21

Andy

My heart stops for a few moments before starting up again with a painful thud. Miranda doesn't look angry, instead, her expression shows something I've never seen before. Fear. Maybe tinged with shock. What the hell has the newspaper reported on that elicited such a response? Normally she will just show annoyance.

"Miranda?" I query cautiously as I pull the duvet up to my chin. Not sure why I feel I need protection, but I do.

"How could they possibly know? If I find out who had the indecency to blabber to the press, I will fire them instantly." And there was the Dragon. Huffing and growling. I could envision smoke and flames erupting from Miranda's nose and mouth.

"What does it say?" I ask, set on keeping my calm even if I'm determined to remain cool.

"Here." Miranda hands over the paper and grips her mug hard.

I reluctantly accept the newspaper. Even if I want to know, I still feel apprehensive about reading it—especially in front of Miranda. Opening it, I begin to read.

Has the Snow Queen traded up when it comes to lovers?

Yesterday, just before the deadline, our reporter on site reported that our most beloved Devil in Heels, Runway Magazine's Editor in Chief, Miranda Priestly hosted a party at her house yesterday. We saw the guests arrive and naturally they were all dressed in clothes this reporter is certain, is provided for them by the famous Closet at Runway. It's no secret that the only reason underpaid assistants and lower-rank models look like a million dollars is the access to the latest haute couture.

So, who was at the party, I hear you ask? First to join was the woman Miranda Priestly relies on the most. Her first assistant, Andrea Sachs. Dressed in a stylish coat by an unnamed designer—do let this column know in the comment section online if you can pinpoint—and was she a sight to be seen. With snowflakes in her hair and struggling with what looked like an overnight carry-on bag, young Ms. Sach appeared to be ready for a sleepover.

Soon my photographer and I saw the arrival of Nigel Kipling, the man behind some of Miranda Priestly's ingenious looks. Other guests consisted of several of Miranda's closest people at Runway, including her legal rep.

Catering from Pastis came and went, suggesting that it would be a get-together where no one would suffer inferior food.

Our dedication and curiosity made us brave the cold and increasing snowstorm. This showed everyone leaving after a few hours, the lovely Ms. Sachs did not. When this reporter was relieved by her colleague at 1 AM, she was still at her boss's beck and call.

I look up at Miranda and I know my cheeks must be crimson. "They were st-staking out your home? How the hell can they invade a person's privacy like that? And calling themselves a reporter is such a stretch, it's not even funny.

"I know." Miranda keeps her unwavering gaze on me. "I'm so sorry." There's an expression of something frighteningly final in her eyes.

"Let me read the rest," I say, not ready to deal with the fallout of this—not yet.

The consensus of the journalists in charge of Page Six—

"Fuck, now they're making themselves out to be the equals of the Spotlight journalists back in the day. Damn it!" I'm so angry and upset, I can barely get the words out in the correct order.

—that going from the less-than faithful Mr. Tomlinson, who has been quite vocal about his ex-wife's alleged shortcomings, to Andrea Sachs, could only be beneficial for Miranda Priestly. Wouldn't you rather be associated with a stunning young woman who's clearly up-and-coming in the news business, than someone who is squandering his money, losing his clients, and showing up with some blond-of-the-week at functions?

A little bird told us anonymously—which means that you need to do your own bit of fact-checking—that when Ms. Sach's tenure is over soon, she will be able to choose from the best newspapers, or news networks, on the East Coast. The question is, if she decides to move on to big and better things, where does that leave the woman who helped her get there? Could this mean yet another heartbreak for Miranda Priestly?

But, that said, if Ms. Sachs is playing her cards right, she might just get the woman and her half of the kingdom, and who can blame her for going for gold that way?

Below is a photo of me arriving at Miranda's doorstep, and some of Nigel and the others. The one of them leaving, clearly without me, is zoomed in and I can actually be seen next to Miranda as we wave them off to the waiting car.

"What does this mean?" Of course, I mean to ask how this will affect us on a personal note, but of course, I'm equally afraid of what this might mee for me professionally. Not to mention the fact that it will reach my parents, my current and former friends—and, God, Nate. This will make me look like a liar in his eyes, not that I really care, but perhaps some part of me does.

"Depending on who reads reis and their agenda, it can take on all sorts of meanings. Everything from my being a cradle robber to you sleeping your way to the top, or they might enjoy endless speculation for weeks." Miranda sighs and rubs her forehead. "I honestly can't fathom this. When they went after my girls during the divorce, I slammed them with several lawsuits that were settled out of court very quickly. Everyone, except Page Six, believed that children are off limits. Now, however, I'm not sure that approach would help. We're both adults—even if we could argue that you're not a public person just for being my assistant."

I don't know what to say. My head is a mess.

"As I see it, this will turn out to be an intersection we both can look back at as what changed everything for us. For the better, or for the worse." Miranda quickly wipes at her eyelashes and her hand is trembling.

I sit up straight, filled with so many emotions that I can barely breathe. Fear, vulnerability, and rage. But one emotion overshadows everything.

"I'll be damned if my life or my choices will be dictated by the fucking idiots on Page Six. I know you've dealt with them for most of your career, but I refuse to acknowledge them as part of my existence." I forget about the duvet and take Miranda's hands, knocking the newspaper to the floor in the process. "I won't let them taint how I feel about you."

22

Miranda

Andrea blushed and managed to look decisive at the same time.

I want to ask her to elaborate on her feelings further, but I wait and see if she'll volunteer some of her own volition. Apparently, this works better with Andrea than my resorting to the third degree, which I've been known to do.

"I mean, what we have, what's developed so far, it's fragile, right?" She straightens her bangs and looks at me as if I have the power to crush her with one single word if it is the wrong one.

"You're entirely correct," I say and take her chin between my thumb and index finger. "This is too precious for anyone else to sully it with their insignificant point of view." I lean in and kiss her gently. "Believe me when I say, Andrea, that the only reason for my being upset about this so-called article, is the risk of anyone hurting you, or my girls. You also know I don't give a damn what they write about me. There's little they haven't come up with over the years."

"I hate how they hounded you during your divorce. No matter what you say, you're not made of stone. When they write unfair and downright foul crap, it's not easy to stay as stoic as you did." Andrea wraps her arms around me and hold me close. "I wanted to say something, but words seemed so worthless, and I knew it wasn't my place. I was glad you had Nigel, despite everything."

"He's a better friend than I deserve. I did come through for him in the end, and when I leave Runway for good, it'll be even more so. I have that in writing from the next chairman of the board. Ravitz resignation will be the single best that can happen to Runway, only second to Nigel taking the reins, if that's what he wants. If he rather does something else after all, there is a short list of candidates that would all be adequate and almost as good."

Andrea's eyes well up with tears. "You're pretty awesome, lady," she said, her voice raspy. "I know you have a business persona to maintain, but it didn't take me all that long to see behind it. I can't fathom why it's not as obvious to some people."

I smile gently at her loyal words. "Darling, news about a kind and softhearted woman in power doesn't sell newspapers. Nor does it keep those who need a strong hand in check. I cultivate some rumors because it suits me. That said, there are times when I wish certain individuals could read more between the lines. It's no matter though. The people I care for the most in my life know me."

I can see the wheels speed up in Andrea's brain.

"Yes," I say and run my thumb along her lower lip. "That entails you."

Andrea pulls me across her lap, making me straddle her thighs. New kisses, deep and probing, jumpstarts my arousal and I press her against the headboard. I rock my hips against hers, but it's not enough. The fire between my legs needs sating, and right now. I can't believe that I'm this impatient. Letting go of Andrea's mouth, I inhale and exhale twice, knowing she deserves to be right there with me.

"God, Miranda…You're so damn hot…I want to touch you so much…" Sounding feverish, Andrea pushes a hand down between us. "Please…"

"Yes. Yes!" I spread my legs further, trying to make room for her. It only takes a fraction of a moment before her fingers find my clit. I cry out and my hips begin their rolling motion again. My thighs tremble and I want to close my eyes and simply focus on the huge waves of pleasure that are rushing toward me from the horizon.

I push my free hand between us and past hers. It fits perfectly at the opposite angle, and I know already how welcome my touch is, so I slip two fingers inside her. I use the base of my thumb to rub at her clit and she cries out and trembles.

"Miranda!" Andrea presses against my hand and more tears stream down her face. "I'm coming. I can't stop it—"

"And why would you want to do that?" I smile against her mouth, capturing her words. "Come. I've got you. I want to feel all of it." I curl my fingers and press firmly inside her. This makes her give a keening sound and her tremors turn into convulsions. That is all it takes for my orgasm to hit. We ride those waves together, which is something I thought was a myth. With Andrea it is merely one of the miracles that happen to me when I'm around her. Slowly we reenter orbit and slump down on the bed. I'm not ashamed of clinging to her and I'm not surprised to find that she's holding me just as close.

"I still can't understand, not fully, that I'm allowed to touch you like this," Andrea whispers.

" You can't understand?" I snort. "I have no idea how I can be this lucky. To have you in my arms because that's where you want to be." I stroke back her hair. "And just so you know, there's no other place right now where I'd rather be."

Andrea kisses me again, but softer, and with less frenzy this time. I curl up with her and find a blanket to keep us from going cold. I watch her eyes grow sleepy again, and as she falls asleep in my arms, I vow to deal with the Page 6 editor in the way I do best.

23

Andy

We spend the entire Saturday together. Sometimes I feel self-conscious about being in Miranda's townhouse, knowing I'm permitted to walk around it as I please. Like a carte blanche to Miranda's life, in a way. Initially, I make an effort not to hover, but Miranda seems to like it best if I'm close, even when she is working on her laptop. Apparently, she gets a digital version of the book on weekends, something I knew nothing about. It begs the question why that can't be done in the weekdays…but I regret even thinking that. Maybe I wouldn't be here like this, if I hadn't waited around for the Book and delivered dry cleaning to Miranda for so long. I think back to how surprised I was when she insisted, I would still carry out this assignment after I became her first assistant. The 'new girl' did it on occasion, but mostly it has been me. It dawns on me that Miranda's…fondness toward me has truly gone on longer than even she fully grasps.

I sit on the couch where our lovemaking began last night, working on my CV for several publications. This time it won't be on an entry point level. This time I will have letters of recommendation from Miranda and Nigel. My dream job is as a journalist at the Mirror, and I can't help having my hopes up pretty high. Miranda's reach in the publishing industry is at an unfathomable level.

Here is where my brain stalls and a new heartache kicks in. Will her letter of recommendation be worth the paper it's written on when people suspect that we're involved? Today's paper has with one sleezy article jeopardized everything for me…perhaps for us . Losing a career is devastating, but losing what I have going on with Miranda would shatter me. I try to calm my brain and remember to breathe. I can't panic about something that might never happen. I just can't. Of course, I should know better than to try and act casually in front of Miranda.

"What's wrong?" she says and looks at me just over the frame of the reading glasses.

I hesitate for a moment, but if there's anything I've learned about this woman over the years, and especially since last night—there can be no bullshit. If she asks, she wants to know. It's certainly not about being polite.

"Just my insecurities reading their ugly heads," I say and try to smile. I suspect it looks more like a grimace.

Miranda sends her computer a glance and hits some keys. I'm sure she's going to take my words at face value and keep working, but she closes the laptop, walks over to the couch and sits down next to me. We're close enough for our legs to touch.

"If you want to share about these insecurities, I'm interested." Miranda looks a little braced for impact.

I lean my head against her shoulder and place my left hand on her thigh, stroking it in small circles. This seems to make her relax and I understand that she worried it might have something to do with regrets.

"Do you think the Page 6 article will make potential employers of mine suspect that any accolades you might write in a letter of recommendation will be biased—and exaggerated?"

Miranda runs her fingers through my hair, slowly, almost as if she's stalling. "I wasn't going to say anything before I heard back from Paulette." She tips my head back to meet my gaze.

Paulette Donovan is one of the attorneys in Miranda's legal team. They made sure her prenup with Stephen left her unscathed when he filed for divorce. They also successfully sued a magazine when the twins were babies and said magazine published images taken through the window of a breastfeeding Miranda and one of the girls. That put the fear of God in all mainstream publications. The tabloids weren't as easily deterred, but a few more lawsuits down the line, the incursions became fewer each year.

"What do you have in the works?" I pivot in her arms.

"Paulette assured me that not only would Page 6 print a retraction, but also remove everything from their website, Facebook, X, Instagram, etc. It might still be out there at some obscure site, but all the main players will know that if they jump on this particular bandwagon, it'll be one of their biggest mistakes. I know these people, Andrea. I know how they think and operate, and they'll be curious that first day, but it will dwindle. Those potential bosses of yours will give you a fair assessment. Paulette has made that clear and for some reason, when she and I join forces, things do a one-eighty. Please, darling, have faith in me a little longer."

It's the second 'darling' and also, the 'please' is a rare world, at least at work.

"All right," I say, knowing that Miranda in all likelihood has things in hand, even if all I can see is doom and gloom for my future.

I lean in and kiss her. Miranda's lips are half-open, soft, and perfectly constructed to fit her stunning face. Her nose, called patrician by some, even Roman by others, rubs against my cheek as she nuzzles me after the kiss. This is when I realize that I haven't felt this safe and cared for in a long time. Who could have expected Miranda Priestly, the Devil in Prada, to be the one person in my life to make me feel like this?

24

Miranda

Going back to work after the weekend felt…strange. Normally taking pride in never being bothered by anyone else's opinion, I now know that everyone in the office, boardroom, and down at the closest Starbucks, has read Page 6 on the Saturday morning, and the retraction in the Sunday edition. I will probably never know what Paulette said to the editor, but the retraction was almost longer than the original article.

Andrea went home yesterday afternoon, but not until we had made love in the kitchen and later, in the ensuite shower. There was something feverish about how she held me, and the way she made me hers, over and over. I can't help but get the feeling she feared it was the last time.

Caroline and Cassidy came home from Canada the same evening, and that allowed me to talk to them before they heard from their friends, who in turn would have been informed about Page 6 by their helpful parents. My girls never bother with gossip pages of any kind, and they are often scoffing at the social media circus. Unless it is about K-Pop stars, which is infinitely more interesting to them than their mother.

After I explained about the Page 6 article, Caroline tilted her head and looked at me with something that resembled pity. "That must really suck for you, Mom," she said slowly. "You never want to see anything personal about people you love in the press, when it is you, they're coming for."

I could only stare at her. "Caroline? What do you mean?"

"Andy. She's like family by now. When Page 6 goes after her, just to get to you and sell more papers, no wonder you're upset." This time it was Cassidy who looked at me with worried eyes. "Was there a retraction?"

The girls learned the meaning of the word retraction when they were about three years old.

"Yes. In today's paper."

Caroline gave a two-tone whistle. "That was fast work by Paulette. Makes sense."

"You two are talking in riddles," I said, shaking my head. "Exactly what makes sense?"

"Andy," Cassidy said again. "This could affect Andy. You step in and set Paulette and her team on them. That's something you've done when it comes to us, several times. Which means, we're right. Andy's family."

I think back to how I was at a loss for words for a good ten seconds. They kept regarding me with patient kindness. Perhaps they were just waiting for me to come to the same conclusion on my own.

"Yes." I let my gaze travel between them. "Of course, she is. Andrea means a lot to me, and when someone's trying to make money while threatening to derail her career, I couldn't just let it happen."

Caroline's eyes widened and then she elbowed her sister. "I told you."

"I know," Cassidy said, smiling and grumbling at the same time.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, inwardly dreading their answers.

"That you're attracted to Andy. I mean, for me it's obvious, but Cass had it down to some extended hero worship for a long time. She's only seen it my way these last few months.

As we now turn into the street to the Elias Clarke building, I can still feel how my cheeks went red and my urge to look at anything but my far-too-intelligent daughters.

"It's all right, Mom. Don't freak out. We like her a lot. Next time, have her stay over when we're home. That's only fair." Cassidy nodded decisively.

"What do you mean?" I was stalling, I knew it.

"It's obvious that Andy was here over the weekend." Caroline grinned. "I went into the guest room because I needed the spare charger for my iPhone. I saw the imprint of a suitcase on the bed, but no one had slept in it. Too pristine."

I couldn't help it, but Caroline looked so pleased with herself that I had to laugh. Soon, we were all wiping away tears from laughter.

"All right," I managed, "but this doesn't concern you—yet. Do you understand that?"

Sobering, the twins nodded slowly. "Yeah. It's new and all that. You guys need to negotiate or whatever." Cassidy sighed and then hugged me. "Just remember, we're thirteen, we're not babies. If you need to, well, talk, you know we think the world of her."

Cassidy could sometimes be so precautious, but I could tell she meant it, and Caroline agreed.

"Thank you." I kissed my girls and then I was only too glad to listen to their adventures during the weekend.

Rolf, my chauffeur, pulls out of traffic and comes to a halt at my office building. He rounds the car in his usual efficient way and holds up the door. What isn't usual, is how he suddenly decides to address me. "Miranda? When I drove Andy home yesterday, there was a horde of press at her apartment building. I don't think she would ever bother you with that, but I thought you should know."

I stop in midstep and then squeeze his arm. "Thank you for letting me know."

He nods and goes back to the driver's side of the town car, while I return my focus on making it through the crowd on the sidewalk. So, the posse had found out her address. That meant things might have to progress faster than I envisioned.

25

Andy

I'm sure I'm dreaming as I stand on the opposite side of the desk from Miranda. She just asked me to close the glass door that separates her office from the outer space where my desk is located. Miranda just uttered impossible words and I am trying to judge if I've lost my marbles or if she did.

"Excuse me?" I say, unable to feel the closeness and freedom to be myself around her that I did over the weekend. My mind has been completely preoccupied with the memories of every kiss, every caress, and the multitude of ways we found our way back into each other's arms.

Here at the office, our mutual roles as editor-in-chief and first assistant are clearly defined, and that in turn blurs what was clear back at her townhouse.

"I said, we need to move up the timeline for your departure from Runway." Miranda leans her elbows at her glass desk and looks at me above her reading glasses. This used to turn me on and intimidate me in equal measure only a short while ago. Now it makes me nervous, and I can't follow her reasoning. Perhaps it is because she sounds so businesslike?

"I heard you," I say, sharper than I mean, but she's not making sense. "That doesn't mean I get why—"

"Rolf told me about the press at your apartment." Miranda presses her lips into a thin line.

Shit. I had hoped that wouldn't have to be an issue. "They were just some stragglers. I didn't recognize anyone noteworthy among them."

"That said," Miranda says, "I'm still concerned. You need to make this your last day of work. You'll get your severance pay, naturally, and your bonus, but from now on, you can't be on the actual payroll."

I'm not sure if she sees the hurt confusion in my eyes, but her voice softens. "This is for the good of your future, your career. And yes, I'm not entirely unselfish." She colors faintly. "I don't wish for their stalker methods to place obstacles in our path when it comes to our…attraction. Our feelings," she amends.

I blink. "Our feelings."

"Of course, I can only speak for myself. My feelings," she says, plucking at some documents in front of her, but not taking her eyes off me.

Those two words make my hunched shoulders relax. I realize that I can still see my Miranda behind the office persona if I look at her the right way. And that's what I'm doing now. I see her pink lips looking slightly fuller than usual. The color of her cheek is more peach and follows her stunning cheekbones. Her eyes are unwavering, but her blink frequency is higher. And then there's the nervous plucking.

"Let me see if I understand better," I say and sit down on one of the visitor's chairs. "You want me to quit today, on the spot, to not provide any unnecessary fodder for the idiots from yesterday afternoon?"

Miranda nods.

"And you'll provide me with the paperwork I need and the letter of recommendation, dated today, to emphasize it further."

"Yes."

I nod. "And then there's…us." I glance over my shoulder, but the outer office is empty right now. "Our attraction. Our feelings." I pause and take courage from the molten look in her eyes. "We haven't navigated all of that yet, but I don't want any paparazzi calling the shots when it comes to someone I—" I can barely speak as I see Miranda's eyes well up. "—love." My last word is a whisper, but still clear.

"Andrea." Miranda gets up and moves over to the small settee in the corner that's out of view of the outer office. I follow her and as I reach her, she drags me down next to her and holds me so tight, I can barely breathe. "Darling…" She tips her head back and looks at me. Then her mouth is on mine for a scorching moment. "You brave woman. I love you."

I realize I already knew. As insecure and intimidated I've been around Miranda Priestly, the fact that she loves me is not a surprise after all. I cup her cheeks and kiss her lightly, which is hard as my mouth wants to smile so much. "I love you, Miranda. With all my heart."

"And you will leave today, right?" she asks, still somewhat in damage control mode. "And when your new job is secured, you'll come to me and the girls?" She looks like she's about to shake me.

"Yes." It's so easy to say, because there is no other possible answer. I have the chance of true happiness right here, in my grasp, and the woman I love wants me just as much. My parents will be shocked, perhaps even outraged, that I don't end up with the imaginary son-in-law that they've envisioned for quite some time. I can't let such foolishness sway me. Not when Miranda holds me as if I'm the more precious creature she knows, right after her daughters.

"What if it takes me a while to land my dream job?" I ask and hold her closer.

"It won't. If it still does, we can still see each other, but discreetly. Just between us, the girls, and our closest friends." Miranda nuzzles my cheek. "The girls and I would love to have you over for dinner tonight. Please, say yes. It was agony to not be with you last night."

"The girls, do they know—"

"They guessed, quite astutely. In fact, they knew before either of us, I think." Miranda brushes my bangs from my forehead. "They're all kinds of clever."

"Oh, I know." I hold her for a few moments longer, but then we're interrupted by her phone ringing, as well as mine outside on my desk.

"Duty calls," I say and get up. I hold out a hand to Miranda, and I know I'll never tire of looking at her. This amazing woman loves me. That should be mind-blowing, but instead it feels entirely natural. That doesn't mean I don't want to tear every stitch of clothing from her body and have my way with her on the settee.

Miranda sighs and allow me to assist her. "I suppose."

When I head for the door to return to my desk, she calls out my name again.

"Andrea?"

"Yes, Miranda?" I say, smiling broadly as I turned around, my hand already on the doorknob."

Miranda's expression is completely new. Despite having been around her almost daily for two years, I have never seen her look at another person the way she looks at me. Her feelings are easy to read, and they speak of only one thing right now.

Miranda Priestly loves me.

END