Chapter 40: Returns
Author: TheLadyHoll
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Rating: M
Disclaimer: Yes, they are mine. I own them. Come to me my pretties and dance, DANCE I SAY. Or, more truthfully, not...
On the subject of models, scales & a weight obsessed society, does anyone wish to explain how a body composition scale can tell me 13 pounds of total body water weight magically turned into 13 pounds of total fat mass in ONE WEEK? That IS physically impossible, correct? My God, you would think I'd eaten a hippo. This heatwave is messing with me & I'm also disgusted with myself that I am this emotionally vulnerable/dependant on a stupid freaking number on a scale to make me feel worthless. Rant, sweat, rant...
Feel free to comment to make me feel better, it's why I posted today, could use a shoulder or two - also I really AM curious as to how you think the story is going. Am I boring you yet?
xxoo
Miranda's return to work presented another set of complications the older woman hadn't foreseen. In the time that had passed since Miranda had last been at work, her size had increased considerably - resulting in what was quickly becoming a humiliating situation as she tried to manoeuvre her unwieldy frame from her seated position in the car. Equal parts rage and embarrassment flared in her veins and she forced herself to breathe in deeply and exhale slowly through her nose, visualizing a certain brunette she had made certain promises to and focusing on the kicks she could feel to keep her blood pressure from rising before she even made it into the office.
Dreading now, rather than anticipating the car's arrival at the Elias Clarke building, Miranda tried to scooch forwards in her seat, using her hands as leverage as she felt the car come to a stop, but it was no use. Miranda Priestly was irrefutably stuck, trapped as it were in a climate-controlled prison. Suddenly, the passenger door opened and a wide, weathered hand held itself out gallantly as Roy played the part of the 'driver' coming around to open the door and assist Miranda out. It was both common knowledge and an unspoken rule that apart from gala or black tie affairs, Miranda Priestly did not accept assistance from her drivers. She couldn't be expected to wait on whatever unfortunate plodding soul to tromp around the vehicle, and Miranda usually had one stiletto on the pavement before the car was even in park. Now, although nothing in her expression would give it away, she was once again duly humbled by the kindness of those in her employ and grateful for the discretion of her longtime employee. Squeezing lightly as she accepted his hand, Miranda nodded almost imperceptibly to let the older man know this new arrangement was suitable.
Once both feet were planted firmly on the ground, Miranda stalked towards the elevators, the faint, acrid, lemony smell of the cleaning chemicals used on the marble floors filling her nostrils and giving her a rush of adrenaline as she felt the comforting blanket of old patterns and habits fall into place once more and the mantle of the 'dragon lady' settle around her shoulders as she eyed two terrified clackers out of the nearest elevator and stepped in to the gilded box herself.
The rest of the morning passed in a similarly pleasing fashion and blur of productivity. Despite the abhorrent state the current issue was in, although privately she did note to Nigel, Emily and Serena that she was pleasantly surprised at the relatively minor nature of the errors, Miranda was over the moon to be back in her element. So engrossed was she in her work that she at first she didn't see the dark figure walk smoothly into her office and approach her as she stood over her desk, sorting through suggestions for the layout. Rather, she felt his presence as a wave of nausea and unwelcome fear settled into her core, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she did.
No niceties were spared as she eyed the repugnant chairman standing in front of her, a vile leer spread across his features that increased the butterflies in Miranda's stomach tenfold, although outwardly she was as icily composed as ever.
"Irving, to what do I owe the displeasure?"
His grin grew wider, and the cold sweat that had broken out on her forehead prickled uncomfortably.
"Do you recall, Miranda, that I subpoenaed the financial records of Runway for the last five to ten years?"
"Yes," she bit out, unwilling to play into whatever little game he was playing here.
"Well my legal team happened upon some very interesting figures when paired against your own financial records as they pertain to your shares in Runway."
"What. Do. You. Mean?" She spoke through gritted teeth, her voice dangerously low.
"I mean one of your clacker disciples", he waved a hand flippantly towards the glass doors behind him, "was very helpful in assisting me in going through your files to find the information I needed that wasn't covered by the judge's order. Thoughts of her dislike of the pathetic little man in front of her forgotten, rage flared in Miranda's chest at the betrayal. However much to Irv's chagrin, her outward demeanour remained frustratingly calm as she stared him down and then shrugged her shoulders.
"I don't know what you expect to find, Irv. I've gone through all the numbers in those files myself. And unlike you, Irving, I operate under a code of ethics. I assure you, there is nothing to find."
Strangely, the same crooked smile remained on his lips. "Perhaps," he inclined his head before rocking back on his heels. "But would you say the same about your personal financial records?"
Still, Miranda's expression remained impassive even as she surreptitiously shifted her weight so that her knees that were now trembling precariously, were supported by the thick frame of the table on which her palms were slipping because of the sweat that now soaked through her blouse.
Cursing herself for the show of weakness, Miranda tried to hide her shaking by making an exaggerated show of sitting back in her chair and folding her hands overtop of her stomach.
"Oh?"
"Indeed, it seems around the time of the Sedona shoot, Runway's sales did very poorly. Critics remarked the issue seemed fragmented, distracted almost."
Miranda's eyes narrowed. She knew exactly what those numbers had been, and she knew what the inconsistency was due to, Andrea. That was around the time she had started working for Miranda and thrown her so completely by her utter insouciance over the gravity of her, Miranda's, life's work. The next issue however, now known as the 'Cerulean' issue, had been one of their best-selling ever and Elias-Clarke's stock had soared far past what it had been before it dropped with the publishing of the previous issue.
"Of course I bought when the shares were down. I had every confidence I would bring them up again, and I did. My financial advisor went through the proper channels and when shares were sold at deep discount, I instructed him to buy. Are you complaining about the fact that by not selling, you made money, Irving, or are you upset that I made money for you?"
"Just watch me prove that you and your little girlfriend tanked that issue together so that you could profit when the stock went back up."
"Should you ever succeed in procuring Andrea's bank records, I can assure you you won't find any proof of fiduciary gain on her part. As I have testified under oath, any relationship on our part began long after Andrea's exit from the company."
"Or maybe you were just holding onto the money for her and biding your time until you could 'suddenly' come up with a plausible reason as to come out as a couple and combine finances. Mark my words, Miranda, I'll have my lawyers go through your records with a fine-toothed comb and they won't miss a damn thing no matter how well you think you've hidden your tracks.
It wasn't that there was anything really to find in her records, but no doubt Irv would spin it so that the board would view the files as containing something untoward or even criminal. The other thing causing her concern was that the records would show just how early on in their relationship Miranda had transferred power of attorney and added Andrea's name to her accounts. It would appear as though they had been carrying on a relationship far before the events of the assault took place. From there it would be all too easy to spin the story as one of conspiracy, setting up the man they saw as an obstacle in their plans for the future.
Miranda's mind raced through all the possibilities. It was a testament to the lifetime she had spent hiding her emotions that she was able to school her features not to betray her. True, there was nothing criminal, but some of the charges and expenses in her private accounts would reveal secrets and make public information she would rather keep hidden, even from Andrea. For instance, not only would they show the amount she had spent on Andrea's engagement ring, but when she had bought it. She would never be able to explain to a jury how a woman so infamously cold, with multiple failed marriages behind her, could purchase such an extravagant ring barely a month after reuniting with a past assistant. She couldn't even explain it to herself after endless amounts of self-introspection.
Even to herself, the idea sounded deranged, un-stable, un-Miranda. But that was the effect the younger woman had on the editor, she simply chalked it up to the magic that was Andrea and it was part of the reason she did love the young woman so desperately. Andrea's unconditional love and acceptance of 'Miranda Priestly' in all her forms allowed Miranda to shed that 'hard' outer skin and 'unbecome' herself.
She realized too late that as she stood, paused in thought, her thumb and index finger were worrying and chafing her wrist so that the skin had turned red, almost as though she were trying to shed her skin in this instant so that she could escape.
Irv smirked, even as Miranda spoke confidently. "And why on earth should I share my personal information with you? The board cannot claim that power & there is no chance of a judge ruling in your favour for a warrant."
Still, the smile remained disturbingly pasted on the man's face. "Oh but that's the beauty of it, Miranda. I didn't need to convince a judge or jury", he slapped down a folder on Miranda's desk, smirking at the subtle twitch in Miranda's left eye as she slowly moved her head to scan the documents, and even daring to chuckle when he saw the purse of her lips. "I always said you saw yourself as God. Now you've been betrayed by your disciples." He chuckled at his own cleverness before continuing, gloating at the cold fury he saw building in the woman in front of him.
"Temper, temper Miranda, or as I hear it, you'll end up back in hospital and we certainly wouldn't want that, would we? Apparently it was a costly mess to clean up, replacing chairs and carpeting and whatnot."
Miranda whitened but didn't move an inch.
"I can see the headlines now, 'Dragon's Temper Takes Deadly Toll'. Who or what will end up paying the price Miranda? The magazine or your family? Or is it even a hard decision after all these years"
"You had your chance, Miranda. You chose how to make your bed and who to lie in it with. This is merely the playing out of the consequences of your actions."
"Fuck off, Irv." Miranda spat, unable to look at the sickly look of glee on the chairman's face and adopting one of Andrea's more colourful curses before gathering herself and fixing him with as cold a glare as she had ever given.
"If you wish to speak of actions and consequences, Irving, this is my one and only warning to you, there will not be a second, nor will any second chances be given. . .family in your petty games and schemes Irving, or on my word you will live to regret it. Now get out, get out Irv or I will have you thrown out. This is still my office and this is still my magazine to run as I see fit. You are not the only member on the board who has influence and you would do well to remember that the next time you attempt to drag my name through the mud. I will not be unseated by an insecure, impotent little man and neither will I let my family be intimidated or threatened. Now get out. I have repeated myself once, and despite your limp, flaccid attempts at playing with the big dogs, you should know better than to let it happen again."
Miranda's voice was cold, steely as she stared the older man out of her office as he backed away slightly. The older man looked discomfited for a moment at the ferocity in the near silent tones of the editor's voice. But then he remembered the ace he believed he was holding in his hand and mustered up a poor show of bravado. "Tell me Miranda, is sleeveless in this season? Because I can see you've got nothing up yours." He taunted her, smacking the weighty folder against his other hand with a cocky grin before turning lightly on his heel and strolling casually out of the office, leaving Miranda frozen and unmoving as she stood behind her desk; her hands still braced against the cool glass although her palms were now slick with sweat and threatened to slip from the smooth surface. She hung her head for a moment, simply breathing, in and out, willing her lungs to follow direction and regulate her breath so that her heartrate would follow. The icy chips that had blazed so alarmingly only moments before dulled to a flat pewter once the man had left her office, still swaggering with an exaggerated air of puffed-up superiority and grinning like the cat who had eaten the canary.
"Miranda!"
Miranda's hearing registered a familiar voice, coloured with shock and her head snapped up, blasting the intruder with an icy glare that stopped them cold.
"M-Miranda," Emily stammered, looking ready to flee despite her now-established friendship with the editor. "You, you messaged me saying you wanted to see me," she pointed to the phone clutched tightly in Miranda's hand. "I just saw Irv leaving, he looked -"
Miranda held up a hand and the Brit's mouth snapped shut and she fell silent. "Tell me Emily," she said so quietly as to be nearly inaudible. "How that girl gained access to my personal, financial records?"
A long moment of silence followed as Emily ginned up the courage to speak, but she was too slow for Miranda for whom time was stuck like molasses although her heart was beating a furious tattoo against her chest, so much so that she had first attributed the ache in her ribs to a series of violent kicks from the babies, but not so.
"Today would be preferable," Miranda growled, biting back the threat of dismissal that was ready and waiting on her lips, thinking of the brunette and her reminder that Miranda had more friends around her than she knew if only she would see them as such. Well, this was as good as she could do under the circumstances.
Finally the redhead found her voice, continuing in a tone far braver and more confident than she felt. "Miranda, the first assistant has always been responsible for your personal finances, just as the second assistant puts through the expense reports for the magazine once they've been signed off by you or Nigel. Finding and training a replacement for myself within the new arrangement means walking them through your bank statements to show them which columns to place which expense categories."
Miranda was silent for a long moment, opening her mouth again to speak right before the redhead was about to pass out from nerves at the prolonged quiet coming from the editor.
"Is Stacey at her desk presently?"
"Y-yes Miranda, I believe so."
"Good. Call her in, Emily."
There was a familiar rush of adrenaline as she sat back down behind her desk, peering over her glasses as she had done so many times before when verbally eviscerating an employee or informing them of their incompetency or termination. But this time it was tempered with a sick guilt in the pit of her stomach that stole any joy or satisfaction from the moment because although the girl was to blame for the mishandling of her personal information, she too was at fault for becoming too complacent and as a result endangering her family and the magazine itself.
The designer-clad waif nearly tripped over her heels in her haste to answer Miranda's quiet call, Emily closing the door quietly behind her and blocking the second assistant's view from the scene that the old first assistant knew was about to play out.
"Stacey, this is the sixth month you have been working for us, is it not?"
The blonde nodded up and down violently, silently thrilled that the older woman actually knew her name and any sort of detail about her time at Runway. "And you claim to be reasonably competent at your job, having managed to keep it for this length of time?"
Another nod.
"Don't just stand there like a mute with your tongue cut out, answer the question."
"Y-yes Miranda," the girl stammered, her eyes fixed half in horror and awe on the icon in front of her and the living embodiment of Runway.
"Then can you also provide a satisfactory answer as to why you thought it within the scope of your privilege to freely disperse to Irv Ravitz not only the records of the magazine, but my personal, private financial details without the slightest consideration or thought of consultation beforehand?"
"B-but he's a member of the Board."
"Indeed he is. But he is not the one who employs you, nor is he the one who signs your paycheck, and as of this moment, neither am I. You are to leave immediately and hand in your pass to security whereupon you will be escorted from the building and removed from administrative clearance."
Miranda sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she sat back, all traces of the regality of the Ice Queen gone from her stature. "That brought me no pleasure, Emily, and neither does this."
"I'll pack my things," Emily said stiffly, pre-empting the editor's actions, the muscle in her cheek and the gruffness of her voice evidence as to how close the stoic Brit was to actually crying. "I am so sorry, Miranda," the redhead whispered, a tear finally falling from the heavily lined and mascaraed eye and down her cheek.
"Oh for Heaven's sake," Miranda rolled her eyes but her tone was soft now as she moved from around her desk to face the forlorn young woman.
"After everything you have done after all these years to protect me, do you really believe I could think you had any hand or culpability in this?"
"But I should have known! I should have seen…" she trailed off again, her expression anguished as she looked at the woman she idolized. "You would have." She ended in a whisper, not meeting Miranda's eyes for fear of what she would find there.
"But I didn't…Emily, you might be under the impression that my knack of knowing what an employee is thinking is infallible, I assure you it is not. Andrea's and my relationship is testament to that fact, otherwise we would have found ourselves together much sooner. That skill is especially unreliable when said employee is one I had little contact with as she was trained by the best, and for the most part, performed her duties adequately consequently making her pleasantly invisible. So if you would like to take any fault in this, it is in your own competency and accomplishment, which in turn only validates my belief that I made the right decision in promoting you, even if it meant the loss of a valuable asset to myself, both privately and professionally. Do you understand what I am saying Emily?"
"Yes, Miranda," spoke quietly, obediently.
"And you do realize, Emily," Miranda continued, a hint of a smile in her voice. "That now I need you more than ever?" Her lips twitched slightly. "You'll need to find and start training my new first assistant immediately since you just lost me the first one. I'll give you until Monday."
Finally, this had the result the editor intended and the redhead's lips curled in a slight grin - at least until she caught Miranda's eye and realized although the editor had meant what she said, she also wasn't joking. Emily gulped nervously and turned dizzily on one Jimmy Choo in her haste to get to the door and to the task at hand, the panicked flustered look on her face pleasing the older woman for more than one reason. One, because in this way, she really did enjoy wielding her powers of intimidation and two, because it meant the look of fear and despair was gone from the young woman's eyes now that she had been given a job to do and no time to feel sorry for herself.
"Softie," she could hear Andrea whisper in ear from within the folds of her conscience and her heart seized once more with the desperation to hear the younger woman's voice following the distressing interaction with Irv.
Alone again, Miranda felt the walls begin to close around her. Andrea, she needed Andrea. No, no, she told herself. She couldn't keep relying on the younger woman every time she found herself fearful or uncertain. Thirty years of controlling those feelings were what had carried her through countless trying times and machinations by the board and Irv and the press and her ex-husbands. It was also the woman formed by those experiences that Andrea had fallen in love with, not a needy, wanting, cloying, co-dependant lover. She put the phone down and the babies kicked as though in protest of the action. Miranda pressed her hand to the spot, gently rubbing at the impressions of the little feet. "Hush, little ones," she murmured, "mummy's not going to let anything happen to you, I promise". And with that, she removed the comforting weight of her hand and sat back to begin ruthlessly marking through the editorial for the next issue, determined to give the board no reason to believe there was anyone who could run this magazine as she could - because despite the recent blows she had been dealt and the admitted toll they had taken, the truth remained. No one could do what she could do.
The effort it took to keep her mind off Andrea and Irv's little speech and on the task at hand proved interminably more exhausting than she had imagined, and what work she had done had sapped her of any remaining strength or fortitude. It was only with great resolve and steely willpower that she was able to direct her focus to Runway-oriented matters until it was five o'clock, and an acceptable - if not early for her - time to leave for the day.
Her heart nearly broke however, when in the car on the way home, her phone pinged with a message from Andrea.
'Going out 4 drinks after work b4 trip. Don't wait up xoxo'
Miranda scoffed away unbidden tears of disappointment and frustration, although they were mostly directed at herself and this unattractive neediness.
Blinking furiously behind her sunglasses, she typed out a response.
'That's fine. Will see you later - may still be in study working'.
The truth was that she was exhausted and for once, working was the last thing she wanted to do. But she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep without the younger woman tonight so she might as well be productive rather than wasting time lying awake worrying. The girls would be there of course, so she wouldn't really be alone, but they were too young to understand the adult behaviours in this and she wouldn't burden them or keep them awake with her tossing and turning.
Another message from Cara confirmed that the twins would be out for the evening with a friend, and so she too had left for the day and Miranda resigned herself to an evening alone - not that she found the idea unpleasant in and of itself after the whirlwind of emotions that day, but rather it was the idea of being alone with her thoughts that was decidedly unappealing.
The hallway was dark when she entered the house, and no footsteps or loud voices to greet her and she found she strangely missed it. As she shrugged her coat off however, she heard the soft shuffle of movement from behind her at the end of the hall. For a terrifying moment she thought it was Stephen again, somehow slipping past the alarm system, but this was no heavy shuffling gait and she exhaled deeply as a familiar voice spoke from the shadows as its owner appeared from behind the darkened doorway.