New fic: Five Minutes, Part I
Five Minutes
Fandom: Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Disclaimer: I don’t own Miranda or Andy, or anything remotely related to the Devil or Prada. Alas.
Rating: M
Note: Thanks to my beta Xander, who kept me on track when this story changed courses a number of times during development. Hope you all enjoy!
Part I.
ANDREA.
Brad is so cute, Andy thought. She had to be the luckiest girl in the world. Really. “Don’t you look dapper,” she said, running two fingers down the lapel of his evening jacket. “Like a million bucks.”
“Then you must look like two million. That dress… it’s stunning. Did you get it with Jasmine when you went shopping yesterday?”
“Uh-huh. You didn’t really think I’d attend a dinner party to meet your father and not get a new dress, do you?”
“I hope you put it on my account,” Brad said, frowning.
Andy just nodded, and didn’t answer further. She hadn’t put it on his account, but he didn’t have to know. He didn’t pay his own bills anyway, so it wouldn’t matter. The dress would have been far out of her price range if Brad hadn’t done all the spending when they went out, which was nearly every night nowadays. At first she’d protested, begging to go dutch, but when she’d found out how much money he really had in his trust fund, she’d shut right up. Not that she felt that she deserved to be wined and dined, but it was just… embarrassing for it to even come up. After all, she’d scraped by for the last year on a cub reporter’s salary, and it was nice to be taken care of for a change. A few months of expensive restaurant dinners had saved her hundreds of bucks, every one of which she’d blown on her very nice new dress.
“Do you think he’ll like me?”
“Of course he will,” Brad scoffed. “You’re perfect. What’s not to like?”
Andy just grinned. “You know as well as I do that I’m far from perfect.”
“Not to me,” he said, nuzzling her cheek. “You’re wonderful. And he’s going to fall for you as hard as I did. But you can’t dump me for him, okay? It would kill me to lose such a gorgeous girl to someone as old as my dad.”
Andy laughed. “He’s not old. He’s barely sixty.”
“That’s old in my book,” Brad replied. “I forget that I’m dating an older woman,” he teased.
“By a whopping fourteen months. You know I love robbing the cradle,” she teased back. “Let me get my bag.”
A few minutes later they were in the limo, piloted by Brad’s regular driver. Sometimes he reminded Andy of Roy, but she didn’t even know this guy’s name. He never said a word to either of them, and Brad never made conversation. It was almost as though the man was invisible. It… bothered Andy a little, but she didn’t feel it was her place to say something. She was just a visitor in this world, at least for now.
Brad’s father, Alexander Huntington, ran Atlas, a massive media conglomerate that seemed to be expanding by the minute. Andy had researched it extensively when she and Brad first met a few months back. She’d nearly swallowed her tongue when she realized that Brad wasn’t just a regular joe; he was obscenely wealthy. She questioned her decision to agree to a second date, but then decided not to discriminate over money. Since then, Andy had fallen headlong into a world of privilege and power. To her utter surprise, she liked it. Everyone was nice, and beautiful, and never in a hurry.
It was a far cry from her real life. Her day job did not match her nights out, and for the moment, she was content to keep the two separate.
For many months after her… last job, the name of which she didn’t usually say to herself even in her own mind, she worked longer hours than ever. Partially because she was lonely, and partially because she was driven. She didn’t typically go out except to pick up food, and she often ate alone. Working so much damaged many of her old friendships, though she occasionally saw Lily or Doug when she got an evite for one event or another. Work became Andy’s life, and for a while, that was enough.
But then she met Brad, and despite her best judgment, she cut back on her hours. Her mother was thrilled. “Oh honey, you’re so young,” she’d said. “You shouldn’t be at the office so much. Go out with him and have fun for a change. I worry about you, sweetheart. I want you to be happy.” And so, Andy spent more and more time with Brad. She realized it was just… fun to go places with him, and sometimes his friends. They had accepted her without question, because Brad liked her. And she got along well with Jasmine, his sister. When Brad wasn’t available for dinner, Jasmine was her back-up date. Eventually she felt human again.
But it was hard to reconcile the experience with the day to day life at the paper. She wondered if Brad would be willing to spare some capital for The Mirror, since he was always looking for investment opportunities. The paper could use a cash infusion, and pronto. She thought her job might last another six or eight months, but probably not much longer. They were in trouble, and she could see it written on John’s face. Often.
But she wasn’t going to worry about her job tonight. She glanced at Brad with a sigh. He was so cute.
They pulled up to the curb, and Brad helped her out of the car. “Ready to face the firing squad?”
Andy laughed. “Oh, you’ve got nothing to worry about-it’s not like you’re meeting anyone for the first time. And old guys like me, even rich ones. I’ve got a great rack, you know,” she joked.
He eyed her chest and raised an eyebrow. “You certainly do. Just don’t flaunt it too much. I don’t want to get jealous. I’ve got enough trouble keeping my friends away from you.”
She smiled and slipped an arm under his before they went inside.
In truth, her heart was pounding a little harder than usual. Huntington was one of the richest, most powerful men in the country. She’d be a fool not to be concerned, and Andy was no fool. But she put on a serene expression and tried to look confident. She’d learned from the best that putting on a good show, even when things were crumbling, could get a person through the toughest situations.
Inside, the décor was pleasantly restrained. It was not a palace, Andy was relieved to find, but it reeked of expensive designers who had placed everything just so. Andy heard voices coming from the other room, and she swallowed convulsively. With a deep breath, she stepped into the dining room, lit by an enormous, glittering chandelier. Three people turned toward her, and Andy recognized Brad’s father immediately. His smile was easy and handsome, similar to the one Brad was sporting at that very moment. He came forward and held out a hand.
“Bradley, welcome. You must be… Annie?”
“Andy, sir, Andy Sachs.”
“Ah, my apologies. Lovely to meet you, Andy.” Alexander shook his son’s hand firmly. “Beautiful girl, my boy. If she’s as smart as she is attractive you’re in for it.”
“Oh, she is, Dad. You just wait. She’ll charm your socks off.”
“I look forward to it. Let me introduce you to my sister." Alexander led her across the room, and Andy grasped the tall woman's hand lightly. "Millicent and her husband Phillip are on their way to see a show. Where is it, at the Minskoff?"
Phillip shrugged before reaching out to shake Andy's hand. "I can never keep track. Pleased to meet you, Andy."
Alexander clapped Phillip firmly on the shoulder. "Phillip's on the board of the Danner Corporation. They're doing very well these days.”
“How nice," Andy said, trying to mask her frown. She was not a fan of oil companies, and she’d done a story only a few months ago about the discriminatory policies of Danner and other similar corporations.
Brad stepped in. “Jazz is on her way, I assume, right, Dad?”
“She is, or at least she’d better be, because I wanted her to meet someone.”
Andy turned to Brad, who looked confused. “Who’s that?" Brad asked.
"I’ve been… seeing someone. I thought you might like to meet her.”
Brad got a huge grin on his face, and shook his head. “You dirty dog. And here I thought you were just working late every night these days. Where’s the lucky lady?”
“On the phone. She’ll be--ah, there we are.” He nodded toward the doorway, and Andy turned to see who it was.
She blinked once, very deliberately, as time slowed in a way she thought only happened in the movies. Her vision tunneled, and she was unable to draw breath.
Miranda.
She stared, eyes wide, and fortunately her heart chose that moment to begin beating again. In triple time. She wished Brad were a little closer, so she could lean on him.
When Miranda caught her eye, for that single unguarded moment, Andy saw one of the most honest reactions she’d ever observed in her former boss. It was pure surprise, not unhappy, but confused. As though perhaps she thought she’d returned to the wrong room, stumbled through a magical door into an alternate universe. But the look vanished swiftly, and her gaze moved from Andy to Alexander. Shaking her hair back off her cheek, Miranda said, “Crisis averted. Honestly, the incompetence of my staff consistently amazes me. Although they have improved drastically over the last year,” she said, eyeing Andy.
Andy couldn’t stop her grin. The tone, so derisive, was practically comforting.
At that moment, she realized that as much as she didn’t want to believe it, she’d missed Miranda. Missed her complete and utter certainty that she was in the right at all times. Missed her confidence, her arrogance, her disdain for imperfection. Her brilliance. Her luster, like a diamond that sparkled even in the darkest room.
There were days that Andy had hated Miranda Priestly so much it felt as though her blood had literally boiled. She had cursed her boss’s name, and the names of her two evil children, more times than she could count. Once, she’d wished that Miranda would drop off the face of the earth, never to return.
But now, here, she felt glad. Seeing Miranda felt… good. More than. Her smile grew, and she had to look away before she laughed outright.
“Son, this is Miranda Priestly. She’s editor-in-chief of Runway magazine, not that you’ve read it.” Brad held out a hand, and Miranda put on her syrupy smile, the one that Andy remembered her using with Jacqueline Follet.
“Charmed, Ms. Priestly,” Brad said, kissing her hand.
Alexander nudged Andy forward. “And this is--”
“Andrea,” Miranda purred, saying it in that funny, snobbish way that Andy had enjoyed so much. Some things never change, Andy thought.
“Hi Miranda.” She didn’t know if she should shake hands, or air kiss, or what, so she simply waited.
Miranda didn’t move either. To Andy’s surprise, when they locked eyes again, Andy felt caught. Her guts churned. Miranda still had the power to affect her physical being to the point of sickness. She’d always made Andy nervous, all the way up to the end. Andy’s system was unused to that tension nowadays, and she trembled, feeling a little green.
Andy had no idea how much time passed before Bradley said, “You two know each other?”
The string that tied her gaze to Miranda’s was broken then, and Andy sighed in relief.
“Yes,” Miranda began. “Andrea… worked for me. At Runway.”
“Andy Sachs, crusader for the rights of the poor and oppressed, worked for the number one fashion magazine in the world?” Brad questioned. “How has this never come up in the last three months? You haven’t even mentioned it! Hell, I know all about what it was like working for that rag at Northwestern, but I love that you left this little tidbit out.” Brad shook his head affectionately and put an arm around her. “You really are something, you know that?”
Andy shrugged. She looked back at Miranda for an instant, but Miranda had turned away.
---
Dinner was… unnerving.
Miranda hardly looked in her direction. In fact, she didn’t speak to Andy once.
Alexander did, inquiring as to how Andy liked being a reporter, how the paper was doing with the economy in this state. Andy brushed off his concern, knowing all the while that the entire operation was on the verge of folding. It was so hard to stand up to a lion like The Times and a hyena like The Post. As they discussed it, Miranda met her eyes briefly, and Andy told herself she imagined the look of disbelief, and perhaps sympathy, as Andy spoke.
What made the night worse was that Jasmine, whom Andy had been counting on to run interference, didn't even show up. She called after the first course was served, pleading a last-minute date with a guy she "absolutely had" to go out with. Far as Andy was concerned, that guy had better be George Clooney. Otherwise, Jasmine had no excuse.
Brad didn’t notice that Andy was uncomfortable, and Andy didn’t bother telling him. He was his typical self, relaxed and jovial, and attentive of course. He made sure her glass of wine was filled, and that she had all she wanted to eat. Not that Andy could eat much. Not in front of Miranda.
Especially when Alexander was equally as attentive to Miranda as Brad was to her.
That sick feeling in Andy’s stomach came back with a vengeance. She’d never been repulsed by anyone so nice before, but Alexander seemed… whipped. He pampered Miranda. He catered to her every whim. He even kissed her neck once, and Andy was horrified. She had no idea where all these sensations were coming from, but her forehead and lower back felt damp.
“Tell us what it was like to work for Miranda, Andy,” Alexander said when dessert was served. “She has quite the reputation, you know. Very difficult,” he teased.
Andy waved away the plate that loomed over her shoulder. She couldn’t even consider the chocolate mousse that normally would have remained on her plate for less than two minutes. “Oh,” Andy said breathlessly, “it was… fun. An exceptional experience.” Well, that’s true, she thought. Except for the fun part.
Miranda’s eyebrow flew north. “Fun?” she drawled. “You can be honest, Andrea. We’re amongst friends.” Miranda turned toward Alexander. “Andrea found me unethical, not to mention impossible to work for. Did you know she abandoned her post in the middle of Paris Fashion Week?” Her gaze returned to Andy’s, the movement of her head robotic. “In the midst of one of the most exciting events of the year, she walked away. I’ve always wondered, Andrea. Why did you do that?”
Andy swallowed, and Brad put a hand on the back of her chair.
“I asked you a question, Andrea. Why did you walk away? I could have ruined you, you know.” Her voice was light and sweet. Soft. So soft that it could smother her to death and she wouldn’t even notice.
Across the table, Alexander was speechless, mouth open just enough to reveal his shock.
“And when you left, you wanted to believe I had at least a shred of decency about me, didn’t you.” Miranda tilted her head. “It’s not true, of course. I didn’t find your skills irreplaceable enough to want to preserve them exclusively for Runway. If you wanted to run off to a failing newspaper that will undoubtedly suffer layoff after layoff until the whole thing fades away, that’s your prerogative, of course.” Miranda sipped her champagne delicately, turning to Brad. “I gave Andrea a recommendation for her new position, against my better judgment. Before tonight, I thought I had made a mistake in doing so, that she would have been better off leaving the city long ago, so she wouldn’t have to experience such a failure. Such… disappointment. She really is so sensitive to disappointment, aren’t you Andrea?”
Andy could not believe what she was hearing, but only one thing stood out in her mind. “You mean you actually thought of me once or twice after I quit?” Andy laughed bitterly. She was on the verge of tears, astonished at the pain Miranda’s words caused. “You actually spared a single moment of thought for someone other than yourself?” Andy threw her napkin down on the table. She wanted to run. Far away, fast. But she would not give Miranda the satisfaction. “Oh by the way, how’s Nigel?” She grabbed Brad’s dish of mousse, ignoring the ugly scrape of glass against the china. Silver spoon in hand, she scooped up the largest bite she could manage and shoveled it into her mouth.
Miranda did not reply, but her lips pursed. Bingo. He was still at Runway and under her thumb; Andy was sure of it.
Andy swallowed the chocolate without tasting it. “So he hasn’t found a new position, I take it. Still cleaning up your messes for you. Poor guy. You know, Miranda, everybody loves you, though I have no idea why. You of all people shouldn’t have to force people to work for you to keep friends. Because when someone’s afraid of you, they’re not really your friend.”
Miranda snarled. “You ungrateful little--”
“Oh can it, ‘Dragon Lady’--” Andy shouted over her.
“Ladies!” Alexander called, cutting off the both of them.
The room went silent. Andy could not take her eyes from Miranda’s, transfixed by the frozen pools of blue flame. Her heart raced within her chest.
And then Andy remembered where she was, and who she was with. Embarrassment flooded her, and her face went red.
If she didn’t have much of a career going on right now, she certainly wouldn’t have one after tonight. She turned to Brad, who had a look on his face that she’d never seen before. She had no idea what it meant. Miranda, meanwhile, sat back in her chair and seemed as surprised as any of them. She blinked quickly, as though waking from of a daydream.
“Ladies,” Alexander repeated, more softly this time. “I think perhaps you two have more to… talk about than you suspected. Bradley, why don’t you come with me and we’ll have some sherry in the study, all right?”
“Dad, I--”
“Come along, son,” Alexander said, and Brad followed him out of the room after a hopeless shrug in Andy’s direction.
They were alone. Andy looked at the dish of mousse, half-gone. She hoped she wouldn’t throw up. But she couldn’t say it. She couldn’t apologize. You started it, she thought. You first. But Miranda did not open her mouth. She simply stared at the wall, gaze vacant.
Andy gave in, as she knew she would. “How did you know about The Mirror?” she said softly. “John keeps things close to the vest.”
Miranda snorted. “I work in the industry. I’ve known for some time.”
“How long does it have, do you think?”
“If things continue as they are, a year at most.”
Andy turned away. She’d get another job; she had plenty of connections, especially now. But there were writers, editors, assistants, who had been working in the same position for fifteen years. Where would they go? How would they manage?
“Don’t be so maudlin,” Miranda said. “You’ll be fine.”
Andy chuckled. “I know. But John’s 54 with three girls on their way to college. What about him?”
Miranda looked surprised, again. “Oh,” she said. “Well, he’ll survive. People do.”
“Easy for you to say,” Andy said bitterly.
“Don’t think for a second that I don’t know what it is to struggle, Andrea. I do.” Miranda seemed to want to say more, but she bit back her words. After pausing, she said, “I’ll give you a piece of advice. If you want to rescue the ‘poor and oppressed’ from whatever it is they need rescuing from, save yourself first. Use the skill and intelligence you’ve ostensibly been blessed with to help those around you keep their jobs. For god’s sake, do something. Then you can… worry about everyone else.”
Andy stared at Miranda. Everything she said made sense. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it herself. She’d been so busy being depressed and uncertain about her career that she’d forgotten that she’d once been an innovative thinker who once solved problems on a daily basis. Sure they might have been small problems in the scheme of things, but it all worked the same way. Didn’t it? “Wow,” Andy said.
Miranda set her napkin on the table. “I think that’s enough then.”
Andy had a lot to consider, but there was one thing she wanted to make clear. “I don’t really want to apologize.”
Miranda’s face didn’t change. “I don’t expect an apology. And I won’t deliver one, either.”
“Oh. Well, good.” Her lips twisted, and the words came spilling out. “And by the way, you know very well why I left Runway.”
With a sigh, Miranda placed both hands on the table and inspected her nails. “Perhaps. I thought there was more to it than that, but I suppose I could have been mistaken.” Eyes narrowing, Miranda said, out of nowhere, “Do you plan to marry Bradley?”
Andy inhaled. “No! I um… It’s only been a few months. I don’t know him that well.” She thought for a moment. “Will you marry Alexander?”
Miranda licked her lips. “I haven’t decided. He’s surprisingly good-natured for someone so wealthy.”
“He sure seems to like you,” Andy prodded.
“I suppose.”
Andy frowned. “This is weird.”
“Undeniably.”
“I guess we should… try to get along?”
“Indeed.” Miranda stood, and Andy echoed the action. As they walked into the hallway, Miranda looked over her shoulder. “Don’t you want to take your dessert with you? You certainly seemed involved with it before. Not that I’m surprised,” she said, eyes traveling down Andy’s figure.
Andy just smirked. “Glad to see some things don’t change. You still look great.”
Miranda glanced in the mirror as they passed it. “Of course I do.”
Choking back a laugh, she followed Miranda into the study. Alexander lounged comfortably, twirling brandy in a glass. Just to complete the cliché, Brad smoked a cigar in a club chair across from him. “Has there been a détente?” Alexander asked.
Miranda chuckled. “For now,” she answered, voice low and silky.
The hair on Andy’s arms rose. She sat on the arm of Brad’s chair, weak. “Everything’s fine,” Andy managed.
Brad took her hand and squeezed it. “Why don’t you have a sherry, sweetie? And how about you, Miranda?”
Miranda nodded, and Andy found herself drifting to the sideboard to pour two night caps. She carried one to Miranda and handed it over; a peace offering.
Apparently Miranda felt the same way, since she tapped her crystal glass against Andy’s in a wordless toast.
---
Part II.