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Miranda Priestly truly hated very few things. Poor fashion sense was indeed vexing, but she didn’t truly hate it, because it presented a challenge, an opportunity to figure out what went wrong and fix it. Ineptitude was annoying as well, but it often gave Miranda an opportunity to shine in comparison, and if the level of incompetence proved truly egregious, then that could be very easily fixed with a blacklisting. Miranda didn’t even really hate her ex-husbands, because she didn’t care enough about them anymore. There were actually very few people that she cared about enough to truly hate. They simply weren’t worth her very valuable time.
Miranda did, however, hate surprise.
Surprises meant two things for Miranda Priestly. First she’d had an expectation. Second, that expectation was not met in a way that left Miranda wholly unprepared, in a way that she could not immediately fix. Even surprise parties were not enjoyable affairs for Miranda. What fun is it to expect to go to a quick dinner with a friend only to be welcomed by dozens of people yelling greetings at you? Honestly. If her husband had cared to listen, he might have known Miranda a little better than that.
That said, Miranda made a point of allowing as few surprises as possible. Over the years, Miranda honed an ability to predict with relative ease any number of outcomes to a particular situation to prevent anything truly surprising from happening. Of course, baffling levels of incompetence sometimes complicated that process, but Miranda was nothing if not resourceful, and she managed to adapt to even that particular hurdle. Miranda could anticipate that she would encounter certain levels of ineptitude, so those kinds of surprises were, by and large, easily avoidable.
What Miranda hadn’t allowed for, what hadn’t been her expectation, was that she would find someone with such a natural gift for surprising Miranda without ever trying to.
Perhaps it was because Miranda had no expectations for the new assistant. She hired the misfit girl on a whim, in part to punish Emily for offering such an underwhelming array of second assistants in the past month, and in part because...well, why the hell not try something new? That was what fashion was about, after all.
Then the girl settled in for a stretch, doing absolutely nothing surprising. She fetched coffee with acceptable, though not exceptional efficiency. She took notes whenever Miranda spoke and learned quickly to come when Miranda called for Emily. She learned even more quickly to not correct Miranda on the matter.
And everyday, without fail, she sat at that desk in her lumpy sweaters and off the rack department store slacks and skirts. Miranda had even grown use to it. At least the shoes had improved marginally. Miranda could put up with the wardrobe so long as the girl never let a call go to voicemail.
New girl’s fashion sense, or lack thereof, also offered Miranda something to contemplate. She was a reasonably attractive girl. A bit plain, and not nearly the same body type as most girls who sat at that desk, but still aesthetically pleasing. Miranda got some satisfaction out of looking at those outfits and imagining how to alter the cut, fit, or the color of the blouse for a more pleasing effect. She would never offer such suggestions, because it should be up to the girl to care enough to figure it out.
So Miranda put up with it for several weeks. Both because the girl was marginally competent and because every morning was a new puzzle: how best to dress Andrea Sachs.
The fact that Miranda actually knew the girl’s name, first and last, should have been a sign that she was entirely too invested in her second assistant’s wardrobe. Particularly since said wardrobe was so...lacking.
Until it wasn’t lacking.
Miranda could not remember who she’d been on the phone with when she breezed into the office that morning, intent on willfully ignoring Andrea and her outfits. Miranda could, however, remember the precise moment she did the exact opposite of ignoring Andrea. Miranda paused. She paused mid-sentence, because Andrea had surprised her.
She was wearing an outfit assembled directly from the closet, one closely resembling an outfit that Miranda was in the midst of putting together for the next issue. Complete with the sinfully gorgeous black boots.
Andrea had decided to care. The girl with the noble, journalistic ambitions who scoffed at discussions of fashion. She had decided to care, and, damn if Miranda wasn’t surprised at how amazing caring looked on the girl. Miranda didn’t even bother trying to fix the outfit this time.
She just admired it for a long second as Andrea stood dutifully by the desk, waiting patiently, even eagerly, for Miranda to get her fill. Miranda licked her lips and moved quickly past Andrea to regain her bearings.
Andrea took that as her cue to leave, and Miranda took that as her opportunity to observe the outfit from the back. That was quite a surprise indeed.
And, much as the surprise flustered her, Miranda couldn’t quite bring herself to hate it.
The second time Andrea surprised Miranda was initially far less than pleasant.
Miranda’s usual plan for making her assistants quit had failed. She’d piled unreasonable request after impossible demand onto the girl, all while dangling the threat of a pink slip over her head. She’d given Andrea her best icy, I’m-pointedly-ignoring-you stare, and still the girl refused to give in. Andrea was stressed and anxious, more than she’d ever been, more than even Emily had ever been, but Miranda never once saw Andrea buckle to the point of breaking.
Which, though not ideal, should have been manageable. Miranda could, at the end of the day, simply fire Andrea when she failed to get her hands on the Harry Potter manuscript. Because she would fail at that, Miranda was sure of it. If she hadn’t been able to book a flight out of Miami in a rainstorm, Andrea certainly wouldn’t be able to get the most coveted unpublished manuscript of the year.
And that failure would be an acceptable reason to fire her. Because there was no question that Andrea had to go. She had the kind of private, personal knowledge that was unacceptable for any assistant to have regarding La Priestly. She had walked upstairs and into Miranda’s private space, unannounced, and in the middle of a very private, painfully familiar conversation about her crumbling marriage. Miranda did not want to explain that as a reason for firing her assistant, but ‘failure to do work assigned in a timely manner’ would look perfectly normal on a pink slip coming from Miranda’s desk.
Miranda was prepared to do just that when Andrea’s deadline rolled around and she hadn’t heard anything from either Andrea or the girls about the novel. She even had the paperwork sitting in her desk drawer, ready to be retrieved and signed with a dramatic flourish so that Andrea would know how very fired she was.
Then Andrea walked into the office. Miranda had her back turned, so she did not know it was Andrea approaching with quick confident steps, without so much as a knock. Miranda could be forgiven for that oversight, because this was not the walk of a girl who had failed at her job and was coming to receive her termination letter.
Andrea dropping the manuscript on the desk very nearly startled Miranda. Miranda turned around and glanced down at the cover, then back up at Andrea. Miranda had a gift for finding shortcomings in otherwise impressive achievements, and she was ready to make good use of it.
But Andrea had made two copies. And had them bound. And copied an extra, just in case. And somehow got them to the girls by the time the train left.
That, Miranda thought, was out of the ordinary, that she could find nothing wrong, no deficiency in a person’s work. It was almost as rare as a Priestly smile at a run-through.
The thing that really surprised Miranda though, that caught her entirely off guard, was the way that Andrea presented this information. She wasn’t outwardly smug, but she clearly got a great deal satisfaction from this conversation. From standing while Miranda was sitting, from answering questions before Miranda asked them, from beating Miranda at her normally impossible game.
Andrea spoke and carried herself as if a victor. And, annoyed as she was at being foiled in her plan to fire Andrea, Miranda was even more annoyed and surprised at how appealing it was. The way Andrea’s voice was low and measured and confident, and outwardly sweet with a touch of self-satisfaction that was just this side of smug.
Miranda nearly rested the tip of her glasses on her lip as she contemplated Andrea and what she ought to do with the girl. When Miranda didn’t speak, Andrea asked if there was anything else, and Miranda still could not immediately reply, because she was too surprised, too caught off guard to formulate a response. She couldn’t even demand a coffee, because Andrea had thought of that too.
Then there was that little quirk of Andrea’s eyebrow, something of a challenge. Miranda was sure she must have been seeing things, reading things that weren’t there, but she could have sworn she saw something suggestive there too. The confidence was...not unappealing.
So Miranda accepted that Andrea had succeeded against near impossible odds. She had beaten Miranda’s foolproof system for forcing undesirable employees out where no one else had. Andrea would stay.
“That’s all,” Miranda heard herself say without nearly the same level of authority she usually mustered.
Miranda turned sharply to the window. Then she quickly changed her mind, spinning back around to snatch the coffee cup and sneak one more quick look at her second assistant as she settled in at her desk.
The girl had a few surprises in her. Miranda wondered if perhaps it might be a mistake to keeps someone like that around. Then Miranda took a sip of her scalding coffee as she turned to the window once more, closed her eyes and sighed. On second thought, it was nice to have someone who could get her coffee before Miranda knew she needed it.
Yes, Andrea would be staying at Runway. She might even make it to Paris this year.
Over the next few months, Andrea did little to truly surprise Miranda. Miranda had become rather adept at predicting Andrea’s reactions to particular situations. And if Miranda hadn’t put in this effort to predict the behavior of any other assistant, it was simply because they were so incredibly predictable. That was all.
Miranda anticipated some push-back before Andrea did exactly as she was asked on the topic of Emily and Paris. She did. Miranda expected Andrea would pull together a flawless itinerary for Fashion Week. She did.
Miranda had even anticipated Andrea’s reaction to the divorce. Despite her transformation, Andrea was still a sensitive type. She would try to care for Miranda, which was ridiculous. Miranda had long ago braced herself for this and was more than capable of coping with it. Andrea knew that, but still she would try to help. She would be kind, offer a level of compassion Miranda didn’t need or deserve. And Andrea had done just that too.
Miranda had even anticipated Andrea would leave some day. She had no illusions about the fact that Runway was merely a stepping stone for Andrea Sachs. She was prepared for the one year anniversary of Andrea’s tenure at Runway, when Miranda would undoubtably find Andrea’s resignation letter on her desk first thing in the morning. And Miranda would write her a personal recommendation that would get Andrea in just about any door in the publishing industry.
After Andrea served her two weeks, she would clear her desk, and they would part ways amicably. Because Andrea would certainly give at least two weeks notice.
She had not.
And that was one particular surprise that Miranda really, truly hated. She’d had assistants walk out on her before, several times and in a number of creative ways. But she hadn’t even entertained the idea that Andrea would quit without notice, during Paris Fashion Week, no less.
The week was certainly enough to make the most well adjusted among the Runway staff question their sanity, but Andrea handled that kind of stress well. She hadn’t snapped and gone off the deep end. Andrea had clearly made a conscious decision in reaction to the conversation in the car. She had made a conscious decision to walk away from Miranda without so much as a word of goodbye.
And Miranda was powerless to do anything about it.
This was precisely why Miranda hated surprises.
Miranda had been quite certain that Paris would be the last big Andrea Sachs surprise. She would not have been shocked if she never saw Andrea again.
After all, the girl certainly didn’t seem eager to see Miranda. All resignation paperwork she’d submitted to HR, and the girl refused to answer the single phone call Miranda made to Andrea’s landline after it became clear that her cell phone was no longer connected. Not that Miranda particularly cared for Andrea. She simply liked having the last word, a sense of closure to that inconsequential chapter in her life.
Andrea wouldn’t give her that, and that was probably the only reason that she’d scribbled and faxed the handwritten recommendation. It felt like the most efficient way to communicate with the girl, to tell Andrea that she was both a huge disappointment and an exceptional worker without giving her the satisfaction of saying so. Perhaps Andrea would understand that she was such a disappointment because she had proven herself so intelligent and quick and reliable.
Miranda sent that recommendation off, and was certain that she’d cleansed her life of Andrea Sachs surprises.
For the first time in weeks, she was wrong. She was wrong because Andrea surprised Miranda for the fourth time less than 48 hours after making that assumption.
Miranda had been in a foul mood all morning. New Emily, continuing her pattern of incompetence, had made no fewer than five mistakes in the first two hours of the day. Miranda was in the midst of berating the girl for forgetting to call the car around when she first saw Andrea.
The girl was just standing there, watching. Waiting for Miranda to see her. When Miranda did see her, she paused in spite of herself, just for a moment, long enough for Andrea to nod in acknowledgement, perhaps even in apology. Then she smiled. The girl smiled broadly and sincerely and even offered a little wave.
Had anyone else done that after what had transpired, Miranda might have been surprised, but not with Andrea. The girl was incurably, sincerely friendly and polite. Miranda half wondered if Andrea had even meant to smile or if it was a natural impulse to smile and wave at any and every person she’d ever crossed path with.
So, no, it did not surprise Miranda in the least that Andrea looked, for all the world, like she was happy to see Miranda. Not nervous or scared. Happy. Few people, aside from the twins, were ever so simply, sincerely happy to see Miranda. It was...not unpleasant.
Well. Endearing as that reaction was, Miranda was not going to give Andrea the satisfaction of any outward signs of approval. She’d written the recommendation, and that was quite enough.
So Miranda maintained eye contact long enough that Andrea would know she’d been seen before turning around and sliding into the car. Only once she was inside the car did Miranda allow herself the small smile at the fact that Andrea was still so... charmingly Andrea.
Miranda only indulged for a moment before putting her glasses and La Priestly persona back on. The car moved slowly through traffic as Miranda and Roy sat in their usual comfortable silence. They’d made it about a block and a half when Miranda’s ringtone broke that rare, precious quiet.
“Miranda Priestly,” she snapped, answering her phone without bothering to look at the number.
“So, I just walked by Nine West, and I thought of the time you sent me there to get myself the skirt in the window on the company’s account,” Andrea said. “And then I remembered the Chanel perfume you gave me a few weeks after that.”
Yes, this certainly qualified as surprise number four. It was one thing for Andrea to awkwardly wave and smile at a chance meeting. It was something else entirely for Andrea to call Miranda and immediately start talking like they were friends.
“How did you get my number?”
“You were number one on my speed dial for the better part of a year, Miranda,” Andrea said. “And I’ve got a pretty decent memory. Which reminds me, you still haven’t answered the question.”
“I don’t recall you asking me anything,” Miranda said dryly. “And I have a better than decent memory.”
“You know what I mean,” Andrea said. “You seem to like doing me favors.”
“Well, if you must know, I was growing tired of the skirt you insisted on wearing every other Friday. As the Chanel perfume goes, that was a sample I had no use for. I wasn’t doing you any particularly large favors,” Miranda said. “And I still didn’t detect a question. I’m growing concerned for your journalism career if you can’t grasp that basic concept.”
“And there was the recommendation,” Andrea said, ignoring, perhaps even enjoying Miranda’s little barb.
“Yes, well, I figured if you’re bound and determined to work in the news media, you can’t do too much damage at such a newspaper,” Miranda said.
“Well, regardless, thank you for that,” Andrea said softly, sincerely. “Which is part of the reason that I’m calling.”
“Only part of it?”
“Yeah, it also came to my attention that I never apologized for how I left in Paris,” Andrea said. “It was unprofessional, and I was pretty sure I was getting a well deserved blacklisting out of the deal. So, you know, thanks for not doing that.”
“Yes, well,” Miranda said, looking out her window without seeing much. “I suppose I’ve gone soft in my old age.”
Andrea laughed.
“I’ll be sure to keep your secret,” she said.
“Good,” Miranda said, for lack of anything clever to say.
Normally when Miranda ran out of things to say, she simply hung up or summarily dismissed whoever she was speaking to. But Miranda felt the opposite impulse in this conversation. Andrea was a lively, quick conversation partner, bold and confident without being impertinent or disrespectful. Miranda wondered why she’d never conversed with Andrea like this before, then realized she would never have tolerated such familiarity with an assistant, not even if that assistant was Andrea Sachs.
“Yeah,” Andrea said. “So did you want me to tell you why else I called you?”
“I doubt I can stop you from telling me, regardless,” Miranda said.
“I’d like to take you out to dinner,” Andrea said. “A thank you-I’m sorry type thing, I guess.”
Miranda was grateful in that moment that she wasn’t face to face with Andrea, because she likely would have stared at Andrea, and Miranda knew that slack-jawed wasn’t a good look on any body. As it were, she reminded silent for a solid few seconds.
There it was, surprise number five from Andrea Sachs.
“Miranda?”
“Yes,” Miranda said, swallowing hard. “I haven’t hung up. Yet.”
She’d tried to sound intimidating. Miranda had really tried.
“Well, that’s a start,” Andrea said without hint of fear, perhaps even a bit more confidence. “So what do you say?”
Miranda sighed.
“Fine,” she said. “I’m free tomorrow night, 7:00. Pick up Smith and Wollensky’s and bring it to the townhouse. It won’t do for me to be seen out with someone I should have blacklisted.”
There was a hesitation at the other end of the line and Miranda smirked at having finally caught Andrea off guard, if only for a moment.
“Alright, I can do that,” Andrea finally said. “What’d you want me to get?”
Miranda grinned and bit her lip.
“Oh, you know what I like,” Miranda said lightly. “You always have, haven’t you?”
“Um, I--
“I’ll see you at 7,” Miranda said, waiting a second to hear Andrea stammer something before she hung up.
Miranda snapped her phone shut, rested her head against the back of the seat and smiled.
Surprises, as it turned out, weren’t so horrible after all.