Chapter Text
Love brings such misery and pain
I guess I'll never be the same
Since I Fell For You - Buddy Johnson Woodrow
Happily ever after is not a notion to which Miranda subscribes. Such a concept is best left to the young and naive. A person thus far unscathed by treachery and disloyalty. Someone like Andréa.
She hears her assistant on the phone, whispering words of love, followed by apologies. “I'm sorry, Nate.” She wants to shake the girl and remind her that career ambition is nothing to be apologetic about. But she restrains herself. After all, Miranda Priestly is not one to show interest in the personal lives of her staff.
As the weeks and months pass, she watches Andréa evolve. Fashion illiteracy is eradicated under Nigel's tutelage. Competence and initiative flourish in the face of absurd challenges. Miranda refuses to be surprised, merely taking it as her due.
She heads to Paris, leaving Andréa behind. Breaking her cardinal rule to always have the best team with her during the most important week of her year. It's a decision based on the need for self-preservation. Her second assistant is now a distraction, a threat to the control she must maintain at all time.
Her arrival back in New York is marked by swarming paparazzi. The blinding flash of cameras intent on recording that one instant when her mask drops. Vultures masquerading as journalists, determined to provoke her and unearth a scornful quote. It's amateur hour, and Miranda abhors dealing with such mediocrity.
At Runway, her staff keep their distance as much as possible. She’s trained them well. All except Andréa.
“I'm so sorry, Miranda. Is there anything I can do for you?”
Miranda fixes her with a glare that should inspire dread and fear. Of course it does neither.
“Yes, your job,” she sneers. As if her assistant could do anything to help with the acrimony Stephen insists on wielding like a weapon.
Andréa remains unperturbed. “Well, if you change your mind you know where to find me.”
Miranda shakes her head. There's a fine line between confidence and audacity and her assistant is flirting with danger.
She starts to drink more than usual. A scotch or two at night, turns into three or four. It's incremental. It's harmless. And in no way a sign that she’s not coping. Losing a man like Stephen could never be the catalyst for a descent into despair.
It's not until weeks later that she comprehends the cause of her over-indulgence. As she embraces the numbing effects of alcohol like some desperate lover, Miranda discerns the source of her misery. Andréa.
Alone in her study, she lets out a mirthless laugh at the realisation that she loves her assistant. It's a cliche, and completely pedestrian. So many years at the helm of the world’s foremost fashion magazine and she's coming undone over someone she can never have.
Miranda is not one to believe in deities or a higher power. There is no intelligent design to the universe. No omnipotent figure. Merely chaos that people like her strive to tame and control.
But tonight she sends up a prayer. A plea to be released from the hold that Andréa has over her. She has little faith in being delivered from the misery. But she lives on hope.
*********
Well it's too bad, and it's too sad
But I'm in love with you
Since I Fell For You - Buddy Johnson Woodrow
Andy thinks her boss is the most infuriating person she’s ever met. Miranda Priestly is demanding, difficult and cruel. Her expectations are preposterous and yet, Andy strives to meet or exceed each one. She doesn't question why the thrill of achieving the impossible leaves her high for hours.
As time goes by Andy realises that Miranda is also inspiring, with an infallible eye for talent. She mentors those she deems worthy and as such reaps unwavering loyalty in return. It's around this time Andy finds herself extolling the virtues of Runway in general and Miranda in particular. In response, her friends and Nate regard her with disbelief and confusion.
Seven months into her job, the one a million girls would kill for, Andy knows she's in trouble. Her first thought in the morning is not of the man in her bed, but a married woman twice her age. A woman who now seems to appreciate what she does for her, but would no doubt replace her at the slightest mistake or provocation. It's not a healthy dynamic.
By the time Miranda heads to Paris, Andy's relationship is an unsalvageable wreck. Nate tosses around accusations that her loyalty now lies with an ungrateful and abrasive bitch who will never reward her sacrifices. Andy restrains herself from retaliating. The only sacrifice for her would be remaining in a relationship with someone she doesn't love.
When her boss returns from Paris the rumours and gossip follow, snapping at her heels. Miranda rises above it, but there are moments when Andy catches her distracted and aimless. It's not a natural state for the editor and it pains Andy to see her that way.
As expected, her offer to help is spurned. She knows enough by now not to take such a reaction personally. Miranda’s strength and pride are the basis of the armour she always wear, impenetrable to all.
When she delivers the Book each night she hopes that Miranda will summon her. Experience has taught her that one does not venture further than the foyer unless specifically invited. She crosses her fingers and prays, but the request remains unfulfilled.
It's not until her year is up that she examines her feelings closely. When Miranda questions Andy about her career aspirations she is suddenly aware that she never wants to leave her boss's side. She's aghast at just how pathetic this makes her. Falling in love with her much older boss is such a stereotypical move and one that will lead to her destruction.
Side-swiped by the revelation she forgets her earlier plans to write for Vanity Fair or The New Yorker. Instead she asks for a recommendation for a job she's seen advertised at The New York Mirror. Miranda glares at her and sighs dramatically.
“Andréa, I'm offering you the stars and you're reaching for the moon.”
She shrugs. “It's what I want, Miranda.”
“So be it.” She dismisses Andy with a careless wave of her hand. “That's all.”