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1 - Lily
That Sunday, Lily wakes up to a very peaceful household. It’s quite surprising, considering that Grace is usually an early riser, but not at all unpleasant; Lily just decides to stay in bed a little longer, until the sudden sound of a notification on her phone attracts her attention. It’s a message from Andy, and she rushes to check it, remembering she was supposed to have dinner with Emily last night.
Hey, can you give me the recipe to your pancakes?
Short and to the point. Very unlike Andy, which means…
Guess the evening went VERY well, she types back, a grin on her face.
Yeah yeah. Pancakes please?
Lily explodes into a laugh, feeling the urgency seeping through that text. Oh, Andy is really whipped - not that she had not known before.
Your ungrateful ass owes me a brunch with details. Check if you have all ingredients first. You need flour, baking powder, sugar, salt, milk, butter and eggs.
Andy doesn’t answer immediately; she’s probably checking if the pantry has everything. Lily hopes they’re at Emily’s house, because there’s no way Andy will have baking powder in her cupboard.
A couple of minutes later, she gets the confirmation she was hoping for. Yep, got everything.
She sends them all the instructions, along with a string of mocking emojis; at some point Andy stops responding, and Lily just hopes for her friend that she has not burned down the kitchen. A few hours later, she receives another message. Emily loved the pancakes. Thanks Lil.
She snickers, happy in her knowledge that she can finally mock Andy as deserved. Oh, I’m sure she did.
A couple of days later, Lily pulls the best friends card, unwilling to wait any longer to get a full account of the entire situation and latest developments. She meets with Andy at a café near her gallery, and her friend catches her up to speed while they sip a surprisingly decent cup of coffee.
“I can’t believe it. Not only did you bag, like, one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, but she also got a promotion to the C-suite of one of your favourite brands?” she says, then gives Andy a faux-disgusted frown. “Some people have way too much luck.”
“Thanks, Lily, that did wonders to my self-confidence,” Emily’s dry voice says suddenly from behind her. Andy is on her feet before Lily can even see the other woman, pulling her into a half hug and a kiss.
“Hi,” says Andy, eyes shining with affection in a way Lily had rarely seen before. Oh, boy. She’s gone-gone.
And somehow Emily, who has been described as someone who abhors feelings - Lily still remembers how she had howled in laugh when Andy had told her about the insults she had received for looking just a tad too happy - just smiles, cheeks slightly colouring in red. “Hi.”
“… and hi to myself as well,” completes Lily with a laugh. The other two immediately separate - Andy with a little proud grin, Emily with an expression of exasperated embarrassment - and sit down.
“Sorry, Lily,” says Emily. “How are you? How’s Grace?”
"Good - great, actually. And in two weeks, when the current exhibition will be over, I’ll be even better,” she grins. “And Grace is trying to convince me we need a kitten, which I am completely against. I don’t have the strength to clean a litter box for the next fifteen years.”
Emily gives a wise nod. “Yes, that was the same reasoning I used with my kids. You know, we should introduce Grace to Bronwyn and Roark,” observes Emily, turning to Andy. “Since, well…”
“Since I’m going to spend considerably more time with you and the kids?” completes the other woman.
“Since that, yes,” admits Emily, a faint redness on her face. “It seems quite sensible. And convenient, too.”
“Very convenient,” confirms Andy, serious. “And definitely sensible. Yep.”
Lily cannot help it; she bursts into a laugh, shaking her head, unbelievably amused by the two. “Oh, damn. I guess there is no need to ask how the relationship is progressing, since we’re already scheduling playdates.”
“Just an introductory one, to begin with,” responds Emily, entirely serious. “Though there’s no reason why they shouldn’t like each others.”
Andy snorts. “Grace and Bronwyn will get along like a house on fire. Actually, let’s not introduce them, I have no idea what sort of trouble they’ll get into.”
"They'll be fine," says Emily, with the calm confidence of someone who has clearly never met Grace before.
"Famous last words," says Lily with an overly dramatic sigh. Andy gives a laugh, claiming it will be fine, and they immediately start looking into some dates.
And, well, Lily has known Andy for more than two decades now. It’s far from the first time she sees her in love, and yet never before she has seen her so settled, like she were exactly were she belonged.
It’s so adorably cute that she can’t actually find the will to mock Andy… just for today.
2 - Roark and Bronwyn
“- your turn, Frank, and you fucking promised him.”
Oh oh.
Frank and swearing? A combo that cannot mean anything but an enraged Emily. Andy peeks out from the kitchen, finding her girlfriend pacing furiously in the living room.
“No, I don’t care about whichever engagement you’re dealing with now,” continues Emily. “You told Roark - let me finish - you told our son that you were going to do the training camp with him. You know I can’t go, I had this lunch on my calendar for the past five weeks.”
Frank says something on the other end of the line, something that makes Emily twitch with anger. “Oh, of course!” she yells. “Of course the bloody babysitter is the answer to any problem. You-“
She stops, then blinks at her phone with an expression of incredulity. “Fucking twat.”
Andy wastes no time; she nears her, wrapping her arms around her from behind in a hug. “Hey,” she whispers. Emily leans back against her, lets out a deep sigh, and doesn’t say anything.
They stay like that for a while; Andy with her chin on Emily’s shoulder, holding the other woman as she hears her breath in and out, slowly, the way she does when she’s trying to calm herself.
“He can’t go to the training camp, can he?” asks Andy once Emily seems relaxed enough. Her girlfriend just nods, wordlessly. “Of course.”
She doesn’t say anything else. In the last few weeks, Frank had constantly reshuffled the weekends, managing somehow to miss most of his time with the kids, and Emily had been even more stressed than the usual due to a lunch with some important brand ambassadors; it was supposed to be the kickoff of a partnership that, according to Emily, would exponentially elevate the status of Coach.
“How about this,” says Andy after a while. “I’ll go with Roark, then I’ll collect Bronwyn, we’ll buy some groceries and tonight we can cook together.”
“Andy, it’s not…” sighs Emily. “It’s a joint camp, you know that. Active participation, whatever that may mean.”
“Fantastic chance to show off my best casual outfit.”
“You still need to review Jin’s article.”
“That can wait until Monday.”
Emily looks at her; something complicated dances in her eyes, playing with gratitude and the irritation she still must feel. “You can’t cook anything,” she says, and the retort is so weak that Andy cannot help but laugh.
“Fine. I handle the kids and the groceries, and you handle the cooking. Deal?”
“… deal,” says Emily with a small chuckle, before pressing a kiss on her mouth. “Thanks, Andy. Just… thank you.”
***
If Roark had been surprised by the sudden change in plan, he had certainly not shown it. When his mother had told him that Andy would join the training camp today, he had simply given her a firm look, asked to ‘take things seriously’ and resumed reading his comic book. In a way, she supposes it can be taken as a success, but she cannot help but feel sorry for the way he seemed so used to being disappointed by his father.
Two hours later, Andy finds herself being directed through passing drills and several other exercises that makes her doubt her mental stability. After she fails for what feels the hundredth time to dribble a bunch of cones with a ball, she steps aside, looking for her water bottle, and tries to recover her breath.
“Are you okay, Andy?” asks Roark, trotting next to her.
“Kind of, buddy,” she says with a half laugh. Her ass is sore after a fall from a skateboard - she’s starting to be convinced this is not a training camp, but rather an attempted murder. She finally locates her water bottle, and she’s midway through emptying it when one of the coaches jogs over.
“Hello,” he says, giving Andy a smile. “I thought Roark’s father would join us today. And you are…?”
She hesitates for a second. “Oh, uhm, I-“
“She’s Andy, my mum’s girlfriend,” immediately declares Roark, looking at his coach with something close to a challenge in his eyes, almost as if daring him to have a problem with that. Andy simply stills.
The coach, who clearly doesn’t actually give a single fuck about who Andy is, nods. “Got it,” he says, briskly. “Look, how about you two progress to the next exercise? I don’t think those cones are getting dribbled today.”
It’s only much later, when Andy and Roark are walking back to the car, tired and sweaty, she works up the nerve to ask.
“Hey, buddy,” she asks, fumbling in her bag to find the car keys. “Can I ask you a question?”
He nods, too focused on the little medal he’s wearing - every child had gotten one - to respond. “Earlier, with that coach - why did you tell him that I’m your mum’s girlfriend?”
Roark looks at her with a puzzled expression. “Because you are?”
It comes out half a question and half a statement, so utterly natural that Andy almost feels her breath stop. “Right,” she says, once she is able to work through the lump in her throat. “I didn’t know you knew already. Officially, I mean.”
He gives a small shrug. “Bronwyn and I saw you two kiss in the kitchen a few days ago. Winnie wanted to ask, but I told her to wait because mum looks so happy and I didn’t want to make it weird,” he says, puffing his chest in pride before shooting her a small worried look. “Did… did I make a mistake?”
“No, no,” responds Andy, finally opening the door of the car. “Not at all. We were going to tell you in Disney World, it wasn’t meant to be a secret.”
Roark climbs onto his seat, immediately putting the belt on. “Oh, okay. Wait, does this mean we’re not going to Disney World anymore?”
The laugh that immediately follows is bright, happy. “Of course not. I can’t wait to do Space Mountain together.”
And the truth is that she’s completely, entirely honest. Even though Emily had warned her about how tiring Disney World will be, how she’ll wish she were anywhere but there by the third day, she is still looking forward to their first holiday together, all of them. She can’t wait to buy the kids cotton candy and popcorns, to have fun on the rides, to watch Emily smile with the carefree expression that she wears when she’s properly, entirely happy, to wear Mickey’s ears and look silly.
“Hey, Andy?”
“Mh?”
“I’m glad it’s you,” says quietly Roark, tucking his chin into his chest.
And Andy can only look at him, at this young boy she could have never imagined to grow to love so much, and gives him a chuckle. “Me too, Ro. Me too.”
***
“I just had the worst day ever,” declares Bronwyn as soon as she gets into the car. Yes, maybe she’s being a little dramatic, but she doesn’t care.
“Aw, kiddo. Sorry to hear that,” says Andy, scrunching her face in solidarity. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Well, of course she wants to talk about it, that's the whole point. “Yes!” she says, and ignores Roark’s small groan. “So, today we had to play volleyball - and I hate volleyball, Andy, it’s such a silly sport-”
“That’s because you’re terrible at it.”
“-and I told miss Richards that it would be better if I skipped it and went to the music lab, but she just put me in the team anyway!” she complains, ignoring her brother’s dig. “And then Dana got confused and thought we were playing dodgeball, so she tried to hit me with a ball and almost got me in the head.”
“… ah,” mutters Andy. “Shoot, sounds like you’ve had an eventful day.”
“That was just the beginning,” she says, incensed. “Then there was the art lab, and it was clay day, so we-”
What interrupts her is a note shown to her by Roark on his phone; a few simple words that completely diverted her attention.
andy said she and mum are together
It takes her a second to fully absorb the news. “What?!”
“What?!” asks Andy, alarmed.
“You and mum are together?”
Andy gives a small laugh. “Gosh, Bronwyn, you scared the hell out of me. Yes, your mother and I are a couple.”
Oh my God. Best news ever. She turns at Roark, giving him a smug look. “See? I told you she was mum’s girlfriend. See?” she says. Her brother simply sighs, so she turns her attention back to Andy. “And it’s official official?”
“Well, yes, as official as it can be,” she says. “Wait, what is the actual question here?”
“She’s asking if we can tell it to other people,” drily responds Roark. He swiftly evades Bronwyn’s attempt to hit him, and she pouts.
“No hitting each other,” scolds Andy. “I think you can, but ask your mother first, okay?”
Bronwyn leans back in her seat, satisfied. “I can’t wait to tell all my friends that mum is going out with a famous journalist-”
“Far from famous, kid.”
“-who also interviewed a lot of celebrities,” continues Bronwyn, as if Andy had not spoken.
“I honestly doubt your friends know any of the celebrities I interviewed.”
“Don’t ruin it, Andy.”
3 - Nigel
Nigel knows something is going on. Or rather, that something has changed.
He’s a suspicious person by nature, of course; he tends to analyse and reflect on each situation he comes across, a habit that he has always possessed and refined even further during his career at Runway.
And really, Andy has the worst poker face he has ever seen in his entire life. The woman could not hide an emotion to save her life - one of the many things he adored about her - and watching her going from the gloomy version that had returned from Milan, to the quiet but determined one before the Coach preview, to finally settle back into her exuberant self… well, that had obviously been the biggest signal.
He had been worried, sure. Andy had bounced back from her breakup with the real estate guy pretty quickly, but Nigel had a feeling that whatever was going on between her and Emily was quite different - and possibly much more hurtful, if things went awry.
But at last, the rumour that Emily Charlton has refused the biggest opportunity of her career to stay at Coach reach Runway. It takes nothing to verify it - after all, Donatella is a friend of his, too - which leaves him with a very interesting piece of knowledge. Or rather, the last piece of the puzzle, because he just needs to slide it next to Andy’s lopsided smiles when she responds to a text, her sudden punctuality in leaving the office and everything else he had noticed, and voilà, here’s the response to the enigma.
There are a few options available, obviously. He could just drag Andrea to his office and make her talk - boring, he decides immediately -, going out for drinks with her - overdone - or…
Oh, yes. That could work, too.
***
Emily is starting to wonder if her office has any sort of security.
She doesn’t mind Andy’s visits - no, scratch that, she loves seeing her girlfriend drop by her office and suddenly appearing at the door - but that does not mean she’s ready, nor willing, to accept unscheduled visits from anyone else but her. Especially when Runway is involved.
Which means that being surprised by none other than Nigel Kipling while she’s working on a new campaign is extremely high in her personal ranking of inconveniences.
“Hard at work, aren’t we, miss Charlton?”
“Nigel,” she says, in her most neutral tone. “How can I help you?”
She doesn’t want to be rude, of course. She knows how important Nigel is to Andy; but considering how few interactions they have had in the past twenty years outside of work, she doesn’t really see why he would reach out now.
“Can’t I say hello to an old coworker?” he responds, with that sardonic smile of his.
“You can. And now that we’ve said hello, you can also leave.”
Well, the attempt at not being rude can now be officially considered a failure. Nigel tuts, as if in slight reproach; Emily ignores him, looking over the table to notice an incredibly amused Theo. She throws him a scorching look.
“Don’t you have a report to complete?” she hisses.
“Finished that already, boss.”
Nigel raises an eyebrow at the title. Emily shortly considers whether being tried for murder could be worth a very temporary gratification. “Then find another one to work on. Now.”
Theo actually has the gall to laugh at her. “Right away, boss.”
She watches him dip away, still entirely amused and completely not scared of her; Amelia tells him something as he sits at his desk, and the two immediately start bickering. Nigel doesn’t look impressed.
“Your Emily is not very well behaved.”
“Don’t call him like that,” she immediately snaps. “His name’s Theo. What do you want, Nigel? I doubt this is a spontaneous social call.”
“You’re coming to lunch with me,” he says then, with a tone of finality that doesn’t seem to leave space to negotiations. “Your better half is already waiting for us at the restaurant. Chop chop.”
How many years of prison does murder entail, really?
In the end, there’s not much she can do. Nigel doesn’t seem to understand the word no - he just dismantles her excuses. No, she doesn’t have too much work. No, her agenda is free at lunch. No, he knows she eats carbs now.
At some point, she just surrenders, taking some comfort in the fact that at least she’ll spend some time with Andy. She orders Amelia and Theo to keep an eye on their phones - they have a specific word that she can use in case she needs an extraction from lunch - and marches to the restaurant while Nigel looks at her with barely concealed amusement.
Their venue, luckily, is close enough - she has little to no intention to make small talk with Nigel.
(It’s not that she hates him. It’s more complicated than that - there is resentment, the feeling of a kinship only Emily had perceived, apparently, because they had both been betrayed by Miranda. But Nigel had never allowed his bitterness to mar his time at Runway; Emily had latched on it for so long that, even now, there are moments when she needs to remind herself that Miranda’s opinion means shit to her)
Andy is already at the table when they arrive, looking half pleased with herself and half guilty, which suggests she already knew about Nigel’s shenanigans and simply decided to not warn her. You traitor.
“Andrea.”
“Em,” says the other woman, so obviously biting back a grin that Emily almost kisses her right then, just to shut her up. Instead, she chooses to take the high road, sit down and order a salad with a side of fries, because she will need carbs to survive the next hour.
“So,” starts Nigel, once the food finally arrives. “I guess congratulations are in order.”
Emily can already feel the beginning of a headache forming. “We’re not getting married, Nigel.”
“But you are finally freeing us from your drama, and that should be properly celebrated, since six here was driving me to madness,” sighs Nigel, dramatically. “Personal crisis while working, how 2006.”
“I wasn’t that bad,” protests Andy.
“You cried into my handkerchief in the middle of lunch.”
“Which you offered me, I would have been happy to cry into a napkin. But,” adds Andy, a smile at her mentor, before turning to Emily. “Nigel also helped me realise it was time to stop hiding behind my excuses and talk to you, back when I was avoiding you, so…”
“I suppose I owe him my thanks, then,” allows Emily, somewhat generously.
“How magnanimous,” remarks Nigel, dry. “Well, now that it’s been settled - how about you tell me what really happened with Versace? I have the feeling that this one,” he throws a look at Andy. “Gave me a very edited summary.”
Andy shrugs without a single word, stealing one of Emily’s fries, looking entirely not sorry.
“Really, Nigel?” asks Emily with a small sigh. “Versace? That’s your question?”
“A good starting point, no?” he smiles, and for once, his expression is free from the usual sardonic look. “Worry not, I will not release you until I have the full story.”
And Emily, despite it all - the twenty years, Runway, the entire ambush - finds herself looking forward to tell him what happened.
4 - The Charltons
“First lunch with my parents and we’re already late,” grumbles Emily, looking at the traffic with such disdain that a part of Andy is surprised that the cars don’t simply part for them. “Fantastic, just fantastic.”
Andy doesn’t comment, choosing instead to take Emily’s hand and hold it. She knows her anxiety has less to do with their lateness - which is more of an impression than anything else, they still have ten minutes before their appointment - and more with the first introduction of Andy.
They’ve been together for almost seven weeks now; Emily’s parents have come from England to spend some days in New York before returning home with Bronwyn and Roark, providing what had seemed like the perfect occasion to introduce Andy.
Emily had planned the lunch with the same methodic approach she would have used to organise a work event; she had agonised over the choice of restaurant, the time - should we do lunch or dinner, Andy, or maybe a brunch? -, whether Andy should have arrived later or with her, if she should have mentioned anything to her parents before meeting them.
“I’m sure they’ll understand,” she says after a while, once Emily’s expression is less belligerent. “And we still have a bit of time.”
“At best we’ll be right on time, which means we’ll be late,” huffs Emily, though she does look a bit calmer. Andy chuckles, then she leaves a quick kiss on the back of Emily’s hand.
In all honesty, her anxiety is just slightly below her girlfriend’s. She rarely met the parents of her past partners, never that quickly, and on no occasion before she had felt that overwhelming urge to be liked by them.
Because the truth is that she wants the Charltons to like her, yes. She had not joked when she had told Emily she was in for the long ride - and, considering how close her girlfriend was to her parents, having a good relationship with them could not hurt.
“Did you find out why they decided to stay in a hotel this time?”
Emily gives a little shrug. “Mum said dad wakes up at night, sometimes, and that they don’t want to disturb me, since I’m a light sleeper.”
“You’re a what?” laughs Andy. “Just a few days I had to bring your coffee to the bed to wake you up.”
“Or maybe it was all a plan to be served coffee in bed.”
***
Just a few blocks away, another couple was having a similar discussion.
“Darling, please. Try to relax.”
Liam Charlton twitches under his wife’s gaze, then exhales a long sigh. “I am perfectly calm.”
He’s far from being calm, but Susan doesn’t try to correct him for once.
They’re at a restaurant in SoHo, waiting for their daughter and a mysterious guest to join them. They had landed in New York two days before; they’re still slightly jet-lagged, still unused to New York and its madness, but extremely curious about the person that Emily is supposed to introduce them.
“Remember,” says Susan, with a smile she doesn’t even try to hide. “One week in Tuscany. I’m sure we’ll have an amazing time.”
“Doubt it, since I’m right and we’ll be going to Salzburg for the Super Cup final. The food won’t be as good as Italy, but we’ll make it do.”
She gives a pitying look. “The only final you’ll be seeing is on the telly, darling, while we eat a plate of pappardelle.”
Susan is being a touch unfair, to be honest, and she knows it. The advantage of insider informer - Bronwyn is physically incapable of keeping any information for herself - and, well, a memory from almost thirty years ago of accidentally surprising her daughter while she was kissing one of her schoolmates.
She had tried to discuss it, back then. Not immediately, since Emily had done her absolute best to avoid her for the next three weeks, but, well, later. Despite some well positioned ‘have you heard about Daniel? His husband got a promotion’ or ‘the Pride parade is next Sunday, how charming’, Emily had simply pretended not to hear anything.
Month after month, year after year, her daughter had ignored each of her attempts to make it known that it would have been okay, if she liked women, would have been absolutely fine - they were no longer in the ’50s, after all.
She knows her daughter’s reluctance was their fault, at least in part, that they have not been the perfect parents. That some of the choices they made for Emily had not been the best ones, despite their good intentions.
The school, for example. St. Anne had seemed like an obvious choice - a girls’ school with excellent academic record, the sort of place where Emily would be able to forge connections that would also help her in the long run. Where she would have thrived, where she would have learned to excel.
And Emily had definitely excelled, but Susan is terribly sure she had never thrived. Her grades had been perfect, the teachers kept praising her work ethic and dedication, but she also became… well, not quieter, but so much harder to reach through. Susan had told herself that she was simply growing up, that it was all part of the process, but now she can see how wrong she had been.
Then there’s the matter of their work - Liam’s job, which had forced them to leave the comfort of Birmingham for London, and her own commitments. She cannot count the amount of times they had to work around their schedules to attend school plays, meetings with the professors, fencing competitions; and she can’t count the ones they had missed. Emily had never complained, always accepting their excuses with a stiff upper lip, becoming self-sufficient in a way that might have been mistaken with resilience, and not for what it actually was.
And then Emily had moved to New York, barely out of university and so eager to find her own path. And that path had led her to Runway - to a place that both Liam and Susan had learned to quietly loathe - and to a version of their daughter that at times they had struggled to recognise; sharp to the point of casual cruelty, obsessed with her job and loyal to a woman who had never deserved an inch of her devotion.
And then Dior, the marriage to Frank that had stunned all of them - though, at the very least, he had given them Roark and Bronwyn -, the divorce after a few years, Coach. She cannot pinpoint exactly when it had happened, but at some point, amidst all the drama, her daughter had started coming back. The one softer around the edges, quicker to smile, and, most importantly, less focused on appearances.
Andrea - Andy, she thinks with a small smile - had been a curious addition in their daughter’s life. She still remembers the first time Emily had said her name - Sorry, mum, I have to go, Andy’s waiting for me - and how curious she had found it. Emily rarely mentioned people for the sake of it; if this Andy had been so important to deserve to be named in a conversation, well, then she was someone of interest.
Her curiosity had been fully repaid; Emily had kept name-dropping Andy, more and more, and even the kids seemed quite taken with the woman. Susan had actually hoped Emily would introduce her during their visit in January, but her daughter hadn't offered, and she hadn't wanted to push. Except for that night, of course, when Emily had come back from a dinner with Andy with a love-struck expression.
Whenever you’re ready, honey. That’s what she had told her daughter - a sentiment she could keep ignoring, if so she wished, but a reassurance, too.
And finally, it seems like the famous Andy will be introduced to them. Which had sparked of course a debate between Susan and Liam; her husband was convinced that Emily was just introducing a new friend, which was clearly not the case, and they had decided to bet on it. One week in Tuscany, if Susan was right; four days in Salzburg, including the Super Cup final between Aston Villa and PSG, if Liam was correct.
And, since her husband was definitely wrong, Susan couldn’t wait to book her holiday.
***
When they finally arrive at the restaurant, Andy breathes a sigh of relief. Emily had looked more and more tense as they had neared the place; at least now they can get it over with.
Just as they’re about to enter the venue, she stops Emily. “Hey,” she says, quiet. “It’s going to be okay. Whatever happens, I’m here for you.”
Emily pauses, takes a long breath. “I know - that’s why I’m doing this,” she adds, a small scoff that is more amused than dry. “All right. Chin up, straighten your back and let’s go.”
“Aye aye, commander,” says back Andy, and it takes all of her willpower to not kiss the small smile that tugs at Emily’s lips. “You know, you could have had a splendid career in the Army, now that I think about it…”
“Oh, do shut up.”
They both chuckle, finally entering the place, and Andy allows Emily to go first. Her girlfriend had chosen a corner table, slightly detached from the other tables, which Emily had assured would allow them to speak without being disturbed. It also ensured a straight path to the exit, just in case they needed to leave quickly - Emily’s reasoning, Andy had refused to think about it.
Emily’s parents are already sitting at the table; she can recognise them from the pictures she had seen before - Liam, a tall man with grey hair and blue eyes, and Susan, a woman with warm brown hair and sharp features. Andy can see the resemblances already.
Please like me.
“Hi mum, hi dad,” says Emily, voice apologetic. “Sorry we’re late, the traffic was appalling.”
"Emily!" says Susan, welcoming her daughter with a warm smile. She stands to hug her, and Emily holds on for a second longer than usual - Andy notices, and she suspects Susan does too. Liam stands as well, quieter, a hand briefly on Emily's shoulder before he turns to Andy with an expression that holds some mild curiosity.
"And this must be Andrea," he says, extending a hand.
"Andy," she says, shaking it. His grip is firm and his eyes are assessing her in a way that is so entirely Emily's that she has to hold a laugh. "It's lovely to meet you both."
They sit, and Liam pours water to all of them; Andy looks at the menu, mentally debating about whether or not she should check it; she decides against it, noticing how Emily’s expression steels. Oh. We’re doing this now. All right. Game face.
"So," starts Emily, giving her a side eyed look. Andy just nods, trying to convey all her support; Emily takes a long, determined breath. “Mum, dad. I wanted to introduce you to Andy because she’s my… my girlfriend. Partner.”
Andrea gives them a smile that feels way too tight to be entirely genuine. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr and Mrs Charlton. Emily has told me so much about you,” she says, words coming out as if practiced over and over. Which, well, she did.
For a long moment, neither of them speak. Liam looks dismayed, which is definitely worrying; Susan, instead, looks strangely satisfied.
Until Susan turns to her husband, gives him a big, victorious smile. “Well, Liam? When are you going to book that villa in Tuscany?”
He gives her a fraught look, then turns to Emily. “I’m happy for you, honey, but you just lost me the Super Cup final. You do realise it’s a once-in-a-lifetime event, don’t you?”
Emily just stares at them. “I-what?”
“We already suspected,” explains Susan. “Well, I did. Your father was convinced Andrea was only a friend, which is why we’ve made a little bet out of it - and it appears I just won,” she adds, a grin on her face. “We’re happy for you. Both of you,” she adds, and her voice softens. Emily looks on the verge of tears, and Andrea quietly takes her hand, holds it. “And we’re so glad to finally meet you, Andrea.”
“That we are,” sighs Liam, and his dismay gives way to a real smile. “We’ve heard so much about you, both from Em here and from the kids.”
Andy feels a sudden warmth at the tip of her ears; she passes a hand behind her neck, tilting her head. “All good things, I hope.”
“Great ones, so far.”
Before Susan can continue, a waiter approaches their table. “Apologies for the interruption - are you ready to order?”
Andy is definitely not ready, but she has been here before with Emily, and she’s almost sure the menu has not changed. She orders the seared salmon, same as Emily, and they agree on sharing a portion of fries; Liam looks at the with barely concealed amusement.
“I can’t remember the last time I saw you voluntarily eating carbs,” he says.
Emily shrugs, exchanging a sidelong glance with Andy, a smile tugging at her lips. “Now, dad. Don’t you know that shared carbs have no calories?”
***
Here’s the thing: Liam Charlton is not an imbecile. Nor is he blind.
He had known since forever that there was something going on with that journalist - hard not to notice, Emily always wears a smitten smile on her face whenever she mentions her.
And, of course, having Roark as inside man had helped. His grandson is always more than willing to speak about “mum’s friend”, their outings and dinners together, the help she gives him with homework. So Andrea Sachs had gone from being catalogued as friend to person of interest to potential partner for his little girl.
Liam had even started buying Runway - the horror - to read Andrea’s articles. She sounds funny, at least - her pieces always have a scathing sort of humour that never goes overboard.
But, as mentioned, he’s not an imbecile. He knows the secret to a successful marriage requires compromise, and that his wife is really in love with that villa in Tuscany she has seen on Booking. And they haven’t been to Italy for a few years now.
So he tells his wife that surely she must be mistaken, that this Andrea must be just a friend. That there would be nothing wrong if their sweet daughter liked women, of course, actually no, scratch that, he would love if Emily fell for a woman rather than one of the idiotic men she kept going out with, but unfortunately that was not the case.
He accepts a bet that he already knows will be a losing one, because when you’ve been married for almost fifty years you know that there are some compromises to make. He sits at the table of some fancy restaurant in SoHo, a part of him thinking that he’d really love a burger, and waits for his daughter to introduce the woman who apparently has stolen her heart.
The first impression of Emily’s partner is more than positive. Slightly taller than his daughter, sharply dressed, wearing a warm smile; she’s saying something that draws a chuckle out of Emily, a real one, and just like that, Liam immediately decides that she’s the one. He can’t remember Frank - or, God forbid, that bloody imbecile of Benjamin or whatever was the name - ever making her laugh like that.
When Emily sits, wearing that half frozen smile that she has whenever she’s anxious, there’s nothing Liam would like more than telling his little girl that it’s all right, that they know already. But it’s not their place to say it; that truth is Emily’s, and only hers, and she has to be the one to do the first step.
And then Emily is finally brave enough to voice the words; my girlfriend, she says, and there’s both steel and warmth in her voice. It’s what they had always hoped for - to see her happy, loved, strong enough to defend that love.
Later, while Emily and Susan are engrossed in one of their talks, Andy turns to him.
“So, sir-”
“Liam,” he interrupts, calm, not unkind. “No point standing on formalities, Andrea.”
“Andy, then,” she grins. Her shoulders slightly relax, and her smile looks less forced. “I assume you might have some questions.”
He takes a long look at her; at this American woman whose sole mention seems to soften his daughter, who has charmed his grandchildren, and just smiles. “I do have one. You are aware that it’s called football and not soccer, aren’t you?”
Andy groans. “Not this again.”
“Just a jest,” he grins, then his expression turns slightly more serious. “How about you help me fill the gaps? You’ve met my daughter while you both worked at Runway, didn’t you?”
Andy immediately brightens up; as she starts retelling a twenty-year-old tale, Liam hides a relieved smile, knowing he had been right in his initial assessment. This woman really seems the right one.
***
That night, despite how tired she feels, Emily lies on her side, listening to Andy’s quiet breath next to her. Introducing Andy to her parents had been the most terrifying action of her life. It was pathetic, yes, Emily could readily admit it, but it didn’t make it any less true. The idea of disappointing them was just… crushing.
And yet, none of her fears had materialised; her parents had been happy to meet Andy, immediately accepting the latest development. No stiff upper lip, no do try not to make it noticeable, dear.
“Hey.”
Andy’s whisper is low; low enough that, if Emily was sleeping, she would have probably not heard it. But Emily is not sleeping, though she does wish she were.
“Sleep, Andy,” she whispers back.
“Can’t. Your thoughts are too loud,” answers Andy, and even with her shoulders turned against her, Emily can feel her smiling. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Do I?
“Not really,” she admits, knowing Andy won’t push. “Just thinking about my parents, how they were fine with me being…”
She trails off, as she has done so often before. A lesbian, is the ending of that phrase, though she isn’t sure whether her parents are aware of it or not. They’re fine with being in love with a woman, so they definitely know that she isn’t straight, but still…
“They were great, Em,” says Andy, after a few seconds of silence. Emily feels a warm hand stroking her shoulder blade, softly, and lets herself relax under the touch. “Really. I’m so happy for you, I can’t wait to get to know them better.”
“I know. I just keep thinking…” she pauses for a moment, looking for the right words. Her voice sounds embarrassingly small, but she can’t find the force to care. “I mean, it’s stupid, but I keep thinking that I wasted all these years. That I was so afraid of telling them, of telling myself, that I liked women. And it turned out to be just that easy.”
Andy hums. “You didn’t waste them, you just had to take a different road,” she says, pulling slightly closer. “And, for what it’s worth, I would have waited for you even longer, if I had to.”
Then, almost as an afterthought, she continues. “And who knows - maybe you would have found already some gorgeous woman who would have swept you off your feet, and you wouldn’t have given me the time of your day.”
Emily sighs. “Or maybe I would have been brave enough to ask you out when we both worked at Runway.”
Andy doesn’t say anything, initially. She just keeps softly stroking her shoulder blade, her breath warm against Emily’s back. “We wouldn’t have the kids, though, if you did that,” she says back, sleepily.
Strangely enough, what truly affects Emily is a single word - we. Not you. We. As if… as if they were a unit, a family.
But Andy apparently is not done with tearing down her walls, or whatever is left of them. “And I like the kids. No, actually I love them,” she yawns, then scoots closer to Emily, close enough that she can feel the warmth of her chest against the back, and presses a kiss on the crown of her head. “And I love you. Sleep now, Em.”
I love you.
It’s not the first time Andy says it. It always sounds so natural, so effortless, when she says it; Emily had said it back, of course, but never with that same ease that Andy seems to find innate in herself. A part of her is envious; the only people to whom she can express her love without feeling the words binding in her mouth are her children.
“Love you too,” she says back, softly, as she finally closes her eyes.
5 - Miranda
“Andy? A little help, please?”
The zipper of her dress seems slightly stuck, and she’d rather not break it with some foolish attempt to fix it. It’s a vintage Chanel, for heaven’s sake, she’s not going to risk damaging it. Especially not one hour before the gala.
Emily had not been particularly looking forward to it. Even after the success of the preview, the idea of seeing Miranda doesn’t exactly fill her with enthusiasm. She’d rather stay at home and finish her review of their latest BSI report, or watch some mindless show on tv; but Andy had just stared at her with those damn brown eyes, a small pout on her face, pleading to go to the gala.
And obviously Emily’s resistance had crumbled like a sand castle after a wave, which is the reason why she’s currently finishing her prepping for the event, rather than relaxing on the couch.
“Coming,” says her girlfriend from the next room. Emily hears her shuffle something around, then her footsteps get closer to the bedroom. “Woah.”
Emily chuckles. “The dress is beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Wasn’t talking about the dress, but yeah, sure,” says back Andy, smiling in good humour. “What’s the matter?”
“Zipper. And be careful, please.”
Andy moves behind her with a hum; she hears her fiddling with the zipper, cautious, until a small click confirms she’s been successful.
“There,” says Andy, pressing a quick kiss to the back of Emily’s neck before smoothing the fabric down. “You look amazing, by the way. Even more than the usual.”
“Fully aware, but thank you,” smiles Emily. “And enough with the kisses. I’m not going to risk having your lipstick stamped on my neck like some sailor who just left the bar.”
Andy grins. “We’d definitely be the talk of the party.”
***
As it tends to happen lately, observing the guests causes Miranda to feel a wave of nostalgia.
The time of dazzling dresses and true spectacle feels like something that pertained to a different industry, in a different century - one populated by people who understood that galas were a performance requiring the same discipline as a walk on the runway. A concept that the swarm of influencers and jesters plaguing those events seemed to find impossible to understand.
Appearing, after all, is quite different from showing. And it seems like fewer and fewer people know the difference between the two.
The edge is gone, suffocated into a vortex of suits all looking alike. Even the designers seem to be so utterly vapid; none of those green boys and girls could hold a candle even to James Holt, which said everything about the calamitous state of the industry.
The appearance of Emily Charlton on Andrea’s arm is little more than a footnote on a mediocre evening, slotted between the insipid amuse-bouche and the tasteless music. At least, although it is a meagre consolation in an ocean of mediocrity, they do look quite gorgeous together; the vintage Chanel draped on Emily is exquisite, and far more interesting than whichever little liaison she might be entertaining.
Later, Charles brings back not only the glass of Chardonnay she has ordered, but a piece of information - mere gossip - he clearly believes important enough to relay. He is, obviously, mistaken.
“Miranda,” he starts, cautiously handing her the glass. “Have you seen Andy? She’s here with-”
“I do have eyes, Charles,” she interrupts him, bored. She takes a sip, tasting the wine; a good, dry Montrachet Grand Cru - from 2022, perhaps. “And it is the third time this information has been reported to me. I was not aware we were running a column on Andrea’s personal life.”
At least Charles has the good sense to look properly chastened. “Apologies, Miranda.”
She sighs. “Do not waste time with mindless apologies, Charles. Make yourself useful, instead, and find where Emily has located that Chanel. The dress is divine.”
“Erm. Sure, I’ll ask… around.”
Frank
“Dad, we’re late.”
Roark’s latest appeal finally tears Frank away from his musings, and he takes a look at the watch. 8.20 PM. They’re definitely late.
Fuck.
“Are you two ready?” he asks in response, leaving the chair he had occupied for the last five hours. He looks at the report he was studying, mournfully thinking already about the hour he will waste. He can’t wait for the children to be old enough to be put on a taxi and shipped back to their mother without the need of his assistance.
“Yes,” says his son, showing a backpack. “I also told mum we were going to be late, she was getting worried.”
Of course she was, thinks Frank with an eye roll. That’s how it always is with her. Emily seems absolutely incapable of not making things much more dramatic than they are; a little delay could suddenly become the greatest offence in the memory of mankind. Yes, he was supposed to return the kids at 6 PM, but it’s certainly not his fault if his work is so demanding, no?
“Let’s go, then.”
The only silver lining is that they have avoided rush hour; the ride to Emily’s place takes just a little more than twenty minutes, and he’s able to respond to a few emails during the ride.
When the taxi stops in front of Emily’s building, he follows his children with a sigh. He just needs to drop them in the apartment - Emily always insists on making sure they get there, as if they could get lost in the elevator - and then he can go back to his work.
***
“I swear to God, Andy, this time I will actually slap him.”
It’s possibly the fifth time that Andy hears that phrase, and she can’t find the will to calm Emily down. After all, she’s furious too. Not about the delay itself - that could happen - but rather because of the lack of communication around it; Andy has started to lose count of the amount of times it had happened in the past months.
Frank would promise to return the kids at some hour, only to either bring them home too early or too late; or he would promise to collect them, and never come, or tell them at the last minute he couldn’t go to a meeting with the teachers, a match, one of the school plays.
“That absolute idiot,” continues Emily, incensed. “I can’t believe it.”
“I know,” says Andy, unhappy. “But try to keep your cool until the kids are in their rooms, Em. It’s not a conversation they should hear.”
The conversation being Emily’s decision to contact her lawyer and ask for a new custody agreement, because the one they have is clearly not working. They have no idea how the kids will react; though a part of Andy, the less kind one, is quite sure Roark and Bronwyn won’t be too bothered about it.
Just on cue, she hears the bell ringing; she exchanges a look with Emily, and goes to open the door. The kids immediately barge into the house, greeting her with a quick hug, before slipping into the next room. Frank doesn’t enter, as usual; he hovers on the doorway with the expression of someone who can’t wait to leave. Oh, not this time.
“Hello, Frank,” says Andy, calm. “Emily would like to talk to you.”
He scoffs, wordlessly, and starts unbuttoning his coat before marching into the living room, where Emily is welcoming the children; she gives a burning look to her ex-husband, before addressing again the kids.
“Roark, Bronwyn, can you go to your rooms for a few minutes?” says Emily, and Andy can feel how much she’s trying to keep her voice calm. “Your dad and I need to talk.”
The children exchange a silent look; they nod, quietly bidding goodbye to their father, before they disappear down the hall. The door of Roark’s room has barely closed when Emily’s head whips at Frank.
“You’re late,” starts Emily, her voice carefully neutral despite the spark of anger beneath it. “Again. And you obviously didn’t even think of letting me know, despite the fact that I had clearly asked you to, after the last few times.”
“I was working, Emily,” huffs Frank, rolling his eyes in a way that makes Andy’s jaw tighten. “Must you be always so dramatic? It’s two hours, not two days.”
Emily gives a mirthless chuckle. “Oh, but sure. Our son had to text me that he could hear you working and that you were simply ignoring him and Bronwyn, and I’m the dramatic one?”
Andy forces down a sigh. It’s not the first time she hears one of their quarrels, though usually they fight during phone calls or on the doorway of the apartment; but by now she knows they’re both about to lose their cool.
“Oh, of course now I’m the bad parent,” he laughs. “Roark is ten, Emily, he’s perfectly able to mind himself and his sister for a while-”
“This is not the point and you know it-”
“-fucking understand that my job is important, but apparently you don’t-”
“-always like this, always someone else’s fault and never your own!”
“-and why are we even having this conversation in front of a perfect stranger?” yells Frank, gesturing at Andy. For a moment, Emily just stares at him with the expression of someone who cannot believe what she has just heard.
“She’s not a stranger, you bloody imbecile, she’s my partner and she has been more present in the children’s lives than their own father!”
Frank pauses; he looks at Andy, first, then at Emily and back at Andy again. “She’s your what?” he asks, voice full of bewilderment. “Is this a joke?”
Don’t slap him, don’t slap him, don’t…
The mantra Andy keeps chanting in her head seems to be utterly failing, because right now there is little more she’d like than slapping that imbecile until he’s out of the apartment. And, if possible, out of their lives too.
“Why would it be a joke?” scoffs Emily, an expression of such blatant ire that, had it been directed at Andy, she would have probably stepped back. “And how did you not even notice? We’ve been together for months, Frank, Andy was here most of the times you’ve dropped the kids, she even brought them to your house once!”
“I thought she was the babysitter!”
Emily’s face reddens - and not in the delicious way she flushes when Andy flirts with her, but in the dangerous one, the one that anticipates an explosion.
“The babysitter?” she says, and what’s worse is that she doesn’t yell. She uses the tone that Andy had mentally nicknamed the ‘Miranda voice’ (not that she would ever tell Emily that). “You thought my partner, who has been living in this flat for weeks now and who has spent more time with the kids than you did, was the bloody babysitter?”
Frank gives her a look of pure inconvenience. “Well, how was I supposed to know?” he says, scoffing. “It’s not like we ever speak about anything, Emily. But maybe you could have told me that some woman was living with my children!”
“Oh, should I send you an executive summary every time something changes in my life? Maybe you’d prefer it, considering all you do is-“
“… so dramatic and somehow it’s my fault that-“
“Yes! Yes, it is your fault,” snaps Emily. Andy shoots her a look of caution - she knows the kids can hear everything. Emily gives an imperceptible nod, taking a deep sigh. “Frank, you don’t get to lecture me after coming here two hours late, without any call or explanation. You don’t get to do this after the last four months of disappearances and lateness. You just don’t.”
Frank keeps quiet for a few seconds; he throws Andy a poisonous look, closes the buttons of his coat. “This isn’t over,” he says, an underlying threat in his voice. “We’re going to talk about it properly. Not like… this.”
He concludes with another loathing look at Andy; Emily immediately moves slightly closer to her. “Oh, we are. I’m calling my lawyer tomorrow, we’ll set up a meeting with yours.”
Frank scoffs, wordlessly. Not even ten seconds later, the door slams, sealing his exit.
For a moment, neither of them moves. Then Emily exhales a long, deep sigh, and drops on the couch. “Well, that went as well as expected.”
Which is not at all, but at least the screaming has been contained - sort of - so it’s not entirely a failure. Andy sits next to her girlfriend, cautious, and wraps an arm around her shoulders.
“You were amazing,” she whispers, feeling Emily lean into the embrace. “Really. Bit turned on right now, if I have to be honest, but I’m also so proud of you.”
“Oh, stop it,” mutters Emily, but there’s no bite in her voice.
“Sorry, not sorry,” Andy gives a low chuckle, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Are you okay?”
For a few seconds, Emily doesn’t respond; she half-closes her eyes, leaning her head back. “Yes,” she says, soft. “I’m just sorry the kids had to hear all of that.”
As if they had summoned them, Andy hears the sound of a door creaking. She files away a reminder to oil the hinges; after a few moments, an uncharacteristically shy Bronwyn appears in the doorway, her brother in tow.
“Is dad gone?” she asks, timidly, and Emily nods.
“He is. I’m sorry you heard-”
“He called Andy the babysitter.”
The interruption comes from Roark; his voice is low, yet incensed in the way an angry ten-year-old can be. He looks at Andy, serious, and a flash of hurt passes in his eyes. “She’s not our babysitter,” he adds. “That’s so stupid. Andy is Andy.”
Even years later, Andy still won’t be able to explain the effect those few words had on her, the impact of Roark’s honest anger, of Bronwyn nodding next to him. The sensation of being part of the family, the warmth in her chest.
“Andy is Andy,” confirms Emily gravely, the shadow of a smile tugging at her lips, and she holds out an arm. “Come here.”
She doesn’t need to say another word; Roark folds himself against her side, and Bronwyn climbs onto Andy’s lap, leaning against her chest.
And the Grinch’s small heart grew three sizes that day. Yeah, Andy can really understand the feeling.
For a while, none of them says anything; until Bronwyn, as usual, is the one to break the quiet. “Can we watch a movie?”
“And eat popcorn on the couch?” follows immediately Roark with a hopeful look.
Emily just chuckles. “Sounds perfect.”
Bonus - The assistants (and former ones)
The main problem with being a junior reporter, at least according to Jin, is that there are moments where she has no idea how to start an article. Not in the sense of putting down the words, but rather in how to prepare for it.
The piece she has been assigned to - Can American Fashion reinvent its supply chain? which, in her opinion, is a title so boring it will ensure no one even clicks on the link - required her to interview a series of sources from several fashion houses. Except that, so far, no one had really answered her questions, referring her to this or that other person.
After making no progress for the past few days, with the deadline quickly approaching, she had done what any normal person would do; she had gone to her mentor, who luckily for her was the most incredible woman in the entire world, and had asked for her help.
“Of course no one is answering,” says Andy, but there’s no bite in her voice. “Classic. They all love to pretend we don’t exist when we’re asking the real questions.”
Jin nods, wordlessly, knowing no input is needed from her.
“Well, I can give you a few contacts, just say you’re calling on my behalf and they’ll actually talk with you, ” says Andy, looking somehow both exasperated and amused. “Also - you know Emily Charlton, don’t you?”
Jin nods again. She doesn’t actually know her, but she does know who she is, and quite frankly, she finds the woman absolutely terrifying.
“Fantastic. I was actually about to leave - need to drop something by her office. Why don’t you come with me, and I’ll ask her to give you a few quotes?” she asks, then winks. “I think someone might be very impressed if you managed to speak with a CMO. Supply chain is not really Em’s area of expertise, but I’m sure she’ll be able to help.”
And that’s how Jin had found herself walking into Coach’s headquarters, closely following Andy. The security had waved them in with a smile, without even asking them to sign some visitor book or giving them a temporary badge; Andy had moved with the precision of someone who knew exactly where she was supposed to go.
“You seem to know your way around,” says Jin as they’re about to enter the elevator, voice as casual as possible.
Andy just smiles. “I’ve been here a few times already,” she says, pressing a button on the list of floors.
Jin hums, keeping her curiosity on hold. She has heard the rumours of the alleged relationship between her mentor and Coach’s CMO, but she has always filed it as gossip, the sort of rumours that might be born because the truth is considerably less exciting. Given how comfortable Andy seems to be moving around the building, she’s kind of wondering if the rumours weren’t right.
***
“She’s here again,” whispers Amelia, sliding on her chair next to Theo.
“Who?” he mumbles, without even tearing his gaze away from the dashboard he’s creating. He just needs to make the pie chart slightly bigger, change the colours and finally he’ll be done with this monstrosity.
“Do you even need to ask? And stop looking at Tableau, you cretin,” she says back, dry, and finally Theo raises his head, ready to start one of their classic bickering, until he notices Andrea Sachs walking toward them, a young woman in tow.
“Uh-oh,” he mutters, and Amelia emits a sound of satisfaction that he just decides to ignore. “Hello, Andy! How are you today?”
“Hey Theo, hey Amelia,” she grins back, before shaking the bag she’s carrying. “Is Emily free? She forgot her phone at home.”
Theo is starting to wonder if it was all part of some elaborated foreplay, because there is no way the boss kept forgetting stuff at home, only for her partner - because there was no way those two were not together, Chene from Product had even confirmed it - to drop by the office and bring it.
Not that he didn’t like Andy, of course. She’s not the sort of person he would have expected as Emily’s partner, and he means it in a positive way. But usually any mention of Runway is able to sour the boss’ mood in less than ten seconds, a sort of Pavlovian response that Theo couldn’t help but find funny, despite how much tougher it made his job.
“She should be free in five minutes,” smiles Amelia, all teeth. “You can leave the phone with us or just wait until her call is over - whichever you prefer.”
Andy turns at the glass door, and in the same moment Emily raises her eyes from the computer, crossing the gaze of the other woman. She doesn’t smile right away, but Theo can see the way her eyes soften, her shoulders dropping slightly; she holds up one finger, and Andy nods, getting closer to the doorway; after barely thirty seconds, Emily makes a gesture as if to invite her to enter.
“Ah, Jin - just give me a moment,” says Andy to her companion, who just murmurs her agreement.
“Fastest five minutes I’ve ever experienced. So,” comments Theo with a smile, as soon as Andy disappears in the office, turning at the new girl. “I’m Theo, and this is Amelia - we’re Emily’s PAs. And you are…?”
“Oh! I’m Jin,” responds the other woman with an awkward hand wave. “I’m a junior reporter at Runway.”
***
Amelia doesn’t like Runway.
It’s nothing personal, of course. As a young teen, she had actually loved it; she used to buy each issue, religiously reading it, before slipping it into a plastic cover to ensure it wouldn’t be ruined by one of her brothers.
But her current boss clearly dislikes Runway, so Amelia doesn’t like them either. It’s simple as that.
Andrea Sachs - Andy, had said Emily once with a smile - is the one exception to that rule. The journalist is good in Amelia’s book; she’s polite, she remembers names, and always seems able to bring a smile on her boss’ face within twenty seconds. And, well, she’s also most likely Emily’s significant other, even though her manager had never said anything about it.
So, when she finds herself having to look after a clearly out-of-her-depth girl hovering near her desk that Andy had just left in their care, she decides to be nice about it.
“A junior reporter at Runway,” she repeats, plastering a smile on her face. “How lovely. And do you work a lot with Andrea?”
“I-yes, she’s the senior editor there, as well as my mentor.”
Well, if the girl is Andrea’s protégé, then she’s important. Even more reason to be nice. “Lovely,” she says. “And how long have you been working there?”
“Almost a year and a half. Hey, do-”
“And you started in the feature department?”
“Well, no, but-”
“Amelia, please,” interrupts Theo with a sigh. “Stop interrogating her. I’m sure Emily can get you a job down in security, if you’re so interested in questioning people.”
Oh you fucking little…
Luckily for Theo, someone stops Amelia before she can properly eviscerate him. “Aw, look at this. Our little chicks are becoming friends.”
She turns to see Andrea grinning on the doorway of the office, Emily just slightly behind her; the CMO is staring at the scene with a small exasperated expression.
“Come on,” says Emily, ignoring the other woman. “We’re going out for lunch. And by we I mean all of us.”
“Oh,” mumbles Amelia. “But someone needs to check the-”
“Shut up, Lia, let the boss treat us lunch,” interrupts Theo with a grin, and for what feels like the thousandth time that month, Amelia feels the impulse to murder him. Whether for the nickname or for the casualness that he uses with Emily, that is to be decided. “Can I order caviar?”
Emily just sighs. “Do it and I’ll dock it from your pay.”
***
Jin is not sure how to feel about the impromptu lunch. She was just supposed to get a few quotes, not being swept into having lunch in a restaurant she’s pretty sure costs more per plate than her weekly grocery budget. She really hopes Andy intends to pay, otherwise she’ll have to survive on instant ramen for the next three weeks.
“Don’t you feel like we’re taking the kids out for lunch?” she hears Andy saying to Emily.
“Our very grown up children, apparently,” mutters the other woman.
Yup, they’re definitely together.
“Don’t worry,” whispers Theo as he falls into step next to her. “She doesn’t bite. Well, provided you don’t ask stupid questions, she hates those.”
“And what does she consider a stupid question?”
He just laughs, as if Jin had made a funny joke - she had not, that was completely serious - and gives her a pat on her shoulder that almost makes her stumble. “You’ll do great. And don’t mind Amelia, she means well - like, you know, some sort of particularly protective chihuahua.”
Not much later, once they finish their order, Andy puts down her glass. “So, Jin, how about you explain Emily the subject of your article?”
Jin turns to stare at the woman; Emily’s eyes are warm, encouraging, quite unlike the icy woman she had built in her mind. “Yes. So. It’s about whether American fashion brands can realistically reinvent their supply chains to be more sustainable and reliable, given the current cost pressures and the constant threats to logistics.”
Emily chuckles, shaking her head. “Ambitious. A question all companies are pondering, of course - not only the fashion industry,” she adds. “Ask me about sourcing, first, and then we’ll get to the rest.”
Jin fumbles for her notebook, and doesn’t stop taking notes for the next forty minutes.
***
Lunch is, in Jin’s opinion, a resounding success, and also free, since Andy pays for it. Emily gives her way more than a few quotes; she has enough material that she could actually base the entire article on that interview alone, which would make her life considerably easier. She’s pretty sure that her fellow junior reporters will be green with envy when they see she has managed to get access to the C-suite of a luxury brand.
Jin walks back to Runway definitely more confident than she'd left it, with the faintly delighted realisation that her mentor is, in fact, very much in a relationship with Emily. And quite happy in it, too, given the smitten smile she had given her before returning to the office.
Two weeks later, her article is finally released, deemed good enough that Jin is able to sign it. Andy takes her out for a celebratory coffee, and shows her a congratulatory text from Emily. Yep, life is good.