
She gave him a tight smile, “I’ve been hiding something from everyone Christian, don’t take it personally.”
“I don’t. I was a little hurt you didn’t tell me that night on the bridge, but I think I’ll get over it,” his tone was light but his eyes were glaring at her, accusing, and his hand tightened ever so slightly on her shoulder. He took her elbow in his other hand. “Come, why don’t we go somewhere a little more private.”
She held her ground, “No, Christian. I have people to talk to.”
“I’ve been waiting over an hour to talk to you. Just come with me Andy - just over there,” he pointed to a semi-secluded corner. Then he shrugged playfully, “If not I’ll be forced to inform the room of the birth mark you have on -“
“Okay. Okay.” He smirked. Jerk.
They made their way over to the corner, Andy now very aware that they were being watched. She was wary of the paparazzi. “What do you want?”
“Oh Andy, your words sting! Can’t a guy just want a little pleasant conversation?” She raised an eyebrow. “Alright, I get it. I just want to know - honestly - why you didn’t tell me the other night. Especially since you were planning on revealing yourself anyway. I could have gotten word out - you could have gotten great press.”
Andy was taken aback and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know if you’d noticed, Christian, but I did just fine with the press. And I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t any of your business.” She finished with a bite in her tone.
“Okay, okay,” he said soothingly. “Well, let me at least make it up to you - or you to me - however you look at it.” However I look at it? “Let me take you to dinner, say tomorrow night? We’ll have a night on the town.” He smiled down at her, uncrossing her arms by pulling on one of them and taking a hand.
“I don’t know… I don’t think -“
He stepped closer to her, so that there was barely any space left between the two of them. “Please?” he grinned down at her. “Remember how good last time was? Let’s do it again,” his other hand came up to grab her waist so that she had to lean back a little. “Spend the night in Paris with me, cherie.” He pulled her in, meshing his mouth against hers the way he did just a few nights ago.
And once again, she pushed away. Or, she tried to push away, but he came with her, pinning her up against the wall, tongue still invading her mouth. A sense of panic overwhelmed her has his hands took both of hers and trapped them next to her hips, pressing his body up against hers. She was trying to wriggle free but he was well-muscled, and soon she heard herself making pathetic little noises in her attempt at freedom.
And then, just as quickly as it had started, it ended. Because there was Miranda Priestly, pinching Christian Thompson’s ear between her perfectly manicured nails. Andy shoved his chest hard with her newly-freed hands, forcing Miranda to let go. And then Andy did the only reasonable thing to do in these sorts of situations, and she slapped him. Hard. She was wearing a ring, too. Must hurt like a bitch. I Hope it does.
She felt a warm hand take hold of her upper arm. “Are you alright, Andréa?” Her voice was barely audible, but Andy could hear the menace. She nodded.
“Thank you.” Miranda tilted her head almost imperceptibly. They watched as security escorted Mr. Thompson out of the building.
“Come, Andréa, let’s find a drink. I know I could use one, I daresay you could too.” All Andy could do was smile in agreement and be led out into the night, Miranda’s hand on the small of her back.
To Be Continued...
PART FIVE