Fic: The Right Thing 6B/6, Miranda/Andy, PG
Title: The Right Thing (part 6B/6)
Author: lauriestein
Rating: PG this part, NC17 eventually
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Word Count: ~5000
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, these characters remain the property of Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. No profit is being made, and no harm is intended (except the fun kind!) This story borrows from real-life events in cases such as Martha Stewart's, but I promise to keep it light on boring corporate stuff as much as possible.
Summary: Set after the movie!verse of DWP. Andy is working at the Mirror and receives an unexpected phone call. Miranda needs her, again. It seems Miranda has run into a little legal trouble, and who better to help get her side of the story out, right?
With a million thanks to shesgottaread for a sterling beta a job :) She really goes above and beyond, and this story wouldn't be in any kind of shape without her! As ever, I'm very keen to read your thoughts about the story, especially as the end is getting very close!
Part 6A
Paris Fashion Week came and went. An anniversary of sorts, though Andy seemed to be the only one who remembered that there had been a ‘last year’, Fashion had little time for the past.
Andy tried to pretend that she wasn’t devouring every inch and second and image of the coverage. The attention on Miranda only intensified at the center of her own kingdom, and it seemed that Andy could drown in the sheer volume of it all, if only she’d let herself.
She’d handed over all her information over to Emily, heard nothing from Miranda and let her own world continue to spin on its axis. What more could Andy have done? She had counted down the days and waited for everyone important at Runway to depart for Europe, though the reality was that it made no impact on her daily life.
John had pushed a few more Society pieces her way, a test of her impartiality and her usefulness. Andy had let bitterness and the barbs that Miranda might have been proud of pour through the keys of her battered laptop, and felt only a little bit better. Thankfully, with Miranda out of the country, none of the gossip pieces were about her, not when she was taking up big chunks of the rest of the paper, anyway. Andy had gone out drinking with Doug and dancing with Lily, until two weeks later when Miranda was back in New York to a clusterfuck (surely the collective noun) of paparazzi at JFK.
But still no call, no email, no carrier pigeon or smoke signal. Emily sent a brief text confirming that she’d approached Stephanie, and that everything would be ‘just fine’. Andy didn’t bother to reply, content to go through the motions of working and sleeping and not much else. Her involvement with Miranda Priestly seemed to finally be over, but not a scrap of the expected relief was in evidence.
The universe, or more specifically her boss, had other ideas. Within hours of Andy resigning herself to a Miranda-free existence, John called her in to inform her that she’d be covering the court beat during the just-announced trial dates. Andy couldn’t comprehend it at first-the usually creaking wheels of justice were always slow to turn. It seemed that national coverage and an eager prosecutor could move mountains for a celebrity trial, while murderers and rapists went unpunished. Since Miranda’s attorneys had apparently requested a speedy trial to ‘clear her name as soon as possible’, the courts were happy to expedite matters. It disgusted Andy, but there was no mistaking the jolt of excitement at the thought of being in the same room as Miranda for days and possibly weeks on end.
The reality was quite different though.
Andy found herself on that first morning, after being searched for recording devices and passing through the metal detector, with sweaty palms and something like a nervous twitch in her left eyelid. If she could have slapped herself without drawing the attention of the rapidly filling room, she would have-anything to compel herself to get a damn grip.
Miranda had forsaken her usual fifteen minutes early rule, sweeping into the courtroom with barely two minutes to spare. She looked entirely unhurried, even as the phalanx of lawyers and assistants buzzed around her like terrified worker bees. She sat down gracefully at the table, seemingly unflappable as she flipped through papers pulled from her bag with a bored expression.
She looked damn good, too. Which was a bit like noticing that New York had a lot of people in it, or that breathing required oxygen, Andy knew. Trying to feign nonchalance, Andy drank in every detail of Miranda’s exquisitely tailored gray suit and the pale-blue shirt beneath it. The heels were as perilous as ever, though they were quickly obscured from Andy’s vision by all the activity around the defense table.
Before Andy could get caught gazing like a lovesick puppy, the judge showed mercy by arriving on time. Standing with the rest of the room, Andy almost snapped the pencil in her hand from the tension, but before long the boring lull of a court in session took over the room, and Andy was left to concentrate on her notes.
By the second week, Andy was contemplating ways to smuggle in an emergency iPod for the sake of distraction, and by the third she would have taken a bomb scare or a fire alarm just to liven things up. Securities fraud wasn’t exciting at the best of times, and all anyone wanted to talk about was whether Miranda’s outfits were a reflection of her guilt (no ostentatious furs, no bold colors) and half of the press pack were entertainment reporters who had to keep asking everyone around them procedural questions. Andy prided herself on having done her research.
The business of trying Miranda for these alleged crimes seemed to have little to do with Miranda herself so far, and a lot more to do with the odious little prick leading the prosecution. Checking herself for fairly obvious bias, Andy rationalized that she’d find the guy repulsive even if he were trying Bin Laden.
Chad Rollins didn’t seem much older than Andy herself, but she couldn’t fathom what a slick little poser like him would be doing on a government salary other than pursuing a political career. With that against him from the start, his smarmy demeanor and obvious attempts to curry favor with the bored, confused and disgruntled jurors left Andy with a distinct urge to slap him whenever his shiny, pink face turned in her general direction.
Miranda sat at the long table, legs crossed beneath it, and with her regal bearing and bored expression, it might just as easily have been another editorial meeting. The prosecutor couldn’t seem to stop looking at her, from pointed stares as he outlined her nefarious crimes, to nervous glances over his shoulder during quiet spells. Clearly, the guy had staked his career on grilling the Ice Queen herself, and Andy couldn’t help but wish him inglorious failure. In return, he’d received one or two contemptuous glares from Miranda, but the rest of the time she ignored everyone but the judge.
For her own part, Andy found the disconnect of being parted from her laptop and Blackberry oddly refreshing. Reduced to scribbling in shorthand, Andy found she paid more attention to the scene unfolding in front of her. She was ready to pounce on every hesitation, willing the defense attorneys to do the same. Jake and Stephanie seemed to be a formidable team, though even with all her legal reading each night Andy’s experience was mostly limited to watching the odd episode of Boston Legal, because little girls who wanted to be journalists grew up worshipping Murphy Brown, and whatever else Candice Bergen did, out of loyalty.
In week four, things finally started heating up. A string of Runway employees took the stand to confirm or deny Miranda’s activities during the week of the sale. It seemed like overkill to confirm when she had returned from her Christmas vacation (“Saint-Barth. Her villa.”) or exactly how many glasses of sparkling water had been ordered over a long lunch (“three, no, four, and she didn’t drink the last one”), but the prosecutor focused on these details as if they contained the mysteries of the universe.
Nigel took his turn, a relatively somber suit spruced up with his usual outlandish accessories and a violently pink shirt that only he could pull off. Winking at Andy when he caught her eye from the stand, he suffered through his questioning with a series of eye-rolls and pitying sighs. It worked in riling Chad, who tried everything he could to attack Nigel, to the point where the judge had to interject and force the prosecutor back on topic. To his credit, Nigel didn’t look remotely troubled by the snide allusions to his sexuality and wild past. He stuck resolutely to the story he’d told from the start-Miranda had been with him that day reshooting a swimwear spread and not once had he heard her speak to anyone about anything other than paunchy models or bland tankinis.
Andy smiled as the jury drank in Nigel’s testimony. It was starting to look a lot better for Miranda now that actual people were speaking up for her and the attention wasn’t on a bunch of spreadsheets.
Still, Andy couldn’t help but wonder what it was costing Nigel personally. How did he feel about having Miranda’s back so publicly when she’d barely hesitated before stabbing him in his? Jacqueline Follet had been profiled in countless publications since Miranda’s indictment, citing her as the likely successor to the Runway crown should Miranda be tossed in Federal prison. Irv had made no secret of his ‘contingency plan’ and it had been a feature of the Miranda gossip for weeks. Could Nigel watch that woman get promoted over him again, even closer to home this time?
Leaving for the midday recess, Andy got her chance to find out. Miranda disappeared with her lawyers and Nigel hadn’t been summoned to her side. He approached Andy on the courthouse steps and whisked her away to a quiet little bar.
Andy frowned as Nigel ordered two dirty martinis, but he laughed off her protests.
“Please, Six, irresponsible boozing is practically in your job description.”
Clichés about journalists really did die hard, but in the midst of a long week, Andy welcomed the chance of getting her buzz on. She ordered a salad to stop it descending into all-out drunkenness though, there were still countless hours of testimony to sit through.
“You looked very cool up there, Nigel. For a guy in a pink blouse.”
Nigel rolled his eyes at her feeble attempts to mock that which she did not understand, and Andy flinched reflexively in case he took aim at her pedestrian shirt and leather jacket attire. Thankfully, he seemed too preoccupied with the case to let fly about Andy’s countless crimes against fashion.
“I think it’s going well. Miranda should walk; unless there’s something she’s hiding.”
Biting her lip, Andy didn’t come forth with the information that Miranda knew exactly who was trying to screw her over and had opted to say nothing. Nigel probably wouldn’t believe it even if Andy did mention anything, so no point in betraying the reluctant confidence.
“Rollins certainly has it in for her. And at least a few jurors don’t seem to like her much.”
Nigel snapped a breadstick in two as he pondered.
“Well, once Miranda takes the stand, I’m sure her warm and sunny disposition will win them over.”
They both laughed, with a little guilt on Andy’s part. Small talk about the lawyers and the other witnesses passed the time until Andy’s food arrived, but Nigel only ordered another martini without stealing so much as an olive from her plate.
“This is big for you, covering the case, right? I’m no journalist, but I thought it took years to get an assignment like this.”
It wasn’t quite accusation in Nigel’s tone, but his unerring ability to pick out the details that didn’t seem quite right had kept him at Miranda’s right-hand side for all these years, and the gift didn’t stop at accessories.
“Yeah, it’s a big break. My boss wants that ‘inside scoop’ that everyone’s so obsessed with. Guess I’ll always be the girl who worked at Runway, so I might as well get something out of it.”
She did her best to seem weary about it, but Andy knew she wasn’t the world’s greatest actress. Nigel took a generous sip from his martini glass, apparently hesitating over his next words. Which was pretty scary when Andy considered all the things Nigel would say to her without bothering to soften the blow.
“I’ve seen you in there.” He swirled the olive in his glass, not quite meeting Andy’s eyes as he spoke. “Maybe nobody else has noticed, but you only have eyes for one thing in that room. Or for one person, should I say?”
Although he was trying to keep his tone light, Nigel’s concern was showing on his face. He seemed to be waiting for Andy to deny what he saw as a ridiculous suggestion, ready to laugh at the absurdity of even thinking she might be interested in Miranda.
Andy couldn’t seem to indulge his unspoken request. Instead of fumbling for an unconvincing denial, she found herself staring at the crisp white tablecloth, her cheeks turning unmistakably red.
“Oh, Six. I hoped I was wrong.”
Stammering, Andy tried to lessen the impact of Nigel’s little revelation.
“It’s no big deal. I just-well-it’s Miranda, you know? She has a way of sucking up all the attention in a room.”
Nigel nodded in agreement, since Andy’s observation was quite true.
“It’s more than that?”
Andy slumped in her seat, if there hadn’t been a plate in her way, she’d probably have been banging her head on the table. Nigel had framed it as a question, but the flatness of his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
“Not much more.”
Thankfully, before she could squirm any further, Nigel waved the waiter over for the check. Andy tried to pay but he waved her off, muttering “expenses” as he left a generous tip. They walked back to the courthouse in silence, Andy trying not to freak out that somebody knew about her crush on Miranda. And yet, she felt five pounds lighter just for the simple fact of it being out there, somewhere beyond her own head. Nigel didn’t need to know about hand-holding and overwhelming kisses, just like Lily didn’t need to know that the Snow Queen was responsible for Andy switching teams. Andy might call it managing expectations, if she were in any fit state to do anything but wonder when in the hell her life had gotten so complicated.
Nigel wasn’t coming back in, and he took her by the arms for an effusive air kiss at the foot of the stairs.
“For God’s sake, be careful. They don’t call Miranda a shark for nothing. If she smells blood…”
She should have been glad that somebody cared enough to warn her, but Andy felt another surge of defensiveness rising on Miranda’s behalf. With a deliberately cool expression, she thanked Nigel for lunch, and he shook his head ever so slightly at the brush-off.
Andy bounded up the stairs with a newfound enthusiasm for the job ahead. She would keep filing blog entries on the paper’s website and articles that everyone in the city seemed to be reading, Miranda would be acquitted, and at some point after all of that, Andy was going to try kissing her again. It was important to have a plan, after all.
The next day, after Andy had filed a particularly pointed story about Rollins’ attempt to humiliate Nigel, she found herself back in the press gallery and waiting for the courtroom to fill again. The rest of the journalists were milling around in the hallway, swapping jokes that Andy didn’t have the heart to participate in, not while they were at Miranda’s expense.
She was lost in her notes when she became aware of someone sitting down next to her. Without looking up Andy scooted a little further along the bench to make room, but there was no acknowledgment from the newcomer. Only when a familiar perfume tickled Andy’s nose did she tear her attention from her notepad, and she looked up to find Miranda Priestly sitting next to her.
“I’ve been reading your work these past few weeks.”
As opening shots went, it was far from Miranda’s most vicious. Andy swallowed, hard, and forced herself to reply.
“You know the blogs have a comment section. You could always leave feedback there.”
Enough to make Miranda frown, but Andy noted that her lips didn’t purse.
“I’ll remember that. In case you were wondering, I find them, well, you have an excellent grasp of punctuation at least. They’re certainly not doing me any harm, Andréa.”
As the comebacks lined up on Andy’s tongue, the crowds milling outside the heavy wooden doors began to file in, and Miranda rose swiftly and elegantly to her feet before Andy could fire anything back.
The noise in the room rose quickly, and Andy found herself surrounded by the now familiar throng of reporters as Miranda stepped briskly toward her own spot at the defense table. A selection of glossy photos were waiting on the table for her, which was the last thing Andy got to see before the posse of attorneys converged around Miranda.
Moments later, everyone was on their feet for the arrival of Judge Kendall, and as the red-haired woman sat down on the bench, Andy’s pretense of focusing on anything else ended. Miranda’s silver bob, those Roman features in profile, were the beginning and end of Andy’s world for the rest of the morning and she didn’t write a word in three hours.
The afternoon had more of a buzz about it, since Emily was the first witness to be called after lunch. She looked thoroughly inconvenienced by even being there, her tone haughty even as she confirmed her name and job title for the benefit of judge and jury. She spoke the words ‘First Assistant’ as though it was some kind of badge of honor, and in fashion terms it really sort of was.
Chad Rollins started off flirtatious, but Emily stared him down with a look she’d clearly borrowed straight from Miranda and then practiced in the mirror every night. He asked her if she “liked working for Ms. Priestly,” and Emily treated the prosecutor to one of her most dismissive sneers.
No matter what this man thought he would achieve in his off-the-rack brown suit and lackluster tie, Emily still believed that working for Miranda imbued her with all the protection and superiority she could need. Andy shook her head at the realization, because if Emily could have applied that to her own life, grabbed a little of that borrowed self-esteem for herself, she might not have wound up with another of Miranda's cast-offs.
The prosecutor didn't seem to want to linger with Emily after she’d rejected his charm offensive, addressing her as Ms. Charlton and rushing through the answers she had already given in a statement. Other than confirming that she remained in Miranda's employ, nothing new emerged and the assembled ranks grew a little restless in ten minutes without any kind of revelation. She stated, for the record, that she had received a call from Katherine Hoffman and she had passed the message on to Miranda. There had been no specific instruction that Emily could think of, only that the call was to be returned ‘urgently.’
Emily was handed off to the defense like an unwanted scarf, the prosecutor making sure to stare down Miranda as he returned to his own table. He'd been trying the same tactic since the start of the trial, and as far as Andy could see, he didn't receive so much as a raised eyebrow in return. The poor man didn't seem to realize that Miranda was probably rearranging the Spring accessories layout in her head while the rest of the room occupied themselves with the mundane matter of her continuing freedom.
Sitting at an angle, Andy had to remind herself not to stare, though it was hard every time Miranda arched that elegant neck or tapped her fingers against her lips out of apparent boredom. The few times she spoke, in a murmur to either Jake or Stephanie, Andy found herself transfixed by Miranda's lips. Fantasizing about another kiss or twenty really wasn't going to get Andy very far with her reporting, but damned if she just couldn't help it.
Andy had noted, of course, that Miranda’s daughters hadn’t been seen anywhere near the court. Reminding the press and jurors that she was a mother to (sometimes) adorable twins could only have helped her image, but Andy knew her well enough to know that cashing in on the twins had never been Miranda’s style. Were they still hiding out at their dad’s? Andy couldn’t blame them for avoiding the drama, but she knew the toll the absence had been taking on their mother.
Stephanie took her turn in questioning Emily, though Andy hadn't spotted any particular rhyme or reason to whether she or Jake would question a witness. They worked well as a team, it seemed, and at least three other sharply dressed attorneys sat on the bench behind the defense table. Looking more carefully, Andy noticed that their ties or blouses all seemed to complement each other. Had Miranda taken to dressing her legal team? Andy wouldn't be remotely surprised.
Andy found herself holding her breath as Stephanie began her questions, though felt foolish pretty quickly and tried to exhale quietly. Emily had said she'd spoken to Stephanie, had promised that things would be 'fine' and yet Andy wouldn't relax until she'd seen some proof of it. Emily's own comments to the prosecutor seemed to confirm that she had notified Miranda about Katherine's message, and Andy wasn't sure how the hell they were supposed to get around that.
Catching herself for thinking about being 'on' Miranda's side made Andy want to bash her head against the seats in front of her. For the sake of decorum, she resisted the temptation. Besides, even causing a scene like that probably still wouldn't get Miranda's attention, not in public.
Scribbling in shorthand, Andy began outlining a brief history of Emily's time as Miranda's assistant, the demands of the job and the loyalty expected. It would make for a far more human angle than simply recounting the dry facts of the case, at least.
Stephanie seemed to be winding down, without having said anything that seemed to make Miranda magically appear innocent. Andy wondered if she'd be arrested for contempt if she objected to that out loud, but it turned out she wouldn't need to.
"Ms. Charlton. You don’t mind if I call you Emily?”
Emily nodded in assent, the hint of a smile creeping across her lips.
“Where exactly were you when you received the telephone call from Ms. Hoffman?"
Emily hesitated, and a ripple passed through the press corps. There was a rustling of paper as most of the assembled journalists flicked back through their notes to see if that had been raised already. Andy already knew that it hadn't.
"I don't see what that has to do with anything."
Haughty, defensive and, well, Emily. Andy understood how they were going to play it and began scribbling frantically. The prosecution objected, but the judge overruled, informing Emily that she should answer the question. Emily stared thunderously at the bench, with an expression that quite clearly implied she wanted to recolonize the entire country so they would stop bothering her.
“I was in bed.”
Stephanie looked back at the defense table briefly, before facing the witness stand once more.
“Alone?”
Chad Rollins leapt to his feet with another objection on grounds of relevance, but the judge overruled him immediately. Andy chafed at the double standard, since Rollins had been so quick to cast aspersions on Nigel’s private life, as though being gay somehow made him an unreliable witness. He’d asked plenty of invasive and personal questions when it served his purposes. Or was Andy simply oversensitive at the prospect of her own lifestyle changes? She didn’t want to answer herself on that one.
Which was when she thought to look back at Miranda, something she’d been trying to do a little less of. Andy couldn’t miss the ramrod straight posture, she’d joked with Emily in the past that Miranda had long ago replaced her weak, human spine with a titanium rod. But the facial expression screamed silent fury, and Andy realized in that moment that Stephanie and Emily had decided not to tell Miranda of their plan.
Uh oh.
On to 6C -->
Author: lauriestein
Rating: PG this part, NC17 eventually
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Word Count: ~5000
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, these characters remain the property of Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. No profit is being made, and no harm is intended (except the fun kind!) This story borrows from real-life events in cases such as Martha Stewart's, but I promise to keep it light on boring corporate stuff as much as possible.
Summary: Set after the movie!verse of DWP. Andy is working at the Mirror and receives an unexpected phone call. Miranda needs her, again. It seems Miranda has run into a little legal trouble, and who better to help get her side of the story out, right?
With a million thanks to shesgottaread for a sterling beta a job :) She really goes above and beyond, and this story wouldn't be in any kind of shape without her! As ever, I'm very keen to read your thoughts about the story, especially as the end is getting very close!
Part 6A
Paris Fashion Week came and went. An anniversary of sorts, though Andy seemed to be the only one who remembered that there had been a ‘last year’, Fashion had little time for the past.
Andy tried to pretend that she wasn’t devouring every inch and second and image of the coverage. The attention on Miranda only intensified at the center of her own kingdom, and it seemed that Andy could drown in the sheer volume of it all, if only she’d let herself.
She’d handed over all her information over to Emily, heard nothing from Miranda and let her own world continue to spin on its axis. What more could Andy have done? She had counted down the days and waited for everyone important at Runway to depart for Europe, though the reality was that it made no impact on her daily life.
John had pushed a few more Society pieces her way, a test of her impartiality and her usefulness. Andy had let bitterness and the barbs that Miranda might have been proud of pour through the keys of her battered laptop, and felt only a little bit better. Thankfully, with Miranda out of the country, none of the gossip pieces were about her, not when she was taking up big chunks of the rest of the paper, anyway. Andy had gone out drinking with Doug and dancing with Lily, until two weeks later when Miranda was back in New York to a clusterfuck (surely the collective noun) of paparazzi at JFK.
But still no call, no email, no carrier pigeon or smoke signal. Emily sent a brief text confirming that she’d approached Stephanie, and that everything would be ‘just fine’. Andy didn’t bother to reply, content to go through the motions of working and sleeping and not much else. Her involvement with Miranda Priestly seemed to finally be over, but not a scrap of the expected relief was in evidence.
The universe, or more specifically her boss, had other ideas. Within hours of Andy resigning herself to a Miranda-free existence, John called her in to inform her that she’d be covering the court beat during the just-announced trial dates. Andy couldn’t comprehend it at first-the usually creaking wheels of justice were always slow to turn. It seemed that national coverage and an eager prosecutor could move mountains for a celebrity trial, while murderers and rapists went unpunished. Since Miranda’s attorneys had apparently requested a speedy trial to ‘clear her name as soon as possible’, the courts were happy to expedite matters. It disgusted Andy, but there was no mistaking the jolt of excitement at the thought of being in the same room as Miranda for days and possibly weeks on end.
The reality was quite different though.
Andy found herself on that first morning, after being searched for recording devices and passing through the metal detector, with sweaty palms and something like a nervous twitch in her left eyelid. If she could have slapped herself without drawing the attention of the rapidly filling room, she would have-anything to compel herself to get a damn grip.
Miranda had forsaken her usual fifteen minutes early rule, sweeping into the courtroom with barely two minutes to spare. She looked entirely unhurried, even as the phalanx of lawyers and assistants buzzed around her like terrified worker bees. She sat down gracefully at the table, seemingly unflappable as she flipped through papers pulled from her bag with a bored expression.
She looked damn good, too. Which was a bit like noticing that New York had a lot of people in it, or that breathing required oxygen, Andy knew. Trying to feign nonchalance, Andy drank in every detail of Miranda’s exquisitely tailored gray suit and the pale-blue shirt beneath it. The heels were as perilous as ever, though they were quickly obscured from Andy’s vision by all the activity around the defense table.
Before Andy could get caught gazing like a lovesick puppy, the judge showed mercy by arriving on time. Standing with the rest of the room, Andy almost snapped the pencil in her hand from the tension, but before long the boring lull of a court in session took over the room, and Andy was left to concentrate on her notes.
By the second week, Andy was contemplating ways to smuggle in an emergency iPod for the sake of distraction, and by the third she would have taken a bomb scare or a fire alarm just to liven things up. Securities fraud wasn’t exciting at the best of times, and all anyone wanted to talk about was whether Miranda’s outfits were a reflection of her guilt (no ostentatious furs, no bold colors) and half of the press pack were entertainment reporters who had to keep asking everyone around them procedural questions. Andy prided herself on having done her research.
The business of trying Miranda for these alleged crimes seemed to have little to do with Miranda herself so far, and a lot more to do with the odious little prick leading the prosecution. Checking herself for fairly obvious bias, Andy rationalized that she’d find the guy repulsive even if he were trying Bin Laden.
Chad Rollins didn’t seem much older than Andy herself, but she couldn’t fathom what a slick little poser like him would be doing on a government salary other than pursuing a political career. With that against him from the start, his smarmy demeanor and obvious attempts to curry favor with the bored, confused and disgruntled jurors left Andy with a distinct urge to slap him whenever his shiny, pink face turned in her general direction.
Miranda sat at the long table, legs crossed beneath it, and with her regal bearing and bored expression, it might just as easily have been another editorial meeting. The prosecutor couldn’t seem to stop looking at her, from pointed stares as he outlined her nefarious crimes, to nervous glances over his shoulder during quiet spells. Clearly, the guy had staked his career on grilling the Ice Queen herself, and Andy couldn’t help but wish him inglorious failure. In return, he’d received one or two contemptuous glares from Miranda, but the rest of the time she ignored everyone but the judge.
For her own part, Andy found the disconnect of being parted from her laptop and Blackberry oddly refreshing. Reduced to scribbling in shorthand, Andy found she paid more attention to the scene unfolding in front of her. She was ready to pounce on every hesitation, willing the defense attorneys to do the same. Jake and Stephanie seemed to be a formidable team, though even with all her legal reading each night Andy’s experience was mostly limited to watching the odd episode of Boston Legal, because little girls who wanted to be journalists grew up worshipping Murphy Brown, and whatever else Candice Bergen did, out of loyalty.
In week four, things finally started heating up. A string of Runway employees took the stand to confirm or deny Miranda’s activities during the week of the sale. It seemed like overkill to confirm when she had returned from her Christmas vacation (“Saint-Barth. Her villa.”) or exactly how many glasses of sparkling water had been ordered over a long lunch (“three, no, four, and she didn’t drink the last one”), but the prosecutor focused on these details as if they contained the mysteries of the universe.
Nigel took his turn, a relatively somber suit spruced up with his usual outlandish accessories and a violently pink shirt that only he could pull off. Winking at Andy when he caught her eye from the stand, he suffered through his questioning with a series of eye-rolls and pitying sighs. It worked in riling Chad, who tried everything he could to attack Nigel, to the point where the judge had to interject and force the prosecutor back on topic. To his credit, Nigel didn’t look remotely troubled by the snide allusions to his sexuality and wild past. He stuck resolutely to the story he’d told from the start-Miranda had been with him that day reshooting a swimwear spread and not once had he heard her speak to anyone about anything other than paunchy models or bland tankinis.
Andy smiled as the jury drank in Nigel’s testimony. It was starting to look a lot better for Miranda now that actual people were speaking up for her and the attention wasn’t on a bunch of spreadsheets.
Still, Andy couldn’t help but wonder what it was costing Nigel personally. How did he feel about having Miranda’s back so publicly when she’d barely hesitated before stabbing him in his? Jacqueline Follet had been profiled in countless publications since Miranda’s indictment, citing her as the likely successor to the Runway crown should Miranda be tossed in Federal prison. Irv had made no secret of his ‘contingency plan’ and it had been a feature of the Miranda gossip for weeks. Could Nigel watch that woman get promoted over him again, even closer to home this time?
Leaving for the midday recess, Andy got her chance to find out. Miranda disappeared with her lawyers and Nigel hadn’t been summoned to her side. He approached Andy on the courthouse steps and whisked her away to a quiet little bar.
Andy frowned as Nigel ordered two dirty martinis, but he laughed off her protests.
“Please, Six, irresponsible boozing is practically in your job description.”
Clichés about journalists really did die hard, but in the midst of a long week, Andy welcomed the chance of getting her buzz on. She ordered a salad to stop it descending into all-out drunkenness though, there were still countless hours of testimony to sit through.
“You looked very cool up there, Nigel. For a guy in a pink blouse.”
Nigel rolled his eyes at her feeble attempts to mock that which she did not understand, and Andy flinched reflexively in case he took aim at her pedestrian shirt and leather jacket attire. Thankfully, he seemed too preoccupied with the case to let fly about Andy’s countless crimes against fashion.
“I think it’s going well. Miranda should walk; unless there’s something she’s hiding.”
Biting her lip, Andy didn’t come forth with the information that Miranda knew exactly who was trying to screw her over and had opted to say nothing. Nigel probably wouldn’t believe it even if Andy did mention anything, so no point in betraying the reluctant confidence.
“Rollins certainly has it in for her. And at least a few jurors don’t seem to like her much.”
Nigel snapped a breadstick in two as he pondered.
“Well, once Miranda takes the stand, I’m sure her warm and sunny disposition will win them over.”
They both laughed, with a little guilt on Andy’s part. Small talk about the lawyers and the other witnesses passed the time until Andy’s food arrived, but Nigel only ordered another martini without stealing so much as an olive from her plate.
“This is big for you, covering the case, right? I’m no journalist, but I thought it took years to get an assignment like this.”
It wasn’t quite accusation in Nigel’s tone, but his unerring ability to pick out the details that didn’t seem quite right had kept him at Miranda’s right-hand side for all these years, and the gift didn’t stop at accessories.
“Yeah, it’s a big break. My boss wants that ‘inside scoop’ that everyone’s so obsessed with. Guess I’ll always be the girl who worked at Runway, so I might as well get something out of it.”
She did her best to seem weary about it, but Andy knew she wasn’t the world’s greatest actress. Nigel took a generous sip from his martini glass, apparently hesitating over his next words. Which was pretty scary when Andy considered all the things Nigel would say to her without bothering to soften the blow.
“I’ve seen you in there.” He swirled the olive in his glass, not quite meeting Andy’s eyes as he spoke. “Maybe nobody else has noticed, but you only have eyes for one thing in that room. Or for one person, should I say?”
Although he was trying to keep his tone light, Nigel’s concern was showing on his face. He seemed to be waiting for Andy to deny what he saw as a ridiculous suggestion, ready to laugh at the absurdity of even thinking she might be interested in Miranda.
Andy couldn’t seem to indulge his unspoken request. Instead of fumbling for an unconvincing denial, she found herself staring at the crisp white tablecloth, her cheeks turning unmistakably red.
“Oh, Six. I hoped I was wrong.”
Stammering, Andy tried to lessen the impact of Nigel’s little revelation.
“It’s no big deal. I just-well-it’s Miranda, you know? She has a way of sucking up all the attention in a room.”
Nigel nodded in agreement, since Andy’s observation was quite true.
“It’s more than that?”
Andy slumped in her seat, if there hadn’t been a plate in her way, she’d probably have been banging her head on the table. Nigel had framed it as a question, but the flatness of his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
“Not much more.”
Thankfully, before she could squirm any further, Nigel waved the waiter over for the check. Andy tried to pay but he waved her off, muttering “expenses” as he left a generous tip. They walked back to the courthouse in silence, Andy trying not to freak out that somebody knew about her crush on Miranda. And yet, she felt five pounds lighter just for the simple fact of it being out there, somewhere beyond her own head. Nigel didn’t need to know about hand-holding and overwhelming kisses, just like Lily didn’t need to know that the Snow Queen was responsible for Andy switching teams. Andy might call it managing expectations, if she were in any fit state to do anything but wonder when in the hell her life had gotten so complicated.
Nigel wasn’t coming back in, and he took her by the arms for an effusive air kiss at the foot of the stairs.
“For God’s sake, be careful. They don’t call Miranda a shark for nothing. If she smells blood…”
She should have been glad that somebody cared enough to warn her, but Andy felt another surge of defensiveness rising on Miranda’s behalf. With a deliberately cool expression, she thanked Nigel for lunch, and he shook his head ever so slightly at the brush-off.
Andy bounded up the stairs with a newfound enthusiasm for the job ahead. She would keep filing blog entries on the paper’s website and articles that everyone in the city seemed to be reading, Miranda would be acquitted, and at some point after all of that, Andy was going to try kissing her again. It was important to have a plan, after all.
The next day, after Andy had filed a particularly pointed story about Rollins’ attempt to humiliate Nigel, she found herself back in the press gallery and waiting for the courtroom to fill again. The rest of the journalists were milling around in the hallway, swapping jokes that Andy didn’t have the heart to participate in, not while they were at Miranda’s expense.
She was lost in her notes when she became aware of someone sitting down next to her. Without looking up Andy scooted a little further along the bench to make room, but there was no acknowledgment from the newcomer. Only when a familiar perfume tickled Andy’s nose did she tear her attention from her notepad, and she looked up to find Miranda Priestly sitting next to her.
“I’ve been reading your work these past few weeks.”
As opening shots went, it was far from Miranda’s most vicious. Andy swallowed, hard, and forced herself to reply.
“You know the blogs have a comment section. You could always leave feedback there.”
Enough to make Miranda frown, but Andy noted that her lips didn’t purse.
“I’ll remember that. In case you were wondering, I find them, well, you have an excellent grasp of punctuation at least. They’re certainly not doing me any harm, Andréa.”
As the comebacks lined up on Andy’s tongue, the crowds milling outside the heavy wooden doors began to file in, and Miranda rose swiftly and elegantly to her feet before Andy could fire anything back.
The noise in the room rose quickly, and Andy found herself surrounded by the now familiar throng of reporters as Miranda stepped briskly toward her own spot at the defense table. A selection of glossy photos were waiting on the table for her, which was the last thing Andy got to see before the posse of attorneys converged around Miranda.
Moments later, everyone was on their feet for the arrival of Judge Kendall, and as the red-haired woman sat down on the bench, Andy’s pretense of focusing on anything else ended. Miranda’s silver bob, those Roman features in profile, were the beginning and end of Andy’s world for the rest of the morning and she didn’t write a word in three hours.
The afternoon had more of a buzz about it, since Emily was the first witness to be called after lunch. She looked thoroughly inconvenienced by even being there, her tone haughty even as she confirmed her name and job title for the benefit of judge and jury. She spoke the words ‘First Assistant’ as though it was some kind of badge of honor, and in fashion terms it really sort of was.
Chad Rollins started off flirtatious, but Emily stared him down with a look she’d clearly borrowed straight from Miranda and then practiced in the mirror every night. He asked her if she “liked working for Ms. Priestly,” and Emily treated the prosecutor to one of her most dismissive sneers.
No matter what this man thought he would achieve in his off-the-rack brown suit and lackluster tie, Emily still believed that working for Miranda imbued her with all the protection and superiority she could need. Andy shook her head at the realization, because if Emily could have applied that to her own life, grabbed a little of that borrowed self-esteem for herself, she might not have wound up with another of Miranda's cast-offs.
The prosecutor didn't seem to want to linger with Emily after she’d rejected his charm offensive, addressing her as Ms. Charlton and rushing through the answers she had already given in a statement. Other than confirming that she remained in Miranda's employ, nothing new emerged and the assembled ranks grew a little restless in ten minutes without any kind of revelation. She stated, for the record, that she had received a call from Katherine Hoffman and she had passed the message on to Miranda. There had been no specific instruction that Emily could think of, only that the call was to be returned ‘urgently.’
Emily was handed off to the defense like an unwanted scarf, the prosecutor making sure to stare down Miranda as he returned to his own table. He'd been trying the same tactic since the start of the trial, and as far as Andy could see, he didn't receive so much as a raised eyebrow in return. The poor man didn't seem to realize that Miranda was probably rearranging the Spring accessories layout in her head while the rest of the room occupied themselves with the mundane matter of her continuing freedom.
Sitting at an angle, Andy had to remind herself not to stare, though it was hard every time Miranda arched that elegant neck or tapped her fingers against her lips out of apparent boredom. The few times she spoke, in a murmur to either Jake or Stephanie, Andy found herself transfixed by Miranda's lips. Fantasizing about another kiss or twenty really wasn't going to get Andy very far with her reporting, but damned if she just couldn't help it.
Andy had noted, of course, that Miranda’s daughters hadn’t been seen anywhere near the court. Reminding the press and jurors that she was a mother to (sometimes) adorable twins could only have helped her image, but Andy knew her well enough to know that cashing in on the twins had never been Miranda’s style. Were they still hiding out at their dad’s? Andy couldn’t blame them for avoiding the drama, but she knew the toll the absence had been taking on their mother.
Stephanie took her turn in questioning Emily, though Andy hadn't spotted any particular rhyme or reason to whether she or Jake would question a witness. They worked well as a team, it seemed, and at least three other sharply dressed attorneys sat on the bench behind the defense table. Looking more carefully, Andy noticed that their ties or blouses all seemed to complement each other. Had Miranda taken to dressing her legal team? Andy wouldn't be remotely surprised.
Andy found herself holding her breath as Stephanie began her questions, though felt foolish pretty quickly and tried to exhale quietly. Emily had said she'd spoken to Stephanie, had promised that things would be 'fine' and yet Andy wouldn't relax until she'd seen some proof of it. Emily's own comments to the prosecutor seemed to confirm that she had notified Miranda about Katherine's message, and Andy wasn't sure how the hell they were supposed to get around that.
Catching herself for thinking about being 'on' Miranda's side made Andy want to bash her head against the seats in front of her. For the sake of decorum, she resisted the temptation. Besides, even causing a scene like that probably still wouldn't get Miranda's attention, not in public.
Scribbling in shorthand, Andy began outlining a brief history of Emily's time as Miranda's assistant, the demands of the job and the loyalty expected. It would make for a far more human angle than simply recounting the dry facts of the case, at least.
Stephanie seemed to be winding down, without having said anything that seemed to make Miranda magically appear innocent. Andy wondered if she'd be arrested for contempt if she objected to that out loud, but it turned out she wouldn't need to.
"Ms. Charlton. You don’t mind if I call you Emily?”
Emily nodded in assent, the hint of a smile creeping across her lips.
“Where exactly were you when you received the telephone call from Ms. Hoffman?"
Emily hesitated, and a ripple passed through the press corps. There was a rustling of paper as most of the assembled journalists flicked back through their notes to see if that had been raised already. Andy already knew that it hadn't.
"I don't see what that has to do with anything."
Haughty, defensive and, well, Emily. Andy understood how they were going to play it and began scribbling frantically. The prosecution objected, but the judge overruled, informing Emily that she should answer the question. Emily stared thunderously at the bench, with an expression that quite clearly implied she wanted to recolonize the entire country so they would stop bothering her.
“I was in bed.”
Stephanie looked back at the defense table briefly, before facing the witness stand once more.
“Alone?”
Chad Rollins leapt to his feet with another objection on grounds of relevance, but the judge overruled him immediately. Andy chafed at the double standard, since Rollins had been so quick to cast aspersions on Nigel’s private life, as though being gay somehow made him an unreliable witness. He’d asked plenty of invasive and personal questions when it served his purposes. Or was Andy simply oversensitive at the prospect of her own lifestyle changes? She didn’t want to answer herself on that one.
Which was when she thought to look back at Miranda, something she’d been trying to do a little less of. Andy couldn’t miss the ramrod straight posture, she’d joked with Emily in the past that Miranda had long ago replaced her weak, human spine with a titanium rod. But the facial expression screamed silent fury, and Andy realized in that moment that Stephanie and Emily had decided not to tell Miranda of their plan.
Uh oh.
On to 6C -->