In the Backseat

A set of MirAndy drabbles – a 100 words each. There is now a companion piece called "In the Backseat 2". The same story, but written in the first person from Miranda's POV.

By Gun Brooke

The leather seat is heated, but Andy wishes it wasn't. Next to her, Miranda Priestly, this intimidating, arrogant woman is sitting, legs crossed. Her skirt has ridden up and Andy's heart hammers at the sight of lace suggesting the top of Miranda's thigh-highs. If Miranda keeps flashing her perfect thighs like this, the heated seats need to be turned off.

"You're staring." Miranda doesn't lift her eyes, nor does she straighten her skirt.

Andy snaps her eyes forward so fast it hurts. Does the woman have a sixth sense? Is she a psychic?

Andy's face burns, just like the seat.


The dry cleaning is slippery in their plastic bags. The book is next to Andy on the seat, but all she can think is how Miranda will eviscerate her if she wrinkles the designer garments. Causing Miranda's anger is excruciating. Something Andy tries to avoid at all cost.

Roy, the driver, pulls up at Miranda's townhouse.

"Need a hand, Andy?"

Oh, yeah? Not likely. The idea of Miranda spotting Roy helping Andy sends icicles through her veins. "Nah, I'm fine."

Andy slides out of the backseat with the dry cleaning and the Book.

Andy swallows hard. Miranda might be home.


The little redhead is crying against Andy's shoulder. "W-why can't I stay with her?"

"Because she's going to be in recovery and totally out of it after the surgery." Andy hugs Cassidy close as they ride the town car through Manhattan.

"Caroline will wonder where I am," Cassidy says through her tears. "When she wakes up."

"Your mother will tell her and you and I will be right back at the hospital in the morning."

"So you're sleeping at our house?"


Andy can hardly believe it. Miranda's house. She, in Miranda's guest bed. In any bed at the townhouse.


"The girls miss you." Miranda doesn't look up from her cell phone as she speaks to Andy in the town car.

"I miss them too. I'm glad Caroline is already doing so well."


The silence is permeated with something that needs to be addressed, but Andy isn't going to start.

"They want you back. For a visit. For tacos." Miranda's cheeks turn pink.

"And you?" Andy dares to ask.

"Your presence hasn't disturbed me." Miranda tucks her phone away and snaps her purse closed. She still doesn't look at Andy. Her hands are fidgety.

"Maybe?" Andy murmurs.

"Friday. Tacos."


"I fail to see why you insist on returning to that rat's nest," Miranda growls. She is turned fully toward Andy, clearly in attack mode. Eyes ablaze, teeth bared, and blouse half undone.

"It may not be glamorous, but I live there." Trying to sound reasonable, Andy finds she is shivering. So damn cold in the town car. What happened to the heated seats?

"How can you want to stay there when I can offer you something better?" Miranda unbuckles her seatbelt and slides closer. She flips the button for the privacy screen.

Andy presses her back against the door.


Miranda's perfume engulfs her. Fills every sense, which is funny since it is geared toward fresh and clean, rather than heavy or flowery. Andy carefully slides closer after making sure the privacy screen is up.

"Are you still upset?" Andy asks, slipping her hand into Miranda's.

Miranda holds on firmly to Andy's hand. "I have calmed down."

"You know it was the right move for me—for us." Hoping Miranda will see it her way, Andy raises the elegant hand she holds to her lips.

"Perhaps." Miranda gasps.

"Once your divorce is final, I'm all yours."

Miranda's blue eyes ignite.


"Mine." Miranda's lips travel across Andy's décolleté, skims along the shantung silk and dips into the valley of her breasts. "You said it yourself. Mine."

Andy can barely breathe. They've made love before, but never has she seen Miranda this voracious. Andy pushes her fingers into Miranda's hair, disregarding the hour it took Monsieur What's-his-name to do his magic.

"Kiss me," Miranda demands. "I can't wait. I want your mouth. Now."

Andy groans and pulls Miranda in for a kiss that just won't stop. Their evening dresses are slippery against the leather seat.

Andy never wants to let Miranda go.


"Will she mind if we're tagging along?" Caroline says and kicks her legs out from the backseat. "She might."

"No, she won't," Andy insists. "Your mom and I want you guys with us. One day you'll be big teenagers who can't care less about us stuffy grownups." She winked at Caroline and Cassidy who grinned back, looking relieved.

"I love the ring," Cassidy says and runs a finger across Andy's simple gold band.

"Me too." Andy smiled and tried to fathom she was engaged and on her way to pick up Miranda for their celebration at Smith & Wollensky'.


Miranda holds on to Andy like she fears she may disappear. "You can't stay away that long every again," she whispers in Andy's ear. "I don't think I could endure it."

"All right." It's easy for Andy to promise. The three weeks in Israel have been hard. The assignment was difficult, but being away that long, barely able to Skype, has made up her mind.

"Miranda. Listen. I've been on the road for two years now—more or less. It's time."

Miranda sits up, her eyes huge. "Yes? You're sure."

Andy presses both their hands against her stomach. She's sure.

Do go on to read from Miranda's POV in "In the Backseat 2" here on .