Disclaimer: Own nada when it comes to The Devil Wears Prada – neither the movie nor the book. Alas.
Pairing: Andy/Miranda (MirAndy)
Rating: G – NC-17, depending on chapter. This one is G.
Summary: Miranda walks out of a dead drunk Stephen two days before Paris. She ends up in a bar, sitting right next to a pretty girl that turns out to be Andrea, her assistant, who in turn makes her an unexpected offer.
A/N: This is pretty a/u, as I've messed with events and timeline. Just so you know!
Give In to Me
An Andy/Miranda Devil Wears Prada Fan Fiction
By Gun Brooke
"You such a bitch!"
Miranda jumped when her Bohemian crystal vase hit the wall next to her, water splashing as the multicolored Marguerites rained around her.
"Stephen! Are you out of your mind?"
"You don't give a fuck about me and you never have. I was just a convenience, a person to escort you like a damn—"
"I'm not about to listen to any more of your insults," Miranda said and hurried down the stairs. "Sober up in your solitude." She yanked her coat from the hanger and grabbed her bag sitting on the dresser. Hurrying outside, she walked down the street until she reached the corner, where luckily enough she managed to hail a cab. Only when she sank into the backrest, did she realize that she trembled, out of equal parts fury and fear. Stephen's drinking was getting out of control, as was his outbursts of anger. He hadn't actually hit her, but the constant nagging, the yelled insults, were tearing at her. Tonight was the first time he'd thrown something at her. She didn't really think he meant to hit her, but it had been very close.
Not sure where she wanted to go, Miranda checked her watch. Almost nine. No use going back to the house until Stephen had either gone to his mistress that he was blithely unaware that she knew of, or fallen asleep in a drunken stupor. She looked out the window and realized the cab had reached the block where Elias-Clarke was located. Her office was within walking distance.
"Stop. Let me off here." She paid the cab driver and began walking down the street, pulling her coat closer around her. The autumn wind was permeating the fabric, and she shivered as she lengthened her stride in her four inch heels. As she passed an open door, she heard laughter and the sound of music and glass clinking together. Suddenly in the mood for a drink, Miranda decided to hold off on going back to her office at Runway. She stepped inside the pub, and old fashioned Irish pub with plenty of genuine ambiance.
She saw an empty stool by the far right end of the bar. The woman on the stool next to it was sitting with her back turned to it, which suited Miranda perfectly. She took off her coat and folded it over the low backrest. Taking a seat in the dark corner, she waited until the bartender noticed her.
"Scotch, single malt, on the rocks."
He nodded and poured her a glass with a ridiculously big designer ice cube. Miranda took the glass and sipped it carefully. The whisky warmed her mouth, throat and belly, and she closed her eyes and smiled faintly at nothing in particular. Next to her the young woman said: "All right, Doug. Thanks for keeping me company. I'll just finish my coke and I'll go up and wait for the Book."
Andrea. Of course. The closest put to Runway and her assistant would be there. Coke? Lucky for her. Even if all Andrea did in the evening at Runway was wait for the Book, the mockup of the current Runway issue, she was not supposed to be using alcohol while doing so. Realizing that Andrea would spot her as soon as she got up to leave, Miranda gently cleared her throat.
"Good evening, Andrea."
"Miranda?" Andrea turned so fast on her stool, she nearly toppled over. "Wh-what are you doing here?" She looked wide-eyed at Miranda. "Ho-how…"
"I took a cab. Felt like a drink." She knew her hands were trembling, but she refused to clutch her glass as hard as it would take to hide the shaking. Miranda figured clinging to a drink looked far worse.
Andrea's eyes narrowed. "Are you all right?" she asked, her voice low.
"I am." Miranda sipped her scotch again. "Weren't you just leaving? I thought I heard you tell your young man that?"
"Young man? Oh, you mean Doug? Nah, I just knew his new boyfriend was already upset with him for being late, so I sort of chased him off. The Book won't be ready for at least another hour. I don't mind keeping you company…if you want. If you'll let me." Andrea's cheeks colored a pretty pink.
"By all means." Miranda was actually relieved to find a friendly face in the bar. Suddenly the thought of sitting the drinking alone, was horrible. To be with Andrea didn't only help keep up appearances, but it was actually soothing her frayed soul a bit. "So, this Doug…Douglas? He works at Elias-Clarke too?"
"Doug?" Andrea smiled. "No, no. He's a corporate finance analyst. He hates it though, but we all have rent to pay, right?"
"Like you dislike fashion, you mean?" Miranda tilted her head, enjoying the emotions flickering across Andrea's face.
"I don't dislike fashion! I mean, it might not be my biggest interest of all, but I don't dislike it. I totally respect Runway and the hard word everybody, especially your work, your knowledge. Your vision for this magazine, I know now just how much you sacrifice."
"You do?" Miranda ran her fingers along the edge of her glass, one circle after another. Andrea seemed hypnotized by it, and her mesmerized gaze made Miranda's thighs clench. "Would you believe that the latest casualty is a Bohemian crystal vase?" She chuckled at her own lame humor.
"A vase?" Andrea looked puzzled. "You through a vase at someone? Or vice versa?"
"Oh, I wouldn't throw that vase. It used to be my grandmother's. An heirloom." Looking down into her glass, Miranda sighed.
"I'm sorry. Just shut me up if I'm being too nosy, but…was it Stephen?"
"Why would you ask that?"
"Because the last two nights when I've delivered the Book, he's been drunk."
Miranda frowned. "What?" She heard how low and dangerous her voice became.
Andrea fidgeted with her glass of coke. "Yeah. Well. He came out from the den two nights ago and he was kind of scornful. About the Book. I didn't want to embarrass either of us, especially after that fiasco when I walked upstairs that first time with the Book." Andrea smiled wistfully. "Though, that turned out not to be a bad thing in the long run, per se."
"And last night?" Miranda rapped her nails against the counter. "You said he was drunk the last two nights."
"Yeah. That." Looking ill at ease, Andrea shrugged. "He said he should be able to take advantage of his wife's assistant as he too—had needs."
"What?" Pressing her lips in a tight line, Miranda had to swallow hard to keep the bile down. "He said that? To you?"
"He was very drunk. Could hardly stand. I don't think he'd say any such thing if he'd been sober."
"Damn. Oh, God." Miranda sighed. "Have you told anyone?" She gazed around, making sure nobody overheard their conversation. The press would have a field day with this, and then how would she be able to protect Andrea from the rumor mill?
"Not a soul. I thought I'd just let it blow over. He was out of line, and I told myself that if he approached me a third time, then I'd tell you." Andrea tugged at the ends of her long hair. "I just didn't want to add to your stress regarding Paris fashion week. We leave in two days."
"Good thing that we do, I would say." Miranda pressed her index finger to her lower lip.
"Was he very drunk tonight when he threw that vase at you?"
"The girls are still with their dad, right?" Andrea looked alarmed.
"Yes. You don't honestly think I'd leave them there with him?" Miranda was outraged.
"No, of course not, I just thought of them, that's all. And I know they sometimes cut their visit to their dad short."
"They're still with James."
"What about me?" Miranda raised an eyebrow.
"Where will you go tonight? Since you were going into the office, how long before you meant to return?" Andrea held up her hands, palms toward Miranda. "I know, I know. None of my business, but I'm your assistant, and I…I care. So, since I'm now single and have my vast one bedroom studio apartment to myself, I can offer you my bed. I mean, I can sleep on the couch." Blushing, Andrea smiled carefully.
Miranda was certain that nobody had ever been so ready to give to her without asking anything in return. This girl, so warm and kind, was a rare commodity at Runway, and in Miranda's cut-throat business circles, she was almost an anomaly. Not sure what to say, Miranda knew she would prefer not to go home, or sleep at the office. For her to arrive at a hotel late in the evening without luggage, was a surefire way to attract media interest. "Thank you. I accept." Slightly shell-shocked at her own response, Miranda carefully watched Andrea's response. If she saw any signs of Andrea having second thoughts, she would feel utterly foolish.
Andrea looked nervous, but smiled broadly. "Fine. Well, why don't we go up to Runway and collect the book, and then grab a cab and go home?"
"Very well." Miranda finished her scotch and pulled her jacket on. This was probably a huge mistake, but she was not about to talk herself out of it. She doubted that Stephen would wonder where she'd gone to, or worry, and she just wanted the respite. She would simply grab an outfit for tomorrow in the closet while Andrea fetched the Book. She could work on it at Andrea's apartment, and then change into new clothes tomorrow. Nobody would be the wiser.
Andrea helped her put on her coat and Miranda gasped at the sensation of having her hair and collar adjusted by her assistant. Andrea sometimes did this, and every time, Miranda felt the tingles on her skin for several minutes.
"Let's go. The sooner we're out of here, the more time you have to work on the Book." Andrea smiled and held the door open for Miranda to walk through. "And if you don't think it's too late in the evening for coffee, I'll demonstrate my skill and my brand new espresso machine that I got for my birthday."
Miranda glanced at Andrea and smiled faintly. "Don't be ridiculous. There is no such thing as 'too late for coffee'."
To be continued in part 2