Chapter Text
To say that Emily was still bitter for Paris was an understatement, but messing up a whole booking to get on Andy’s nerves was a whole other thing.
So now, a bewildered Andrea was frantically trying to book a hotel for Miranda and a bunch of other Runway crew members.
“Damn you, Emily…” She muttered under her breath, running a hand in her already-disheveled hair, sweat threatening to prickle down her forehead as she messily typed away on the keyboard.
Fortunately, the plane tickets were already planned and bought, the only right thing the first assistant did. But just today, Andy was finding out how hard it is to book a bunch of hotel rooms in Italy.
‘Why is every fucking hotel already booked up? We’re still in April, for god’s sake.’ The poor girl’s mind was exploding, flabbergasted at how apparently the whole wide world decided that a good vacation in Italy was needed at this time of the month. What the fuck?!
She squealed in delight at a finally free suit. A five star hotel near Milano’s Duomo with enough suits for everyone? She wanted to pinch herself just to see if she was dreaming. Well, whatever. She didn’t have the time to celebrate, so she quickly called the reception to check if the rooms were actually available.
After what felt like the quickest phone call ever, she managed to book those suits. Andy relaxed against her chair, breathing a quick sigh of relief and smiling to herself. ‘I could pat myself on the shoulder after this one.’
Unfortunately, there was no more time for her to lounge, and so she quickly got up, grabbed her purse, and ran down to grab Miranda her center-of-the-sun-hot coffee. During her tenure at Runway she was taught that a burning hand is not that important if your boss is a hundred times more scary and hurtful, so she learned to ignore how hot the cup was against her fingers, as she dashed in 5 inch Jimmy Choos across Manhattan.
As the door to the elevator opened with a ding, she made her way to her desk, leaving one cup of coffee for her, one for Emily (she wasn’t a total bitch), and she entered her boss’ office to leave hers too. With barely a wave of a hand from Miranda, she was sent out on her way, and so Andy decided to pick up her coffee and the last one remaining, so that she could hand it to Nigel and chat about with him.
With a brief knock on the big glass doors, she made her way inside, placing the coffee on the main table filled with photographs from various shoots made throughout the month.
“Oh you are an angel, six.” Said the older man, turning around in his chair to grab his own cup.
“God Nige, you won’t believe it. I managed to find those suites. I hate how Milan is so busy every month, how’s it possible?” She whined, taking a sip of her espresso. Plain, but she knows it’s the only actual type of caffeine that will keep her running.
“Darling,” he drawled “you’re talking about one of the biggest industrial cities in the world, everything happens in Milan, and people are so there for it.” He wiggled his pencil at her.
Andy rolled her eyes at him and hunched over on the stool, taking more sips of her plain, stupid coffee.
“Hey, sit up straight, I don’t want wrinkles on a vintage Valentino, heard me?”
That made her sit up straighter, but she still propped her head against her hand, muttering a short apology for the blouse.
Before Nigel could ask what happened and why she was so dull, the glass doors opened and Paola, one of the features editors, walked in.
She was a 5’3 feet tall Italian woman, with dark brown hair, streaked with grey locks. She had beautiful hazel eyes and years of experience on her back that made her one of the veterans of Runway.
“Nigel, ti sei dimenticato di mandarmi- ah! Andy! How are you dear?” Her voice thick with her accent as she made her way in to fist bump Andy. (Translation: Nigel, you forgot to send me-)
This time, it was Nigel’s turn to roll his eyes, but his slow smile was still lingering on his lips. He abandoned his coffee and got up from his chair.
“I haven’t forgotten it, just check your email, should be there.”
Paola looked over amused, and hummed thoughtful.
“Eh, bene. I guess I’ll go see myself. You two stay out of trouble, sí?” She waved a dismissive hand at them and walked out. (Translation: Bene=good Sí=yes)
—————
Andrea was now back at her desk, managing the phones and rearranging the schedule for Milan. From time to time, she peeked over her monitor to look at Miranda. Today, she was sporting a white, leather pencil skirt from Yves Saint Laurant, a space indigo button up, and matching oxblood heels and foulard, tied around her neck. How she could be wearing leather in 100 degree weather was unthinkable.
“Go grab the new coats from Hermès’ ready-to-wear collection, I’ll man the phones.” Emily's voice came from the other side of the room, and Andy couldn't help but admit that she was still mad at her.
She inhaled deeply for a moment, plastered on her usual smile and ran to the elevator, giving her a quick ‘sure’ on the way.
She waged her way around Manhattan with arms full of bags, sweat prickling at the base of her forehead and on her palms. The weather was surely getting warmer by the day.
She just couldn’t wait for october to quit and search for a new job, and possibly become a journalist. She really, really hoped that what they first told her was true. “Work a year under her and you’ll get a job at any magazine you want.” God, she was desperate.
Finally back at Elias Clark, where the AC worked miracles on her, Andy could finally breath and walk, instead of running around like a headless chicken. She reached for the elevator and got in, leaning back on its wall, sighing for what felt like the thousandth time that day. She should really take a day off.
As soon as she reached the 17th floor, Miranda’s voice came from down the hallway, calling her name in that weird, almost seductive way. ‘Seductive? Am I going crazy?’ The time to ponder on how sexy it felt being called ‘An-dre-yah’ was over as fast as it came, and now Andy was running to Miranda’s office, hoping and praying that she wasn’t too late.
“Yes Miranda?” She was still out of breath, and her voice came out in what felt like a wheeze, and that earned her a disgusted look from the older woman. Andy immediately composed herself, pulling her spine straight and sucking in a breath that would hopefully help her poor, exhausted lungs.
“Tell Simone that she, once again, brought me the wrong sample of Dior. I asked for dusty grape, and got vintage grape. Honestly, how could one individual be this colourblind?”
Andy held back a comment that would cause the cerulean monologue 2.0, and instead left the coats she just picked up on the chair in front of Miranda’s desk.
“Anything else, Miranda?”
She took a moment to swipe her eyes all over Andy, something that became like a routine ever since Nigel dolled her up. But these “outfits absorbsions” have been lasting longer lately, and our poor ‘an-dre-ah’ couldn’t quite put her finger on why.
“No, that’s all.”
Three words were enough to make the assistant almost run out of the office, feeling as if all of the air was punched out of her lungs, because… well she didn’t know. How could a set of blue eyes make her sweat so much?
And with what she hoped was a last call to Simon, she managed to fix that “grape-thing” mistake. Time after that seemed to pass rather quickly, something that hasn’t happened in months. Emily and Miranda went home, and Andy was alone in that cubicle, waiting for the book to be prepared. She spent her time playing Snake on her phone, cursing under her breath every time that damned snake hit its own head against its tail.
Her heart almost jumped out of her ribcage when the book was plopped on her desk, breaking the quiet around her. “Oh, thanks Mark.”
“No problem, Andy, have a good night.”
She pocketed her phone, took the book and finally walked out of Elias-Clark where Roy was waiting for her. He was nursing a cigarette, propped against the car door. “Evening, Andy.”
“Good evening, Roy.”
The car ride was quiet as usual, they passed for Miranda’s dry cleaning, and in barely ten minutes she was on the stoops of the townhouse. She took her keys out, opening the door and closing it as quietly as humanly possible. She placed the book down, opened the closet and-
“An-dre-ah” the three syllables flowed through the corridor, meeting her ears like daggers. The last time she was called by Miranda at her house resulted in Emily breaking a leg. Andy just prayed it wouldn’t be her time to break some bones.