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Miranda had genuinely thought she was past this stage of life.
She was 57 years old, for crying out loud. Infatuation was supposed to belong to younger people, people with undeveloped frontal lobes and enough emotional recklessness to last the entire human population.
Miranda Priestly had long since outgrown sleepless nights, irrational jealousy, and the humiliating urge to stare at someone whenever they entered a room.
At least, that was what she had thought.
Then Andrea Sachs had arrived and destroyed everything she knew about herself.
Miranda wasn’t ashamed of it, exactly. She was human, despite what half of Manhattan seemed to think. Human beings fell in love. Human beings wanted things they shouldn’t.
She only wished it had happened differently because god help her when the press eventually found out.
Page Six would have a field day with the revelation that Miranda Priestly, the woman employees compared to Satan in designer heels, was hopelessly in love with her assistant. Hopelessly being the key word.
Andrea Sachs was driving her insane. Why did she have to be so impossibly competent?
Miranda had spent decades surrounded by talented people, ambitious people, extraordinary people. She had demanded excellence because fashion required it. And Andrea fit right in without difficulty. She learned fast, and adapted faster. She absorbed information like a sponge, and every challenge Miranda threw at her only seemed to excite her which was not something to be said to her peers.
It was as infuriating as it was attractive.
And, unfortunately, competence wasn’t even Andrea’s most distracting quality.
She was beautiful—not in the polished, constructed way so many women in their world were beautiful, but in a way that constantly caught Miranda off guard. It hadn’t been long since she started taking notes of how expressive Andrea’s eyes were, or how she smiled so widely, or how her cheeks would flush whenever she got excited about something, or how she laughed loudly that Miranda had begun unconsciously seeking it out.
And then there was the issue of Andrea no longer dressing like she was actively protesting against the fashion industry. Her clothes suited her now. Gone were the days she would come to work wearing a poly-blend sweater. She dressed impeccably. Maybe Miranda had Nigel to blame for that.
To put it simply, Miranda wanted Andrea with an intensity she found both embarrassing and inconvenient.
“So,” Cassidy said patiently, holding Miranda’s phone in one hand, “this is your homepage.”
Miranda watched with suspicion.
Her daughter tapped the screen several times. “And here is the search bar.”
Miranda leaned closer despite herself.
“You type someone’s name here,” Cassidy explained slowly in the same tone one would use with a technologically challenged grandparent, “and then their profile comes up.”
Miranda accepted the phone carefully. “So I simply type their name?”
“Usually.”
Miranda hummed thoughtfully, already opening the search function.
Cassidy looked over at her with poorly concealed amusement. “Do you even know her username?”
Miranda paused. Her what?
Cassidy groaned dramatically. “Mom. People don’t always use their real names online.”
Ah. Of course they didn’t. Miranda straightened slightly, offended she hadn’t considered that herself.
Cassidy, meanwhile, was visibly enjoying this entire experience far too much.
“Do you want me to ask Andy for it?” she offered casually.
Miranda looked horrified. “Cassidy.”
“What?”
“You cannot simply ask my assistant for her… internet alias.”
“Username.”
“Yes. That.”
Cassidy snorted.
Miranda knew that involving her daughters in this was probably inappropriate. She knew she wasn’t supposed to discuss this with teenagers. How mortifying. But then, she really didn’t have much choice so, while she was certain this was something they would hold over her head forever, she couldn’t exactly tell them off.
Surprisingly, however, both girls had been disturbingly supportive ever since they realized their mother was in love with Andrea.
So supportive and so relentless that it was bordering on irritating. Still, Miranda had no other choice.
Which was how she had somehow ended up sitting on her bed while her daughter taught her how to create a social media account for the sole purpose of, as Cassidy so kindly phrased it, stalking Andrea.
Miranda had initially objected.
She knew firsthand what it felt like to have strangers invade her privacy. The very idea of intruding on Andrea’s personal life made her uneasy. Unfortunately, curiosity was winning. And again, she was only human.
“How,” Miranda asked carefully, “would you even ask her?”
“We text sometimes.” Cassidy shrugged, already typing on her phone.
Miranda stared at her in absolute disbelief. “You text my assistant?”
“Mom,” Cassidy said dryly, “we see Andrea more than we see Dad. Of course, I text her.”
Miranda looked genuinely unsettled by that information.
“Would Andrea not find that strange?”
Cassidy rolled her eyes. “God, you are such a boomer.”
Miranda was still deciding whether or not to reprimand her for that when Cassidy’s phone buzzed. A second later, her daughter grinned.
“Got it.”
Miranda blinked. “Already?”
“Andy answers texts fast. Which is bad for you, I guess? Do you even know how to text?”
Miranda deadpanned. Cassidy took off before Miranda could scold her.
Later that night, long after the apartment had gone quiet, Miranda lay awake in bed with her reading glasses perched low on her nose and her phone held carefully in both hands.
Andrea’s profile glowed against the darkness of the room.
Cassidy had spent nearly twenty minutes warning her not to accidentally ‘like’ anything because Andrea would supposedly receive a notification.
The fact that social media functioned like a surveillance state remained greatly concerning to Miranda. Still, she scrolled.
There were photos of Andrea with friends. Andrea holding coffee. Andrea laughing at something off camera. Andrea sitting cross-legged on a bookstore floor surrounded by books. Andrea with a dog. Andrea with a cat. Andrea with, Miranda assumed, her family.
Miranda lingered over every single one until she found the beach photo.
Andrea stood near the shoreline wearing a simple black two-piece, sunglasses pushed into her hair. Her skin was red—sunburned, maybe. She was smiling directly at the camera in a way Miranda rarely got to see at work.
Miranda stopped breathing for a moment.
Good lord.
Her thumb hovered dangerously close to the heart icon beneath the image. She could still hear Cassidy’s warning echoing in her head.
‘Do not like anything, Mom. Especially old photos. That’s how people know you’re stalking them.’
Miranda stared at the picture a second longer. Then, with immense restraint, she lowered the phone onto her chest instead.
This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
She reopened the photo almost immediately. What Andrea didn’t know wouldn’t kill her.
Andrea was newly single.
Miranda didn’t ask. She just knew. Or rather, she had discovered it the modern way: through Andrea’s social media account, which Miranda absolutely did not check every evening before bed.
The breakup announcement had appeared three nights ago.
It wasn’t dramatic. The post had been simple and painfully sincere. Somehow, that made it worse. Andrea wrote about love and growth and how some relationships ended even when neither person was entirely at fault.
Six years, Andrea had said. She was with him for six years.
Miranda had stared at the screen for a very long time after reading it. At first, she’d felt genuinely awful for her.
Heartbreak was terrible at any age, but there was something exceptionally cruel about losing a relationship you’d built your adult life around. Six years wasn’t casual. Six years was future plans, shared routines, and history.
Miranda had spent approximately five full minutes feeling sympathetic. Then an entirely different feeling arrived. She felt hope.
Andrea was single.
Andrea was single, and suddenly Miranda stood a chance.
Maybe.
“Not everybody’s gay, Mom,” Caroline had informed her dryly over breakfast when Miranda, against all better judgment, had brought up the subject.
Miranda had glared over the rim of her coffee cup. “I’m aware of that.” And she was.
Two months ago, Miranda herself would have confidently included herself in that consensus: the everybody that wasn’t gay.
Life, apparently, enjoyed humbling her.
Now, she found herself desperately hoping Andrea Sachs did not belong to the heterosexual majority which was an absurd thought to have before nine in the morning.
“Andrea,” Miranda called, forcing her attention back toward the office doorway.
The response was as immediate as anything that had to do with Andrea. She appeared seconds later, notepad in one hand and a pen in the other, her expression brightening the moment she saw Miranda already looking at her. It was honestly becoming a problem how eager Andrea always seemed to aid her.
“Yes, Miranda?”
There it was again. Andrea’s big brown eyes staring expectantly at Miranda. The assistant looked directly at her, waiting patiently for instructions.
Miranda lost her train of thought for a few seconds. God, she was hopeless.
She cleared her throat, very aware of the heat creeping up her neck.
“Are you feeling all right?” she asked finally.
Andrea blinked. “That’s…” She frowned slightly. “Why?”
Miranda immediately regretted phrasing it that way. “You seemed distracted earlier,” she recovered smoothly. “I was merely asking.”
Andrea studied her for a moment, suspiciously perceptive as always then her expression softened.
“I’m okay,” she said gently. “Really.”
Miranda found that difficult to believe.
A breakup after six years should have devastated her. Andrea had admitted as much online. She’d written about thinking it would last forever.
Miranda remembered rereading that sentence several times, irrationally annoyed by the faceless ex-boyfriend who had the chance but, somehow, still managed to fumble, as Cassidy had put, Andrea.
Andrea stood before her looking… fine. She didn’t seem fine. She actually was.
Miranda narrowed her eyes slightly. “You seem remarkably unaffected.”
Andrea stared at her for a second before realization flickered across her face. “Oh,” she said slowly.
Miranda’s stomach dropped.
Andrea swayed from one foot to another, watching Miranda now with unmistakable amusement dancing in her eyes.
“You saw the post.”
Miranda held back a groan. “What post?”
Andrea’s smile widened immediately.
“The one about my breakup,” Andrea said. “On Instagram.”
Miranda maintained eye contact with the composure of a seasoned professional. Inside, however, she was experiencing seven layers of panic.
“I occasionally check social media,” she replied coolly, praying she sounded believable.
Andrea bit her lip. Miranda knew that expression. Andrea was trying not to laugh at her.
“I’m touched,” Andrea said.
“You shouldn’t be.”
Andrea hummed, unconvinced.
Silence stretched briefly between them to the point of discomfort. Miranda needed to do something with herself. Anything, really.
Then, softly this time, she asked, “You truly are fine?”
The teasing faded from Andrea’s face almost instantly. She looked down at her hands for a moment before answering.
“I was sad,” she admitted. “Really sad. But I think I knew it was over long before it officially ended.”
Miranda’s felt a twist in her gut. While she was thankful, and she would never admit that to anyone, that Andrea and her ex had parted ways, Miranda hated to think that Andrea was distraught.
Andrea looked back at her then, meeting her eyes with a smile that should not have made Miranda’s pulse quicken the way it did.
“But I’m okay now,” Andrea added softly.
Miranda nodded, relieved despite herself.
“I have the notes from today’s run-through,” Andrea said, stepping into the office with a neat stack of papers balanced against one arm. “And you’re cleared for the rest of the day.”
She set the documents carefully onto Miranda’s desk. Naturally, everything was already organized. The notes were tabbed and arranged alphabetically. Miranda didn’t even know she could have it that way. She was fine flipping through pages till the papers crumpled until, of course, Andrea came and fixed what Miranda thought was perfectly fine.
She sometimes wondered if Andrea possessed some supernatural ability to anticipate her needs before she voiced them. The assistant handled crises with efficiency, often solving problems before Miranda herself had fully acknowledged them.
Really, Miranda could hardly be blamed for what she was feeling for the younger girl.
She reached for the papers, pretending to focus on the notes instead of Andrea standing directly across from her. She waited for the girl to leave but Andrea remained rooted.
Miranda threw her a brief glance and only then did she notice the exhaustion.
Andrea’s shoulders had slumped slightly. There were faint shadows beneath her eyes, and the usual brightness in her expression looked dulled around the edges.
Miranda’s chest tightened.
“Go home, Andrea,” she said without looking up.
Andrea blinked. “What?”
Miranda turned another page. “You heard me.”
“It’s barely three o’clock.”
Miranda knew that perfectly well. The glowing numbers on her laptop screen were staring back at her.
“You just informed me my schedule is clear for the remainder of the day,” Miranda replied calmly. “There’s no reason for both you and Emily to sit around doing nothing. Emily can manage.”
The silence that followed felt… wrong.
Miranda finally looked up and found Andrea staring at her.
She had expected relief, perhaps even gratitude, or at best, one of Andrea’s warm little smiles that always left Miranda embarrassingly pleased with herself for the next hour, in return.
Instead, Andrea’s face had gone completely blank. She blinked once, then let out a short breath through her nose like someone swallowing disappointment.
“Oh,” she said quietly.
Miranda frowned.
Andrea adjusted her grip on the notepad in her hands. “Okay.” Then she turned and walked out of the office without even a ‘Sure, Miranda’.
The door clicked shut behind her and Miranda stared at it for several seconds. A cold feeling settled unpleasantly in her stomach. She spent the remainder of the afternoon distracted and increasingly bothered, replaying the interaction over and over in her head while accomplishing almost nothing.
By six o’clock, she had convinced herself she had done something wrong. What exactly? She wasn’t sure.
“My God, Mom.” Cassidy sounded genuinely horrified.
Miranda looked up from her dinner abruptly, her knife scraping loudly against the plate with a painful screech.
The twins exchanged matching expressions of disbelief from across the table.
She spent more time with her children now. Finally, they had found something to talk about that wasn’t too boring or too exhausting. Sure, it was at the expense of Miranda’s love life—or lack thereof—but they were talking, which was more than Miranda could say for many parent-child relationships.
“You told her,” Caroline said slowly, as though recounting an exposé, “you didn’t need her there.”
“I was trying to be considerate,” Miranda reasoned.
“You said Emily could handle it instead,” Cassidy continued.
Miranda frowned. “Yes?”
Both girls groaned simultaneously.
Miranda set her utensils down with growing irritation.
“I fail to see the issue.”
Caroline leaned back in her chair, looking pained on Andrea’s behalf.
“Mom,” she said carefully, “you basically told the woman you’re in love with that her presence was unnecessary.”
Miranda blinked. “That is not what I said.”
“It is absolutely what she heard,” Cassidy replied.
Miranda opened her mouth to argue then closed it. She replayed the moment in her head and remembered the way Andrea had reacted.
Oh.
“Oh dear,” Miranda murmured.
Cassidy pointed at her dramatically. “Exactly.”
Miranda leaned back slowly in her chair, mortified. “I wanted her to rest,” she said meekly.
“Yes, but you phrased it like you were dismissing her.”
Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose. How was she supposed to know there were apparently million incorrect ways to send someone home early? Everything sounded either too presumptuous or too dismissive. There appeared to be no acceptable middle ground.
Miranda couldn’t even remember ever being wooed this way before. She, for sure, hadn’t been this difficult.
Then again, the only people who knew she was trying to woo Andrea were herself and the twins. And she was hardly wooing her, according to her daughters.
“I don’t understand how people do this,” she admitted quietly.
Caroline actually laughed. “Dating?”
“Courtship,” Miranda corrected.
Cassidy nearly choked on her drink. “Jesus christ,” she wheezed. “Can you boom a little less er?”
Miranda glared at her.
Caroline, unfortunately, looked equally amused. “Mom,” she said gently, “you can’t talk to someone you like the same way you talk to employees.”
Miranda looked personally attacked by that statement.
“I do not speak to Andrea the way I speak to employees.”
Both girls stared at her.
Miranda paused.
“I mean, not all the time,” she added shyly.
Cassidy dropped her forehead dramatically onto the table.
“You are unbelievable.”
Miranda ignored that.
“What would have been the correct thing to say?”
The twins exchanged a look then Caroline sighed.
“You look tired. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off and relax?” she said, trying her best imitation of her mother’s voice which did not amuse Miranda at all.
Cassidy giggled and nodded enthusiastically.
“Yeah. Make it sound like you care about her specifically.”
Miranda stared at them in silence. “No. I’m not doing that.” Doing so would be too vulnerable. She might as well just confess.
“That is why you’re single,” Cassidy replied immediately.
Miranda narrowed her eyes but the teenager only shrugged.
“Also, you should probably stop accidentally rejecting her every time you try to flirt,” Caroline said.
Miranda looked horrified. “I do not reject her. And I do not flirt. How juvenile.”
“You have to flirt if you want to win her over. Oh my god. You suck at this.” Caroline exclaimed, exasperated. “And yes, you rejected her.
“I was being thoughtful,” Miranda whipped.
“You told her Emily could replace her.”
Miranda closed her eyes briefly. This was becoming a disaster. Somehow, despite decades of mastering the art of human connection (at least, professionally), she had become incapable of speaking coherently to one twenty-something woman with big brown eyes.
How inconvenient.
Cassidy patted her hand across the table.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” she said menacingly. “What are the odds that Andy likes you back, anyway?”
Minutes later, Miranda sent her children to their rooms with a tirade about how kids nowadays are inappropriate. She didn’t mean it, of course but it made her feel good about herself.
The twins had told her to make it up to Andrea.
They had also, with the kind of brutal honesty only children could deliver, advised her not to be outright pathetic about it. Miranda had considered that advice for exactly twelve seconds before concluding it was already too late. Because the truth was that she was, in fact, already pathetically into Andrea Sachs.
And making amends, it turned out, was significantly more complicated when the person you were attempting to reconcile with appeared to be actively avoiding you.
Emily handed her coffee, delivered her notes, and recited her schedule for the day. At one point, Miranda heard her assistants whispering to one another, and Andrea faintly mentioned something about a favor. Emily exited the kitchen looking irritated, and minutes later she was running around the office tending to Miranda even when the editor-in-chief had specifically asked for Andrea.
Miranda finally locked herself in her office bathroom and called Cassidy. Did she mention how pathetic this entire thing was making her feel?
“She doesn’t want to talk to me,” she said.
Cassidy groaned over the phone. “Did she say that, or did you assume?”
Miranda guiltily swallowed a lump in her throat. “I called for her several times, and she sent Emily instead.”
To say that Cassidy was exasperated would have been an understatement. Still, when she responded, her voice was calm.
“If she doesn’t want to come to you, then go to her.”
Miranda stared at the bathroom wall as if it had personally insulted her. She couldn’t possibly do that. Emily was sitting across from Andrea and would most definitely watch Miranda make a fool of herself.
Miranda tried to feel sick about it, but it was easier to accept that she didn’t care. If Emily saw how pathetic she was over Andrea, then so be it.
That was, of course, easier said than done.
Miranda had to pace around her office, searching for the right moment to approach Andrea. This, of course, appeared unusual to her assistants, as she caught them throwing her worried glances a couple of times. She had to stop for a few seconds, and when she was sure they were no longer looking, resumed pacing. By the end of it, her feet had started to hurt.
When, finally, she heard Emily excusing herself to go to the Art Department to have something in The Book corrected, Miranda found her window. She wet her lips and counted to five in her head before she started walking.
Andrea’s surprise was apparent when Miranda stopped in front of her. Whether it was a good surprise or a bad surprise, Miranda didn’t have the presence of mind to assess because she was internally panicking.
“You’re avoiding me,” Miranda said. It came out more direct than she had intended.
Andrea’s eyes widened in horror, as if she’d been caught. “Mir—”
“Why?” Miranda interrupted. She knew why. She had been told, but she wanted Andrea to say it. After all, her children had told her never to assume.
Andrea looked away, blushing.
“I wasn’t,” she began, then sighed. She licked her lips and looked back at Miranda. “I thought Emily could manage.”
Miranda blinked. Yes, right. She had said that.
“Because she could.”
“Yeah,” Andrea agreed, and the look on her face told Miranda she was handling this terribly. “That’s why I was sending her to you. You didn’t need two assistants anyway.” Andrea lowered her voice on the last line, already typing away on her keyboard.
That stung in a way Miranda didn’t appreciate. She wished there were a tutorial for this.
“I didn’t mean to say that I wanted Emily,” she said promptly. “I wanted you to go home so you could rest,” she added.
The corner of Andrea’s lips twitched. That didn’t seem like reason enough.
Miranda felt, as she often did, like she was standing on something far too unstable to hold her. She glanced around, checking for any sign of Emily returning. When she found none, she stepped closer until her hips were pressed against the edge of Andrea’s desk. That finally earned Andrea’s full attention. A pair of brown eyes met hers again. This time, Miranda held the gaze.
“I’m sorry,” she said, hoping it sounded sincere. Many people had told her she often sounded passive-aggressive.
Andrea blinked, caught off guard.
“I really am,” Miranda added. “Of course you’re just as capable. Even more so, if I’m being honest,” she said, grateful Emily wasn’t there to hear it. “I just thought you needed rest. You seemed very tired.”
Andrea’s lips pressed together, her cheeks flushed red.
Miranda rushed on before fear could get to her.
“I understand now that you would have asked if you needed it. I should not have decided for you.”
As if it were that easy. As if her employees had always had the liberty to outright ask her for something. Actually, it could be. Andrea could ask her anything, and she would give it to her. That was how far gone she was.
Miranda exhaled, hoping she wasn’t shaking.
Andrea’s expression flickered. “You didn’t mean anything by it?” Andrea asked, her voice low.
“I did not,” Miranda confirmed. “I meant for you to rest.”
Andrea studied her for a long moment. Then she nodded once. “Okay,” she said.
Miranda exhaled and before she could stop herself, she asked, carefully, “You forgive me?”
“I don’t think—” Andrea started, stuttering, but at Miranda’s probably pained expression, she paused. “I forgive you.”
Miranda watched Andrea smile as she returned to her work, and as she sat back down at her own desk, she had to turn her face away so no one would see her own.
In all this, Miranda, of course, had thought that things would soon end, that it was only a phase or a lapse in judgment. That, of course, had sounded insane in thought.
The twins had offered their opinions on the matter with the confidence of people who did not or have yet to go through what their mother was going through. According to them, it was normal to feel repulsed by the realization that one was gay.
Miranda had found that wording offensive on principle.
She was not unsettled. She was, in fact, remarkably composed about it. The issue was not that she was into women. She had had her suspicions before; Andrea just gave shape and sense to many things about herself.
No, it wasn’t because of that. Although, while she did embrace her self-discovery, it was, admittedly, still a struggle to navigate it.
Ultimately, it was the matter that this might be one-sided, that while she was falling deeper, Andrea simply saw her as a boss who had finally become tolerable. A demanding boss who had, against all odds, become less unbearable over time.
The fear of that possibility sat like a hand around Miranda’s throat.
She hoped she could just tell Andrea about it. If Andrea liked her back, then good, but if she didn’t, Miranda would have to send her somewhere else, because she was beginning to accept that she could not remain in close proximity to her assistant and survive it intact.
Homosexuality, she decided grimly, was making everything unnecessarily complicated.
“You have a meeting at four with Donatella,” Andrea said, snapping her back into focus.
She was standing closely to Miranda’s desk, rotating a pen between her fingers.
Miranda let her eyes drift over Andrea’s outfit. She was wearing a knee-length navy dress, her hair was pulled into a ponytail, the neckline of her dress dipped just enough for Miranda to notice a mole on the left side of her chest.
Andrea looked ravishing.
Miranda managed a nod, and Andrea stepped out of the office after placing the day’s notes on her desk.
Miranda was grateful for the distraction. Picking up the notes, she noticed a paper that had no business being there slipped between them. With knitted brows, she pulled the sheet free. It was a clipping from last month’s issue of Runway. Andrea must have included it by mistake.
As she was about to set it aside, she noticed an encircled section on it. She looked closer.
Chanel had released a new line of jewelry featured in Runway, and Miranda was holding one of the pages of it.
Andrea had circled a pair of earrings. It was definitely Andrea’s, because just beneath it was a note that read: so pretty!!! soon <3
Miranda stared at it for a long moment.
Andrea liked Chanel. That much was obvious. She wore it frequently now. Miranda would have thought there were better brands but Andrea hadn’t worn anything warranting it. And the earrings were objectively beautiful.
It was an 18k white gold Camélia crawling earrings. It costed around $22,000. A huge sum if Miranda was being honest.
Miranda set the sheet of paper down.
It wouldn’t dent her wallet so, whatever.
It took two weeks for Miranda’s order to arrive.
She was proud of it. She had done everything herself—called Chanel, explained what she wanted with at least 10 people who couldn’t believe Miranda was calling them directly, and been promised it would be ready soon.
The soon was now sitting on Andrea’s desk.
Miranda placed it there deliberately. She had arrived at work early on purpose, wanting to be there when Andrea saw the gift. She even left her office door intentionally open.
One look at Andrea, though, made her question that decision.
She wasn’t sure if Andrea was angry, but she was undoubtedly unhappy. She stared at the box of jewelry, then at the note beneath it.
Miranda thought a simple, For your hard work. —M would suffice. Surely, it had because now Andrea was marching toward her office, glowering.
For a second, Miranda felt a flicker of fear.
“What’s this?” Andrea asked, dropping the box onto the desk with more force than necessary.
Miranda almost scowled. How careless. She then glanced at the box, then back up.
“What does it look like?”
Andrea narrowed her eyes. “That is not an answer.”
“It’s a gift,” Miranda finally said.
Andrea breathed out, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, she was no longer glaring. She just looked confused.
“A gift for what?”
Miranda exhaled through her nose. She didn’t think she’d have to explain this. “The note explains it. For your hard work.”
Andrea stared at her. “What am I, twelve?”
Miranda bristled instantly. “I fail to see what that has to do—”
“I’m not a child,” Andrea said sharply. “I don’t need a reward for doing my job well.”
Miranda was sure Andrea was the first person to ever declare that. She had yet to meet someone who didn’t want something in return for their efforts. People needed rewards. People needed pats on the head. People needed recognition.
Andrea Sachs, infuriatingly, appeared to need none of those things.
“I will not accept it,” Andrea said.
Miranda felt something uncomfortable tighten in her stomach.
“And how did you even know about this?” Andrea continued.
Miranda blinked. She opened her mouth to say something but Andrea cut her off.
“Have you been spying on me?”
For a moment, Miranda genuinely lost the ability to speak. She felt her soul leave her body. Oh my God. No, she wasn’t… but she was doing something uncomfortably close. She decided then and there she would have her social media deleted.
“No,” she said quickly, though it came out uncertain. “You left a paper with one of your notes and I saw it by accident.”
“I don’t want it,” Andrea said again, more firmly this time.
Miranda felt an ache in her chest. It must have shown because Andrea’s expression softened just slightly.
“It’s too much, Miranda,” Andrea added. “People would see it and ask questions. I can’t exactly say that you just thought I deserved a reward.”
Miranda frowned. “Why can’t you say that?”
Frustration flickered in Andrea’s eyes. “Because it’s not believable.”
The words landed like a slap to the editor-in-chief.
Of course. If there was one thing, and there were many things, that could jeopardize this, it was Miranda herself.
Andrea knew she was horrible. Andrea deserved better.
Miranda looked away first, reaching for the nearest magazine, flipping it open without reading a single word. When she figured that she finally had the voice to respond, she scribbled aimlessly on the page.
“Well,” she said, her voice coming out hoarse, “I cannot return it. It has your name engraved.” She paused. “If you do not want it, dispose of it. Sell it. I don’t care. Maybe another Andrea would appreciate it.”
“Miran—”
“That’s all.”
Andrea stood still. Miranda refused to look at her, her eyes fixed on the same line in the magazine until it blurred. After a moment, Andrea picked up the jewelry box and walked out.
Miranda exhaled shakily, only then realizing she had been holding her breath.
Miranda swore that she could behave like a professional.
She didn’t want Andrea to be wary of her just because of the Chanel incident. So, despite the still-present sting whenever she was reminded of it, she chose to woman up and dealt with it.
Which was how she ended up standing beside Andrea Sachs in the elevator bank, waiting for the doors to open, pretending this was a completely normal arrangement between two people who were definitely not, just days ago, arguing.
Miranda wasn’t even sure if she could call it that.
Arguments were for people that had a founding relationship.
Anyway, they had a showcase to attend, and since Andrea was the one usually sent on errands, Miranda was stuck with her. She didn’t know if she should feel bad for herself or for the younger woman.
Andrea, on her part, seemed fine. In fact, it looked like she had already forgotten the incident, because Miranda could see her smiling at her through the elevator’s reflection.
When the elevator dinged open, Miranda watched everyone step out to let her in. She entered first, and without hesitation, Andrea followed.
Miranda caught the exact moment people’s gazes flicked between them before the doors slid shut.
Andrea, meanwhile, lifted her phone and began typing, something she did constantly. She liked to stay on top of things. Miranda knew that well. And as she did, Miranda watched her instead of the floor numbers.
Andrea looked stunning, as usual. She was wearing a three-piece suit which was new, and her hair was down. Miranda also noticed it had been cut shorter. And her ears were decorated with white gold earrings that—
“You’re wearing the earrings,” Miranda said before she could stop herself, surprising both Andrea and herself.
Andrea’s eyes lifted slowly from her phone until they met Miranda’s reflection. She blushed.
“Well, they’re mine,” Andrea said almost hesitantly as though she wasn’t sure.
Miranda felt a burst of quiet joy. She turned slightly to look at her directly. Andrea really was wearing them. She hadn’t thrown them away or sold them.
Her hand lifted almost on instinct, then stopped mid-air when she realized what she was doing. Andrea noticed and instinctively reached up to touch her own ear.
Miranda watched her tug lightly at the earring.
“Do they fit me?” Andrea asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The question should not have affected Miranda the way it did.
Miranda wanted to stop the elevator and kiss Andrea. It fit her. Of course, it did. Andrea always looked beautiful. Miranda couldn’t imagine anything that would look bad on her (except, maybe, that one cerulean sweater) but yes, it fit her perfectly.
Instead of saying that, she lifted a slightly unsteady hand and tucked a strand of Andrea’s hair behind her ear, deliberately, exposing the earrings fully.
Andrea went still.
Miranda didn’t move her hand away immediately.
“It looks good on you,” Miranda said quietly.
Andrea looked at her and smiled softly.
“Thank you,” she said. “I really loved it. I just… well, it doesn’t matter. But thank you.”
Miranda would have bought Andrea every Chanel piece in the world if it meant seeing her smile like that again.
Miranda thought that maybe it was time to tell Andrea how she felt.
But only because she didn’t think she could keep holding it in any longer. And because Runway had just hired several new people, and one of them was constantly hovering around her assistant.
He looked decent enough, for a normal person, at least. He seemed fresh out of college, which reminded Miranda that Andrea had been exactly like him only a little over a year ago.
What bothered Miranda most was that Andrea didn’t seem to mind.
And she dreaded it, god, she dreaded it, the idea that this man, whose name Miranda couldn’t even remember, might somehow win Andrea over.
She was not unfamiliar with heartbreak. She had endured her fair share of it. But that didn’t mean she wanted any more. If only she could tell him off, yell at the top of her lungs that Andrea was hers and hers alone, Miranda wouldn’t have to sulk around and make the day miserable for the rest of her staff.
During a run-through, Miranda saw him again, standing far too close to Andrea. He leaned down and whispered something into her ear, and Andrea giggled, her cheeks turning bright red.
Miranda scrapped the entire array of clothes presented to her and ordered her staff to bring her something better.
She stayed in her office for the rest of the day, had Emily move all of her meetings, and instructed that no one was to be allowed inside. She needed time to sit with this and think it through, because she was becoming irrational.
She buried herself in paperwork, reading everything—newspapers, magazines, books, anything she could get her hands on. She was already on her fourth magazine when her door slid open.
“I said not to bother me,” she said without looking up.
“Hi.”
Miranda lifted her head from what she was reading.
Andrea was peeking through the doorway. She was wearing a Chanel dress today, her hair tied neatly into a bun. She still had the earrings on. That was consoling, Miranda thought. At least that was still there.
Looking back down, Miranda wet her lips.
“What do you need?”
Andrea didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she walked farther into the office until she was only a few feet away from Miranda’s desk.
“Are you okay?” Andrea asked.
Miranda cleared her throat. “What makes you think I’m not?”
“I don’t. That’s why I’m asking,” Andrea replied, her voice firm.
Miranda gave up on reading and closed the magazine. She set it aside before leaning back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.
She chewed lightly on her lip. Andrea was still looking at her, waiting patiently for a response.
“I’m okay, Andrea,” Miranda said.
Andrea’s eyes fluttered as though in relief, and then she nodded. “Do you need anything?”
Miranda wanted to tell her that she would call if she ever needed anything, but decided against it. One thing she refused to do was further Andrea’s already villainous view of her.
“Water,” Miranda croaked.
Andrea perked up immediately, turning to go get the water, only to pause halfway through. She turned back toward Miranda and stepped a little closer.
Only then did Miranda notice that she looked nervous, as though she were about to say something she had been rehearsing in her head for hours.
“John,” Andrea said.
Miranda tightened her grip around her own arm in sudden fear. No. No way this was happening right now.
“He asked me out to dinner later.”
Miranda was unable to stop herself from groaning softly. Her heart was beating so fast in her chest that she was certain she was only seconds away from completely losing her composure.
So this was all about John. That was his name? Was Andrea about to ask if she could leave early so she could prepare for the date?
God.
Miranda felt sick.
“Why are you telling me this?” Miranda managed to say without her voice squeaking.
Andrea let out a breath, her mouth forming a small “o”. She shook out her hands at her sides before swallowing hard.
“Because I said no to him. I told him I already have someone,” Andrea said.
Miranda felt like dying. How many men was she competing against?
“Andre—”
“I didn’t tell him it was you. But I almost did because—”
“Sorry, what?” Miranda’s mind went completely blank. Had she heard that correctly?
Andrea was breathing faster now, flushed from the neck up. Her eyes were glazed over, and she looked as though she was on the verge of tears.
“Unless I’m reading this wrong, which I really hope I’m not because, god, that would kill me,” she said, throwing her hands into the air dramatically. “But I…” She gulped. “I thought you liked me.”
Miranda felt the air leave her chest all at once.
So Andrea had known all along.
She was smart. Of course she knew. Miranda had probably not been subtle at all. She had likely been walking around Elias-Clarke with pick me, choose me, love me written all over her face.
Oh, God.
“Do you, though?” Andrea asked quietly.
Miranda fought the overwhelming urge to topple over and throw up. She blinked once and, without taking her eyes off Andrea, asked, “What?”
Andrea bit down on her lip and sighed softly. “Do you like me?”
Miranda almost screamed yes. Instead, she closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe in and out slowly.
“What answer do you want?” she finally replied.
Andrea frowned slightly.
When Miranda spoke again, there was something dangerously close to pleading in her voice.
“Because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” she said. “I don’t want to scare you away. I can manage my feelings, but I can’t lose you.”
Miranda knew that was declaration enough. Whatever Andrea chose to do with it was entirely up to her.
Andrea, however, seemed to have already decided that she wanted to know.
“Tell me the truth,” she said softly.
Miranda pressed her lips together until the sting grounded her. She folded her hands in her lap, fingers twisting restlessly against one another, nervous movements she hoped Andrea wouldn’t notice. Anything to delay this moment. Anything to preserve the stillness between them for just a little while longer.
Because the second she said it out loud, everything could change.
“Miranda.”
Andrea’s voice was gentler this time, pulling Miranda from the spiral in her head.
Miranda looked up.
Andrea was watching her carefully now, her hands resting against the edge of the desk, her eyes searching Miranda’s with a determination that made it difficult for Miranda to breathe.
“Do you like me?” Andrea asked again.
Miranda let out a shaky breath. Her eyes fluttered shut for the briefest moment.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Andrea tilted her head slightly. “Tell me.”
Miranda’s throat tightened painfully. Still, she forced herself to hold Andrea’s gaze despite the fear clawing at her chest.
“I like you, Andrea.”
The confession settled heavily between them.
Andrea closed her eyes. She nodded once. And Miranda couldn’t tell what that meant. Was she relieved? Was she revolted? Was she feeling as lost as Miranda was?
Miranda’s own pulse thundered in her ears. Oddly, the honesty itself wasn’t the terrifying part.
No, what terrified her was Andrea’s answer.
Miranda had survived heartbreaks before. More times than she cared to count. People leaving had become such a constant in her life that she’d learned to expect it before it happened. Somehow that expectation always softened the blow.
But Andrea… Andrea was different.
The thought of losing her felt less like heartbreak and more like suicide.
Miranda almost laughed at herself for it. At her age, after everything she’d survived, she was sitting here feeling like a nervous teenager moments away from losing it.
“Well,” Andrea said at last, her voice casual, “that’s good.”
Miranda blinked. “Good?”
Andrea rubbed a hand over her face. “Because I like you too.”
Miranda stared at her. “I’m sorry?”
Andrea groaned quietly and dropped her head back. “God, this is already embarrassing enough.”
“Andrea—”
“I’ve liked you for a while,” she admitted, words tumbling out now that they’d started. “It was part of why Nate and I ended things. I couldn’t stop talking about you. I couldn’t stop comparing him to you. I couldn’t stop thinking of you even during moments that were—” She paused, letting out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. “And I hated myself for it because… you’re Miranda Priestly.”
Miranda’s expression tightened. “Andrea.”
“And I’m just…” Andrea shrugged helplessly. “Me. What exactly could I even offer someone like you?”
“No.”
The word came out harsher than Miranda intended.
Andrea blinked.
Miranda lifted a hand, almost defensive now. “No. Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That.” Miranda searched for the right words, frustration building when they didn’t come quickly enough. “Reduce yourself to something smaller just because you think I’m… something bigger.”
Andrea snorted softly. “You are bigger.”
“I’m Miranda,” she corrected firmly. “With you, I’m just Miranda.”
Andrea’s expression softened, but Miranda pressed on before she lost her nerve.
“You don’t need to offer me anything,” she said quietly. “I already have everything I could possibly want.”
Andrea’s mouth twitched faintly. “That sounded very billionaire of you.”
Miranda grimaced. “Yes, well, that came out horribly.”
Andrea laughed under her breath.
Miranda felt herself relax at the sound. She tried again, more carefully this time.
“I have everything,” she said, her voice lowering, “except you.”
Andrea’s teasing smile faded.
“And if you insist on giving me something,” Miranda continued, “then give me yourself. That’s all I want.”
For a moment, Andrea just stared at her. Then she huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “God, you suck at this.”
Miranda frowned. “Excuse me.”
“You sounded like you were negotiating a business proposal.”
“I was trying to be sincere.”
“It was adorable,” Andrea said immediately.
Miranda narrowed her eyes.
“It was,” Andrea repeated.
Before Miranda could respond, Andrea rounded the desk slowly, stopping directly in front of her chair.
Miranda’s breath caught.
Andrea leaned down, close enough now that Miranda could feel the warmth radiating from her skin.
Instinctively, Miranda closed her eyes. Andrea smelled faintly like grass, and lemon, and something uniquely her, something Miranda had become embarrassingly addicted to.
She felt Andrea inched closer and a soft kiss landed at the corner of her mouth then another against her cheek and another at her temple.
Andrea finally pressed her forehead against Miranda’s hair and inhaled softly, as though she’d wanted to do that for a very long time.
Miranda melted forward before she could hold herself, tilting into Andrea’s touch.
The movement seemed to undo Andrea entirely. With a quiet sound in the back of her throat, Andrea shifted closer and finally kissed her properly.
Miranda shivered at the contact.
The kiss started soft, almost hesitant, but the second Miranda kissed her back, Andrea exhaled sharply against her lips, fingers sliding into Miranda’s hair.
When they finally pulled apart, Miranda looked dazed enough to make Andrea grin.
“I genuinely thought you liked John,” Miranda admitted after a moment, still breathless.
Andrea blinked. “What?”
“You blush around him constantly.”
Andrea burst out laughing. “Oh my god,” she said, covering her face. “That’s because he never shuts up about us.”
Miranda frowned faintly. “Us?”
“He kept telling me it was obvious you favored me.” Andrea dropped her hands and looked at her fondly. “Apparently everyone noticed except you.”
Miranda stared at her in disbelief. She almost said that she knew. She knew before anyone else. She swallowed the words, however, and instead said, “So you never liked him?”
Andrea leaned down once more, brushing their noses together.
“Miranda,” she murmured, her lips ghosting over Miranda’s, “Didn’t I just say that I like you?”
Miranda felt something warm unfurl in her chest at the sight.
They stayed like that for a quite a while. The noise of people walking outside Miranda’s office sounded like a distant reminder that they were still at the office. Miranda wanted so badly to take Andrea home.
Andrea was the first to back away.
“Emily told me you had your afternoon schedule moved around, which means you actually have time for lunch today.”
Miranda’s expression flattened instantly. “I’m not hungry.”
Andrea didn’t even blink. “Good for you. I wasn’t asking.”
Miranda narrowed her eyes.
“You are eating,” Andrea continued firmly, already walking toward the office door. “With me. Now, come on.”
The sheer audacity of being ordered around in her own office should have irritated Miranda. Instead, horrifyingly, she found it attractive.
Andrea reached the door and pulled it open before glancing back over her shoulder expectantly.
Miranda, however, remained seated behind her desk, staring up at her with a weary expression.
Andrea arched one brow. It was a simple look. Barely even a look, really. And yet Miranda reacted immediately, scrambling to her feet with surprising speed for someone who usually moved with elegance.
Andrea’s lips twitched.
Miranda smoothed down her jacket with dignity she no longer entirely possessed. “There’s no need to glare at me.”
“I didn’t glare.”
“That was absolutely a glare.”
“That,” Andrea corrected, amused, “was me waiting.”
Miranda muttered something under her breath..
Andrea grinned outright now.
And Miranda—Miranda was suddenly struck by a deeply unsettling realization.
When did she allow Andrea to decide for her? When did she like the idea?
Later that night, as she sat with Cassidy while Caroline was helping Andrea cook in the kitchen, her daughter told her there was a term for it.
“What?” She asked, genuinely curious.
Cassidy looked her dead in the eye and shrugged. “A simp.”