Disclaimer: I own nada of "The Devil Wears Prada" either in film format, or movie format. I just borrow them to play.

Rating: NC-17 - M

Pairing: Andy/Miranda (MirAndy)

Summary: Andy Sachs is leaving her job at Runway in three days. Miranda is going increasingly frantic about it, but hides that for everyone. Just as she thinks she's got the hang of it, mysterious messages are appearing in her beloved 'bible' – the mockup of the current Runway issue – the Book.

In the Book

A MirAndy short story

By Gun Brooke

Miranda heard the front door close behind Andrea. She sighed where she stood by the window on the second floor of her townhouse, watching the young woman who'd turned out to be the best assistant she'd ever had walk down the street and disappear around the corner. Bone tired, Miranda dragged herself down the stairs, passing her girls' rooms where her angels slept. This evening they had actually had dinner together for the first time in over a week. Caroline and Cassidy had taken turns retelling their entire days since the previous dinner they'd shared, nearly making their mother dizzy with all the names and details. Still it had been the highlight of her week and she had listened as much to the melody of their voice as to what they actually said.

She found the Book in its usual place, neatly positioned at a perfect angle on the dresser between the two cherry wood doors. Andrea was meticulous and the thought of losing her was pure agony. One week left of Andrea's notice and then she was off to work as a cub reporter at the Mirror. Miranda had written her a most favorable recommendation and though she didn't hold the Mirror in particularly high regard, Andrea could do much worse. Miranda had even taken it upon herself to order a subscription to her home address of said newspaper. She had to keep tabs of the young woman. She just had to.

Sitting down on her favorite chair in the den, she opened the Book and got ready to go over the changes made by her staff during the day. Bracing herself for the commonplace occurrence of utter incompetence, she was pleasantly surprised to find the photos chosen by Nigel to be quite adequate. He deserved his promotion which she would reveal to him next week. Losing two valued members of her staff almost at once was more painful than she would ever admit to anyone. She took off her reading glasses and tapped the frame against her lips. Miranda's creed was to adapt to any situation and use said situation to her advantage as much as possible. How she was going to turn losing Andrea and Nigel into something positive was beyond her.

She turned the page and frowned. A large post-it note sat in the upper left corner. Why hadn't the staff removed it when they deal with her edits from yesterday? She put her reading glasses back on and realized at once this was not her post-it note, not her handwriting. With small, precise letters, someone else had had the audacity to leave a note in her Book.

Furious, Miranda tore off the note and held it at the correct distance in order to be able to read the small text.

Miranda,

First of all, don't be mad. Second of all, don't stop reading. Thirdly, don't think this is easy for me. In fact, it's hard. Damn hard. I have three days left before I leave Runway. Leave you. This is tearing me apart and what's more, I find it hurt me even more that I am leaving and you might never know just what you mean to me. I ask of you, please, don't answer this. At least not yet. If you want to listen to how I feel and what I have to say; say nothing. Don't mention anything and don't express annoyance. If you do mention this post-it note, I will either surmise that it really ticked you off and I won't add any more. Even if you would be kind about it, I ask you to not say anything, since I would clam up out of sheer panic. I'm sure you can imagine how much of my courage I have to dig for in order to write the Devil, the Snow Queen, and the Dragon Lady. My hope is that when my last week of notice is over, I will have been able to express on these little notes what I mean to say to Miranda the person and not your cultivated work personas.

So. If you want to read another post-it note, mums the word. All right? If not, I'll lose my nerve.

Yours,

Andrea

Miranda stared. The audacity of this cheeky girl. Of all her employees, of course only Andrea would do such a horrendously strange thing. She would have to take this up with her instantly tomorrow morning—but…but then there'd be no more notes. Andrea clearly stated that in her message. If Miranda spoke even one word about finding a post-it note in the Book, then she'd never know what the young woman had to say. What could be that important? What could Andrea carry around inside that made her risk the wrath of the Devil for this incursion into the Book? The Book! But it was damn clever as well. If there was any place where Miranda wouldn't miss a note, a very private note, it was in the Book. Her bible of sorts.

Miranda worked through the Book and added her own post-it notes, scathing, indifferent, cautiously encouraging, and in one instant, furious. She had placed Andrea's note inside the cover of her personal journal that sat on the side table next to her chair. She was filled with part dread, part anticipation for the next evening, wondering what Andrea's next note would say.

###

It was not without an unusual onset of nerves that Miranda swept by Andrea. She pretended not to hear any greetings from Andrea or the second assistant. She was not thrilled that the new girl-Moira, was it?- would take over these personal tasks together with the new 'new girl'. Moira was adequate, but she was not Andrea. Of course, nobody was. Andrea was unique.

She managed to avoid Andrea until she returned after a working lunch with Irv's successor. The new chairman, a woman her own age, was a breeze to work with, compared to Irv, thank God. At least something in her life was actually improving.

Andrea came into the office and placed her no-foam skim milk latte on her desk as soon as she sat down. Miranda deliberately let her eyes travel the expanse of Andrea's form, delighting in the way she had put together today's ensemble; black slacks, a stunning mauve Calvin Klein top, Jimmy Choo pumps, and Chanel accessories. At least Andrea would leave Runway with a good knowledge how a young professional dressed. She could picture Andrea in smart outfits, running all over Manhattan while doing her job as a reporter. Running errands for Miranda should have provided her with a good local knowledge and the basic landmarks of Manhattan.

"Was there anything else, Miranda?" Andrea looked quizzically at her.

Strange. Miranda never knew Andrea has such a poker face. She stood there, looking politely at Miranda and if she hadn't known any better, she would've never in a million years thought Andrea was up to something so…uncontroversial.

"No. That's all."

Smiling non-committally Andrea pivoted and walked back to her desk. Perhaps there was a little more spring in her step, and a little more sass in the way her hips swayed, but that might just be Miranda reading things into the whole situation.

A thought struck her and made her back go ramrod and rigid. What if it wasn't Andrea who'd written the note? What if it was someone else's idea of a sick, twisted joke? Miranda's heart thundered in her chest at the idea of being ridiculed in this way. What if someone else, one of the many minions who hated her, was watching from their desk, watching Miranda struggle to not mention the note to Andrea? They'd know now that she was curious enough to follow the directive of silence. Oh, God, how humiliating. Why hadn't she just torn into Andrea the first thing she did this morning?

Miranda took a deep, fortifying breath. Because it was Andrea's handwriting. Of course it was. She had seen Andrea's handwriting every workday for two years now and it was unmistakable. Still, if Andrea wanted her to be patient a whole week, she'd have to show unequivocal proof that it was indeed her writing the notes. Leaning back in her chair, playing with her long statement necklace, Miranda pondered how she might let Andrea know this without breaking the silence.

###

It was rather easy, after all, to reach Andrea without actually speaking to her. Since post-its were the name of the game, she simply attached one to the closet door after the twins had gone to bed.

Andrea,

I need to know it's really you behind these notes.

Please,

M.

Annoyed at herself for actually waiting for the Book to arrive with bated breath, Miranda took a bath. The signature scent that Givenchy's fragrance expert had made just for her filled the bathroom. She sighed and sank chin deep into the creamy bubbles. Soft, discreet, sweetness, musk, a faint touch of tangerine and sandalwood. Miranda knew the scent was so closely associated with her, it would be nearly impossible to switch. Good think she still loved it.

The sound of the door opening downstairs made her jump, sending some of the bubbles and water spilling over the edge of the Jacuzzi. Angry at herself for being so on edge, Miranda held her breath while waiting for the door to open and close again. There. She pictured Andrea making her way down the steps to the sidewalk. Unable to feign indifference any longer, Miranda stood and rinsed off the foam. Donning a bathrobe, and not even bothering to dry properly, she padded downstairs on naked feet. The book sat where it always did, at that perfect angle on the dresser. The note Miranda had left for Andrea was gone.

Her mouth went dry as she grabbed the Book with both hands and walked back upstairs. Somehow it seemed incredibly inappropriate to read Andrea's note outside of her most private room. She curled up on the bed with the book, pulling a cream-white cashmere blanket over her legs. After flipping through the first pages, she found Andrea's post-it note on page eight.

Thank you, Miranda,

For letting me know that you are interested in what I need to tell you. I can't tell you how much it means that you care, or at least are curious enough, to go along with my request.

Request? It had been a goddamn ultimatum!

I have never found it easy to write in a 'short and sweet' fashion. I like words, I like to express myself well, and I enjoy being detail—and I guess a bit longwinded. I hope you realize what hoops I had to jump through to not be any of those things around you. You hate chattiness, you dislike people who don't get to the point and you show your impatience to a degree where said people contemplate apologizing for being born at all. And I'm quite sure you're bored to tears already and wondering why I'm waiting a whole freaking post-it note on pointing out how your persona affect the rest of us.

I had to make this clear and there is one more post-it farther into the Book.

A.

Miranda huffed and moved the note to her journal. She then turned the pages hastily, not even pretending to look at the layout. Her heart did a double contraction when she flipped open pages twenty-two and twenty-three. Two notes filled completely with tiny handwriting made her smile. "Now that's more like it. I hope."

Miranda,

I apologize for making this rather frustrating for you. I'm sure you have other things you need to do than play Post-It Note Hide and Seek with me. I promise I won't be too epic when it comes to style and format.

I'm so very excited about my new job. I'm so very upset and panicky when it comes to not being able to see you every day. Or even see you ever again. I mean up close and personal. The truest perk to working at Runway is not the access to shoes, clothes, parties, travels, balls, or premieres. Being with you, around you and close to you, learning from you, your work ethic, your management style, now that's what I have valued most all along.

Miranda pulled off the first note and added it to her journal. Her hands were trembling, which made it harder than it should have been.

That is why I stayed in Paris despite throwing the phone in the fountain (yup, that's where I truly "lost" the phone – into the fountain it went with a most gratifying splash)—I mean, that's why I came back to the hotel and apologized for acting like a child. I just couldn't imagine going back to New York without you and never seeing you again. And yet, this is where I stand now. Yes, I'm leaving while still on your good side. Big difference. Still, when it comes to my feelings, to this already bruised heart of mine, it's no difference at all. How the hell am I going to survive emotionally without you? When my former boyfriend left me for Boston and a new career, not to mention a new girlfriend and soon-to-be wife, I was upset—but I never doubted that my heart would mend and be as good as new with time. This time, I don't doubt that my heart will mend, but it won't ever be the same as it was.

It will be forever scarred.

More tomorrow.

Yours,

Andrea

PS. I realize it's ridiculous to ask you not to address any of the above. Still I do request that you let me finish with the last note(s) tomorrow. Pretty please?

A third note appeared beneath the second.

Yes, the notes are really from me, Miranda. Don't worry—nobody is pulling your leg—they wouldn't dare!

Miranda groaned as she placed the last note next to the others in her journal. She wanted nothing more than to find out what Andrea would divulge tomorrow and as hard as it would be not to question her instantly tomorrow morning, she knew she'd have to use every savvy business technique she'd ever learned to 'stay cool' as her girls said. Tomorrow was Friday and Andrea's last day. The thought was like a sucker-punch to her midsection.

True to form and habit, Miranda fled into the Book. She used her red marker and her own fluorescent yellow post-it notes to flog her staff. They would be there tomorrow and the upcoming weeks and bear the brunt for not being Andrea.

###

Miranda nearly went back on her resolve when she realized that Andrea had been crying. As far as she knew, the young woman had no allergies, but her eyes were red under the makeup and she seemed preoccupied and trembling. Miranda made sure she sent Moira and new 'new girl' for the coffee runs and other errands. If this was the last day she had with Andrea, she would make sure they were within earshot of each other, at least. This, however, seemed to make it worse for Andrea. Every time Miranda spoke directly to her, Andrea would fidget more than usual, and at one point, Miranda was afraid Andrea might actually dislocate a couple of fingers the way she tugged at them.

It infuriated Miranda that the whole situation was such a horrendous catch twenty-two scenario. If she reassured Andrea verbally, the last notes might not be delivered and she would never know what Andrea meant to say, or confide. If she didn't act in any way, Andrea might have to spend the entire last day at Runway feeling utterly miserable. Miranda thought of possible solutions and discarded them all. Then she knew what to do. As Andrea had accepted a written note yesterday, chances were, she would again. Especially since Miranda wouldn't touch the subject of Andrea's notes in the Book. She pulled out a pink post-it note and wrote with her precise, driven handwriting.

A,

I'm not trying to circumvent your rules, but it pains me to see you so upset. If it has anything to do with the Book, I wish you would let me reassure you.

M.

When Andrea stood and walked into the kitchenette behind Moira's work station, Miranda saw her chance. She moved quickly and placed the post-it note where it would touch Andrea when she sat down, but was out of sight of anyone else.

As Andrea came back and retook her seat at her desk, Miranda feigned complete interest in her laptop. She heard Andrea begin to type and then stop abruptly. Seconds later, there was the sound of a trembling sob.

Miranda frowned and sucked her lower lip in between her teeth. Had she made matters worse? Was Andrea now as upset with her, or the situation as a whole, that she would not leave any more notes and merely fade out of Miranda's life without an explanation?

"Here's our favorite new reporter! Here's our girl!"

The sound of people cheering and storming through the outer doors made Miranda flinch and nearly drop her lukewarm coffee. She could see Nigel, Serena, Emily, Jocelyn, Paul, and several nameless minions flock around Andrea, laughing, congratulating and handing over presents. Someone brought out a cake with lit candles on top.

"You guys!" Andrea said, her tone different now. Cheerful, happy, and…reassured?

"Miranda? Join us, please?" Nigel came just inside Miranda's door and smiled. "It's her last day and we have to see her off accordingly."

"I'm sure you have matters well in hand, Nigel," Miranda answered stiffly, redirecting her glance toward the computer.

"Aw, please, Miranda. It wouldn't be the same without you."

That voice. Miranda looked up and saw Andrea standing next to Nigel, tugging at her fingers, but smiling that room-lighting, face-splitting smile that would never illuminate Miranda's life after today. How could she refuse?

"If you insist." She stood and walked with her usual sure steps into the group. To her amazement they didn't part like the Red Sea like they normally did when she passed them, but instead kept her in the midst, center-stage, together with Andrea.

###

Miranda was in the kitchen when Andrea arrived with the Book. Having just turned off the light, she watched as Andrea placed the Book on the dresser and then walked into the closet and hung the dry-cleaning. Miranda moved quickly while Andrea was dealing with that part of her very last duty, taking up position just outside the closet.

"Oh, God almighty, Miranda, you startled me." Pressing her palm to her chest, Andrea stared at her, wide-eyed.

"Good evening, Andrea." Miranda motioned for the stairs. "Join me in my study."

"Wh-what? Upstairs?" Andrea gazed at the upstairs levels as if she feared Miranda had stashed bodies of former assistants there.

"Yes. I think since the Book holds your last note, I should be rewarded for showing such uncharacteristic patience, don't you agree?"

"We could email?" Andrea looked flustered. "Sorry, that was a lame joke."

"Agreed." Miranda waited until Andrea had begun walking upstairs before she grabbed the Book and followed her. She had never, not even once, during these two years with Andrea, seen the young woman from this angle. She seemed even more alluring, more curvaceous, as she climbed the steps on slightly wobbly feet.

"Miranda, I—"

"Pour yourself whatever you want from the bar over there." Miranda pointed at the small bar area in her book case at the far left corner of her study. "You can bring me a whisky, Talisker 10."

"Yes, Miranda."

Miranda waited to open the Book until she had her whisky. She saw Andrea had poured herself a small glass of port. "Now, start the gas fireplace and then relax on the couch. Once I've gone through the book, you are officially off the clock." For good. Miranda tried to silence the doomsday voice in her head. Sipping her whisky, she flipped the Book open and at the same time, Andy had started the fireplace and now curled up on Miranda's gold-beige couch.

The note was attached to page seventeen.

Miranda,

Today you surprised me. Again. You never do the completely expected, but today you managed to floor me three times. First, of course, when you wrote me that note which breathed worry and concern for me. Second, you wrote 'please.' Rather an unheard word from you. (Yes, I'm teasing you on that one.) Third, you joined in my sendoff gathering, despite the fact that you had to have been seriously bored. Socializing with your staff is not usually on your schedule, I mean. Regardless, these three things, people might not realize, but I'm conceited enough to claim I know you better than most people at work…perhaps even better than Nigel. You two go way back, but you're a private person and even if you weren't then, and Nigel knew you then…I'm not so sure he knows you now. I on the other hand have been at your beck and call for two years, spent more or less six days per week with you, and travelled with you to most of the world's continents. I've seen you with your girls, your ex guys, your former in-laws, with designers, photographers, makeup artists, you name it. You may think I'm a megalomaniac in saying so, but I do feel I know you.

That said, here is the God honest truth: I may know you quite well, but it is no way near enough. Hence my tears and my panic today. I rode up the elevator and found myself alone there this morning. I mean, that only happens to you, normally, doesn't it? Riding the elevator alone? In my case it was like hitting the bawling button. Does that ever happen to you? Do you ever find yourself sobbing like a forlorn child in the elevator? That is just one thing out of a million that I want to know about you.

Miranda flipped the post-it over and found the second one underneath.

By now, I'm probably sitting on the subway going back to my apartment. I'm no doubt crying among the strangers there—and they won't mind or even care. With so many Broadway wannabe dancers, singers and actors, I'm sure the New Yorkers see their fair share of crying girls on the subway.

I want you to know a few things, which is what all my notes have been leading up to. I have, protective as I am, sort of conditioned you. I would never want to shock you and have you be totally blindsided. I've seen firsthand how you handle that (think Paris and former hubby's overnight delivery of divorce papers)…so here goes.

I find leaving you is heartbreaking because I love you, Miranda.

I find leaving you will scar me for life because I've allowed myself to dream for far too long about you, your girls, and even Patricia. In a very, very small way, I've belonged—but that is over as of right about now.

I want you to know that should you ever need me, no matter in which capacity, you can call me and I'll be at your side as fast as it is humanly possible. (And I can do anything, right?)

Yet another post-it note appeared behind the second one.

Please, Miranda, know that I have no hidden agenda, no ulterior motives, and nothing to gain personally by letting you know what's in my heart…well, nothing more than the satisfaction that I didn't chicken out. I also firmly believe that I'm not harming you by telling you, you're loved. There's far too little love expressed in our world and I imagine that no matter how amazing, wonderful and absolutely breathtakingly gorgeous that I find you—people often approach you with agendas and ulterior motives in mind.

I'm not in that position, nor is my heart that way inclined. I think loving you is the closest I have ever come to harboring unconditional love. (I'm not gullible to think that unconditional love is anything but extremely rare. Mother Theresa comes to mind.)

Be well, Miranda. Enjoy those amazing girls or yours. Find happiness with someone who deserves you. May Runway continue to be as successful as it has been, and more, with you still at the helm.

Love,

Andrea

Miranda exhaled slowly, a deep sigh to relieve the last remnants of tension. She gazed over at Andrea who seemed lost in thought, or mesmerized by the flames in the fireplace. Rising, Miranda took her whisky with her to the couch and sat down next to Andrea. Not close enough for their legs to touch, but almost. "Thank you."

Andrea's huge brown eyes were shiny and she blinked a few times before she seemed to find her voice. "You're welcome?" She flipped the long chestnut hair back over her shoulders. "Are you angry?"

"Do I seem angry?"

"No?"

"Have you ever during our two years together seen me hold back when I'm angry?"

"No. I don't think so. Unless you've done it so well that everybody missed it."

Miranda smiled and tucked a loose strand behind Andrea's ear. "True. But that said, I'm not angry at you. How could I be when you've been very brave…more courageous than anyone I know. You spoke of love without asking for anything in return. That's pretty rare."

"Oh, but it's also a bit deceitful." Andrea swallowed visibly. "I mean, I'm honest in those notes. I really am. Still, you have to realize, I mean, read between the lines, that a very silly part of me keeps hoping for the impossible. I mean, would I be human if I didn't? I don't think so."

Miranda cupped Andrea's cheek and knew the young woman had to feel how much she was trembling. "What impossible hope do you have?"

"Love. Of course."

"For me to love you back?" Miranda tilted her head.

"I know. Crazy huh? That's why I didn't write that in the notes. I mean, no use stating the obvious."

"Just to clarify," Miranda said, feeling bolder now, "just what type of love are we talking about here?" She traced the side of Andrea's velvety neck with her fingertips. Goosebumps followed in their wake. "Love between friends, platonic love, love toward someone older that you…idolize? Or romantic love, hot, passionate, all-consuming?" Cupping Andrea's shoulder, she felt her shivering like a nervous young animal ready to bolt.

"The latter," Andrea whispered and put Miranda out of her misery for the foreseeable future, and hopefully longer. "Romance, heat, passion…all over-shadowing type of love." Andrea smiled tremulously, her eyes imploring Miranda to not turn this against her, to not break her heart. "It's how I feel, Miranda, and now you have the advantage. And all the power, as usual." Tears dislodged from her eyes and ran down flushed cheeks.

"I told you seeing you so upset pained me. I wanted to do this already then, but it was not the time or the place." Miranda pulled Andrea in for a long hug. "Silly girl, you say you know me so well…how is it you can't readily see that I love you with all my heart? I'm completely wrong for you, don't think I don't know this. You deserve someone younger, kinder, someone—"

"You. I'm not sure what I 'deserve', but I want you. Nobody else. Nobody kinder or younger or whatever." Andrea literally glowed. Her smile was in place, if a bit tremulous, and her hands kept sliding up and down Miranda's arms. "I've dreamed the impossible so many times, both awake and asleep. To sit here…to be in your arms like this, it's fucking crazy."

"Yes, it is. I confess I've used the thought of you, even a few snapshots taken by a few of our best photographers, when I've taken my pleasure into my own two hands."

Andrea's mouth fell open. "Oh, God," she whimpered and then she kissed Miranda.

Moaning into Andrea's mouth, Miranda parted her lips and deepened the kiss. She felt the exchange of post-it notes was like one long foreplay, and now she couldn't wait to have Andrea. She reminded herself that Andrea might not have arrived at the same place when it came to their mutual desire, but just then Andrea pushed her hands under Miranda's blouse and cupped her breasts.

"I want you, Miranda. I don't think I can wait. Please…"

"Yes! Right now."

"B-but the girls?"

"Are at a sleepover. Did you think I'd leave anything to chance if my dreams came true tonight?" Miranda raised an eyebrow.

"Of course not. Just checking." Andrea unbuttoned Miranda's blouse, carefully, reverently. She hung it over the armrest of the recliner next to the couch. Turning back to Miranda, she gasped. "Oh my God…you're stunning. I knew you were beautiful, but this… this…you…" Her words faded and she resumed kissing Miranda.

"Let me undress you, darling," Miranda said when she finally was able to regain her trust. "Let me look at you."

Andrea tugged off her long sleeved designer t-shirt and undid her lace bra, letting it fall down her arms. Miranda had never seen such breasts. Full, high, with dusty-rose nipples, they seemed to wish for her hands. Miranda claimed them, cupped them both and felt the pebbled nipples draw lines on her palms.

"Your hands are like fire. It burns." Andrea arched against Miranda. "I've been so worked up all day, I need you to just touch me. Would you do that, Miranda?" Andrea's eyes begged her again. "Or too fast? Too soon?"

"Not soon enough," Miranda growled. She pushed Andrea down on her back, kissed her over and over as she undid her slacks. She pushed the down Andrea's slacks around her knees, slid her hand up inside her thighs and then pressed her fingertips against the soft down between Andrea's legs.

"Yes!" Raising her hips, Andrea undulated against the touch. "Oh, God, I've wanted you…this…for so long. So very long."

"I hear you." Miranda couldn't fathom how wet Andrea was—and all because of her, of the love this wonderful young woman had hidden for…how long? Months probably. "Let me in, darling?"

"Yes!" Andrea pushed off her trousers and lace panties with a few kicks. "Inside."

"Mine." Miranda pushed two fingers gently inside. The slick heat around her fingers nearly sent her over the edge, but she held back, wanting this to be about the courageous girl in her arms. "I keep what's mine, Andrea. I hope you realize this."

"Oh, God, I'm counting on it," Andrea gasped. "Yours, yours…" Her murmurs became unintelligible as convulsions made her arch almost completely off the couch.

Miranda rode out the orgasm with Andrea, not wanting to miss a moment. She greedily absorbed every nuance of the lovely descent, and eventually dazed brown eyes gazed up at her.

"M-Miranda?"

"Right here, darling."

"I can't remember ever coming like that…what did you do to me?" Shaking, Andrea cupped Miranda's cheeks. "You sorceress."

Miranda chuckled. "If anyone is equipped with magic, darling, it has to be you. You tamed a dragon, after all."

"I don't remember doing any such thing." Andrea sat up, shifting so her back was against the back rest. "Your turn. Or my turn to love you."

"By all means." Miranda pushed off the rest of her clothes. A tiny voice inside her, insecure and ready to sabotage everything, reminded her again that she was twice Andrea's age and not as toned and firm as she used to be.

"Oh, heaven help me," Andrea moaned, unknowingly silencing that evil voice. "You're stunning…so amazingly beautiful. I can't believe you'll allow me to…to…"

"I can't wait, Andrea. Please?"

Looking into Miranda's eyes with a knowing expression in her own, Andrea pulled Miranda toward her, making her straddle her legs. Cooling air hit between Miranda's legs, making her squirm. Soon Andrea covered her sex, protected it for a moment before finding Miranda's entrance with two fingers.

"Like so?" Andrea wrapped her free arm around Miranda's neck and pulled her in for a kiss. The kiss turned into several, deep and fulfilling. Circling the entrance, thus igniting Miranda's libido and taking it to a whole different level, Andrea pushed inside.

Soon they established a rhythm that quickly became Miranda's undoing. She clenched around Andrea's fingers, trying to hold on to the sweet agony, but the orgasm washed over her, gave her tunnel vision and all she could hear was Andrea's voice murmuring tender words.

"Mm, that was amazing, you were amazing." Andrea pulled her fingers out, very slowly, and wrapped her arms around Miranda. "I'm still reeling from it all, but all I know is you're in my arms and, damn it, I don't want to ever let go."

Miranda smiled, now exhausted and deliriously happy at the same time. "Then I suggest you follow your convictions and don't let go." Her smile faded. "I-I don't think I could take it if you let go."

Andrea maneuvered them into lying down, pulling the soft blanket over them. "I'm exhausted. Okay if I stay the night?"

"You're joking right? You're not going anywhere."

"Thank God." Andrea pulled Miranda onto her shoulder. "I would've settled for you knowing and not being angry." She laughed. "And here I am…this better not be a dream."

"It's not," Miranda said and pinched Andrea helpfully. "See?"

"Ow. Hm. Yes."

"I hoped to be able to follow you from a distance and perhaps run into you at some publication event. I even subscribed to the Mirror." Miranda nuzzled Andrea's neck, enjoying the scent of oranges and vanilla. So plebeian, but also so Andrea so it made it amazing to her.

They settled against the soft cushions and pillows, murmuring sweet endearments.

"Don't you have to go through the Book?" Andrea asked sleepily.

"No. I've seen what I needed from it tonight. As for the layout and articles. Time enough to examine my staffs' new heights of incompetence tomorrow." Miranda hesitated briefly. "Might I spend more time with you this weekend? The girls come home at noon on Sunday."

"I'd be happy to spend every second with you until noon on Sunday."

"Don't you want to meet them?" Alarmed, Miranda snapped her eyes open.

"S-sure. I love'em to death. They're awesome kids. I just assumed you'd want to be alone to spend time, and I would interfere…I mean, I wouldn't want to impose—"

Miranda pressed her lips to Andrea's as this seemed the best way to stop a babbling panic attack. "I want you here with me to have lunch with my girls if that is all right by you. My girls adore you."

"They might regret that if they knew how I feel about their mother." Andrea hid her face in Miranda's hair. "It's a lot different to be your lover, rather than your assistant."

"I'll say." Miranda laced her fingers through Andrea's long hair. "The girls have several friends whose parents are gay or lesbian. I'm not labeling us, but I'm not uncomfortable with being defined as a lesbian either. Or bisexual for that matter. I really don't care. I just know I love you, and if my girls need time to adjust, they can do that with you here. They'll be fine."

"You know them well enough to speculate," Andrea said. "Thank you. And yes, I want to spend every second you are willing to give me, with you."

"Good." Miranda sighed. "Oh, my. Only a few hours ago, I thought we were saying goodbye for good…and now…I'm so very happy, Andrea."

"You sound like you find this happiness intimidating." Andrea pressed her lips against Miranda's temple. "Are you, like me, afraid that we'll lose this…that it'll slip through our fingers?"

"You do know me well, don't you?" Miranda pulled Andrea closer, tucking her in under her chin. "Yes, part of me is a little frantic. My track record when it comes to relationships isn't very encouraging. One broken engagement, two divorces."

"I'm not being conceited, but did you feel this overwhelming passion and love for your ex-husbands? I mean, after having known them for two years?"

"God, no." Miranda laughed mirthlessly. "I don't even count my so called fiancé. I was eighteen and he twenty, both of us completely misguided. I married James, the girls' father, after knowing him for four months. I did love him, of course I did, but after having known him for two years, he was cheating and I was very out of love."

"And Stephen?" Andrea asked, her voice cautious.

"I never loved him. I respected and admired his drive in the beginning. I thought we'd make a good match. Turns out I started disappointing him, or so he claims, as soon as we got back from our four day weekend honeymoon. I apologize, Andrea. I shouldn't bore you with this."

"Miranda, I asked, remember? I want to know everything you can and want to share with me. I love knowing more about you. You're so special and I love you, baby." Andrea looked at her with huge eyes. "Oh, God, I called you baby, didn't I? I'm pretty sure I did."

"You did."

"Oh, fuck, I'm sorry. And then I said fuck. Sorry again!"

Miranda laughed. "I don't mind you calling me baby, as long as you only do it at home."

Looking relieved, Andrea snuggled up against her again. "Thank goodness. Home, you say? I really like our townhouse. It feels very homey. Especially this room, and the den."

"I'm glad. I hope you will spend as much as possible of your free time here. And then…once we figure things out with the girls, you might come and live here with me? Us?"

Andrea began to tremble. "Really? You really, really sure you want that?"

"I really, really am." Miranda was. "I'm prepared to give you the time you require to make the transition, but I hope you won't take too long." Miranda smirked. "I'm not getting any younger."

"Ah, stop it." Andrea pinched her lightly. "You're the beautiful of the two of us. I'm going to have to work hard to keep up."

"Don't be ridiculous, Andrea. You're becoming more beautiful with each passing season. I'm going to have to fend off young men and women with my fire-breathing capabilities."

"I'm glad you do that so well, since you're the one I want. Only you." Andrea yawned. "Mind if I close my eyes for a bit. I'm exhausted all of a sudden."

"Not at all. Let's rest for a bit. I have more plans for us later."

"Mm-hm? Sounds good to me." Andrea wrapped a lanky arm around Miranda's waist beneath the blanket. "Love you."

"I love you too, Andrea." Miranda lay awake for a while after Andrea fell asleep in her arms. So this was going to be her good fortune, her future, after all. Miracles of miracles, Andrea loved her. And with such passion. She could easily relive how she felt when Andrea took command and undressed her, directed her, and took her without preamble. To give up power and initiative was not Miranda's strong suit. She was most comfortable when she was in charge. She had to concede that if it hadn't been for Andrea's idea with the post-it notes, they would not have moved past their first hurdles so fast. Such ingenuity should be rewarded.

Miranda began making plans for how she best could reward Andrea, spoil her, and make her happy, when sleep started to claim her. The last thing she remembered was thinking how wonderful it would be to wake up in Andrea's arms.

She could hardly wait.

########

The End

########