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Summary: Miranda finds an essay written by Andy in the internal Elias-Clarke Magazine, called "Silver and Sapphires" - and is shocked by its content. This can be Irv Ravitz's last and best weapon against Miranda.
Silver and Sapphires
A MirAndy (Andy/Miranda) DWP fan fiction
By Gun Brooke
Andy stared at the page with horror filling her belly and then rising through her chest and clogging her throat. Staring back at her were the text she'd shown Emily and Serena one night after she'd gotten seriously drunk on tequila at Serena's apartment. This was the essay where she allowed herself to speak from her heart. Granted, she didn't name names, but anyone who knew her, and worst of all, knew where she worked exactly, could add two and two together.
"I'll never ever trust those idiots again. What on earth possessed them?" she muttered and closed her eyes, letting her forehead thud against the Elias-Clark Magazine, the biweekly internal staff paper. "I'm so dead." She wasn't prone to exaggerations. She knew that when Miranda Priestly, editor-in-chief and her boss, saw the essay, she was dead, gone, and vanquished.
Miranda returned from her working lunch with Irv Ravitz, Elias-Clarke president and the boss she hated with a passion. The conniving man was always up to something and she knew he hadn't given up hope when it came to his perpetual plan to get rid of her. He missed his chance in Paris six months ago, but she didn't trust him for a second. She knew he'd try again as soon as he saw a remote chance of success at the horizon.
Emily greeted her when she entered her office area, but Andrea was not at her desk. A hot no-skim latte sat on her desk, which proved that Andrea wasn't far away, something Miranda always made of point of knowing. After Paris, when Andrea nearly left her, she needed to know where the young woman was. If Andrea was unaccounted for, Miranda's mood would go from cool to frosty, which clearly was pretty obvious to everyone. It had to be because usually her immediate staff always reported where Andrea was, unprompted.
Sipping her coffee, Miranda sat down at her desk and glanced at the magazines her assistants placed there for her every day. At the top was the sad little thing Irv was so proud of, Elias-Clarke's staff magazine. Nearly moaning at having to browse it, Miranda reached for the thankfully thin magazine and opened to the index page. She knew Irv was of the opinion that every editor-in-chief at Elias-Clarke should read it—it was mandatory. He'd even been known to quiz the editors during meetings, for heaven's sake. Miranda huffed and ran her finger down the index. Suddenly it stopped as if she could feel the signature with the sensitive pad of her index finger. "Silver and Sapphires, by A. Sachs, Runway," Miranda read in a mere whisper to herself. "Andrea?" She flipped to the page indicated in the index.
An essay. The young woman who fetched her coffee, planned her week, hunted down missing items, brought the Book every evening, and ran errands even for Miranda's twin daughters and her St. Bernard, Patricia, had written an essay. Miranda wasn't sure why her stomach was in knots, unless it was due to the horrible pasta dish followed by even worse coffee that Irv's caterers had served them. She took a fortifying breath, donned her reading glasses, and began reading what her assistant had come up with.
Silver and Sapphires
By A. Sachs
It's how she looks. It's how she sparkles. And, yes, it's how she sounds. It's a combination of all those things, and still that doesn't explain the effect she has on me. I learn, I grow, I protest (if only inwardly), but then I try to imagine things from her perspective, and suddenly it all makes sense.
I tried to hate her once. As it turned out, I ended up loathing myself and my immature actions instead. Yes, I still think she handled things badly, but I was throwing stones in my very own glass house, so who was I to be so self-righteous?
The blue in her eyes is the sapphires. She can use them as spotlights, illuminating my shortcomings, but on a few, very few, occasions, she's let them soften, only marginally, and that's when I realized how warm she can be. I can dream of those moments and since they are few and far between, it's not hard for me to remember every single one. I think it's no exaggeration that I cherish them, collect them like you'd do with precious stones…such as sapphires.
The sapphire requires a setting and if it was the matter of a ring, no doubt most fashionable people would prefer white gold, but I love the silver. How it glows around her in the muted light of her desktop lamp when she works late. That is when I sit at my desk, listening in case she might need me, and perhaps I'll be lucky to have her pronounce my name. She speaks it like no other and I wonder if it makes me a pathetic, love-sick fool when my heart skips a beat at the sound of her voice.
She has no way of knowing the way she makes me feel. If she did, I can predict three possible outcomes. The most immediate would be to fire me. If not that harsh, she would chalk it up to hero-worship. Worst case scenario would be if she pitied me.
I'll never know, and neither will she. That is the way it has to be. Perhaps one day, this lady of silver and sapphires will think back and realize that there was one person among all the others that regarded her slightly differently.
As I said; I'll never know.
Miranda blinked rapidly at the gut-wrenchingly honest words glaring like a neon sign at her. It was about her. It had to be. Andrea Sachs, the assistant that had come to surpass even Emily, whom she depended on to see her seamlessly through the days and weeks, had written an essay about her. Oh, God, Irv. Irv would see this and think the worst. He would drag her before the board and claim she was inappropriately involved with a member of her staff.
Groaning, Miranda dragged her fingers through her hair. Silver, indeed. Andrea had to be specific. And why had she submitted it to this silly magazine? For everyone to see? To ridicule her? No, not Andrea. The young woman with the kind, chocolate eyes that seemed to follow her every move, anticipate her every need, and who genuinely cared. The way Andrea communicated with her twins, how she listened to their preteen voices and ideas, Miranda couldn't imagine anyone else among her staff doing that.
"I'm so sorry, Miranda. I have no idea how it got into the Elias-Clarke Staff Magazine."
Miranda's head snapped up. Andrea stood just inside the door, her features pale and her mascara slightly smudged. "You're telling me you didn't write this?" she asked, making sure she spoke with her coldest voice.
"Of course I wrote it. I didn't submit it." Andrea drew a trembling breath. "I'm still to blame though, even if I never ever meant to hurt you. I can only apologize from the bottom of my heart."
"You…you…what possessed you to write it in the first place?" Furious that she actually stuttered, Miranda rose and paced back and forth in front of the large windows.
"I keep a journal where I write all sorts of stu—of things. Things that matter to me. Friends. Family. Uhm. You and the twins. It was never meant to be used in any way, shape of form."
"So, your version of this is that someone stole your diary?"
"I think they meant well, or at least I'd like to think so. They borrowed my text after I read it to them."
"Who?" Miranda asked with a low growl.
"I won't rat anyone out. Punish me, Miranda. It's my text."
Miranda stopped pacing, glaring at Andrea. "I want names."
"Andrea Sachs. I'm responsible." Stubborn as ever, Andrea jutted her chin out and clenched her hands.
"You don't realize what the repercussions of this can be, do you?" Miranda waived her hand emphatically. "You know about Irv and his scheming in Paris. When he sees this, he will have all the proof he needs to persuade the board that I'm unfit to hold this position."
"Think, Andrea. You've all but confessed to love in this little piece of open-hearted praise. Anyone who reads this will assume that we're lovers at best, and that I've used my position to seduce you, or worse, coerce you into a relationship." Miranda watched as Andrea's mind caught up to the more devious interpretation.
"Oh, my God." Paling until she looked sick, Andrea placed a hand over her mouth. "I…that can't happen. I'll tell them. I'll…I'll…"
"You'll do no such thing."
"Uhm. No need, actually." Serena stepped inside. "I have someone here who can explain and put your minds at ease." She tugged at someone else's hand and dragged Emily inside. "Things are not what they seem, Miranda."
Andy could hardly breathe. The way Miranda's blue eyes burned at her, at them, as she slowly zoomed in on a white-as-chalk Emily, did not bode well.
"What?" Miranda's low voice cut through whatever had kept Emily from speaking so far.
"Miranda, I'm so, so sorry. Oh, I'm such a bloody idiot. We were drunk at the time, and when I found the journal, I thought, why not help Andrea see that this is hopeless. She's carried a torch for you for so long and Serena and I really care about her, and…" Emily sobbed and pressed a hand to her forehead. "We have this new printer here now. It really can print just about everything. Except money of course. That would be illegal."
"Emily?" Serena's voice was a blend of loving and exasperated. "Don't digress."
"Oh. Sorry." Emily turned to Andy. "I apologize. I shouldn't have read your journal. When I did I was too drunk to see reason. I talked myself into thinking what I meant to do was right. I really meant well."
"You've destroyed Andrea's chance at advancement and put me in a hopeless position and you meant well?" Miranda snarled and looked ready to launch at her senior assistant.
"No. No! You don't understand, Miranda." Emily took two steps back. "There are only two copies like this. Yours and Andrea's. The rest of Elias-Clarke received the proper, official magazine in their mail." Emily sighed. "I know I'm fired. Just don't blame Andrea. She's so in love she can't bloody see straight."
"Emily!" Andy groaned. "Just stop talking for a moment. Serena, is this true? Are these mockup copies just meant for Miranda and I?"
"Yes. My version of the magazine did not have your…essay. I haven't read it. I only know what Emily told me."
"Thank God." Andy felt her legs give in and she sank down on one of the visitor's chairs. She knew she was about to get fired, for sure, after what she'd written, but at least Miranda's job was safe.
"Emily. Stop crying and go wash your face. I'll deal with you later. Serena, I will address your prompt actions at a later date. Make sure my calendar is cleared for the rest of the day. That's all." Miranda turned her sapphire eyes onto Andy as the others scrambled to leave. "Close the door and lock it, Andrea."
Oh, crap. Andy rose on wobbly legs and did as told. "Yes, Miranda?" She remained standing.
"Sit." Miranda waived her hand impatiently toward the small couch over at the opposite end of her office. "Please."
Please? Was Miranda in some sort of shock? Andy sat down and to her amazement, Miranda sat down next to her on the couch. She looked intently at Andy who started to think she might have to be the one doing the talking.
"I'm sorry, Miranda."
"Uhm. The essay? My journal entry?"
"That was stolen from you for the strangest, unfathomable reason." Miranda leaned sideway against the backrest, resting her head in her hand. "I just can't for the life of me understand what Emily was thinking. Then there is what you wrote. Fairly strong words." She narrowed her eyes. "Was it merely an essay, a fantasy? Or were there any truth to it?"
Andy swallowed around tight muscles that kept her neck so rigid. "I meant every word," she whispered thickly. "I won't apologize for how I feel, but you shouldn't have to deal with the fallout. You're not responsible."
"Perhaps." Miranda tapped her lower lip, looking as if she was contemplating her options. "What do you suggest I do about this? I can't "unread" it. I now know how you feel."
"Can't you just do what I thought you'd do? Chalk it up to hero worship?" Andy suggested feebly.
"Ah yes. What were my options according to your estimates? Fire you? Think of it as hero worship?" Miranda frowned. "Pity you?"
"Oh, no. Please. D-don't pity me. Nothing of what I feel deserves pity. It's really all good."
Miranda jerked and seemed to have problems catching her breath. "All good?" she echoed.
"Of course I risk my heart, but the way I see it, how can love in any shape or form, be anything but good?" Andy leaned forward and dared to take Miranda's free hand in hers. "You look like you think caring for you is a trap. Or something."
Miranda stared down at their joined hands. "Or something." She closed her fingers gently around Andy's hand. "It's been a long time since anyone said anything remotely kind about lo—liking me."
"They might not see you the way I do then."
"Can it be that easy?" Miranda looked hesitant. "You're young. Until a little while ago I would've claimed that you're naïve as well. Now I'm not so sure about the latter."
"I might be young and perhaps even naïve, but I'm also determined and I know what I feel, what I want."
"And that is?" Miranda still held Andy's hand, which sent her mind in a turbulent whirl.
"If I could have anything, you mean, no holds barred?"
Andy knew this could be the ultimate trap, set by a master of manipulation and without a single concern for how Andy would feel when she stumbled right into the thorns. Then yet again, Andy really didn't think so. Miranda held her hand with fingers that trembled and were a bit cold at the tips. She looked at Andy with the eyes of an unprotected animal staring down a barrel of a gun, not like a conniving mastermind.
"If I could have anything, I would like to be in your life, in whatever capacity you'd allow. I would do my best to help you get to know the real me, the woman behind the assistant-persona, just as I want to know the woman I glimpse every now and then. I would also like to know your kids more. I have spoken with them enough to know they're awesome and bright girls." Andy quieted and cleared her voice. "I'd like to be in your arms. To feel your embrace."
"You're talking about a physical relationship?" Miranda sounded incredulous. "You're insane. I'm twice your age. At least!"
"And?" Getting a little angry, Andy tugged Miranda closer. "Do you think I'm so shallow that I would even consider age as a factor…?"
"Not shallow, but you're infatuated, and—"
"Oh, so we're back to the variety of dismissals of my feelings."
"Can't you see I'm trying to rescue you, Andrea?" Miranda said, her voice a little louder than normal, which to her was probably like screaming at the top of her lungs.
"It should be obvious," Miranda hissed. "From me!"
Miranda didn't know what else to say to make Andrea see reason. The young woman hadn't taken her huge brown eyes off her since they began their talk. She followed every move Miranda's lips did as she spoke, and Miranda wasn't sure she was actually listening, merely looking.
"I don't need rescuing. I need something entirely different."
"Something only you can provide."
"Anything. Just tell me what you need and then we—mmph."
Andrea was kissing her. Slender arms held her closer and long fingers laced in her silver locks, and then the full, soft, soft lips claimed hers. Miranda whimpered in the back of her throat.
"Mmm." Andrea hummed against Miranda's lips and merely parted them as if it had been her intention the entire time.
Miranda found she had her hands into Andrea's long hair, perhaps initially to push her away. Instead she tugged her closer and helped Andrea deepen the kiss. Fire coursed through her veins, she inhaled fire through her nose, and she knew that kissing Andrea might be the cruelest thing she'd ever done. How am I supposed to let her go now?
Andrea let go of Miranda's lips for a moment, trailing kisses down her neck, across her cheeks and temples and back to her lips. "You're so amazing, so hot, and you smell so good." Andrea murmured. "I don't know how I could ever get my fill, get enough, like ever."
"Really, Andrea? Really?" Miranda now had one hand still in Andrea's hair and the other against naked skin on her back. Warm, silky smooth, it begged to be touched and Miranda found it was impossible not to. This was getting out of hand—and fast. "I believe you. I do. We have to stop, for now."
Andrea pulled back, breathing hard, and then fat tears begin to run slowly down her cheeks.
"Don't cry." Miranda nearly begged. "Come home with me. Have dinner with me. We really need to talk."
"I'm afraid if I let you go, you'll remember the three reasons I envisioned you to have." Andrea hiccupped. "And the worst one is if you ask me to the townhouse to think of a way to let me down easy because you pity me."
Miranda frowned and then pushed her lips against Andrea's in a bruising kiss. "Does this feel like pity?" she asked against Andrea's mouth. "Does it feel like I'm going to let you go?"
"No?" The hope in Andrea's voice was heartbreaking. "No."
"Then let's call Roy and go home. We'll have the house to ourselves."
Andrea began trembling and her cheeks colored a deep crimson. "Oh, God."
"What?" Miranda had stood to go retrieve her coat and bag when she heard Andrea's breathless words.
"We'll have the house to ourselves. If you only know how many fantasies I've indulged in that started with that or 'the twins are at their father's'.
Miranda had to chuckle. "Fantasies. Now there's a thought. I think I need you to share those with me, one by one. Starting tonight."
Clearly startled, Andrea looked everywhere but into Miranda's eyes.
"Let's go, Andrea."
Andy stood in the center of Miranda's bedroom and regarded the enormous extra-large king size bed with trepidation. Not because she feared sharing it with Miranda, in fact she could think of little else she'd rather do right now, but because she was afraid Miranda might change her mind. They'd eaten and talked about the essay, what it meant, and how it represented what Andy felt. Every time she tried to direct the issue back toward Miranda and her feelings, Andy found herself maneuvered back to the 'issue at hand.'
"Coming, Andrea?" Miranda took her by the hand and guided her onto the soft, luxurious bed.
"This is surreal," Andy murmured. "If you'd said this morning that we'd be spending the night in bed together, I would've called 911."
"I'm sure you would have." Miranda smiled gently and crawled into bed. They were both wearing the softest cotton pajamas and now she merely wrapped her arms around Andy and held her close. "I can see you mind spinning out of control. What are you thinking?" Miranda pressed her lips to Andy's temple.
"Why? Why am I in your bed? Why did you invite me to dinner? Please tell me, Miranda?"
"You're in my bed because you're not the only one who has been dreaming. I think your feelings didn't start from nothing…I think you on some level felt my soul reaching out. That's probably why your essay made me react so strongly. You spoke my mind and I knew your words were true—and yes, I would've known they were your words even without the byline."
"Even though you thought I'd cost you your position at Runway?"
"Yes." Miranda sighed and pressed her lips to Andy's neck. "Even then. Though, I admit, I was so relieved to hear this was an act by misguided friendship and intoxication when construing the plan." Shaking her head, Miranda pursed her lips. "I don't have your way with words, Andrea, but if I'm silver and sapphires, you're coffee, chocolate, and a fine, golden brandy."
"What?" Miranda flinched.
"You do too have a way with words, Miranda."
They kissed again, lips hungry and tongues passionate.
"Oh, dear." Miranda sighed against Andy's lips. "I was mistaken."
"What?" It was Andy's turn to flinch.
"I thought I could put you in chaste looking pajamas and merely hold you tonight. I thought I could wait, but here you are and…you set me on fire."
So hot now, it was as if Andy's very blood was molten lava, coursing through her and igniting every single erogenous zone in her body. "I think I'm too hot to be wearing pajamas anyway." She unbuttoned the jacket and let it drop to the floor. Not asking permission, she did the same to Miranda's, gasping at the sight of the soft, pale breasts. Miranda's nipples begged to be touched, as did her slightly rounded stomach, and then, somehow, Andy had pushed Miranda's pajama pants off her hips and down her legs. "Oh, my God."
"Andrea?" Miranda stuck her hands into Andrea's pants and cupped her buttocks. "Lose these. Please."
"She says please. I must be dreaming." Andy smiled and complied. "There."
"You're exquisite." Miranda rolled them over and latched on to one of Andy's nipples.
Now her blood was positively singing. Andy arched up, into Miranda's mouth, not above begging. "Please. Don't stop. Just don't."
"I won't." Miranda kissed her way over to the other breast. "How could I? You would probably take out an ad in the New York times."
Andy chuckled, and then her laugh turned into a purring sort of moan as Miranda pushed her hand in between her thighs.
"Mm. So wet." Miranda's fingers played among the wet folds and, searching, and finding, Andy's aching clitoris. "And so hard." Running her fingers back and forth on either side of it, she kept the caress going in the same rhythm as her mouth around the hard nipple.
Andy could hardly breathe. The mere concept of Miranda holding her like this had been enough to make her come during lonely nights of fantasies. The real experience was propelling her toward her orgasm with the speed of light. "Touch you…I need…" Andy gasped for air. She could hardly speak.
It seemed like Miranda understood completely. "Yes," she hissed around the nipple and rolled back on their side. She pulled her leg up and out. "Touch me. I want you so much, it hurts."
Not wanting Miranda to hurt for any reason, Andy slid her fingers in between her legs, not surprised when she turned out to be just as wet as Andy. Parting the soft, downy folds, she didn't want to wait. She hoped Miranda would understand. "Follow me," Andy said huskily and pushed two fingers inside. She tried to be gentle, but the wetness saved her from causing Miranda discomfort. "Inside, Miranda. Please, please, please…"
"Yes!" Miranda followed suit, pushing inside with decisive fingers, and biting down gently on the sensitized nipple.
"Ah!" Andy tossed her head back and inadvertently curled her fingers inside Miranda. The movement seemed to set off a chain-reaction within her lover. Muscles clamped down around her drenched fingers, sucking them further in. This in turn was enough to cause yet another series of convulsions to strike between Andy's legs and travel through her legs and abdomen. "Miranda!"
"An-Andrea…" Sobbing, Miranda hung on to Andy, burying her face against her neck. "Oh, God, Andrea. Andrea."
They came to a stop eventually, when their bodies were spent and they could catch their breath. Miranda covered them with the sheets and the duvet, creating a cocoon of sorts for them.
"Cozy," Andy said, so tired now, she could not keep her eyes open.
"Agree." Miranda turned her back against Andy and tugged gently at her arm to place it around her. "Comfortable?"
"Yes. Thank you."
"Think you can sleep?"
"If I have to. I'd rather just enjoy holding you."
"Silly girl. You have to rest." Miranda turned enough to kiss her tenderly.
Silence settled in the dark room. Andy was about to fall asleep when a thought struck her. "Oh, fuck."
"What?" Miranda jerked.
"The Elias-Clarke Magazine. I mean my copy. It's on my desk. What if—"
Miranda shook her head. "No, it's not. It's in my bag. I saw it when I went to get my coat."
"Oh, thank God!"
Laughing, Miranda patted Andy's hand where it lay between her breasts. "Oh, calm down. Does anyone really read that boring magazine anyway? Your piece was the only noteworthy in years."