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Summary
“It’d be such a shame for…let’s say one of the Rolexes on his wrist to mysteriously go missing. The older models…I heard that they’re impossible to replace.” Andrea purred, and who was Miranda to deny her anything.
A good host should accommodate their guests, after all.
“I’m sure he would be deeply saddened by it,” Miranda lightly squeezed the girl’s waist and revered in the sharp inhale of her breath the action produced, “but Runway would not be responsible for the loss of any personal items.”
Or: Andrea Sachs waltzes into the high society of New York, and suddenly things start to go missing.