(no subject)

[duwinter]

Title: I'll Follow (Part 4/?

Author: DuWinter

Fandom: DWP

Pairing: Miranda/Andy

Rating: PG 13 (Language)

Summery: Andy has left Miranda behind.

Disclaimer: The Devil Wears Prada, it's characters and the song lyrics I use do not belong to me. I'm just playing with them for a short while.

Comment: First attempt at DWP fic. AU Not beta'd, so any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone. Comments and constructive criticism are eagerly encouraged.

The alarm sounded its five A.M. wakeup call in the bedroom. There was no one there to turn it off. Miranda had spent the night sitting at the small bistro table in the apartment's kitchen alternately writing and rereading what she'd written.

She found that with this method she could still harvest additional details on events she's written about from that other place. But it was getting harder to do so by the moment. There were things in her memory that she could almost touch and then they'd slip away, only to swim around and almost let her touch them again. The journal itself was a disaster, the ramblings of a madwoman. Pages were crossed out, passages run together with writing getting smaller and more cramped until they collided with the next thought, notes in every margin, threads started on one page only to continue many pages later because Miranda had not been able to connect the events when she had written down the first part of the memory. It was impossible to read or use what she'd written in any coherent manner.

Her Fashion Design coursework in college had required that she be able to sketch. As preparation for that necessity she had taken drawing classes. She was by no means any great talent but she could turn out a tolerable drawing. Her journal now contained four such sketches, one of each of the twins, (you could tell Caroline from Cassidy by the small sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose). One of Andrea, her hair up and elaborate drop earrings in her ears. Miranda wondered if the remembrance that allowed this drawing might be of some formal portrait or photograph she'd had made of Andrea . The last one was a curiosity. A drawing of a dog. A Saint Bernard unless she missed her guess. She had simply. no. idea. where that sketch had come from.

The night had not been easy for other reasons as well. She had come to realize that in her desire to end her pain, to follow Andrea at any cost that she had sacrificed her daughters. The knowledge that they did not exist and would not exist here tore at her heart and for the first time in a long time the tears flowed freely. The girl's father would not look twice at a lowly assistant so the chance of finding and marrying him was unrealistic in the extreme. Not to mention the fact that she knew where their relationship would end up. A bitter divorce and a nasty custody fight.

There was also the time factor to consider. The newspapers she had gotten yesterday had been dated eight years and some months before the night that Miranda had sat in her sitting room ready to end her life. By her reckoning she had been moved not only in space to this alternate reality but in time as well. The girls would have recently turned ten on the other side of the looking glass. She fervently hopes that her daughters are well on the other side of what ever it is that separates this place from that one.

She has taken pains to memorize every word she's written about the twins. Time is precious and she's painfully aware that every moment that passes makes touching that other world harder. Every detail she could remember is now safely written down in her looking glass journal and locked in her memory. She realizes with a lump in her throat that it is not as if she has lived the events she's recorded, only as if she's memorized a list of facts about someone else's life. She sits here starring at the pages of the journal. In a way she wishes she were that other Miranda Priestly. The one from beyond. Not for being Editor and Chief of Runway, that goal is realistic, obtainable. She had not ever let anything stop her in her pursuit of what she wanted in a career. If Emily Charlton could get there Miranda Priestly certainly could. Oh it would take years and there would be much blood, sweat and tears involved, but the cream rose to the top and Miranda knew that as far as competence and passion for fashion were concerned she was pure cream. No, it was that the other Miranda, the one that was slipping away, had at least felt something. The love of her children. The love of this Andrea that she had in return loved so passionately that she wanted to die to end the pain of losing her. Miranda slams the journal shut and rises to prepare for the day. She must stop at the office supply store again on the way into Runway. She now needs that digital voice recorder more desperately than ever. What insights she has into that other Miranda now come only sporadically and in brief flashes. They might come at any time and she must have a way to capture them. She also decides that she'll pick up another journal. One that she can transcribe the existing one into trying to make it more orderly so she can perhaps better understand it.

She gets ready quickly and surprisingly finds herself on the sidewalk in front of the office supply mega store as they opened at Six A.M. She gos in and easily finds another journal in the clearance bin. Again she chooses one that pleases her artistic sensibilities. It too has an Erte print on the cover. One she hadn't seen yesterday. This one displayed his work entitled Gala. With book in hand she goes to the electronics department to buy the digital voice recorder she must have.

Twenty minutes later she walks up the cool New York City Street with her blank journal under her arm and the recorder in her coat pocket. It had cost more than she'd hoped. The rent was due on the twentieth and cash was tight so she'd resorted to her emergency credit card to buy it. She marveled at the technology the saleswoman had shown her. Almost as thin as a credit card, voice activated, a highly sensitive microphone and fifteen minutes recording time. It also could be connected to a computer, the recorded material up-loadable in a .wav format. It was a good tool for her purposes.

She glances at her watch. Maybe today wasn't going to be so bad after all. It was only Six Thirty. She not only had time to get herself a cup of coffee at Starbucks before going into the office but actually was going to have the leisure to sit down and enjoy it. Spring was in the air. It was April already she sighs. Mid April.... There is something important about that. Something about going back to the beginning.....She gets in line and as she waits to get to the counter her mind turns those thoughts over and over again. She thinks back to the journal on the table in the kitchen at the apartment. She tries to visualize its pages.

Something in her peripheral vision intrudes on her thoughts. A woman, size six unless she misses her guess, badly dressed, beautiful brunette hair down around her face, sitting alone. A notebook and the want ads spread before her. A cup of coffee close at hand....Thoughts of the journal race though her mind. The drawings. This woman's hair is down but if you put it up just so.... The pieces suddenly fall into alignment. “Andrea” she says and then, surprised, suddenly realizes that she's spoken aloud. The woman looks up curiously, her visage somewhat confused. Miranda's mind races. Insight flashes like lighting behind her eyes. Andrea had come to Runway looking for a job. Come without an appointment. Miranda had interviewed and hired her on a whim. No,no,no,no,no that will never do. Come to Miss Charlton without an appointment? And dressed like that? All Andrea will be shown is the door. The woman still is watching Miranda but the pause had drawn on an uncomfortable length of time. Miranda leaves the line and moves towards the table. The woman watches her come warily. “Your name is Andrea Sachs,” Miranda says softly. “Mine is Miranda Priestly. May I sit down for a moment?”

Andy nods, obviously curious but still watching the woman carefully. This is New York, not Cincinnati. You have to be careful here. There are crazy people around. The elegantly dressed woman sits primly in the chair opposite her. Andy can feel the woman's eyes taking in every aspect, as if seeing her somehow feeds something that has been starved in this other woman. Andy awkwardly asks the most obvious question first. “Ah,.... so,.... ah,... have we met?” Miranda smiles, her eyes still drinking in the girl before her. “No, we haven't” she says softly, “But I need you to listen to me. It's important.”

Andy begins to fold her newspaper and prepares to put away the notes she's been making about her job search. Looking has gone on much longer than she'd anticipated. None of the newspapers are hiring so she is now looking at the magazines in the city. If something didn't break soon she was going to have to think about working someplace like here or McDonald's. Nate was great and all but she had her half of the rent pay and her savings were being quickly depleted.

The beautiful white haired woman reaches out, almost as if to touch her hand on the table but evidently thinks better of it and stops herself. “Don't ask me how I know what I know,” Miranda says quickly, her words almost tumbling over one another. “How isn't important right now, besides if I told you you'd think me mad as a hatter.” Andy continues to pack up her belongings obviously trying to think of a polite way to excuse herself from this crazy woman. “What I know” Miranda presses on, “is that you're going over to Elias-Clark and try to get an interview with Emily Charlton at Runway about a journalism position.” Andy stops packing and and almost involuntarily looks at the woman seated across from her. Miranda continues speaking rapidly. “There isn't one open at the moment but there is a Second Assistant position. Andrea shake her head, her hands again beginning to gather her things. “I'm looking for a job as a journalist not as a secretary,” she says curtly. Miranda nods having already mentally prepared for this argument. Her words flow out, her tone is laced with a sense of urgency, “You work for Emily Charlton for a year you can get a job /anywhere/. You ask anybody in this town and they'll tell you that. You want a job as a journalist, but nobody is willing to hire you because you don't have any professional experience on your resume. In one year you can have experience at Runway and working for Miss Charlton on that piece of paper. I guarantee that will open the doors you want opened. Besides, You need a job.” the woman continues. “That being said, if you walk into Emily Charlton's office dressed like that and without an appointment all you'll get is thrown out on your ear.” she concludes.

Andy sighs and shrugs. Thinking of just bulling her way in and maybe impressing someone like Emily Charlton with her chutzpa was a silly shot at best, but desperate times and all that. Another thought runs suddenly through her brain and her eyes narrow at her companion across the table. Her tone is at first shocked and then becomes accusatory. “I......How did you know what I was planning?....I didn't even know it myself until late last night! And how do you know what's on my resume?” she demands. The woman, Miranda she said her name was, shrugs slightly. “That isn't important right now, what is important is that I can help you.....I can help you land that job.” she says still gazing at Andy with a look that is almost....well...desperate. Andy moves as if to get up from the table and Miranda moves with her. “Please,” Miranda almost whispers. “Trust me for a little while. I can get you in the door. Give you the chance you need. I /know/ you'll be good at the job when you get it.” Andy stops and thinks about Nate having to shoulder the burden of the bills again this next month if she doesn't find something soon. There is already tensions between them with the move to New York and how expensive it is to live in the city. Nate's already not home much, doing long hours to bring in some extra money to keep them going. She sighs softly and nods. Desperate times, she again thinks to herself.

Miranda's hopes are buoyed. She glances at her watch, she has to hurry. “Give me a piece of paper off your notepad she ask as she reaches into her bag for a pen. She writes a quick note and folding the paper she hands it to Andrea. “You go to the ninth floor at Ten A.M. You ask for Nigel Kipling. You give him this and then you let him make you over.” Miranda says, her mind scanning Miss Charlton's schedule for the morning. The matter is complicated by the two resumes that she'd taken over last night. Miss Charlton might very well want to see those candidates during the few open moments she has today. Andy looks at the other woman as if she's lost her mind. It almost makes Miranda chuckle because it's so very close to the truth. “Excuse me?” Andrea says, her voice low and quiet. It tingles along Miranda's nerves, the other Miranda's experience flashes in her mind. Andrea is dangerously close to exploding in anger. The soft tone a dead giveaway. Miranda know she must move quickly to stop this from ending before it begins. “It's a fashion magazine.” she says softly, attempting to be careful and not to sound condescending. Trying to defuse Andrea's anger and distrust. “Emily Charlton is a fashion goddess. If you go in there looking like this,” she says using an encompassing gesture to take in all of Andy's appearance....” she pauses struggling to think of a diplomatic way to continue. “Let me guess,” Andrea interrupts, “Tossed out on my ear.” Miranda nods. “But if you go see Nigel he'll find something for you to wear from the closet. You come in turned out. You'll have an appointment on her schedule and then all you have to do is sell your abilities.” Miranda's smile lights up her faces, she so loves it when a plan comes together. And Nigel owes her. She got him together with that pretty boy from Auto World magazine at the Elias-Clark Christmas party. Nigel had a short but torrid affair with the boy and enjoyed himself throughly. Certainly that was worth a quick makeover. Another thought flashes across Miranda's mind “Oh,” she says, “Give me a copy of your resume.” Andy continues to look doubtful. “And how are you going to get my resume to her and get me on her schedule? she asks. Miranda's eyes come up to meet Andy's. “That's the easiest part of this. I'm her First Assistant,” she answers quietly. “I control her schedule.” Andy shakes her head. “This is insane.” she says quietly. “You come out of nowhere, know my name and want to help me get a job that I didn't even know I was looking for before last night!” She sighs, “If I weren't desperate.....” Her eyes challenge Miranda's “Why are you so intent on helping me?” she demands. And Miranda again has a flash of insight from the other side of the looking glass. She knows that if she's to have a prayer with this woman she must not lie to her, must never ever lie to her. She settles on a half truth. “Because having you work for Runway will make my life easier,” she answers carefully. Andrea shakes her head. “You don't know me, you don't know anything about my abilities. And I've never been anyones assistant. How do you know I'll make your life easier?” Miranda shrugs one shoulder and sighs. “I just do.” she replies quietly. She is somewhat surprised when a moment later Andrea hands her a a copy of her resume. “I hope I don't live to regret this,” Andrea tells her softly.

Glancing at her watch Miranda is suddenly aware of the time. She has to hurry if she is to have everything in place when Miss Charlton arrives. And it wouldn't do to have anything anger Miss Charlton, especially this morning. Miranda looks at Andrea again, the beautiful face, the soulful doe brown eyes. Yes, she thinks, yes, it wouldn't be at all hard to fall in love with this one. “Remember,” she says. “Ten O'Clock with Nigel on the ninth floor. Your interview will be in Miss Charlton's office at Eleven Thirty on the Twelfth floor.” With that she's up in line again to fetch Miss Charlton's morning tea.

The morning passes smoothly. Miranda is there to take Emily's coat and her tea is waiting for her in on the tea caddy. A lovely pastel iris in the bud vase. Crises are kept to a minimum and the Bitch Goddess is in as pleasant a mood as she ever gets. Miranda manages a short conversation with Nigel and it takes only a little verbal arm twisting to get him to promise to do what she wants. She only has to remind him of the past times he has and future times he will need favors from her in running interference when the Bitch Goddess is in one of her foul moods.

In her morning briefing with Miss Charlton Miranda discovers that her employer has rejected the two resumes out of hand. It is the perfect opening. Miranda wordlessly places the new resume on Miss Charlton's desk. The Bitch Goddess picks it up curiously and glances at it. “What's this?” she asks. “A resume for the Second Assistant position. I thought you'd want more choices since you've rejected what HR sent down,” the First Assistant responds promptly. Emily briefly reads over the resume. “Why wasn't this in the package last night?” she asks coldly. “I only came into possession of it this Morning.” Miranda answers. Miss Charlton shakes her head, “She has no fashion experience.” Miranda straightens her shoulders and takes a deep breath knowing it's likely that the world is about to fall on her. “She can do the job. She can do it well. She'll make your life easier,” she says to her employer. Miss Charlton frowns and purses her lips. “Are you asking me to hire a friend of your's Miranda?” she says in a dangerously low voice, “Because you of all people know that we don't do that here at Runway.” Miranda shakes her head. “She's not a friend, I only met her this morning.” Emily sits back in her chair and regards her First Assistant across the desk. “And here you are advocating her getting an interview...perhaps getting hired......” she says, her tone ladened with curiosity. “Miranda,” she continues, “We both know that you don't stick your neck out for anyone unless it benefits you somehow. It is one of your greatest strengths.” Her cold glare is now on Miranda. “How will her getting the interview....and possibly the job benefit you?” Miranda stands still before the desk. She is aware that Emily Charlton has the reputation she does for good reason. She is a power to be reckoned with in this town. One that can and does arrange for extremely unpleasant things to happen to those that disappoint or anger her. Lying to her is not good policy because she has ways of finding out. The last employee that Miranda knew had lied to Miss Charlton was a two hundred and thirty thousand dollar a year fast tracked marketing executive. The woman was working on a cruise ship as the assistant children's activities director now. Miranda looks to her employer. “Because I /know/ she can do the job. In making your life easier it makes my life easier.” Emily nods. “Alright.....I'll see her at Eleven Thirty.....” She smiles wickedly at Miranda and Miranda goes cold inside. “But if she disappoints me Miranda.......It's your neck on the block.” She looks down from Miranda to the paperwork on her desk. “You may go now.” she says coldly, dismissing her First Assistant.

Miranda returns to her desk and throws herself into the work of the day. Time slips by as she manages to keep busy. About Eleven Fifteen she is again summoned before the Bitch Goddess' throne by that hauntingly lilting soft voice that always means trouble for someone. “Miranda,” she says smiling her wicked smile. “I want you to run down to the Art Department. I want you to tell Lizell's direct supervisor.......you do remember sweet little Lizell don't you?.....I want you to tell her direct supervisor that I am not at all pleased with her performance. Her direct supervisor is to start writing Lizell up at every infraction no matter how minor. Documentation for termination.” she finishes.” Miranda nods. “I'll make the call immediately Miss Charlton,” the First Assistant replies. Emily looks up from what she is doing at her desk and Miranda knows from the look that she's made some sort of misstep. Emily's voice is the quiet and dangerous one when she next speaks. “Miranda, you're usually so good about following instructions. Is your mind somewhere else today? What part of I. want. you. to. go. down. to. the. Art. Department. didn't you understand? I want it done face to face. No telephone calls.” Miranda nods. “I'm sorry Miss Charlton. I'll see to it just as you've instructed,” she answers. Emily stretches back in her big executive chair, looks at Miranda and licks her lips sensuously. Miranda has a mental image of a sleek pampered and content house cat just waiting for the next mouse to stroll by, “I should have asked her to leave last night and invited you to stay.” The wicked smile on her lips doesn't reach her eyes. “I'm sure you would have been better company,” she continues in that dreadfully quiet voice that terrifies all the clackers. “You may go now.”

Miranda quickly arranges for one of the clackers to cover the phones for the time necessary to accomplish the errand that Miss Charlton is sending her on. She makes her way to the elevator and down to the Art Department. She has to go through Jocelyn who runs the overall department to find out who Lizell's immediate superior is. Jocelyn's reception of Miranda is cool at best as she escorts Miranda into her office and closes the door. This is nothing new. Miranda is perfectly aware that she is not widely liked. She is, however, widely recognized as being extremely good at her job and in a position to create huge headaches for any department that crosses her. All she need do is to stop cooperating. Jocelyn sits behind her desk and looks at the First Assistant. “So, what can I do for you today?” she asks, an edge in her voice. Miranda nods, her exterior that of an ice maiden. It's a persona that she's been developing for some time. Cool, confident, able and unshakable. She smiles a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. “I need to speak with whoever is Lizell's direct supervisor.” she says quietly. “And I'd like you there to witness the discussion.” Jocelyn nods. “That would be Marc, but he's in a training at the moment, he's due back in about ten minutes. Miranda sighs, then nods. Marc was one of the members of the creative team that Miranda had directed her scathing comments at yesterday. She hadn't realized he was its leader. “I'll wait.” she says moving to a chair in front of Jocelyn's desk. Jocelyn nods. “You were pretty hard on that development group yesterday.” she offers carefully. Miranda shrugs. “I did what was necessary to get them back on schedule. It would have gone a lot harder on them if they missed the deadline. Miss Charlton would have tossed them all out the window.” Jocelyn nods. “And likely me with them.” She pauses a moment and what is offered next is in a tone that might be an olive branch.” You didn't make any friends down here.” Miranda nods and smiles her cold smile. “And I'm about to lose a few more.” Jocelyn sees Marc enter the Art Department through her office windows and walks to the door of her office. Miranda follows her movement with her eyes and glancing up she sees Lizell walking and laughing with the man she knows to be Marc. Another member of the department shares a few quick quiet words with the two and their eyes go to Jocelyn's office. Their demeanor goes immediately from laughing to serious as Jocelyn calls him in.

Marc's attitude is hostile from the moment he enters the room and Jocelyn closes the door behind him. She speaks quietly to him. “Marc, Miranda needs to talk to you about something.” He turns to where Miranda sits and crosses his arms over his chest and glares at her. Miranda smiles her cold smile. “Marc,” she says softly, “As Lizell's supervisor you are to immediately start writing her up on any and all infractions of company policy no matter how minors. You are to file all written warnings with HR.” Marc looks at her and then at Jocelyn. “What's this about.” he demands. Miranda shakes her head. “I haven't a clue. I'm only the messenger.” she replies. “Bullshit!” he snarls “You've got it out for her!” Jocelyn looks confused. Miranda continues behind her Ice Maiden mask, a small smile frozen on her face. “Jocelyn,” Marc demands, “This is crap! This women has got it out for Lizell because Lizell is with Emily and it's where this bitch wants to be.” Miranda's eyes widen a fraction and she actually does smile then she emits a small sour laugh. “I, Marc,” she says in the quiet voice that she find that people hear better than shouting because they have to shut up and listen for it, “am not so stupid as to sleep with my employer. Precisely for this kind of reason. It effects the workplace. If that is, in fact, what you are implying is going on between Lizell and Miss Charlton.” Jocelyn's eyes are wide, she already know that what Marc has just said publicly is reason for Miss Charlton to gut her entire department. She moves to shut him up but she's not quick enough. “I won't do it.” he growls. “Go back up stairs and do what ever it is you do you Bitch! You and I both know that Miss Carlton isn't going to do anything to Lizell! So just go back where you came from and leave us alone!” He turns and slams out of the office. Miranda turns and looks at Jocelyn. Her voice is quiet, calm and professional. “The directive comes from on high Jocelyn.” she offers softly, “Documentation towards termination. Convince him to do it or not. I could really care less. But you know what's likely to happen if those reports don't start finding their way to HR in the immediate future.” Jocelyn nods watching Miranda as she gets up and moves towards the door, “You couldn't do this with a phone call? She asks. Miranda shakes her head. “No, I couldn't” Jocelyn nods. “and not by your choice...” she says very softly. Miranda shrugs a single shoulder. Jocelyn sighs, “Be careful Miranda, Her Highness is up to something. Miranda barks a short bitter laugh from the doorway. “When isn't she?” she replies. She can feel Marc and Lizell's eyes burning into her as she leaves. Jocelyn stands in her office and watches Miranda leaving her department through the windows. “She always is up to something,” she says quietly to herself, “but this time you're one of the central pieces in her game.”

Miranda returns to her desk. The errand has taken almost half an hour and although she doesn't show it, she is tired. The stress of the last two days and her lack if sleep last night is beginning to tell on her. She relieves the clacker and glances into Miss Charlton's office hoping to catch a glimpse of Andrea. Miss Charlton hangs up the phone and rises from her desk almost immediately. Almost as if she'd been waiting for Miranda's return to do so. She walks into the outer office and says “Coat, bag.” Miranda rises quickly and gets the items from the closet helping her employer into the garment and placing the bag in her hand. Miss Carlton smiles an evil little amused smile at Miranda and says “Cancel and reschedule everything for this afternoon. I'm leaving for the day. I will be reachable by cell phone in the case of an emergency. And I /do/ mean emergency, Miranda. Call me if this office is on fire. Not the building, this office and only then when your chair is at five alarms, anything less than that and I'll have someone's head. I'll expect you to deliver the book tonight.” and with that she turns and hurriedly leaves the office.

The rest of the day is long. Restructuring Miss Charlton's schedule in any way that will be acceptable to the women proves extremely difficult. Small crisis after small crisis find their way from what ever department they were born in onto her desk. She handles each one as she always does, with directed focus and for the good of the magazine. She wonders what happened with the interview but has no one she dares ask after she discovers that Nigel left suddenly for Valentino's early this afternoon and is not expected back until late tonight. She is glad when Eight P.M. rolls around and she is at last the only person left on the twelfth floor. She embraces the quiet and spends some time trying to dictate insights of that other world to her new digital recorder. It is a frustrating and fruitless exercise. Those memories seem to swim just beyond her conscious reach. The Book is ready just after Nine Thirty and Miranda makes her way down to were the car will take her to deliver it to Miss Charlton's home.

Miranda quietly unlocks the door of the Townhouse and enters as silently as she can. She places the dry cleaning in the closet and turns to place the Book on the foyer table. “Good evening Miranda,” Emily says softly close to Miranda ear. Startled, Miranda inhales sharply, surprised to to find the other woman so close without Miranda having heard her approach. Emily gazes at her First Assistant and licks her lips. “Why don't you bring the book back to the Study” she asks, her voice soft and seductive. “I'll pour us both a brandy.” She turns and disappears into the depths of the darkened house. Miranda pauses only long enough to realize that there is no way she can politely refuse. She follows through the darkened rooms and into the Study.

Emily motions for Miranda to place the Book on the desk as she pulls the glass stopper from a decanter and pours the dark liquid into a pair of snifters. Miranda accepts a snifter from Emily's hand noting in an almost detached and clinical fashion how Emily's fingers brush hers for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. Emily moves away and sits on the sofa. “So,” she says “Tell me how things went when you delivered my instructions to the Art Department this morning.” Miranda is immediately aware of that there is an undercurrent to the question. She knows to tread carefully. “I delivered your direction to Lizell's immediate superior in the presence of the head of the department,” she says evenly. Emily watches Miranda over the rim of her snifter. “And what was dear Marc's response to your missive?” she asks lightly. Miranda thinks a brief moment and answers. “He didn't agree with your assessment of Lizell's performance.” Emily nods, her smile wicked. “Go on,” she encourages.......Miranda looks to Emily and shakes her head. “There's not really anything more to tell, Miss Carlton.” she answers. Emily chuckles softly. “Lizell seems to think that the exchange between you and Marc became rather heated.” Miranda closes her eyes briefly and answers carefully. “Nothing that I couldn't handle. No need to concern yourself about it, Miss Carlton.” Emily sips her brandy and then licks her lips again. “I spent a lovely afternoon with Lizell.” she offers, her voice playful, “She was quite.......accommodating.” Miranda swallows hard, her mind racing, trying to figure out where this is going before it gets there. It will not do to be blindsided by the Bitch Goddess. In that way would lie ruin. She swirls and sips her own brandy to cover the moment she takes to think. Emily stretches her body in a way meant to draw attention, again calling the image to Miranda's mind of a particular pampered and cruel house cat. The Bitch Goddess reaches out and sets her brandy snifter down. “Lizell seems to have this silly idea that you're out to get her fired.” she says, her voice still lilting seductively. “She thinks that you're acting on your own initiative, for you own ends.” Miranda stands stock still. He mind turning at breakneck speed because now she can see the trap. Miranda is always careful to deliver Miss Charlton's directives with witnesses present. Usually department heads.....but there are no witnesses present when the directives are given to her. She must let the realization show on her face and she curses herself knowing that her Ice Maiden mask doesn't always fool Miss Charlton. Emily laughs gaily and rises from the couch approaching Miranda. She invades her personal space leaning in to whisper in her ear. “Do you have any idea of what would happen, Miranda?” she asks so softly, so seductively, “If I were to go along with what Lizell says? If I were to just continue taking all sweet little Lizell offers for a few more weeks and went in tomorrow morning and told HR that you had gone rogue?” Miranda continues to remain as still as a statue, her stomach clenches and fear races through her veins. She is surprised at how calm and businesslike she sounds when she speaks. “I am well aware of what you could do to my professional career with a few well chosen words in the right ears Miss Charlton,” she replies. Emily pulls her head back from Miranda's ear and for a brief moment she hovers, their lips almost touching. She retreats further, far enough to look Miranda in the eyes She pulls her her own lower lip in with her teeth. Then she turns and moves back to the couch. Her voice is not as playful as it was a moment ago when she says “You're very good at what you do, Miranda. You might want to think about the fact that as easily as I could destroy your career I could also make it. A few different well chosen words in those same ears and you'd be a rising star in this industry. She moves back to the couch and again lounges there. “If you're willing to take the next step and do what's necessary you could go very far indeed.” Miranda stand silent, not knowing what to say at this moment.” Emily sighs softly, “You might want to consider what you want for your future. And what you're willing to do to insure it.” She turns away looking to a bookcase in the room. “You may go now.” she says coldly, dismissing Miranda, Miranda turns to leave and almost makes it to the door of the Study when Emily says, “Oh, there's one more thing. I hired you a new Second Assistant. She starts tomorrow. Train her well Miranda. If she fails it's your head.” Miranda manages to leave the Townhouse at a sedate professional pace as internally she is in turmoil. She is aware that as of this moment her regulated and focused life has just become infinitely more complicated.

TBC

Still encouraging submission of ideas about this AU Runway.