Chapter Text
Miranda stood as confidently as she could in front of the Salvador Dali piece. She had seen it hundreds of times before, but tonight it had a special meaning. Well, for this meeting with Andrea it did. That’s why she asked her to meet in front of it. And that’s why at 7:30 p.m. on a Tuesday, Miranda was sipping a glass of white wine as she tried to calm her nerves.
But, in her opinion, Andy had every reason to be nervous. The gaul of that woman to not only make a podcast but to make it all about her former boss. Yes, she was flattered. But Andrea wasn’t going to hear about that. Not tonight. Tonight, Andrea was going to explain. She was going to grovel. She was going to pay for the pain she caused Miranda over the last two years. And the pain she had been causing between her legs. But again, that was not a topic to be discussed tonight.
Tilting her head slightly, she let her eyes travel up to the lighting in the room. Screwed into a metal beam, it was completely garish. For a building created to hold some of the most beautiful things in the world, they forgot to hire proper staff. And architects. And designers. Any idiot with a pulse could tell that wouldn’t do. But, maybe that was the editor in her. Maybe in her spare time she could lend herself to designing buildings. Spare time. As if. Sighing, Miranda squared her shoulders and turned her sights back to the painting.
Shaking her head, she blew out a deep, angry breath. She was criticizing the fucking lighting because she was so nervous about seeing Andrea again. This was asinine. It was just Andrea. The woman who could do anything. The woman who would do anything, for her specifically. At least she did. That was who Andrea was. Who she was now? Well that was a mystery. One that was soon to be solved. But not before Miranda had her way with her.
The clicking of heels snapped Miranda out of her day dreaming. Suddenly everything was getting incredibly real. Andrea was here and judging by the way her steps sounded solid and determined, she wasn’t scared a bit. Then again, Andrea never really was. Wounded, yes. But she never stayed down long. Andrea got up, solved the problem and confined on like nothing ever happened. She was resilient. And that was something Miranda both admired, and would never admit.
Within seconds Miranda could feel Andrea’s body next to her own. Her perfume, Poppy perhaps? floated into her nostrils. In her heels, Andrea towered over her by at least four inches. Not that she could tell- she was refusing to look at her.
Andrea would have to take that first step.
Andrea would have to concede.
Andrea would need to prove she wanted this.
“You’re late,” Miranda said simply, not moving a muscle.
Andrea just smiled, barely a hairs breath away from the older woman. Miranda was impeccably dressed as always. Tonight she stood on cream Manolo Blahniks with lavender sailor pants covering her legs and hips. The high waisted slacks were belted and a cream sleeveless blouse adorned her top half. Three long gold necklaces sat on her chest and small diamonds in her ears. Her nails were painted a light pink and a couple of rings adorned the hand she could see. Her right hand hung by her side, centimeters from Andrea’s own. She swore she could feel the heat radiating off her.
For Miranda, this look was dressed down. For everyone else, this was the definition of business. Simply put, she was dressed for battle. Miranda knew that when she got dressed that morning. But, so did Andrea, and she was dressed to win, too. This would not be a roll over and die situation. Because if Andy looked closely, she could see her hands were shaking. But she didn’t look closely. She just stared ahead just like Miranda.
“It is 7:36 p.m. on a Tuesday evening, Miranda. An 8 p.m. date is hardly kosher. I’m sure you’ll forgive me,” Andrea said calmly.
Miranda nearly scoffed. Forgiveness was a topic for another time. Tonight was about groveling. About begging. About revenge.
“I’ll check my schedule,” she replied. “Do you know why you’re here Andrea?”
“Because you asked me to be.”
“And you do all that I ask, do you?” Miranda responded, the venom evident in her voice.
“Miranda you were just complaining about me being late and now you’re dawdling,” Andrea said. “Tell me why I’m here?”
Miranda’s shoulders immediately straightened at that. How dare this woman walk in and try to turn the tables. This is not how this was going to go. Andrea was about to learn a valuable lesson in respect.
“You are here because you chose to be. I asked you here to discuss your podcast,” she said quietly, back to her business voice.
“I don’t know why you would find anything interesting about it,” Andrea replied, trying to hide her smile.
“Oh I don’t. But I do find it rather… tasteless you have seemingly dedicated your career to whispering about me to the masses,” she said.
“But I haven’t, Miranda. I record a podcast weekly, I recite theoretical stories, and I get paid. Nothing more. Nothing less. I haven’t the faintest idea why you would think I’m talking about you,” Andrea replied smugly. “I’ve never said your name at all.”
“I knew from the start. But I was sure when I heard the birthday episode,” Miranda whispered.
The color drained from Andrea’s face. She was confident she could handle any barb the editor handed her way. So far, she was doing quite well. This is what she expected. But, in Miranda fashion, the tables had turned. Greatly. Because this? This admission? Well this just wasn’t expected. And this admission? Well Andrea couldn’t help but wonder if it was possibly untrue.
“Now I really don’t know why I’m here,” Andrea admitted quietly.
“Andrea you proved yourself as one of the hardest working people in the building almost immediately. And because of that, you became someone I relied on fully,” Miranda said. “So when you left, I promised myself I would never forgive you.”
“So I am here for you to say, out loud, you’ll never forgive me?” Andrea asked incredulously, still staring at the painting.
“I am here to say your actions were deplorable. But. Your way of handling any problem- going from unemployed to wildly successful, is.. admirable,” she said quietly.
“And?”
“And I am demanding you stop it all immediately before someone finds out,” Miranda said with finality.
“I won’t, and there is nothing you can do about it Miranda,” Andy said, the bite evident in her voice.
“Oh I’m sure there’s something we can agree on. Name your price, Andrea. A recommendation letter? A check?” she asked.
“No Miranda. There’s only one thing I want out of this podcast and you are too scared to give it to me,” Andy said.
Miranda’s body immediately tensed at those words and a pit settled deep in her stomach. Andrea was right. What, rather who, Andrea wanted was something Miranda could not commit to. Not now. No matter how much she wanted to. There was simply too much at stake.
“Fear is an emotion that arises when a decision is either risky or simply a bad idea. I am afraid of nothing. I am listening to the options and deciding that you continuing this tirade of smut is deplorable and it must end,” Miranda whispered.
“You love it. I know you do. You love that I whisper to you and I have the guts to tell you what you already know. You love that someone has gone out of their way to do something for you, without being told to do it,” Andrea recited quietly. “
“Perhaps we should meet next in court,” Miranda retorted.
“You can throw the book at me. Sue me. Whatever you need to do, Miranda. But when you’re ready to admit why you’re really here, have your people call me. I am far too busy to play games with you,” Andrea said, turning on her heel to leave the exhibit.
But she couldn’t. The most unexpected thing happened instead. Her left hand, the one closest to a Miranda, was grabbed and held tightly. Miranda didn’t pull her, she simply used her actions to show Andrea what she was too shy to say.
Stay.
Be patient with me.
Keep trying.
Stay.
“Do you know why I asked you to meet in this spot, Andrea?” the editor asked finally, still holding the younger woman’s hand.
“No Miranda, I don’t,” Andy replied, a smile gracing her lips at hearing Miranda use her name again.
“This piece is entitled ‘The Persistence of Memory.’ It’s made its home in this museum since 1934,” she said.
“It’s interesting,” Andy replied.
“It’s surrealism. Dali intended for it to represent hard and soft. Reality and perception. The way our minds receive time but the reality that it moves much quicker than we care for,” she said.
“So you’re saying this has also been the longest two years of your life?” Andy tried.
Miranda allowed a sliver of a smile to grace her features.
“I’m saying the anger I have over you walking out like a petulant child remains,” she replied. “But I am not a coward, and I can admit that hearing your voice again.. rewound the clock in a way. The things you whisper in your show are things no one has ever dared to say out loud.”
“And nothing impresses you like confidence,” Andy added.
Miranda nodded her head slowly.
“The truth, Andrea, is I enjoy your episodes. But we both know your attraction is merely physical and for that reason I am asking you kindly to cease all publication moving forward,” she said. “This is for your own good.”
Andrea subconsciously squeezed Miranda’s hand a little tighter as her anger built.
“I am not your child. I am not your employee. Apparently, I am nothing to you. So, Miranda, I will do as I please. And at the end of the day, I will protect myself. Alone. From the world, from a broken heart. From you,” Andy replied angrily, her voice deep.
“It’s in your best interest to head my advice Andrea,” she warned.
“And it’s in your own to stop being a coward and say what you’re feeling,” Andrea continued. A fire had been lit in her belly. She wasn’t backing down now. “You want all of it. You want the person who can read your mind and make you feel whole and wanted whether at dinner in a meeting or in bed. You know exactly what you want. You always do. And to see you not go after it? Well that’s something I never thought I’d see. But there’s a first time for everything, I suppose.”
Miranda opened her mouth to reply, but suddenly her right hand went cold. Andrea had dropped it and was shifting away from her. But before Miranda felt her leave completely, a finger rested beneath her chin and slowly moved her head so her eyes looked directly into Andrea’s. Her brown hair was shorter, just hitting her shoulders. She had diamond studs in her ears and just a touch of make up. Her lips were glossed in a dusty pink that matched her blush.
“You know where to find me,” Andrea said in a whisper, her lips inches from Miranda’s own.
And with that, she left. Miranda watched as Andrea confidently strode out of the room, her feet in black Louis Vuitton sandals with the straps creeping up her long legs. The leather paper bag shorts cinched at her small waste and gave way to a white sleeveless body suit. The further away the girl got, the more clear it became to Miranda.
She was going to need more wine. And then? She was going to get her girl.