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Andy would like to say she's a good assistant.
A darn awesome one if she could brag. She managed to do whatever task Miranda Priestly bestowed upon her with minimal injuries. The fact that she managed to be recruited back after her stunt in Paris was a miracle. A miracle no one would address, and Andy did not want to start questioning it now either. So here she was running around from Dior to a studio Miranda was currently supervising.
Clutching the boxes to her chest she hoped at least the shoot was happening smoothly.
"The bags are here!"
“How wonderful. Should we all line up to thank you now?”
She couldn't even see the woman's face because of the boxes but Andy felt her heart shrink with ache. Carefully she gave the boxes to Nigel whose eyebrows were lifted in warning.
Working for Miranda again did not mean she had developed a tougher heart along the way. It actually made her more sensitive towards such comments—especially after Paris. She did not want to address why but, it was becoming more and more apparent and burdensome to just store it in the back of her mind when her heart kept pushing it out to the tip of her tongue. Emily nudged her side, probably because she had gone quiet for a few minutes and led her to sit where the presentation was starting.
All of them focused again on what Miranda would actually say—or not say. Fortunately Miranda just kept her mouth in a straight line and moved on to another thing they had going on in the schedule. She could even hear Emily sigh in relief. For the next trip Miranda was only going with Nigel and Emily, so Andy was expected to be in the office with a few files she needed to arrange. Had she mentioned she had gone back to being the second assistant? It was some sort of unspoken punishment Miranda gave her for the stunt she pulled in Paris. She could not even argue back because there was nothing to defend so she just did what she needed to do.
She sighed and dropped everything in their respective places before beginning to arrange Miranda's calendar. She saw a big event coming up, so Miranda would have instructions for her to follow and she made sure to ask for them in the coming days. Caught up in what she was doing time passed by accordingly. Miranda was back at the office with Emily in tow. Bag and coat flying and falling on top of her desk.
"Andrea, office"
Andy immediately stood up with her notepad and pen in hand. She stood there glancing back at Emily to see if there was any heads-up or at least what kind of mood she was about to face but Emily just shook her head to show she did not know anything. Andy immediately nodded to herself to brace for whatever task Miranda was about to ask of her. Miranda hastily sat on her throne flipping through some of the documents Andy needed her to sign before glancing up at Andy with boredom for a mere second and returning to her documents.
"I have a gala coming upin a few months. Apparently, one public disappointment is enough for the season."
Ah—of course the scandalous divorce. Andy still remembered the cover of Page Six that day.
"PR insists I bring a a plus one."
Miranda said it with a tone that could almost be a hiss, irritated by the idea. Andy almost gaped like a fool at the admission, and there was also a spark of anger within her ribcage because what the hell was wrong with these famous people and their need to keep up their image, but she kept her mouth sealed for now. Nodding along and jotting things down in her notes to give Miranda the signal that she was listening.
"I want you to select someone that I could bring"
Andy's eyes almost bulged, at the request.
"Do you have any, uh... requirements? For the person, I mean."
The older woman's silence, made Andy look up to see what she could best describe as an expression of someone smelling something foul.
"Oh I don't know. Breathing, perhaps?"
Andy shut her mouth quickly before letting out another noise and nodded her head in resignation.
Okay let's reassess.
She's a good assistant, a darn good one to be exact. The problem is Miranda Priestly is one hell of a confusing woman. At some point, Andy had unconsciously compiled an entire dictionary of Miranda’s private language in the back of her mind, a dictionary that remained permanently open, its pages being skimmed through meticoulously of someone sitting a language proficiency test every single time Miranda so much as looked in her direction.When talking to Miranda it's not only her words that she has to translate but her body, her soul, her mind. Sometimes Andy genuinely wondered if being Miranda Priestly’s assistant required fluency in English at all, or if what she really needed was a minor degree in behavioral analysis, telepathy, and whatever dark art allowed Emily possessed.
For example:
-
Miranda saying, "Interesting." with her lips pressed into a thin line meant absolutely nothing good. But Miranda saying, "Interesting." with one eyebrow slightly raised and her head tilted just a fraction to the side? That could mean she was genuinely intrigued, mildly impressed, or already planning someone's professional execution. Andy was still gathering data on that one.
-
There was also the infamous purse of her lips. A small one meant fix it. A deeper one meant fix it before I have to acknowledge that it needs fixing. But when Miranda pursed her lips while looking directly at Andy and let her eyes linger for one second longer than necessary, Andy had absolutely no entry for that. She had tried. Several times. The closest translation she had managed was something is happening here, which was incredibly unhelpful.
-
A tilt of Miranda's head usually meant Andy had said something stupid. Usually. Except sometimes Miranda would do it when Andy challenged her, her eyes sharpening while the faintest movement tugged at the corner of her mouth. Andy used to translate that as you're about to be fired. Lately she was beginning to suspect it might mean continue. Which was frankly much more terrifying.
-
And then there was "Andrea." Just Andrea. Apparently her own name had at least fifteen different meanings depending on Miranda's tone, expression, and whatever microscopic movement she decided to make with her face. "Andrea." while looking at her glasses meant come here. "Andrea." with a sigh meant you've disappointed me. "Andrea." accompanied by that glacial stare meant leave before I decide what to do with you. But "Andrea." spoken quietly, her eyes lingering on Andy's face while her head tilted almost imperceptibly? Andy had no fucking idea. And unfortunately that particular version had been happening more often lately.
So yes, Andy likes to think she is a fucking spectacular assistant.
With a quiet sigh she picked up Miranda's things to store and hand them over properly. Coming back to her desk Emily was already hovering with three binders that Andy would assume held the plus one candidates. The redhead slammed the binders onto her desk and went back to her own desk in no time, typing whatever task Miranda gave her. Andy didn't dare to say it out loud so instead she just said her thanks to Emily with an appreciative smile. She knew Emily was coming around and was always helping her whenever she could. The woman just refused to admit it, preferring to bury all evidence of human kindness beneath several determined layers of dark eyeshadow and contempt.
Andy started to skim through the binder, eyes dissecting every face and matching them to their descriptions and personal details, age, job, family, even the file included their long list of people they'd been seen with before. She was essentially shopping for a human being. She had to make sure everything was clean and… does age matter? Maybe not too young? Andy paused over one photograph.
Okay. Definitely not that young.
So… closer to Miranda's age, maybe? Andy looked through the three binders and realized they're all younger than Miranda. Interesting. So Miranda preferred younger men. Or publicity preferred younger men. Andy bit the inside of her cheek. Actually, that made a disturbing amount of sense. A handsome younger man on Miranda’s arm said she was doing wonderfully, thank you very much, the divorce had barely registered, and please direct all sympathy toward someone who required it.
A snort bubbled up in Andy's throat, she immidiately look up quickly checking if anyone heard and Emily was already looking at her with an eyebrow raised daring Andy to speak about it. Andy waved her off and lowered her head back to the binder.
With only the occasional ringing of the phone to pull her attention away, Andy managed to become so focused on the task in front of her that she somehow worked straight through lunch without even noticing. It wasn’t until Emily nudged her out of the trance, briskly informing her that she was about to deliver the Book to the townhouse, that Andy finally looked up. She spluttered something incoherent, glanced toward the windows, and froze when she realized there wasn’t a trace of sunlight left in the sky. Andy immediately dropped her gaze back to her notes, finishing the last few lines as quickly as she could before gathering everything together and wrapping up the files neatly enough to present to Miranda.
The next morning found both Emily and Andrea sputtering left and right, trying desperately to keep everything from collapsing in on itself, because apparently Miranda’s day had begun with what the fashion department was already referring to in hushed tones as a complete disaster. One of the gowns meant for an upcoming editorial had arrived in the wrong color, the replacement had somehow been sent to Milan, and—as if the universe had decided that wasn’t quite enough—a rival magazine had published a suspiciously similar concept that very morning. By eight-thirty, Miranda had already rejected two layouts, reduced one stylist to near silence with a single look, and sent Nigel disappearing down the hall. Emily was firing instructions into the phone while Andy bounced between calls.
Things finally calmed down around noon, and Emily disappeared for lunch as usual, leaving Andy to man the desk. The office had settled a bit—right up until Miranda came sauntering through the doors and dropped her things onto Andy’s desk without breaking stride. Andy had barely reached for them to start organizing everything when she heard her name being called from inside the office. She immediately straightened and hurried in, coming to a stop in front of Miranda’s desk. The older woman said nothing. She simply stretched out one hand, palm up, clearly expecting something from Andy and... oh. Andy’s eyes widened. Right. The file.
She spun around and practically darted back to her desk, snatching up the folder she had spent most of yesterday working on before returning to Miranda with what she hoped was at least a fraction of her dignity still intact. Judging by the way Miranda looked at her, she had apparently failed. Andy unconsciously smoothed down her hair and brushed imaginary dust from her skirt before forcing her hands back to her sides. Miranda opened the file and began flipping through the five candidates Andy had chosen, her expression perfectly composed, almost bored. Everything looked fine. Which, unfortunately, Andy had learned was exactly the face Miranda wore right before everything went catastrophically downhill. She swallowed and waited, watching Miranda turn another page with agonizing calm.
“What is this, the next election candidates?” Miranda asked, flinging the file back onto her desk.
She didn’t even spare Andy a second glance before returning to the papers in front of her.
“Um, is there—” Andy started, but Miranda opened the file again for her and began marking through the selections with one sharp stroke after another.
“Broad shoulders. Square jaw. Military haircut. Another square jaw. A watch large enough to anchor a yacht. More shoulders. Facial hair. Astonishing.” She flipped another page, her expression flattening further with every photograph. “Do I have to entertain you further?”
Andy immediately shook her head.
“Good. Run along.”
Andy practically ran back to her desk and dropped into her chair with her head in her hands. She took one long breath before opening the binder again, determined to approach the problem like a rational person.
Three hours later, rationality had abandoned her entirely. Andy could not find a single man who did not have broad shoulders, a square jaw, a square jaw accompanied by facial hair, broad shoulders accompanied by a military haircut, or, horrifyingly, all of them combined. She was fairly certain she was about to start screaming. Why was it so difficult to find a man who didn’t look aggressively, unmistakably man-shaped? Broad shoulders. Square jaw. Beard. Broad shoulders. Square jaw. Beard. The list repeated itself inside her head until the words stopped sounding real altogether.
Huh. What if... Andy slowly lifted her head. No. Surely not. Then again, Miranda had never actually said... Andy stood abruptly and crossed over to Emily’s desk, where the redhead was typing with ferocity.
“Emily, do you happen to have—” Before Andy could finish, Emily bent down and produced three entirely different binders from somewhere beneath her desk, dropping them in front of her without even looking up.
Andy stared. Had she had those there this entire time? How many binders did this woman possess? Was there an underground archive beneath Runway that Andy had somehow failed to discover? She decided she didn’t want to know. Erasing all the thoughts she smiled, especially once she cracked the first binder open and realized that yes this was definitely what she needed.
“Thanks, Em, you’re the best!”
Emily only rolled her eyes and muttered something about being God’s gift to mankind, but Andy was already halfway back to her desk, flipping eagerly through the new files.
Three long binders of entirely new candidates, except this time there were no square jaws, military haircuts, or forests of facial hair staring back at her. Instead, Andy found elegant necklines, delicate wrists draped in expensive jewelry, glossy hair falling over bare shoulders, long legs, immaculate dresses, graceful posture, and smiles polished enough to belong on magazine covers.
“Morning Miranda. I’ve listed a few new candidates,” Andy said, smugly, albeit with just enough nervousness underneath to ruin the effect.
Miranda took the file from her, but before opening it her gaze traveled from the top of Andy’s head all the way down to her shoes. Andy immediately looked down at herself too, suddenly wondering if she had somehow managed to leave the apartment with something catastrophically wrong with her outfit. It was new and Lily had very specifically informed her that she looked hot in it. She wore a fitted charcoal skirt that sat high at her waist, paired with a soft cream blouse tucked neatly beneath a cropped black jacket, the sleeves pushed just slightly past her wrists, with pointed heels. Stylish. Runway-approved, she thought.
Under Miranda’s scrutiny, however, Andy suddenly felt as if she had dressed herself in the dark using items recovered from a lost-and-found bin. Miranda seemed to snap out of whatever had caught her attention and finally opened the file. Andy watched her carefully, far too pleased with herself after yesterday’s revelation, until she caught the smallest twitch in Miranda’s jaw followed by the faintest crease between her eyebrows. Uh-oh. Andy had never seen that expression before. That was new. Miranda said nothing though. She simply turned another page, then another, before stopping on one photograph and tapping it once with her finger.
“Someone like her.”
Andy had been staring at the profile for a few minutes now. Miranda might have already picked someone, but Andy still needed a backup plan, preferably several, because she had learned that relying on a single option where Miranda Priestly was concerned was simply another way of volunteering for disaster. She reread the profile again. Stella Harrison is a model. Long brunette hair cascading over pale shoulders, brown eyes, pouty pink lips.
Andy searched the company she worked for and—after convincing herself that it was technically part of her job—snooped through whatever else she could find. The woman was around Andy’s age, maybe a few years older. She opened the binder again and began searching for women with similar features and backgrounds, trying to build some sort of pattern out of Miranda’s painfully vague someone like her. She was halfway through cataloguing their contact information when a salad suddenly landed on top of her desk.
“Eat, Six, before you shrink.”
Andy rolled her eyes before looking up and offering her thanks.
“Who’s that?” Nigel asked curiously, already leaning just enough to peek at whatever he could see.
“Oh, they're the candidate for Miranda’s plus-one,” Andy said, opening the salad and reaching for her fork.
Nigel looked at her thoughtfully then at the profiles.
“What?” she asked, stabbing at her salad with slightly more force than necessary.
Nigel’s mouth twitched as if several different comments had arrived at once and he was wisely choosing not to release any of them.
“Nothing,” he said, already backing away. “I have places to be. Ciao!”
To make sure everything matched up, Andy had arranged an actual meeting. She had run the idea past Emily first and then, with considerably more caution, Miranda, who decided it would be easiest to simply have the candidates come to the office so she could “look at them.” Andy had originally planned to stagger the meetings, mostly because putting three prospective dates in one room felt vaguely like the beginning of a particularly expensive reality show, but Miranda had informed her that she did not have time for that.
So all three of them would apparently be sitting in Miranda Priestly’s office at once.
Andy checked the time and realized she needed to collect them from the lobby. When she arrived downstairs and called their names, all three women turned toward her, and Andy had to admit she had done well. They were gorgeous. Two of them towered over her in heels while the third was much closer to Andy’s own height, all three impeccably dressed and polished enough that Andy suddenly became painfully aware of the crease in her own skirt.
Their personalities, unfortunately, were considerably less dazzling. One barely looked up from her phone when Andy introduced herself, another surveyed the Runway lobby with the faint disappointment, and the third had already asked twice how long the meeting would take. Andy while wanted to rolled her eyes until they're detached from her face decided not to take it personally. She shepherded them upstairs, ushered them into Miranda’s office, and instructed them to wait because Miranda would be arriving shortly. She had barely stepped outside to get them something to drink when Emily appeared behind her.
“What on earth is happening?” Emily whisper-shrieked. “Are we having a look-alike convention in Miranda’s office?”
Andy stopped. “What do you mean?”
Emily stared at her.
Andy stared back.
“Are you not only deaf but now blind?” Emily hissed. “What are you, an amoeba? Splitting yourself into several equally irritating organisms? For heaven’s sake, one of you is enough.”
Andy’s mouth fell open. “They do not look like me.”
Emily gave her a look that suggested she had just announced that water was dry.
“They have brown hair.”
“So does half of Manhattan.”
“Brown eyes.”
“So do you, Emily.”
“One of them is literally you but wearing better tailoring.”
Andy opened her mouth to argue, but the click of heels against the floor cut through the conversation. Miranda came striding toward them in red pumps, today’s skirt showing enough leg that Andy’s attention betrayed her almost immediately. Her eyes followed the line of Miranda’s calves upward, catching briefly on the sharp cinch of her waist before her train of thought was abruptly derailed by Emily shoving her between the shoulder blades.
“Are you somehow missing a brain now too?” Emily hissed.
Andy nearly stumbled forward, snatched up her notepad before Emily could say anything worse and hurried after Miranda into the office.
The three women stood almost immediately.
Miranda’s eyes moved slowly across the three women, then, for reasons Andy couldn’t understand, briefly landed on her. Her expression tightened almost imperceptibly before she looked back toward the candidates.
“No.”
Andy blinked. What? Miranda hadn’t even looked at the file. Oh, this was going to be considerably more chaotic than Andy had anticipated.
Stella shifted slightly. “Excuse me?”
Miranda’s gaze settled on her, but she offered no further comment. Instead, she looked pointedly at the woman’s hair before pursing her lips.
Stella immediately reached up to touch it.
Miranda had already moved on to the second woman, who was still checking her phone.
“No.”
Miranda regarded her with such open disdain that the woman seemed to snap out of whatever she had been doing and slowly lowered the phone.
Andy glanced down at her notepad.
Uh-oh.
Miranda’s attention moved to the third candidate, who straightened instinctively beneath her scrutiny. This was the woman closest to Andy’s height, which Andy had thought might work in her favor. Miranda said nothing, though. She simply sauntered around her in one slow circle.
And then, just when Andy thought the situation could not possibly become any stranger, Miranda stopped.
She sniffed the air.
Andy’s eyebrows climbed.
Miranda sniffed again before raising one hand to cover her nose and mouth with such dramatic offense that Andy almost wanted to check whether there had been some sort of chemical spill.
“No.”
The woman’s lips parted, clearly ready to protest, but Andy widened her eyes at her and gave the smallest possible shake of her head.
Ridiculous. This is ridiculous.
Miranda stepped farther into the room, removed her sunglasses, and regarded the three women collectively with profound disappointment.
“That’s all.”
Apparently, the audition was over.
Emily appeared almost immediately to escort the three women out, leaving Andy behind because, naturally, Andy was still required. She tried very hard not to look irritated while the women gathered their things, though maintaining any sense of professionalism around Miranda was becoming more difficult by the day. Once the door closed behind them, Andy remained where she was and waited for Miranda to address her.
“I thought you could do your job properly, Andrea. Evidently, I was mistaken.”
Andy sucked in a breath as Miranda’s smooth, flat voice slipped directly into the part of her brain reserved for personal attacks she would inevitably replay at three in the morning.
“I gave you a very simple request, and somehow none of them managed to meet it.” Miranda looked up at her. “What exactly am I expected to do now? Arrive alone?”
There was something challenging in the way she looked at Andy, as if she were waiting to see whether Andrea Sachs possessed anything useful between her ears after all. Andy hesitated. Then decided she had already survived this much.
“Can you... elaborate on what was wrong with them?”
Miranda gave a low, irritated sound. For one horrible second, Andy thought she was going to receive another cryptic instruction and be sent back into the wilderness to interpret it herself. Instead, Miranda leaned back.
“The first one is fine, but far too model-ish. She would tower over me all evening, and every executive I’m meant to be speaking with would spend the conversation looking over my shoulder at her. So, no.”
Andy nodded quickly and scribbled something down.
“The second cannot put her phone away for thirty seconds. I am not bringing someone whose attention I have to compete for.” Miranda’s mouth tightened. “If someone accompanies me, Andrea, I expect their attention to remain on me for the evening. I don’t believe that is particularly complicated.”
Andy wrote that down too, “and the last one?”
Miranda’s expression barely changed.
“I dislike her perfume.”
Andy stared at miranda blanched.
That was it?
This woman was insane.
She willed her brain to work slowly and began catching up with the situation. “What if she changed her perfume?”
Miranda looked at her as if Andy had just sprouted six additional heads and each one had asked an equally stupid question.
“If you must.”
Andy stared at her for another second, attempting to determine whether that constituted approval, surrender, or a threat. Miranda had already returned to her work. Right. Andy quietly retreated to her desk, already wondering how exactly she was supposed to call the poor woman after the spectacle Miranda had just put her through and say, Good news, you’re still in consideration. Bad news, apparently your perfume nearly killed Miranda Priestly.
Ridiculous.
Andy somehow managed to contact the last of the three women and, after some careful persuasion, convince her to come back. Not that it had been particularly difficult. They were talking about Miranda Priestly, after all. Who wouldn’t want to be seen on her arm, have something scandalously expensive whispered into their ear over dinner, and be introduced by Miranda as her partner? Andy certainly would. She paused. Well. That was completely beside the point. The important thing was that Lorraine had agreed, and Andy had very specifically instructed her not to wear any perfume to the office because she had a plan. Today Miranda was scheduled to have lunch with Lorraine, and Andy was now waiting for the woman to arrive so she could finally execute what she was becoming increasingly convinced was a brilliant solution.
Lorraine arrived exactly thirty minutes before Miranda was due back. Andy quickly ushered her into Miranda’s office before immediately beginning to rummage through her own bag. She was still searching when Nigel came striding toward her desk with purpose.
“Six! I need you to arrange—”
Andy looked up, only to watch him walk straight past her and into Miranda’s office.
“We also need—ah!”
The startled little sound made Andy’s head snap up. Bottle finally in hand, she hurried after him and found Nigel standing beside Lorraine, one of her hands raised delicately in his while he kissed it with theatrical charm.
“Is everything okay?” Andy asked.
“Perfectly, Six.” Nigel released Lorraine’s hand and turned toward her. “Though I do need to speak with you.”
Andy nodded. “Okay, hold on. I need to do this first.”
She crossed toward Lorraine with the bottle in hand. Andy, entirely unbothered by either of them, lifted the perfume and sprayed it thoroughly over Lorraine’s clothes and neck. A little at the wrists for good measure. She stepped back, considered her work, and hummed in satisfaction.
“There.”
Lorraine blinked.
“Just wait here. Miranda should be back soon.”
Andy turned and headed out of the office, Nigel following several steps behind her with his hands clasped together and an expression she couldn’t quite decipher.
“What was that?” he asked once they were outside.
Andy glanced at him. “What was what?”
“That.” Nigel gestured vaguely toward Miranda’s office. “The thing you just did.”
“Spraying perfume?”
“Yes, Six. Yours, unless my nose has suddenly betrayed me.”
Andy brightened, pleased that someone had finally asked about the plan. “Miranda’s only problem with Lorraine was her perfume.”
Nigel stared at her.
“So,” Andy continued, already gaining momentum, “Miranda has never complained about mine. Or Emily’s, technically, but I obviously can’t ask Emily for her perfume, so I used mine.”
Nigel’s eyebrows rose slowly.
Andy folded her arms, triumphant. “Problem solved.”
Nigel looked toward Miranda’s office. Then at Andy. Then back toward Miranda’s office.
“How... eye-opening.”
Andy frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing whatsoever.”
Before she could interrogate him further, Miranda came striding through the office. Andy immediately straightened.
“Lorraine’s already inside,” she informed her. “And Roy’s downstairs waiting for you both.”
Miranda gave the faintest acknowledgment before walking seamlessly into her office. A moment later she emerged again with Lorraine in tow, showing no visible objection whatsoever. Andy watched them disappear toward the elevators and allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. See? Brilliant plan. Behind her, Nigel made a very quiet sound that might have been a cough. Andy turned suspiciously.
He was already walking away.
A few days passed and Miranda said absolutely nothing about Lorrain. Andy couldn’t decide whether she should be concerned or relieved, but eventually settled on the logic that if Miranda had something to say, she would most certainly say it. Then one week became two, two became three, and the reminder on Andy’s calendar began blinking at her with increasingly accusatory urgency. The gala was getting closer, arrangements needed to be finalized, names confirmed, schedules adjusted, and Andy could no longer survive on the assumption that silence meant approval. So, catching Miranda in what could generously be called a free moment, Andy gathered herself and stepped into her office.
“Miranda, can I have your confirmation that Lorraine is your plus-one? I need to make a few adjustments and prepare everything else.”
Miranda finally looked up from her files and, with infuriating simplicity, shook her head. Andy stared. She was fairly certain the shock was written plainly across her face. What?
“Miranda, you can’t—”
Miranda lifted her gaze, cool and challenging, effectively daring Andy to finish that sentence.
Andy swallowed whatever had almost escaped. “Is there a reason Lorraine didn’t make the cut?”
Miranda leaned back slightly. “Oh, I don’t know. She’s not...” She trailed off and made one small, vague motion with her hand, as if the answer should have materialized in the air between them.
Something hot coiled low in Andy’s stomach. It climbed steadily upward, through her chest, into her throat, until whatever fragile structure had been holding her patience together finally snapped.
“You... you...” Andy produced a strangled sound that barely qualified as language.
Then she started pacing. In Miranda’s office. Actually pacing, back and forth, one hand pressed against her temple while muttering rapidly under her breath, no longer particularly concerned with whether she was disturbing Miranda. At this point she probably looked possessed.
“What is wrong with you?” Andy finally burst out, spinning toward her. “I have been trying so hard to understand you. Do you know that? I have practically developed an entire translation system just for you. A look means one thing, a sigh means another, that tiny thing you do with your mouth apparently means someone’s career is about to die. I spent hours going through men because you wouldn’t tell me what you wanted, only to discover that broad shoulders were apparently a crime, square jaws were offensive, facial hair was unacceptable, and military haircuts were somehow worse. Then I figured out you wanted women, found women, brought them here, and you rejected one because she was too tall, another because she looked at her phone, and Lorraine because of her perfume. Her perfume, Miranda. So I fixed the perfume. I fixed it! I practically fumigated the poor woman with mine because you’ve never complained about how I smell, and apparently that still wasn’t enough!” Miranda had gone very still, but Andy was far too deep into her own destruction to notice.
“Someone who isn’t too tall, but apparently not too short either. Attractive, but not so attractive that everyone else in the room forgets you exist. Someone who knows how to dress without looking like she spent six hours planning it, who can survive an evening without checking her phone every thirty seconds, who doesn’t drown herself in perfume, who actually listens when you speak and can keep up with you without turning the entire night into some ridiculous performance.” Andy was pacing faster now, one hand flying through the air as if she could physically assemble Miranda’s impossible woman from sheer frustration.
“Someone intelligent, but not irritatingly eager to prove it. Confident, but not arrogant. Someone who can make conversation without talking your ear off, who knows when to say something and when to just sit there and let you brood dramatically into your champagne. Someone who isn’t terrified of you, because apparently that’s unacceptable too, but who also possesses enough self-preservation not to argue with you every five seconds. Someone who pays attention to you, remembers things, doesn’t embarrass you, doesn’t bore you, doesn’t smell offensive, doesn’t tower over you, doesn’t stare at herself in reflective surfaces and, preferably, doesn’t require me to conduct another three-week investigation just to figure out why you hate her!”
Andy finally stopped. Her chest rose and fell with several furious breaths. One hand was still planted against her hip, the other hanging uselessly at her side after apparently exhausting itself along with the rest of her. Miranda had watched the entire performance in complete silence. Not interrupted once. That should probably have concerned Andy more than it did. Then Miranda tilted her head.
“Satisfied?”
Andy blinked.
“Huh?”
Miranda calmly lowered her eyes back to the papers on her desk. “Ask Emily.” Miranda turned a page. “That’s all.”
Which was apparently the end of the conversation. Still dazed, Andy wandered back toward the outer office, where Emily was typing furiously at her computer. Andy stopped beside her desk. Emily leaned back slowly in her chair, looking at Andy with an expression somewhere between disbelief and profound exhaustion.
“You.”
Andy blinked.
“What?”
“You, Andrea.”
Andy stared at her in disbelief, but Emily just returned to typing.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Emily finally looked up. “You just spent God knows how long describing yourself to Miranda Priestly’s face, and somehow you are still the last person in this building to notice.”
Andy’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Emily gave her a thin, satisfied smile.
“There, mystery solved. Now go malfunction somewhere else.”
Andy spent the rest of the day in something close to shock, answering calls automatically, transferring people on instinct, and somehow completing tasks while her brain remained several rooms behind. Emily’s you had lodged itself beneath her ribs and refused to move. By evening, most of the office had emptied out, but Miranda’s light was still on. Andy sat staring at it for several minutes before finally standing, smoothing her skirt for no particular reason, and making her way toward the office.
She paused at the doorway first, quietly checking the room before allowing her eyes to settle on Miranda. Under the warm lighting of the office, with the usual sharpness of daylight softened around her, Miranda looked different. Softer somehow. Her glasses rested low on her nose as she skimmed whatever document had managed to survive the day with her attention intact.
“Got your answer?” Miranda prompted without looking up.
Andy opened her mouth. “I...” And that was apparently all the English language had left to offer her. Every word she had ever learned promptly vaporized.
She fiddled with her fingers, suddenly very aware of her own breathing, before gathering what remained of her courage.
“I want a proper courting.” That finally made Miranda look up.
There it was again, another expression Andy hadn’t yet managed to catalogue in that ridiculous dictionary she kept in the back of her mind. Miranda’s shoulders moved with the faintest shake, and the corner of her mouth twitched as if she were suppressing something dangerously close to amusement.
“All right,” she said simply. “Pack your things, then.”
Andy froze. Pack her things? Was she fired? Had she somehow managed to confess whatever that had been and lose her job in the same breath? Miranda, meanwhile, began gathering her own things with maddening calm before standing and motioning for Andy to follow. Andy remained rooted to the spot for another second before scrambling back to her desk and hurriedly packing her bag, still unsure whether she was about to be escorted out of Runway permanently.
Except people who were fired generally weren’t waited for at the door by Miranda Priestly herself. And Miranda was waiting. Watching her with that look again. That strange, recurring softness Andy had noticed more than once and filed away without understanding it. Only now, with Emily’s answer still echoing in her skull, the translation finally came.
Affection.
Andy nearly stopped walking. Miranda merely turned toward the elevators as if she hadn’t just rearranged the entire architecture of Andy’s brain. Andy followed her inside, the doors sliding shut behind them with a quiet ding.