Chapter Text
Present Day
Claire spent several moments digesting Andy’s story in complete (and uncharacteristic) silence, and then the questions began.
“So, basically, you heard her speak for five minutes, she called you a walking fashion disaster, and you had sex in a hotel bathroom. That’s the entirety of your interactions with Miranda Priestly?”
“Other than avoiding each other at public events, yes.”
“And yet she was the main inspiration for you to start taking an interest in fashion? You changed careers based on thirty minutes in a hotel bathroom? I’m not saying it was a bad move, obviously, but I just don’t understand.”
Andy sighed. “Claire, some days I don’t really understand myself. It’s just…she’s such an amazing person. She has this presence, this aura, that just makes you want to throw yourself at her feet and do whatever she says. And I think I was already getting disillusioned with the world of newspaper journalism, I just hadn’t admitted it yet.”
“Andy, you never cease to amaze me.” There was a short pause. “At any rate, the main thing to think about now is damage control. Do you really think she’ll see it as a blackmail attempt?”
“With Miranda? Who knows? What I do know is that she’s probably going to interpret it as me sending a message of some sort; I’m just not sure what message she’ll see. It could blow over really fast, especially if she decides to ask me about it directly, but she’s so used to turning up nefarious plots under every rock that she may blow it way out of proportion. I wish I could just call her, but it doesn’t seem like the sort of thing you should bring up while someone is at work.”
Claire had to agree that it didn’t. “We may just have to wait and see, then. It’s not guaranteed that she will even be upset, you know. It’s been, what, almost five years now? If you were going to take advantage, you would have done it a long time ago, and I’m sure she knows that.”
“Maybe so,” Andy said, “but then again, maybe not. God, Claire, I don’t know. Do you have any events scheduled for me this week?”
“Andy, I send them to your Blackberry months in advance. And text you with reminders. Don’t you ever check that thing?”
“Of course I do. I just like to hear the latest dirt directly from you before I go offending all those stupid feuding socialites again.”
Claire laughed. “Right. Well, it’s a pretty light week, but you do have a holiday banquet at the Waldorf on Friday. Wear something warm…I hear the ballroom is drafty.”
Dead silence. “How on earth did I get invited to an event at the Waldorf?”
“Actually, Andy, I’m not entirely sure. The e-mail was in my inbox this morning, and I called them right away. It’s definitely legit, but they were very close-lipped about why it came so late. I got the feeling it was a last-minute change.”
Andy was instantly suspicious. “Claire, you don’t think Miranda might have…called in a favor, do you? So we could talk at the banquet?”
“Andy, I love you, but you really jump to some outlandish conclusions sometimes. What makes you think Miranda had anything to do with it?”
Andy snorted. “Oh, I don’t know, only the fact that it happened the morning after my article was accepted. Come on, Claire. You know those invitations had to have gone out at least a month ago. Who else can you think of with the kind of pull to force a change at the last minute like that? At the freaking Waldorf.”
“Well, I still think you’re imagining things, but you’ll find out soon enough. Don’t forget to take a few pictures for me.”
Andy assured her that she would and hung up, already planning her outfit for Friday. At least she had a few days left to pull it together. It would need to be perfect, after all, if she was finally going to face Miranda again.
Andy strode as quickly as possible from the sidewalk to the intimidating entrance of the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. It was exceptionally cold out, and her wrap, while elegant, was not a terribly efficient source of insulation. She handed it off to the rigidly correct cloakroom attendant and surreptitiously rubbed her arms; her rather thin Vera Wang gown was gorgeous, but the Waldorf was as chilly as Claire had said.
The cocktail hour passed with surprising speed. Andy was relieved to see that she knew at least a few of the other guests. She was enjoying a very amusing conversation about jeggings with Glenda Bailey when a stir of interest from near the entrance grabbed her attention. The crowd parted, as if by magic, and revealed the stunning black-clad form of Miranda Priestly. And she was looking straight at Andy.
Andy swallowed, attempting to assume an outward appearance of calm, and unconsciously smoothed her dress. It was a little daring, she knew, and uncharacteristically bright, but she had been trying to step out of her comfort zone lately, and she had someone to impress, after all.
Miranda was gliding purposefully in her direction, and the other guests, sensing a confrontation of some kind, were careful to stay out of her path, although Andy noticed many of them seemed to be following at a discreet distance.
Andy waited nervously as Miranda drew closer, hoping desperately that she was not about to be humiliated in front of a room full of several hundred of New York’s best and brightest.
To Andy’s vast relief, Miranda did not look angry. In fact, she was smiling a little, and she gave an assessing tilt of her head as they came within speaking distance.
“Andrea,” she greeted, looking genuinely happy, “how delightful to see you again.” And she actually leaned forward to exchange an air-kiss with an astonished Andy. “Lovely,” she murmured in Andy’s ear, as Andy stared straight ahead in shock. “A daring fashion choice at last.”
Andy shook off her temporary paralysis, and gave Miranda her most charming smile. “Miranda! You look magnificent, as always. Vintage Valentino, isn’t it?”
“Indeed,” Miranda said, looking undeniably pleased. “I was very happy to receive your submission, of course.” She gave Andy a slightly curious glance. “You’ve built yourself quite a reputation over the past few years, haven’t you?”
The rest of the crowd, disappointed by the lack of fireworks, was slowly drifting off, leaving the two of them in a fairly deserted bubble on one side of the ballroom.
“Well,” Andy said, “I started reading Runway. After that, everything just seemed to fall into place. I’ve been very lucky.” She dared a quick glance at Miranda’s face. The rest of the crowd was in a position to see only the bored but correct posture, but Andy thought she caught a glint of amusement in Miranda’s eyes.
“Lucky.” Miranda said, slowly, her eyes never leaving Andy’s. “Lucky, yes, but also talented. Not many writers have made such an impact on the industry in such a short time.”
“I don’t like to do less than my best,” Andy said, staring right back. “All I needed was the proper…motivation.”
Was that a hint of pink she saw on Miranda’s cheeks? Andy wasn’t sure, but she decided to believe that it was. She was going to need every bit of confidence she could muster for the next part of the conversation.
“Miranda, why am I here?”
Miranda gave her a calculating look. “You know why you are here, Andrea. I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to ask you why you finally submitted an article, and especially why you spent so many years avoiding me.”
Andy blushed and turned her head slightly. “I didn’t want to seem presumptuous,” she said haltingly. “I didn’t want you to think that I was trying to…to take advantage in any way.”
Miranda made what might have been a slight noise of encouragement in the back of her throat and waited for Andy to continue.
“Actually,” Andy admitted, “I didn’t submit the article at all. My agent did it without talking to me first, and by the time I found out, it had already been accepted.”
Miranda looked both thoughtful and amused. “I see. Well, I suppose we’ll have a lot to talk about over dinner then, won’t we?”
Andy gaped. “Dinner? But I’m not…”
“Andrea,” Miranda said, “surely you have realized that there was a reason you received your invitation the day after the submission of your article.”
Andy grinned ruefully. “I did, actually. I told Claire so, but she wouldn’t believe me. I suppose if you can get me invited the week of the event, changing the seating plan at the last minute wouldn’t be that hard.”
“Precisely so.” Miranda smiled and waved a hand in the direction of the dining room. “Shall we?”
Andy suddenly noticed that the ballroom had emptied around them, and that there was no escort waiting for Miranda. They were nearly alone in the huge space, aside from a nervous-looking waiter and an even more nervous-looking young woman who had “frazzled assistant” written all over her.
Andy gulped, but she dutifully accompanied Miranda to one of the central tables in the cavernous and magnificent dining room.
The sumptuous meal that followed was perhaps the most uncomfortable of Andy’s life. The other eight guests at the table, all of whom were at least ten years Andy’s senior, were desperately curious about the apparent friendship between Miranda and a young writer she had supposedly never spoken to before. They were too wary of Miranda to say anything, but several of them made it obvious in small ways that Andy did not belong at their table.
Miranda, to Andy’s considerable surprise, proceeded to ignore them for the rest of the evening, and directed all of her comments to Andy and the rather fierce-looking older woman on Andy’s other side. She leaned forward at one point to explain something about a recent photo shoot, and Andy caught a whiff of her distinctive perfume. I shouldn’t remember it, Andy thought, especially after all this time, but she smells amazing.
As the meal progressed, Andy noticed that Miranda seemed to be touching her a lot. Not suggestively, not at all—innocent, glancing touches on her wrist or her shoulder, mostly, but Andy felt the resulting tingles for several minutes after each one. She tried valiantly to maintain a calm façade, but she was getting embarrassingly aroused, and it was very hard not to squirm when Miranda “accidentally” grazed the back of her neck while gesturing at a waiter. She shivered involuntarily and was horrified to notice goose bumps popping up all over her arms.
“Andrea,” Miranda asked solicitously, “are you cold?”
Outwardly, she was the picture of thoughtfulness, but Andy could see her eyes twinkling mischievously, and she knew she was in for an eventful night.
“I’m fine, Miranda,” she assured her, as she gave a gentle warning nudge with the toe of one shoe. She was not going to just sit here and let Miranda do whatever she wanted, debilitating crush or no.
Miranda narrowed her eyes slightly, but said nothing.
Andy was starting to feel a little more in control of herself after the bulk of the main course went by without incident. Just as she was congratulating herself on a successful defensive maneuver, she felt something soft and silky push aside her dress and stroke delicately down her lower leg. She froze momentarily, scarcely able to believe that Miranda Priestly was playing footsy with her in the middle of a holiday banquet at the Waldorf-Astoria, but the very innocence of Miranda’s expression convinced her. When had Miranda ever tried to look innocent?
Well, Andy thought, two people can play that game, and she took off her shoes and played footsy right back, immensely grateful for the concealing length of the tablecloth. The next hour was spent in an escalating exchange of hidden caresses and casual touches, even as they conversed politely about upcoming shows and the tedious ubiquity of Uggs for the benefit of their bemused dinner companions.
Andy had a sinking suspicion that she was beginning to look flushed. It was entirely unfair that Miranda could turn her on so thoroughly without coming close to any erogenous zones or even kissing her. She felt completely helpless, trapped by propriety and the presence of so many strangers, but she found that, in some strange way, the public setting served to increase her arousal. She was actually growing increasingly worried that there would be a visible wet spot on the back of her dress; the lacy scrap of black fabric she had chosen to wear underneath her dress would hardly withstand a lot of moisture. The urge to squeeze her thighs together was almost overwhelming.
Miranda, on the other hand, was the picture of grace and dignity, but Andy thought she detected a slight irregularity in her breathing whenever Andy managed to touch her, and she was content with that. Well, not content, really, but resigned to waiting for dinner to be over. There would not be many speeches, thank god.
It suddenly occurred to Andy that she was assuming something was going to take place after dinner was over, that they were going to find an empty room somewhere and have sex, that maybe they would take things a little slower this time around. That maybe they would stay in touch, afterwards. She even found herself entertaining wildly unlikely fantasies involving long weekends in quiet bed-and-breakfasts, complete with romantic dinners by candlelight and expensive champagne. Perhaps that was not the case, though. Perhaps Miranda was just toying with her—she enjoyed wielding power more than anything, didn’t she? Maybe the sight of a flushed, squirming Andy was all she wanted out of this incredibly confusing evening.
Andy paled at the thought, and immediately put her shoes back on. I should have known, she thought bitterly. I should have known she wouldn’t be interested in me as an equal. Why would she be, when she could have anyone she wanted? God, I feel so stupid. She was horrified to feel tears forming. I have to get out of here, before I embarrass myself any further.
Dessert was almost over, so it wouldn’t be as rude as it could have been. Andy felt fairly certain that she would generate a fair amount of negative gossip by leaving so early, but she just couldn’t bring herself to care. She rose, only slightly unsteady on her feet, and, pleading exhaustion, bid her surprised dinner companions goodnight in as steady and courteous a voice as she could manage. She had just turned to leave, praying silently for the strength to hold back the tears until she was safely outside, when Miranda suddenly stood and put a restraining hand on her arm.
“Andrea,” she said, “before you leave, I need to discuss your article with you. There are a few changes I’d like you to make.”
Andy stared at her, bewildered. She had already made the requested changes and submitted them at least three days earlier. She could only guess that Miranda wanted to talk to her about something else, and although she was desperate to make her escape, she could hardly refuse in front of so many people.
“Of course, Miranda,” she said, in a voice that only shook slightly, and stood numbly while Miranda said her farewells to the other guests at their table and to their host.
Andy followed Miranda silently down a maze of magnificent but empty hallways and, to her surprise, up a few flights of stairs before they cautiously entered another deserted hallway and stopped outside a beautiful set of double doors. Miranda unlocked one and stepped inside, motioning impatiently for Andy to do the same.
Stressed out, confused, and still on the verge of tears, Andy was stunned breathless when Miranda shut the door and her cool, dispassionate expression changed instantly to the fierce, hungry smile she remembered so well from the bathroom four years ago.
“That was very well-acted,” she said, as she set down her own bag and removed Andy’s from her nerveless fingers. “I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed one of these dinners so much.”
Andy stared, entranced, as Miranda took off her accessories, piece by piece, and put them away. She then removed her gown and hung it carefully, followed by her bra, stockings, and underwear—all without a trace of self-consciousness. Her body was just as magnificent as Andy remembered, and she moved so gracefully.
She headed for a doorway which Andy assumed led to the bedroom, but she stopped a few steps away and turned, frowning when she saw that Andy had yet to move from her spot by the door.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, clearly trying to be patient.
“I don’t know,” Andy said, truthfully. “Um, not to be naïve, but…what is this? Is it just sex? Is it a power-play of some kind? Do you want a relationship? I don’t understand you at all. I’ve barely even seen you in over four years, and suddenly we’re playing footsy under the table at a fancy holiday banquet and getting ready to have sex in your hotel suite, and I don’t know why!” Andy was almost shouting by the time she reached the end of her passionate speech, and she could feel the tears beginning to escape. She dashed them away impatiently and turned her head, certain that she must look terrible. She was startled to hear approaching footsteps, and then to feel a gentle hand turning her head back in Miranda’s direction.
“Goodness, Andrea. I had no idea. You weren’t entirely acting, were you?”
Andy shook her head.
“But still you followed me,” Miranda pointed out. “You still came, even when you saw that we were coming to a hotel room. And I was not the only one playing ‘footsy’ under the table.”
Andy blushed.
“I will be honest with you, Andrea. I am not entirely sure what I want. You are a good writer and a very accomplished woman for your age. You are also genuinely kind. I cannot tell you how unusual that is among the people in this industry. Even our short time together four years ago was enough to show me that you could be something special, and I have watched you growing into your potential ever since, waiting for you to approach me, to ask me for a favor, to apply at Runway. And I respected you even more, because you did not do any of those things.
“As for this,” she indicated the bedroom with a wave of her hand, “well, it’s fairly obvious that we share some sort of…chemistry. I will not make you false promises, Andrea. I will not tell you that a relationship between us would be easy. It would not. And I can assure you, as could my teenage daughters, that I am not an easy person to care for. I am impatient and controlling, and I spend far too much time at work. I know these things about myself. But I think this…remarkable attraction we seem to have is worth exploring. Don’t you?” She looked appealingly into Andy’s eyes.
Andy could only laugh helplessly. All that worry for nothing, she thought. This woman is amazing. “Yes,” she said, when she had herself back under control. “Yes, I do.” And she leaned down and kissed Miranda with all the power of four and a half years of confused, pent-up longing.
Miranda tasted wonderful—like wine and chocolate—and Andy let out a moan before she could stop herself. Miranda’s hands tangled their way into Andy’s hair and she pulled their mouths together more firmly, arching into Andy’s eager embrace.
They kissed for several minutes before Miranda took a reluctant step backward, severing the contact. There was a protest already forming on Andy’s lips, but Miranda forestalled her. “Andrea,” she said, panting slightly. “You are entirely overdressed for this occasion. For heaven’s sake, take off that ridiculous dress.”
Andy was almost offended, but then she caught the unmistakable twinkle in Miranda’s eye and suddenly remembered. She grinned. “I thought you’d never ask,” she said happily, and took off her dress.