The Games We Play

Prompt: Miranda has to attend a party where she must play charades.　 Emily, Andrea and Nigel are tasked to teach her to win and win big.　 Pandemonium ensues.

Note: This was written for a challenge for The Janeway/Seven Faction Forum, a site that hosts a multitude of Star Trek and Devil Wears Prada goodies.. Special thanks to dragonwine for being an impeccable beta and for keeping UbiquitousMixie focused on staying true to the story. Finally, special thanks to The Carol Burnett Show for teaching UbiquitousMixie how to play charades in the first place! Let UbiquitousMixie know what you think. She took a simple idea and turned it into a winning read.　

Andy Sachs whipped her sopping wet hair from her face, flinging little droplets of water at the couple behind her that had also sought the warm, dry reprieve of the darkened martini bar. She apologized and ruffled her fingers through her unruly bangs, glad to finally be indoors. It had taken two buses to make the commute across the city to reach this specific location and she hid a scowl as she found a gap between patrons at the bar. She ordered an overpriced strawberry martini and as she waited, she scanned the bar for her friend.

Emily Charlton was not a difficult woman to spot. Her flaming red hair shone under the dusky hues of the bar’s lighting and, drink in hand, Andy carefully wove her way through throngs of damp people to the little table in the corner.　

"There you are!" Emily said, mildly annoyed as she kissed both of Andy’s cheeks. "We were supposed to meet twenty minutes ago."　

"Get over yourself, Em," Andy replied, sipping the pink liquid. "You can’t blame me for the fact that you continuously choose expensive, hoity-toity bars that take me ages to get to."　

Emily waved a dismissive hand and Andy actually laughed as she rolled her eyes. Three years working under Miranda Priestly’s thumb had done little to promote Emily’s independence or autonomy; all she’d gained were Miranda’s mannerisms.　

"How is it that I’m soaked and you’re completely dry?"　

Emily preened. "I met a lovely bloke with an umbrella. You should try it sometime."　

"Flirting for an umbrella? I’d rather brave the elements."　

"Suit yourself...you could use the practice though." Emily sipped at her drink, winking as her witty pink tongue darted along the remaining sugar of the rim. "Cats and dogs still, then?"　

Andy scrunched her nose, choosing to ignore Emily’s dig about her lack of love life. "Yes. Ugh…I wish it would let up already! The calendar gods finally bestow us a Saturday for the Fourth of July and it’s a typhoon only days before."　

"You Americans and your silly holidays."　

"Hey now! This holiday—"　

Emily raised her hand. "Spare me the history lesson. Once upon a time, we ruled you." She smirked.　

Andy shook her head to herself and smiled. Her friendship with Emily had been an unlikely one, though the peace offering of her Paris loot had certainly helped. They hadn’t started (well, could Andy really call it ‘hanging out’?) seeing each other socially until they’d run into each other at Diane von Furstenburg’s store. Emily had been impressed to see that Andy’s taste in fashion hadn’t been squelched by "mediocre living conditions." Andy had been too excited that Emily actually showed interest in speaking to her that she didn’t have the heart to tell her she was following a lead that the shop manager was suspected of extortion. Emily didn’t read The Mirror, never saw the story, and Andy gained a quirky new friend who occasionally called her fat and dowdy.　

Companionship was easy once they were no longer at each other’s throats or fighting to impress their boss. Truth be told, Andy liked just about everyone now that La Priestly was no longer in the picture; she’d never been more thankful that that particular dark cloud in her life had passed. As for the one raging outside…　

"It needs to stop raining. I’ve got about a thousand Independence Day-related events to cover, which means I’ve got a real chance at actually enjoying a few if the weather breaks," Andy added, swallowing the final gulp of her martini. She allowed Emily to order them both another and slumped back against her chair. After a long day of sitting in front of a computer screen, the alcohol buzz was a welcome one.　

"You’re working on the Fourth of July?" Emily asked incredulously. "I don’t even celebrate it and I’m not working."　

"Puh-lease! You’re not going to be on call for Madame Priestly?"　

Emily rolled her eyes and brushed a strand of hair off her pale forehead. "Don’t get me started on that. When I finish with the ridiculous task she’s set me to, I’m off to the Hamptons for the weekend. I shan’t be anywhere near this city when it blows up."　

Andy raised her eyebrows. "Explain please."　

The redhead shook her head. "No. Shan’t. I’ve already said too much."　

"It’s not government espionage, Em. It’s Runway."　

"Miranda will have my head if anyone finds out about this." She quickly cupped her refreshed electric blue martini and took a large gulp.　

"What? Like I’m going to expose her for whatever she’s doing? Exposing her, on the other hand…" Andy winked and laughed at Emily’s horrified expression.　

"Ew! No no no, don’t you dare talk of your indecent little crush in front of me. I want no part in it. Get that ridiculous image out of my mind!" Emily closed her eyes as if trying to banish the thoughts away.　

"You know what’d help? If you just told me what was going on."　

Emily looked around and pursed her lips, debating whether or not to spill the beans. Andy knew Emily too well by now and knew the Brit was bursting to tell her. She calmly sipped her martini and waited.　

"Well, it’s no secret that Irv is still on a tear with Miranda."　

"Still? It’s been over a year since Paris."　

"Still. The man has gone consistently out of his way to make her life hell. He’s cutting budgets left and right, firing her employees on a whim, seeing to it that samples go missing and photo shoots go awry. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s bribing designers, either. The man’s lost his head."　

"Jeez…so what’s he doing now?"　

"Elias-Clarke is roping in a dozen or so potential new investors, which the company desperately needs. One of the magazines is on the verge of folding as it is."　

"And Runway?"　

"Because of Irv, it’s struggling. He’d rather Elias-Clarke’s most profitable periodical sink than have Miranda at the helm."　

"She’s practically responsible for his fortune! The man’s sitting pretty because of her! So what if she…y’know…publicly humiliated him? Is his pride wounded that badly?"　

"So it would seem. This Saturday night the board is throwing an elite bash – everyone who’s anyone in the publishing world will be there. And Irv’s made it his personal responsibility to ensure that Miranda attends—and gets what’s coming to her."　

Andy shook away the inappropriate mental image of Miranda coming and tilted her head. "Which would be?"　

"She’s very thick with Donatella, you know, and she has it on very good authority that they’ve arranged a series of games and such…you know, New York elite poking fun at each other while they make gits of themselves and the like."　

"Mmm…and we both know at any sign of fun, Miranda bolts in the other direction."　

Emily nodded. "He’s told her that she if neglects to show for this little soiree, he will make sure that every penny coming in from these investors goes to every other publication but Runway." The Brit laughed. "Auto Universe would be the most expensively run magazine of its sort to ever exist."　

Andy’s mouth gaped. "So…Irv Ravitz wants to make a fool out of Miranda in public, and if not he’ll fuck over Runway?"　

Emily, her mouth fastened to her martini glass, pointed at Andy and confirmed her suspicion.　

"What a dickwad."　

Emily snorted. "Tell me about it. Now Miranda’s got Nigel and myself in a tizzy trying to teach her how to play charades."　

Andy sprayed the table in pink alcohol as she laughed. "Wait…you’re gonna need to say that again for me."　

Emily rolled her eyes. "Nigel and I have to teach her to play charades. We’re meeting at Nigel’s flat tomorrow night."　

"That is…" Andy closed her eyes and tried to picture the editor miming out hints for one word with two syllables. She failed miserably. "Em, you have to let me come!"　

"No!"　

"Yes!" Andy squirmed in her seat, more excited about this than she had been about her first front-page story. "Please, Emily! I’ll do anything! You have to let me be there! This’ll be better than the Prozac my shrink has me on!"　

"Absolutely not. Miranda will kill you, and then me, and after she’s made Nigel hide the bodies, she’ll kill him as well. I rather enjoy being alive."　

"She won’t kill you. I can help. I’m a pro at charades. I was a camp counselor for three summers in a row."　

Emily pondered Andy’s words. "No. It’s a terrible idea."　

Andy pouted. "I’ll….I’ll set you up with my brother when he’s in town again?"　

Emily’s shoulders perked. "You’d actually let me meet Eric?"　

"Yes."　

"I thought you said I’d be a bad influence on your precious, younger brother?"　

"I said you’d eat a good Midwestern boy like him for breakfast, but you haven’t eaten me yet…" Andy, infused with alcohol, giggled at the joke.　

"Oh get your mind out of the gutter, Sachs."　

"Can’t help it," Andy said with a laugh. "You should know by now that I take up residence at 105 Gutterville Lane. I am the mayor of Gutter Town. I’m--"　

"All right. You give Eric my number and insist that he takes a trip to New York City within the next month, and I’ll let you come. Dying by Miranda’s hand is your prerogative and I will not step in the line of fire to protect you."　

---　

As Andy waited to be buzzed into Nigel’s building, she fumbled with closing the flimsy, cheap umbrella she’d picked up at CVS earlier in the day. One of its metal frames had bent outwards and, cursing, she threw the umbrella into the trash. "Piece of shit," she muttered, ducking further under the awning to escape the rain. She spent an hour on her hair and she’d be damned if it got ruined before Miranda even saw her.　

"Same impatient Six, aren’t you?" Nigel asked with a grin, leaning against the opened door.　

"Nigel!" Andy threw herself at him, hugging him despite the catty remark and her rain-dampened clothing. "You haven’t changed a bit."　

"Nor have you," he replied, brushing his hand across his dampened linen shirt. "Come in."　

"Why didn’t you just buzz me up?"　

"And miss this little display?" He rolled his eyes. "Buzzer’s broken. Amazing building, but the landlord isn’t."　

Andy nodded sympathetically, though she didn’t have much more sympathy to spare as they stepped inside the building’s clean, functioning elevator. "Is Miranda here yet?"　

"No. She was due to arrive at seven, which means we probably won’t expect her until seven-thirty."　

Andy glanced at her watch and trembled slightly.　

"You’re nervous?" Nigel asked, observant as ever. "You willingly walked into the lion’s den and you’re nervous?"　

"Well, wouldn’t you be after walking out on her over a year ago?"　

"You’re the only one who’s ever done it." He shook his head, smiling at her brave stupidity. "So why did you come?"　

"Miss a chance to see Miranda Priestly playing charades? I couldn’t pass that up."　

"This better not make it into your little news rag."　

"How is this news?" Andy asked, following him out of the elevator. "Just in: Ice Queen Plays Party Games! No one is going to enjoy this as much as I will."　

Nigel allowed her to pass into his loft. "Aside from everyone at the party."　

"Yeah…now that I have half a mind to write about. Can you imagine the front page story that’d make?"　

"Don’t you dare," he scolded, pointed his finger in her face. "You’ll have bigger worries than Miranda Priestly if you do."　

"I won’t," Andy promised, pushing the idea to the back of her mind. She’d spent hours penning the article in her mind, exposing Irv Ravitz and his dirty tricks, but Andy knew that if one word were to make it to print, he’d blame Miranda. "No wonder the press wasn’t invited."　

"Exactly. We elitists like to keep our bloodbaths amongst the upper crust. Very selective, you know."　

Andy nudged Nigel’s shoulder as they walked into the spacious living room. She smiled at Emily as she found her seated on a large brown suede couch. "Hey Em."　

Emily gave a slight smile and sighed, holding up her martini at Andy. "You’re a brave woman. You shall be missed."　

Andy rolled her eyes and sat beside her. "Miranda is not going to murder me." She caught the look that was exchanged between Nigel and Emily. "Right?"　

"I certainly hope not," Nigel replied. "These carpets are new."　

Andy laughed. "Gee, thanks."　

He shrugged. "Drink?"　

"Whatever you’re making is fine."　

He prepared a dry martini and after dropping in a second olive, handed it to Andy. He held up his own drink—a Manhattan—and saluted her. "To Andy’s massive cojones."　

They shared a laugh and drank.　 "I really have missed you, you know," Andy said, smiling warmly at her former mentor. "You look good."　

"You think?"　

Andy nodded, looking past the bags under his eyes and wondering just how much better he’d look if he’d been working anywhere but Runway. Andy may have lost the designer clothes, but she actually learned to smile again once she freed herself from Miranda’s clutches. Noting the deep frown lines on Nigel’s face, she wondered if he’d ever have that freedom himself.　

"Well, thank you," he replied, sipping quietly from his glass. The ice chinked against his teeth and for a brief moment, Andy wondered if he’d read her mind.　

Emily snorted, effortlessly doing away with any awkwardness that would have befallen them. "Don’t be an oaf. The man’s missed you too, though he’s too much like Miranda to admit it."　

Andy pressed her hand to her chest. "Awe…that warms my heart. You like me. You really like me!"　

Nigel smirked but didn’t deny it.　

The buzzer rang. Andy nearly dropped her martini.　

Nigel straightened himself up and squared his shoulders. "I shall return. Six, try not to piddle on the rug." With that, he headed for the hall.　

Andy turned to Emily. "Do I look okay?"　

Emily gave her a passing glance, taking in the expensive blouse, tight jeans, and brown leather boots. "You look passable."　

Andy groaned. "Maybe this was a bad idea."　

"Told you so," Emily sing-songed, sipping her martini. "Why doesn’t anyone ever listen to the wise British woman?"　

"Do you think I have time to sneak out before she gets here?"　

"You will be fine, Andrea." Emily rolled her eyes. "This was your grand idea; man up and deal with it." She set her glass on a coaster on the coffee table and stood, smoothing out her teal dress. "It’s only Miranda."　

"Only Miranda!?" Andy screeched, standing beside her. "This from the girl who shits her pants every time Miranda flares her nostrils! You’re just as anxious as I am!"　

Emily glared. "Will you calm down? I don’t need you making this worse."　

"Please. We both know the only reason you agreed to letting me come was to take the heat off of you."　

"Liar."　

"Brat."　

Both women abruptly closed their mouths when they heard footsteps in the hall. Andy’s stomach trembled violently. It had been a year since she’d seen Miranda – a whole year without seeing those icy blue eyes. She felt her throat go dry and wished she hadn’t set down her drink.　

Andy’s stomach lurched and her heart somersaulted in her chest. Miranda, of course, looked impeccable. She wore a pale blue blouse and an ivory pencil skirt. Her endless legs were shod in Prada pumps. Andy swallowed helplessly.　

Miranda, it seemed, was just as speechless to see Andy Sachs in Nigel’s living room. Her flawless face rendered shock and slowly molded itself into one of unspeakable irritation. "What is she doing here?"　

"Hi, Miranda," Andy said, reaching for strength from the balls that Nigel had suggested she had. "It’s good to see you too."　

"I don’t recall extending an invitation to you." Miranda turned to Nigel. "Was this your idea?"　

Nigel quickly deferred her anger to Emily. The redhead squeaked as the steely gaze was directed upon her. Andy quickly stepped in. "Listen, Miranda…"　

"I don’t need to do anything of the sort. I’m leaving." Spinning on her four inch heels, she headed for the door. Andy bolted after her.　

"Miranda, wait!" She foolishly grabbed Miranda’s arm once they reached the hall. As soon as Miranda glared at her, she released it. "Sorry."　

"How dare you touch me? How dare you condescend to speak to me after the stunt you pulled?"　

"You have every right to be mad at me. I get it. I was a little bit irresponsible—"　

"A little bit?"　

"Okay, very irresponsible…and when I heard about what was going on at Runway, I wanted to make it up to you. I wanted to help."　

"You think you can possibly help me?" Miranda scoffed. "I don’t need your pithy little remarks or your jokes. This is a private situation, one which does not involve you."　

"Private, huh? Until Saturday night, and then it’ll be everyone’s business."　

Miranda’s eyes flashed.　

"I know charades like I know the back of my hand. I can help you more than the two of them can."　

"Forget this. I don’t need anyone’s help." She headed for the stairs.　

"Apparently you do, or you wouldn’t have asked two of your employees, one of whom you betrayed if I remember correctly."　

Miranda pursed her lips.　

"Do you want to prove to those douche bag chairmen and those investors that you can handle whatever ridicule they throw your way? Let me teach you how."　

Miranda sniffed indignantly. "I’ve been at this game a lot longer than you have. Do you think that I haven’t suffered at the hands of men like Irv Ravitz all my life?"　

"I don’t doubt that, and I don’t doubt that you managed it without anyone’s help. I mean…you’re Miranda Priestly. That means something…but it also means that you felt like you couldn’t do this alone because you’re still standing in this hallway with me." Andy plastered on her most eager, brilliant, confident smile. "So come on inside, have a drink, watch us make idiots of ourselves, and when you feel comfortable you can join in."　

Miranda pursed her lips, looking anywhere but at Andy’s face. After a long pause, Miranda curtly nodded her head.　

"I swear on Coco Chanel that we won’t laugh at you."　

"Don’t swear on Chanel when you’re wearing Levi’s." Miranda rolled her eyes, bypassed Andy, and stalked back into the apartment.　

Andy stood for a moment, basking in the lingering scent of Miranda’s perfume and the knowledge that she had actually managed to convince Miranda to stay. She’d never have expected this out of her former boss. It gave her a thrill to know that there were other sides to this beautiful, fascinating woman that Andy had only just begun to discover.　

An hour had passed and if Andy didn’t know better, she’d swear that Nigel and Emily were actually getting worse at the game. They had both taken turns explaining the rules incorrectly, leading to a very frustrated Miranda demanding that they silence themselves before she did the silencing. Andy glowed again at Miranda’s subtle acknowledgment that she needed her and before long, she’d managed to explain the rules of the game in a way that everyone could understand.　

"Enough talking about it already," Miranda said, glancing at her expensive platinum watch. "Show me how it’s done."　

"It can be confusing at first," Andy explained, noting that Emily and Nigel needed this lesson too. "When you’ve got a big crowd shouting guesses around you, pandemonium can strike, especially if you’re not really familiar with all of the hand gestures. I know I went over them…but maybe we should test them a few times to make sure you can recall them quickly."　

"Do you think I have the memory of a goldfish?" Miranda snapped. "I’m not a child."　

"No," Andy said quickly. "I am just thinking of you here. I want you to be prepared."　

"It might not hurt," Nigel said, "especially since I’m playing as well."　

Miranda rolled her eyes. "Fine. Go."　

"Okay, show me the gesture for a movie," Andy suggested, keeping her smile to a minimum when Miranda, Emily, and Nigel all mimed using a hand-held camera reel. "Good. Okay, how about a book?" They placed their palms together and then opened their hands as if they were opening a book. "Excellent." Andy beamed, thoroughly enjoying watching Miranda playing along.　

"Now, Miranda, show me how you’d tell us that you had chosen a topic that was a song with four words, with the fourth word that sounds like something else." Andy blinked expectantly and grinned.　

Miranda glared at the three of them before she held out her hands as if she were a singer. Then, she held our four fingers. After retracting them, she held our four fingers again and then tugged gently on her ear.　

"Perfect! Excellent, Miranda!" Andy exclaimed, stopping herself before she actually clapped.　

Miranda rolled her eyes again. "I’m not seven, Andrea. This isn’t rocket science."　

"Well…you just…you picked it all up quickly." Andy gave a weak, embarrassed smile. "That’s a good thing."　

"Can we get on with it?"　

"All right," Andy conceded, agreeing that it might be better to actually begin playing rather than continuing to talk, which would only make them all more confused in the end. "Let’s take a minute or two to write down some words or phrases, and then we can take turns acting and guessing. Let’s keep them simple this time around, just for starters."　

Nigel dispensed paper and pens and, after several minutes of writing down a variety of the most random topics Andy could think of, Nigel came around with a glass bowl and collected the folded slips of paper.　

"You’ll go first," Miranda ordered of Andy, sipping from her second Manhattan of the evening. "We’ll all guess."　

"Okay…so you do remember this isn’t traditionally how it’s played, right? I explained there’d be—" Miranda raised an imperious eyebrow and Andy clamped her mouth shut.　 "Got it. Right. I’ll just…pick out of the bowl then. Nigel, you’ll keep time."　

"You got it, Six."　

Andy dipped her hand in the bowl and shuffled her fingers around the small bits of paper, finally selecting one at random. She turned her back and viewed her topic. Runway. She issued a sigh of relief at pulling an easy word. She turned around, nodded to Nigel to signal that she was ready, and held up one finger.　

"One word," Emily said.　

Andy nodded. She moved to the side of the room, her cheeks blossoming with color at the idea of pantomiming this in front of Miranda-fucking-Priestly, and did her best impression of a model on a catwalk. The room was silent. She did the walk again and turned in time to see Emily suppressing a giggle.　

"Runway?" Nigel asked lazily.　

"Yes!" Andy said, thankful that he chose not to make her put on the display a third time.　

"Don’t quit your day job," Emily snarked with a laugh.　

"Hey!" Andy pouted. "Jerk."　

"Perhaps you should, since your current day job has lead to you speaking like a truck driver," Miranda retorted. Emily snorted.　

Andy stared at her shoes. "Sorry…"　

Miranda waved a dismissive hand. "Go again."　

"Shouldn’t someone else—er, never mind. Okay. Let’s see." Andy cleared her throat and pulled again from the bowl. Her topic this time was elephant, scrawled in Emily’s tiny, neat handwriting. Andy glared, nodded to Nigel, and held out a finger.　

"One word," Miranda helpfully guessed.　

Andy nodded again and drew her arm to her nose, flailing it around like an elephant trunk. Emily howled with laughter. Andy shot her a glare and continued to act like an elephant, short of wailing and snorting.　

Finally, Nigel called time. "What on Earth was that supposed to be?" he demanded.　

"An elephant," Andy droned, staring at Emily, who was giggling madly under the influence of her second martini. "Was that a dig at my weight?"　

"Anyone could have written that topic," Emily responded innocently.　

"You are hardly an elephant," Miranda added, her eyes raking Andy’s body approvingly.　

Andy burst into flame. "This from the woman who called me fat on more than one occasion," she boldly said.　

Miranda raised an eyebrow. "You’ve developed a spine as well as a filthy mouth in the bullpen, haven’t you?"　

Andy grinned. "You have no idea."　

Miranda returned the smile. Nigel and Emily exchanged glances, only narrowly caught by Andy. She blushed and grabbed the bowl, holding it out to Emily. "Your turn, Miss Priss."　

Emily rolled her eyes and grabbed a paper, taking Andy’s place in the middle of the floor. While she scanned the topic, Andy took Emily’s seat on the sofa and tried to ignore the close proximity of Miranda’s body to her own. To distract herself, she rubbed her hands together and grinned maliciously at Emily as she nodded to Nigel to keep time.　

With an embarrassed sigh, Emily signaled that it was one word and promptly held out one bent arm in front of her and one bent arm behind her. She remained motionless and gave her usual bored expression. Beneath that cool exterior, Andy knew Emily felt awkward and uncomfortable performing like this in front of her superiors.　

"Walk like an Egyptian!" Andy exclaimed.　

"That’s four words, you twit," Emily snapped.　

"No speaking," Miranda ordered.　

"You might want to try to jump in here with a guess or two if you want to get better at this," Andy suggested, leaning in so close to Miranda that she could smell her perfume. When Miranda raised an eyebrow, Andy added, "When you’re ready."　

Emily cleared her throat to get their attentions, and Andy focused with a renewed interest. "Vogue! Dinosaur! Snake!"　

"I’m a little tea pot?" Nigel guessed dryly and Andy snorted. "Oh, and time’s up."　

"It was bloody Cleopatra, you imb—"　

"I’d suggest you redirect your infantile behavior elsewhere," Miranda warned.　

"You could have hinted that we were close," Andy said.　

"You weren’t."　

"I was, when I suggested that song…Cleopatra was Egyptian. I was on the right track."　

Emily shrugged. "Oops."　

Miranda exhaled sharply through her nose. "Let’s play this correctly, shall we? Nigel. Go."　

He abruptly passed his timekeeping duties to Emily, picked a word, and rolled his eyes. He stuck his tongue between his teeth, sighed, and nodded to Emily.　

Andy watched in awe as Nigel, dry and reserved, came to stand on the tips of his toes in his Gucci loafers. She gaped and beamed, deciding that this was without a doubt the best, most surreal night she’d ever had, impending death or not. "Ballet?" she guessed.　

He shook his head and, to Andy’s immense disbelief, rose even higher on his toes.　

"Stilettos," Miranda offered. Nigel gave a sigh of relief and dropped to his feet with a soft thud.　

"Correct."　

"Way to go, Miranda!" Andy exclaimed, raising her hand to give her former employer a high-five. Miranda ignored it.　

"I put that one in the bowl myself," Miranda said.　

Andy, Nigel, and Emily laughed.　

"Miranda, that’s cheating!" Emily cried, aghast.　

"Exactly. How else do you expect I plan on winning?"　

"Miranda, they’re not going to make it possible for you to cheat at this party," Nigel commented. "They’re going to do everything in their power to make this difficult for you."　

"Fine," Miranda quipped. She swallowed the rest of her drink.　

"You don’t strike me as the cheating type," Andy assessed. "I bet on the playground you even scratched and pulled hair too, huh?"　

"I play to win by whatever means necessary," Miranda replied matter-of-factly.　

"Remind me never to play poker with you."　

"Now why couldn’t we be playing poker instead?" Nigel sighed. "We’d dominate that game."　

"For precisely that reason, I’d imagine," Emily added, watching Miranda’s face carefully. The older woman did nothing to acknowledge her and she took another sip of her drink.　

"Well, since you can’t cheat and can’t play the games you’re good at, we’d better perfect your skills at this one, don’t you think?" Andy offered.　

Miranda nodded towards the bowl.　

"Do you want to guess a few more or try acting a few out?" Andy asked, anticipating what Miranda would choose.　

She guessed correctly when Miranda said, "I haven’t had nearly enough of these," she shook the ice around in her empty glass, "to make a fool of myself yet."　

Andy laughed. "All right. I’ll act out a few more. Nigel, get her another drink. No one else gets to guess but Miranda." Andy reached into the bowl. "And if I notice any in your handwriting, Miranda, I’m throwing them out."　

Miranda gave her a leveled, challenging glare. "Let’s play."　

Andy gulped. She studied the word on the slip of paper while Nigel refreshed the drink and wanted to sink through the floor. Striptease. Once again she recognized the redhead’s handwriting and made a mental note to pull her hair when the opportunity arose.　

She cleared her throat. "Um. Right. Ready?"　

"As I’ll ever be," Miranda replied.　

Nigel indicated that he was watching the clock, and Andy held out a finger.　

"One word," the editor said impatiently.　

Andy nodded. Ducking her face low to hide the vibrant red heat that had marked her pale flesh, Andy mimed unbuttoning her shirt.　

"Undressing?" Miranda guessed.　

Andy indicated that she was on the right track and then wriggled her body in a seductive swaying motion, signifying that there was a dance to accompany the undressing. If Andy didn’t know better, she’d swear that Miranda had blushed.　

"Striptease."　

Emily giggled naughtily. Andy glared at her and confirmed Miranda’s guess. "Yep! That’s correct." Andy felt her throat go dry and took a sip of her drink, noting that Miranda’s cheeks were still slightly pink. "Ready for another?"　

"I’m always ready," Miranda replied, the barest hint of a smirk teasing the corner of her mouth.　

Andy felt her knees weaken slightly and grabbed another piece of paper. Fish. She rolled her eyes and began, sucking in her cheeks and puckering her mouth in the childish "fishy face" pose. For added effect, she made her lips move.　

"Kiss?" Miranda asked uncertainly.　

Nigel snorted and looked at her as though she’d grown a second head. "Who’ve you been kissing like that?" Emily covered her laugh with a cough. Andy stared at Nigel, horror-struck.　

"Nigel!" she shrieked, bracing herself for whatever would come of Miranda’s mood.　

Miranda abruptly stood. "I came here," she said in her deadly quietness, "because I trust you." She looked at Nigel, the disappointment clearly registered in her eyes. "I did not come here to be mocked by my fr—" She thought better of the word she was about to use, straightened her back, and said, "by someone I trust."　

Nigel sighed. "Sit down, Miranda—please?"　

She hesitantly did so, swallowing a large gulp of her drink and looking towards the window. Nigel sat beside her.　

"I’m going to be frank with you," he warned. "You’re in my home. You’re here, not as my boss, but as my friend who asked for my help. You think these investors or board members are going to this party to mingle with friends? They’re out for blood and you know it, and they expect you to make a fool of yourself because you are not the type of woman who easily lets loose and has a good time." He held up a hand as she opened her mouth to object. "You know it’s true, Miranda. You’ve built a very cold, harsh persona for yourself over the years, and if you want to survive this little shindig, you’ve got to loosen up and prove them wrong."　

"You’ve never spoken to me like this before," Miranda said quietly. Andy and Emily took turns staring at the floor or the ceiling, anywhere but at the people sitting on the sofa. "How many years have you been waiting to tell me how you perceive me?"　

"I’m saying this for your benefit, Miranda," he replied calmly. "I have never gone out of my way to hurt you." And there it was, hanging in the toxic air: the acknowledgment of what she’d done to him in Paris. Andy felt her stomach plummet uncomfortably into her boots and waited on bated breath for Miranda’s reply.　

Miranda licked her lips. "Nigel—"　

"I’m not looking for an apology, Miranda."　

"Nor are you getting one," she replied indignantly.　

He exhaled slowly and, draining his glass, looked at her levelly. "It’s time you decide what you want out of tonight. Either we can have Andy continue to make an ass of herself for our amusement, or we can get through this so you’ll be able to show Irv Ravitz that there’s more to Miranda Priestly than meets the eye."　

Miranda stared at the window for several minutes, the lines around her mouth hardening and her eyes boring somewhere far outside the New York City skyline. Finally, when the three others in the room expected her to leave, she declared: "Give me that damn bowl."　

It could not be said that Miranda Priestly did not put 150% into every new task she set her mind to. Andy should have known better than to be surprised about Miranda taking so easily to the game; it simply did not occur to Miranda to be bad at anything.　

Miranda didn’t start out as a natural, but Andy had to admire her fighting spirit. Once she’d begun to perform the topics, she became more at ease and more comfortable around the three of them. That had been the most surprising aspect of the entire operation—Miranda had never opened up like this to anyone whose paychecks she signed. It didn’t occur to Andy until that night that Miranda was heavily lacking in the friend department.　

When Miranda had excused herself to return a phone call from the twins (after brilliantly pantomiming "baby love" by rocking an invisible child in her arms and then curling her fingers into a heart), Andy leant into Nigel and quietly whispered, "Why didn’t she ask the twins to help her? They must go to parties and summer camp all the time."　

Nigel stuck his tongue in his cheek and exchanged a look with Emily, whose eyes had begun to gloss over under the heavy consumption of alcohol. "She doesn’t see much of them," he responded, straightening a stack of magazines on the coffee table.　

"I know she works a lot, but she lives with them, doesn’t she? Couldn’t she—"　

He slowly shook his head. "The girls have elected to live with their father for awhile."　

"What!?"　

"Keep it down," Nigel spat, glancing over his shoulder to ensure that Miranda had not overheard. "After Paris, her time and her position became considerably compromised. The more she worked, the less she saw the twins, and the more their father threatened to sue for custody. Miranda sat them down and asked them what they wanted instead of forcing them into anything."　

"And they chose him? "　

"Glad to see that Northwestern degree wasn’t for nothing."　

Andy’s shoulders slumped. "I can’t even…oh, poor Miranda."　

"What could possibly be poor about me?" Miranda asked, the click of her heels preceding her into the living room.　

Andy could immediately tell that Miranda was already on the defensive. She leapt to her feet. "Only that you’re going to lose this game."　

Miranda smirked and looked around the room at her competition. "I hardly see a worthy adversary competent of defeating me."　

"You’re looking right at her," Andy quipped, raising a challenging eyebrow.　

Miranda’s smirk bloomed into a grin; it was the most beautiful thing Andy had ever seen. "Girl’s got gumption. Where was that when you worked for me?"　

"You ate it for breakfast, I believe, when you made fun of my blue sweater."　

"It was an atrocious cerulean sweater."　

Andy laughed. "Lucky for us both then that I donated it to the Salvation Army."　

"Mmm. Perhaps they can use it as a cleaning rag."　

"Ouch!" Andy pretended to pull a dagger from her heart. "The lady wounds me."　

"The lady will wound you again once you pick your next topic from the bowl."　

Behind where Miranda stood, Andy caught Emily rolling her eyes in Nigel’s direction. "Stop flirting and play," Emily whined. "We’re bored."　

The color returned to Miranda’s cheeks and Andy reveled in every second of it. "Fine, then, Miss Charlton. Get your ass up here to do the next one."　

Emily lazily dragged herself to stand beside her friend. "No inappropriate touching, mind."　

Andy rolled her eyes. "How many martinis have you had?"　

"Too many," Miranda helpfully added. "Time to cut her off, bartender."　

"Aye aye, Captain," Nigel replied dutifully.　

"All right, all right. Let’s get this over with. The room’s spinning." Emily pulled from the bowl and held it closely to her face while Andy and Miranda took their seats.　

Emily drew a square in front of her to signify that it was a television show. She held out three fingers and, after scrunching her face into a thoughtful expression, held out three fingers again.　

"Television show, three words, third word," Miranda quickly spat out when Andy opened her mouth to speak. Andy raised an eyebrow at Miranda’s quickness and Miranda’s smug expression returned.　

Emily cupped her fingers in a circle and held them over her head.　

"Halo…um…angel?" Andy guessed.　

Emily shook her head and repeated the motion, this time pretending to place something upon her head.　

"Crown…tiara…" Andy continued, determined to guess before Miranda.　

"Princess," Miranda drawled.　

Emily nodded and then held out two fingers, letting them know it was the second word. She pretended to tug at something on her waist and, after stacking her fists, waved her arms around.　

"Lightsaber?" Nigel guessed. Andy laughed, never having guessed Nigel to be a Star Wars fan.　

"Lightsaber princess, Nigel? Really?" Emily said grouchily.　

"No talking," Andy reminded. It looked as though Emily were waving around a sword—she jumped up and exclaimed, at the same time as Miranda, "Xena: Warrior Princess!"　

"Thank bloody Jesus," Emily replied.　

Andy and Miranda sized each other up. "So who got it first?" Andy asked.　

"I did, obviously."　

Andy chuckled. "So you think."　

"So I know."　

"You know, Miranda," Nigel said, coming behind them. "I think you’ve met your match."　

Miranda quirked an eyebrow. "Perhaps I have."　

"Would either of you like some coffee? I fear dear Emily will lose consciousness if she consumes any more alcohol."　

"Will not!" Emily added obstinately.　

"Come, you," he said, grabbing her thin wrist. "To the kitchen. You’re eating something, even if it’s a slice of cheese and a grape."　

Emily whined that she wasn’t hungry but was too far-gone to fight his grip. And, just like that, Miranda and Andy were alone and Andy felt her skin tingle pleasantly.　

"How have you been, Miranda?" she asked, sitting back on the couch beside her. She leaned into the cushion and turned her body, giving Miranda her full attention.　

"I’ve been fine."　

"Real fine or fake fine?"　

"What’s the difference?"　

"Is this the sort of fine that you say to everyone, even if you’re having a horrible day, or is this the fine that you really mean?"　

Miranda shrugged. "They’re one in the same, I suppose."　

"Hmm. The lady wants to be evasive. New question then." Andy pretended to hold a microphone to her mouth and asked in all seriousness, "And how does Miranda Priestly, Empress of the Fashion World, know of Xena: Warrior Princess?" She held out the invisible microphone.　

Miranda chuckled quietly and pushed Andy’s hand away, her fingers warm against her skin. "I own a television set, you know. Several, in fact."　

"You don’t strike me as the type to get down with Lucy Lawless and her war cry. Campiness doesn’t seem to be your style."　

"I never said I was an avid fan. But if you want to succeed in a business like mine that draws heavily from influences in all facets of the media, once must have a vast arsenal of knowledge to draw upon."　

"Are we going to see models in breast plates and leather in Runway’s next issue?"　

Miranda smirked. "Perhaps it would enhance our lesbian readership if I did."　

Andy blushed. "While I cannot speak for lesbians, I can speak as someone who registers about a 4 on the Kinsey scale, and the lack of Sapphic content in the magazine hasn’t deterred me from skimming through an issue here and there."　

Miranda raised an interested eyebrow. "Keep up with the magazine, do you?"　

"I read it from time to time," Andy lied, choosing not to divulge the fact that she’d subscribed six weeks after quitting.　

"Mmm, well I must admit that I occasionally keep up with that little rag you write for."　

Andy glowed with pride. "Not exactly New York Times, but we get by."　

Miranda gave Andy a long once-over. "You seem to be doing all right on your own."　

"I get by. It pays the bills. I’m, y’know, happy."　

Miranda looked away, glancing towards the windows once more. "That is key at your age, I suppose."　

"That’s key at any age," Andy replied softly.　

Suddenly, Miranda’s face hardened as she caught Andy’s eye. "Do you think you’ve got me figured out? Poor, lonely, frigid woman couldn’t possibly be happy after the choices she’s made in her life?"　

"Well, are you?"　

Miranda’s eyes narrowed. "That’s none of your business."　

"I’m sorry. I thought…I don’t know…something stupid."　

"What? That we were friends?"　

Andy shrugged, feeling dejected at once. "Guess not."　

"I don’t need any friends." Miranda exhaled sharply and picked at invisible fuzz on her skirt.　

"Right," Andy sniffed. "You keep telling yourself that."　

The editor raised an eyebrow.　

"You’ve got this whole reputation carved out for yourself. You are who you are today because you made yourself that way. You don’t let yourself laugh or have fun or even smile like you mean it. It’s all some big façade for you. You can say you don’t need friends all you want, but you do, or you wouldn’t be here right now."　

Miranda said nothing.　

"You really don’t want to admit that you’re not all-powerful and that you actually need people from time to time, do you?"　

"I did, didn’t I? I’m here, aren’t I?" Miranda snapped.　

"I’m just saying…it’s okay to let your guard down every once in a while, you know? You don’t have to be the person everyone expects you to be. You’re allowed to…I dunno…live it up, let loose, be happy…be you."　

"Thank you for that riveting analysis of my psyche, Dr. Sachs."　

Andy rolled her eyes. "You’re being difficult on purpose."　

"I’m being myself. I suppose that makes me a difficult woman."　

Andy chuckled. "Yeah, you certainly are. I like you anyway though."　

Miranda’s head snapped in her direction. "What did you just say?"　

Andy blushed furiously, jumping to her feet. "Nothing that matters in the long run. I’d better check on Emily."　

Without waiting for another word from Miranda, Andy bolted into the kitchen, where Emily was slumped against the island. "Andyyyyy," she said, smiling her Cheshire cat grin. "Have you two snogged yet?"　

Andy’s eyes widened. "What?! No…of course not!"　

"Oh good," Emily said, punching Nigel in the arm as he sliced a block of cheese. "We didn’t miss out on the fun."　

"What the hell are you talking about?" Andy demanded, her heart still racing. She hoped that Miranda couldn’t hear what was being said, not that the woman would take it to heart anyway. Miranda needed no one, especially not some lady journalist with a crush.　

"You two have been rather…chummy…this evening," Nigel offered.　

"We…no we haven’t. Miranda isn’t chummy with anyone."　

"Unless her name’s Ahn-dray-aaaaaahh Sex." Emily snorted. "Saaachs. Whoopsee! "　

"Emily, what’s gotten into you? This cannot be the work of two and a half martinis." Nigel lifted her chin so that he could peer into her eyes. "Did you drink before you came here?"　

Emily nodded and pushed his hand away. "Of course I bloody well did!" Emily grabbed onto Andy’s shirt and pulled her close as she whispered into her ear, "I just couldn’t stand the thought of Miranda laughing at me!" She pulled back slightly and tipped her forehead against Andy’s. "I couldn’t handle it."　

Andy scrunched her nose at the heavy scent of vodka on her breath. "You’ve got to drink some coffee, Em. Do you think Miranda is going to think any better of you if you’re making a drunken fool of yourself?"　

Emily shook her head and rested her forehead against Andy’s shoulder.　

"It’s too much pressure," Emily sobbed.　

Andy sighed at Nigel, who was pouring coffee into a large mug. While she waited for it to cool down, she patted Emily’s back gently.　

"Oh," came a voice in the doorway. "Pardon for me intruding on a private moment."　

Andy’s mouth dropped open as she spun herself and Emily to face Miranda. "You’re not. We’re just getting coffee and snacks together."　

"And cuddling, it would seem." Miranda raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips in a gesture of extreme displeasure.　

Nigel quietly explained that Emily had consumed too much alcohol. "Shall we take this back to the living room?"　

"Let’s speed this along. I don’t intend on staying much longer." Miranda cast another glance at Emily’s face as it nuzzled into Andy’s neck and walked away.　

"Jealous much?" Nigel mused under his breath, setting the various things on a tea tray. His expression was gravely serious as he lifted an eyebrow at Andy. "Think you can handle Lindsay Lohan here? Maybe you’d better take her into the guest bedroom to lie down for a few minutes."　

Andy nodded and lumbered along down the hallway, practically dragging Emily in her Jimmy Choos until she’d reached the room Nigel pointed out. She eased Emily onto a bed and deposited the wastebasket beside her. "Just holler if you need something," Andy said.　

"I need a re-do. Can I have one of those?"　

"Sorry, kiddo. You messed this one up all on your own."　

"Miranda’s going to h-hate me now! She’ll think of me of that stupid drunk sow! My life is ruined!"　

"It’ll be fine, Emily. I bet she won’t even give this a second thought after tomorrow night’s party."　

Emily groaned and pressed her face into the pillow, flinging her hand until Andy had left her alone.　 As she made her way back into living room, she heard Miranda’s annoyed, "You can’t seriously be blaming this mess on me."　

"Emily is…" Nigel began, but Miranda cut him off.　

"Emily is weak. I should never have trusted her for this."　

"Mmm, well, if you hadn’t, Andy wouldn’t be here, and you’d be sunk."　

Andy would have given anything to see the expression on Miranda’s face in that moment. When the older woman said nothing, Andy stepped into the room and popped a grape into her mouth as she sat on the other end of the sofa.　

"Emily’s whole life is about trying to please you," Andy calmly pointed out.　

Miranda sighed. "She needs a new life then."　

"You’re not going to fire her, are you?" Andy asked.　

"What I do with my employees is my business," Miranda quipped sharply. "Not yours."　

Nigel cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should talk strategy then. I’ll be at the party, but we’ll obviously not be on the same team. They’ll purposely choose obnoxious, tasteless topics to throw you off."　

Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose. "Maybe we’ll be blessed with a torrential downpour."　

"They’d probably just move the party indoors, wouldn’t they?" Andy guessed. At Miranda’s sigh, she knew that she was right. "Have you ever thought about calling his bluff?"　

Miranda swiftly shook her head. "Calling his bluff would be as though I were too afraid to face him. I’m not. I can handle this."　

"You sure?" Andy asked softly, placing her hand on Miranda’s knee.　

Miranda glanced at Nigel, glared at Andy, and scoffed. "Such faith you have in me," Miranda said. She stood. "I’m leaving." She licked her lips. "Thank you both for your help. I’ll pick you up tomorrow evening, Nigel."　

He prepared to show her out, but Andy quickly added, "Let me."　

"I don’t need an escort," Miranda snapped.　

"I would never suggest you did." Andy smiled. "I never see you though...I just thought I’d say goodbye."　

"Unlike the last time we saw each other," Miranda pointed out, "when you just walked away."　

"Would you feel vindicated if you walked away without saying goodbye?" Andy asked, ignoring Nigel’s presence in the room. She stared into Miranda’s eyes, challenging her, begging her, waiting for her to decide.　

"My car will be arriving shortly." Miranda broke their long, heated gaze and glanced at Nigel. "Goodnight."　

Andy dumbly watched her go, her shoulders slumping low as the click of her heels faded in the hall.　

"She didn’t say you couldn’t follow her, kid," Nigel said, rolling his eyes. He nodded towards the door. "Just make sure you don’t lock yourself out; I expect you to take care of our drunken crumpet in the guest room."　

Andy beamed at him, feeling like Molly Ringwald with her father in Pretty in Pink. She patted his bald head and bolted out the door, leaping down the stairs two at a time. By the time she reached the bottom landing, she was out of breath.　

Miranda stood in front of the door, looking outside into the dark, rainy night for her town car to pull up to the curb. She raised an eyebrow at Andy. "You do realize there’s an elevator?"　

"Forgot."　

Miranda nodded and turned back to the door, her fingertips drumming against the handle. "I wondered if you’d follow me."　

"I wasn’t sure if I should or not. You’re not an easy woman to figure out, Miranda," Andy replied, coming to stand beside her. Their shoulders touched.　

"Mmm…so I’ve heard. What were those words again? Frigid? Harsh? Difficult?"　

"That’s not all you are and you know it. You just don’t like the rest of you to show, so to speak." Andy focused hard on the rain pattering on the street to avoid thinking about Miranda naked.　

"What else am I?" Miranda asked, turning her head.　

Andy knew this was a challenge. She knew that the old Andy, the one that wore bad cerulean sweaters and cowered at this woman’s feet, would have been a crying mess already. Andy had given that persona up a year ago when she walked away in Paris and remembered who she was at her core.　

"You’re very smart, witty—I think you’re actually pretty funny too when you take enough of a leap to make a joke. You’re also…" Andy reached for a word. "Very fetching."　

Miranda’s cheeks turned pink. "You like me."　

Andy licked her lips and shuffled her feet. "Well…yeah, I do." She shrugged, as if it were something she couldn’t help.　

"Not many people like me."　

"Not many people have seen you with your defenses down like I did in Paris, and not many people have seen you like I did tonight." Andy leaned in and gently brushed her knuckles against Miranda’s signature silver forelock. "You should let this Miranda out more. Maybe then you’ll be more than just ‘fine.’"　

Her stomach somersaulted and twisted into knots as she contemplated whether or not she should jump in with both feet. They were standing close now, close enough that Andy could smell the alcohol on Miranda’s breath and feel the warmth of it on her face. Miranda’s eyes were expressionless; for the first time since Andy had known her, Miranda was at the complete mercy of someone else’s temptation. She grinned. Power felt pretty damn good.　

Andy leaned in as if to kiss her and, just before their lips touched, she pressed her lips to Miranda’s cheekbone. The older woman expelled a sharp breath and trembled against her. Andy stretched the kiss for as long as she could allow herself; finally, at the sound of a car slowing down outside, she pulled away.　

Miranda’s cheeks burned bright with color and perspiration collected at her temples. Andy memorized the image and felt the weight of it sink all the way to her toes; she’d done this to Miranda. "Good luck tomorrow, Miranda."　

The older woman nodded. "Thank you," she curtly replied, and pushed at the door.　

Andy stopped her before she could go. "There’s nothing going on between Emily and I, by the way."　

Miranda collected herself. "That’s none of my business."　

"She’s not my type," Andy added, grinning at her former boss. "Turns out I have a thing for difficult women."　

Miranda’s tongue swiped along her lower lip. Her eyes flickered between Andy’s large doe eyes and her full, puckered mouth, before she swiftly issued another mark of gratitude and swept through the door. Andy watched her, hoping she’d turn back and look at her as she got into the car.　

She didn’t.　

Oh well – that didn’t matter so much, or so she tried to tell herself. It was a very cold, very…Miranda-like gesture. Andy watched the car drive away, hoping that it wasn’t a sign that the old Miranda was making a comeback so soon. She sighed, her breath fogging up the glass, and remembered Emily upstairs. As Andy lumbered into the elevator, pondering cab fare to Emily’s apartment and then her own and her assignments for the weekend, she wondered if she’d ever see Miranda again.　

Andy hung up her phone just in time to swing up the steps of the bus and swipe her card. She took an empty seat near the back and issued a sigh of relief, glad to have been able to coordinate the events of the day easily with the other journalist assigned to covering Independence Day activities throughout the city. She’d be covering Nathan’s Famous 4th of July International Hot Dog Eating Contest, a festival in Battery Park, and the Macy’s Annual Fireworks along the East River while Randall checked out the Revolutionary War Walking Tour and hit up the various sites for cruises. She was glad he’d volunteered to do the cruises; he’d be taking one with his family on the Circle Line and then checking out various harbors to get a few interviews from passengers. Hopefully, between Andy and Randall, they’d manage to put together a decent four-page spread on the various events going on through the city.　

Andy settled back for the ride to Coney Island, thinking of the previous night’s events and wishing that she could be covering the Elias-Clarke party. It was hardly newsworthy to write about a party open to only New York’s finest elite, but she’d have given her left foot to see Miranda performing charades in front of her peers.　

Andy opened her phone and scrolled through the contacts, pausing with her thumb hovering over Miranda’s name. She thought of the older woman, of the way her cheek felt against Andy’s lips, and wondered how Miranda had felt afterwards. It had been such an odd night that Andy’s arm was still red from where she pinched herself to see if it had all been a dream. Had she really shown Miranda the charade symbols for movie, television, animal, song, sounds like, syllables, and words? Had she actually demanded that Miranda repeat them so she memorized all of them? Had Miranda actually stood in front of her and pantomimed "Material Girl"? Had Andy actually kissed her on the cheek?!　

Andy nearly hit her head against the window at the thought. She’d been stupid enough to take that liberty; why oh why hadn’t she gone all the way and planted a big wet one on her lips? Miranda’s sharp tongue and pursed lips had been cause for nightmares when Andy worked at Runway, but this new Miranda, the one that lay beneath the shiny, cold, manipulative veneer, Andy wanted her more than she’d ever wanted anyone.　

She sighed and scrolled instead to Emily’s name.　

"H’lo?" the redhead answered briskly.　

"Oh, you’re there. I didn’t think you’d be."　

"My phone is practically glued to my head. Where else would it be?"　

"Whoa there. Take it down a notch. I just meant that I thought I’d get your voice mail."　

"Mmm, well, lucky you to have gotten me."　

Andy furrowed her brow. "What’s wrong with you?"　

"I’ve got the hangover of a lifetime and I’m sitting in the back of a bloody sweltering sedan, not to mention the fact that I’m completely humiliated."　

"Em…I’m sure after Miranda goes through this party, your drinking will hardly be on her mind."　

"Ha! I was sloshed…she hasn’t called me all morning."　

"It’s a Saturday…"　

"Do you know how many times she’s woken me up at 6am on a weekend to plan things for the upcoming work week? And now this? I swear, the woman’s probably going to have me killed. Just as well I’ve gone to the Hamptons for the weekend."　

"She is not going to kill you, Emily. Don’t be neurotic."　

Finally, the sharp, angry edge dropped from Emily’s voice and pure desperation took its place. "I’ve worked so hard the past three years to be perfect for her. Even when you were there and you were her little pet, I worked my arse off to make her life run as smoothly as possible. I’ve ruined everything."　

"Oh Emily…just…take the weekend to decompress. Relax, soak in this glorious sun that has finally come out, and just…"　

"Get plastered."　

"Isn’t getting plastered what got you into this mess in the first place?"　

"Yes, well, La Priestly won’t be around to see it this time. I plan on returning to work on Monday with no memory whatsoever of the past few days’ events."　

"Please be careful…"　

"I’ll be fine. Anyway, nearly there. Must run."　

"Call me if you hear anything about that party, okay?"　

"I’ll be the last to hear anything," Emily huffed. "Call Nigel for the info if you want it that badly."　

Before Andy could even mention the kiss or the talks that she shared with Miranda, Emily had disconnected the call. Andy rolled her eyes and then decided to send a text to Nigel: Realize now how much I’ve missed you. Must see each other more. -6　

Within several minutes, she had his response: Agreed. Let’s do lunch soon. Will update you later on WW3.　

Andy smiled and put her phone away. She really had missed him; there had been more to her text message than hoping he’d offer to let her know how the party went. She scribbled on her notepad that she’d have to set up a lunch date with him and settled back for the rest of the ride to Coney Island, trying to imagine Miranda Priestly watching a hot dog eating contest. The idea was revolting even to Andy, and she smiled for the remainder of the bus ride at the look that would undoubtedly be on Miranda’s face.　

Andy snapped a few shots of a few children’s games at the festival and then took one of herself, laughing as she looked at the image of the patriotic butterfly that had been painted on her face. She looked completely ridiculous and she loved it.　

Feeling whimsical, Andy stowed away her camera and ducked away from the loud band that was playing nearby before grabbing her cell phone.　

Miranda, to Andy’s immense surprise, picked up after the third ring. "Yes?"　

"Oh. Miranda. Hi…I didn’t think you’d pick up."　

"I’m full of surprises," Miranda drawled sarcastically.　

"You are indeed," Andy said with a smile, leaning against a tree. "I called to wish you good luck."　

"I believe you did that last night. Are you a parrot?"　

"Cute," Andy replied with a roll of her eyes. "I just got my face painted and thought of you. Is it a crime to say hello?"　

"Are you five?"　

Andy laughed. "Twenty-six, actually, and I’m living proof that one can actually have fun at her job."　

"Pardon my deference, but I fail to see the fun in walking around with painted whiskers."　

"Butterfly, actually. You should be jealous."　

"Mmm. Absolutely drowning in envy."　

"Seriously though…how are you feeling about the party?"　

"I feel fine."　

"Real fine or fake fine?"　

"I don’t have time for these games, Andrea. Is there anything of importance that you have to share?"　

Andy felt the sting of those words like a slap across the face. "You, more than anyone, have time to play games, Miranda," Andy snapped. "It’s all you fucking do."　

"Excuse me?"　

"Your entire life is this big…charade, if you will. You’ve just gotten so stuck on following the rules that you don’t know how to do anything else."　

Miranda was silent and Andy had to check to make sure that she was still on the line.　

"See? My point exactly," Andy added. "Regardless, I hope you kick their asses tonight."　

"I fully intend to." On that note, Miranda ended the call.　

Andy felt more wounded than she should. What had she really expected out of Miranda Priestly? She knew she’d touched a nerve and even knew that she was right, but Miranda was the last person who wanted to hear the truth about herself. Andy sighed and stuck her tongue out at the phone, wishing she had just stuck to sending a text message. Did she need the verbal abuse? No. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been used to it over her tenure as Miranda’s second assistant but Andy blindly, stupidly, had hoped that they’d turned a corner together.　

That phone call was enough to prove that she had been wrong.　

Stuffing her phone to the bottom of her bag, Andy went off in search of one of the festival’s organizers so that she could get a blurb for the newspaper and put her wounded pride behind her.　

Being alone in a huge city made holidays a wistful time for Andy. She missed her parents and her little brother, missed all the fireworks she’d grown up watching from the porch of her grandparents’ house. She missed the barbeques and huge family gatherings. She missed coming down to the East River with Nate, Lily, and Doug to see the fireworks display, and missed being held by him. It was a clear but humid night and Andy felt cold in her loneliness.　

She found a small tree to lean against, watching as the area surrounding her filled with families and couples and groups of friends. As far as she could see, she was the only person who was on her own.　

Before she could begin to feel too sorry for herself, she felt a subtle vibration in her bag. Snatching her cell from the depths of her tote bag, Andy smiled to see a text from Nigel.　

Andy laughed. Is it really charades? No chance of poker?　

Andy smiled sadly, trying not to allow Miranda’s dismissive, bitchy attitude of early to deter her from enjoying whatever news Nigel had to give. It was nearly ten minutes before he texted again. Andy finished the photo she was taking of a large group of teens waving flags before she allowed herself to check the message.　

No surprise, her team is winning. Irv is frothing at the mouth.　

Andy grinned and waited impatiently for his next message. She took a few more blurbs from returning soldiers and a few police officers before moving on to work on a "What Does Independence Day Mean To YOU?" panel that she was going to put together. In the middle of taking the information of an elderly man named Manuel, her phone vibrated again.　

She waited impatiently for the video to load and when it did, her mouth dropped. Though the lighting was terrible and the quality grainy, she could see that Miranda looked amazing in a blue silk dress that hugged the curves of her body like a glove. She held out three fingers and eased into a squatting position, holding her arms out in front of her. Andy could tell that she was meant to be riding something, a motorcycle maybe or a bicycle. Miranda’s face was completely blank; she showed no signs of embarrassment.　

Random words were being exclaimed by the group of people beside Nigel, though the guess she heard most clearly was "Wicked Witch of the West!" The group laughed; even Andy could make out Nigel’s quiet chuckle. Miranda glared but continued until finally, Donatella Versace guessed that she was riding a bicycle. Miranda smiled triumphantly and even met Donatella’s proffered hand with a high-five.　

The video ended and Andy watched it three more times before she responded to Nigel. She’s my hero.　

That’s sweet of you to say.　

Her phone remained silent until the fireworks display began and ended. They were beautiful, as they were every year, and she wiped a few stray tears away when they were over. Choosing to focus on work instead of her somber attitude, she took a few more quotes and headed with the fray towards the crowded subway station, wishing more than anything that she knew what was happening at Miranda’s party. As she stood on the crowded subway car, she rewatched the video and smiled to herself, beyond impressed that Miranda had actually managed to pull it off.　

It took several minutes after leaving the underground subway terminal for her cell phone service to be restored. Her phone buzzed as it loaded several incoming messages.　

The first: Miranda’s team won. Are we surprised?　

The second: Miranda said if I were contacting you, she’d have my balls on toast. Must’ve done something right to get under her skin like that.　

The third and final text came with a picture attachment: Landed a major account. Irv ready to implode. The picture showed a grainy Irv Ravitz, his red, trollish face etched with anger.　

Andy spent the morning compiling the photos and interviews that she’d taken, organizing them and making a quick outline of how she’d put each piece together. By the time lunch rolled around, Andy was famished and could focus on nothing but Miranda. She was dying to call; dying to hear straight from Miranda’s mouth that she’d accomplished just what Irv expected her to fail miserably at.　

After several conversations with herself weighing the pros and cons of calling, she decided that she shouldn’t bother, not after what happened the last time. She stuffed her cell phone under a throw pillow at the other end of her couch and firmly resolved herself to sticking to her decision.　

She lasted two hours before she was throwing the pillow across the room and dialing Miranda’s number (which she still knew by heart).　

It rang. And rang. And rang.　

As the call rolled to voicemail, Andy wondered if she should try calling the townhouse, but instead decided to just leave a voice message. "Miranda—hi. It’s Andy…I just wanted to call and see how things went last night. I’ve heard some good things, but I’d hoped to hear it from you. Anyway…I am terrible at voice messages so I’m going to end this before I embarrass myself…I hope you’re doing well and I hope to hear from you soon. So, um…bye."　

Andy hung up and smacked her forehead, blushing furiously.　

She tried to focus on work for the rest of the day. She checked her phone and email thirty-two times.　

Miranda never called back.　

When Emily suggested the next morning that they meet for lunch in Elias-Clarke’s cafeteria, Andy debated whether or not to accept the invitation. She spent more time wondering if she’d see Miranda than worrying about whether or not Emily had been fired. It wasn’t until she was strolling through the doors of the infamous building that she realized Emily certainly wouldn’t be eating lunch in a former place of employment. This mentality certainly helped calm the butterflies she felt at being back in the large, imposing foyer of the building.　

With bated breath, she checked in for a visitor’s badge and selected an elevator. She hoped that Miranda would stroll through the doors, or step out of an elevator in some serendipitous trick of destiny. She went as far as to cross her fingers in her pocket that fate would intervene and allow them to see each other once again.　

Of course, Miranda did not appear, and Andy skulked her way into an empty elevator and headed for the cafeteria. She was early, so she bought a salad for Emily and a sandwich for herself. After paying for the overpriced lunches, she selected a table that would be within Emily’s line of vision when she arrived so as to not waste any of her precious twenty minutes.　

Not to Andy’s surprise, she heard Emily before she actually saw her. The clacking of her heels on the floor made Andy wistfully shake her head and watch as the redhead eagerly ran towards the table.　

Emily’s usually pale, drawn face was alight with excitement and flushed cheeks. She definitely didn’t get fired.　

"Okay, okay—your face is telling me something—what’s up!?" Andy asked excitedly.　

Emily pushed her salad away. "I was promoted!"　

"What!? Oh my God, Em, really?"　

"Yes! Miranda called me in this morning…God, I thought I was sacked for sure…she even said something like: ‘It’s time you’ve moved on to better things’ which sounds like a sacking, right? Then she told me that I’d be moving to Accessories. She said I’ve got good initiative, good ideas, and great attention to detail…she said it was time I apply myself to a job that mattered."　

"Wow…so being Miranda’s assistant doesn’t matter?"　

"Who bloody cares! You have no idea, Andy…I’ve been waiting years for this. I’ve stayed on as her first assistant longer than anyone else! I deserve this."　

"And Miranda came to this conclusion after you drank yourself into a stupor because you were scared of her?"　

"Look, I know it’s your favorite hobby to psychoanalyze Miranda, but can’t you just put that all aside and be happy for me?"　

"You’re right," Andy said, clapping her hand over Emily’s. "This is excellent news. I’m really, really excited for you." She grinned and squeezed Emily’s hand. "Now hurry up and eat your salad before you have to relieve the second assistant."　

Emily was already taking a surprisingly healthy bite of lettuce while Andy spoke. "Yes, Mummy." She swallowed and opened her bottle of water. "I’m going to be swamped with work until I find a replacement for both assistant jobs."　

"She’s not promoting Rebecca?"　

Emily shook her head. "Bloody girl went and got herself knocked up, so she’s put in her notice."　

"Wow…and Miranda chose today to promote you when things will be chaos with two new assistants to train?"　

Emily shrugged. "I’m not second guessing it. The last thing I need is for her to change her mind. Oh, God – what if that’s the kicker? What if she gives the job to someone else after I’ve trained her two new assistants?"　

Andy was about to assure her that it was impossible, but she stopped herself. She’d once hurt Nigel’s chance at a new job, hadn’t she? Why wouldn’t she be just as spiteful to an assistant?　

"Thanks for that vote of confidence," Emily sneered.　

"Well, it’s Miranda. Let’s just try to stay positive and hope things turn out the way they should." Andy gave her best reassuring smile. "You deserve this."　

"Yes, I do!" Emily said, slapping her hand against the table. She glanced at her watch and gasped. "Oh! I’ve got to go…thanks for lunch…we’ll talk soon when things get a little less crazy, promise." She gave Andy a pretentious air kiss to the side of her cheek and bolted off in the direction of the elevators. "Call your brother for me!" Emily called over her shoulder before disappearing out of sight.　

Andy sighed and peeped at the barely eaten salad and stole a cucumber. She ate her sandwich alone, only thinking of the fact that Miranda was just a few floors above her.　

By the time Friday rolled around, Andy had become increasingly agitated at Miranda’s lack of response to any of the contact she’d made. On Tuesday she sent an email, just wishing her well. On Thursday, she sent her a bunch of overpriced hydrangeas with a congratulatory note. When she received nothing but silence, Andy at least made sure that Miranda hadn’t thrown away the flowers by harassing Emily and making her take a picture of them sitting on her desk.　

Andy didn’t get it. As she waited for Nigel to meet her for lunch, she chewed a piece of ice from her glass of water and couldn’t put her finger on why Miranda had grown a heart where Emily was concerned and had completely shut herself off to Andy. Had she overstepped her bounds by kissing her cheek? It wasn’t as if she stuck her hand up her skirt or anything; she’d been respectful and kind and generous. In reality, Andy had done nothing but been herself.　

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe, now that Miranda had a chance to see Andy outside of the work environment, she didn’t like what she saw.　

Andy was ready to drown her sorrows in a glass of wine by the time Nigel showed up. There was something in his smile that was more than just happiness at seeing her. He kissed her cheek as he sat down.　

"How are things?" Nigel asked, his eyes scanning over the menu, his lips twitching to suppress a smile.　

"Things are fine," Andy responded, and kicked herself for using the same word that she’d nagged Miranda over. "Pretty decent, actually. Yourself?"　

"Oh, you know, things are…" He drew out the last word and tapped his lip with his finger thoughtfully. "Things are fantastic."　

"I knew something was up. Spill it."　

"You’re looking at the new Vice President of Marketing at Armani."　

Andy’s mouth dropped. "What!? Really! Nigel, that’s amazing!"　

He nodded and sipped calmly at his water before he finally let out a little squeal of excitement. "And get this – I hadn’t even known they were shopping for a new VP. Miranda put me up for it herself."　

"She’s handing out promotions left and right, isn’t she?"　

"Hey, I’m not complaining. I finally have a real chance to be more than what she’s let me be. It’s surreal to think I’ll be in charge of my own balls again." He laughed ruefully. "I guess all it took was standing up to her and proving that I have more to offer."　

Andy smiled, trying not to let it show how much it was eating her up inside that everyone else was reaping the benefits of Miranda’s mood except for her. She lifted her glass of water. "When the waiter comes, we’ll get some wine, but for now…here’s to you, Nigel. You deserve this so much…congratulations."　

He clinked his glass with hers. "You’re sweet. I’ve missed having you around, you know."　

"Likewise. We’ll have to do this more often."　

After the waiter left with their orders, Andy fidgeted with her napkin and chewed her lip before finally asking, "So, how’s Miranda?"　

He shrugged. "She’s Miranda. You know how she is."　

"You know, I really don’t. Not anymore. It really seemed like she changed after that whole charades ordeal. You and Emily are proof that she’s not exactly the same as she was before."　

"You can take away the fire, but she’ll still be a dragon. She’s a woman in her fifties. You can’t expect her to change overnight, especially when she’s obsessed with her image. You either have to have patience or give up. You could very well end up waiting twenty years for any sort of recognition."　

Andy sighed and stared down at the cloth napkin in her lap.　

"She is capable, Six. We’ve seen it. You just have to decide what your expectations really are and how far you’re willing to go to have them met."　

Andy rolled his words around in her head. Was it too unrealistic to expect Miranda to give her the time of day? Probably, since she hadn’t done so in a week.　

But what if Andy demanded it?　

When Andy knocked on the door of Miranda’s townhouse on Sunday afternoon, she felt genuinely sick to her stomach. She wondered if this was a disastrously bad idea or if the twins would be there visiting or if Miranda was out for the day or if Miranda would slam the door in her face. The negative possibilities seemed limitless. Andy braced herself and tried not to hurl into the bushes.　

After the second time ringing the doorbell, the door swung open. Miranda stood before her, her mouth agape. "What are you doing here?" Miranda asked curtly, her eyes swiftly scanning the street behind her.　

"Well, considering you no longer respond to emails, telephone calls, or flowers, I thought I’d stop by."　

Miranda pursed her lips.　

"Jesus, Miranda! You offered Nigel and Emily new jobs…the least you could do is ask me in and offer me coffee."　

Miranda stood aside and allowed Andy to pass into the foyer. A slight tremor overcame her as she remembered countless late nights of tiptoeing around with the Book and the dry cleaning. She didn’t miss it at all.　

Andy silently followed Miranda down the hall into the kitchen, where she leant against the island while Miranda prepared a fresh pot of coffee. Miranda kept her back to her until it became blatantly obvious that she was avoiding making eye contact.　

"Why are you here?" Miranda quietly questioned, staring down into the depths of two empty mugs.　

"I wanted to talk to you. I guess…I don’t know. It doesn’t really make a lot of sense, does it?"　

Miranda spun on her heel, frowning thunderously. "No, Andrea, it doesn’t. I appreciated your help and I thanked you for it. Did you expect a gift? An expression of my gratitude?"　

"I don’t know what I expected from you, to be honest. You gave Emily a raise for getting drunk because of you. You gave Nigel a recommendation for a better job because he stood up to you. What do I get? Where’s the consideration about what I did for you?"　

Miranda scoffed. "So I didn’t express my gratitude well enough for you? Would you like me to hire a sky writer? Take an ad out in The Mirror?"　

"I didn’t come out here to be insulted," Andy said stiffly, shaking her head mournfully. "I thought you had changed; I really did. You let go of so much bitterness and anger that night…it was pretty remarkable. It was so nice to see you again."　

"When have you ever seen me?"　

"Paris. Remember?" Andy tilted her head, watching Miranda carefully. "When your ex-husband told you he wanted a divorce. I bet you didn’t show that kind of open vulnerability to anyone else, and I bet you wouldn’t have been half as open that night at Nigel’s if I hadn’t been there."　

"You think you have some sort of power over me, do you? Some magic touch that makes years of projecting a certain image just melt away? Get this into your head, Andrea: I change for no one."　

"Not even yourself?"　

Miranda shrugged her shoulders and poured the two cups of coffee, handing Andy the mug without asking if she wanted cream or sugar.　

"The only person you’re screwing over by not letting go is yourself."　

"I’m perfectly fine with the way I am. I’ve lived like this for a long time and I certainly won’t lose any sleep over it. You, on the other hand, seem to be crawling out of your skin because of it."　

"I told you I liked you! Of course it bothers me."　

"You like me," Miranda repeated. "It seems to me that you like only certain parts of me. You like when I’m relaxed and vulnerable and nice. You don’t like the rest of me."　

"That’s not true," Andy replied, setting her steaming mug down on the island. "I do like all of you. I don’t play games where I pick and choose what works for me and what doesn’t. I don’t like the games you play where you pretend to be someone you’re not."　

"This is who I am, whether you like it or not, Andrea. I won’t change for some kid with a crush."　

"I’m not a kid," Andy said, "or hadn’t you noticed?"　

Miranda’s eyes flashed to the low cut v-neck t-shirt Andy wore with her short khaki shorts.　

"I’m all grown up, Miranda," Andy purred. "So I like you? Big deal. I’m not asking you to become a different person. I’m just asking you to give up the charade of working so hard at showing one side of yourself over another. Let yourself have a little fun for once in your life."　

"What makes you think I want to have fun with you?" Miranda asked. The color in her cheeks that had risen out of anger now made her appear flushed.　

Andy sucked in a breath and knew that what had happened in the lobby of Nigel’s building hadn’t been a fluke. Miranda had been turned on then, and Miranda was turned on now. She tingled pleasantly at the thought.　

Grinning, Andy took a step closer. "You do." Andy trailed her fingers along Miranda’s arm, grinning when the other woman shivered. "It was written all over your face at Nigel’s."　

"Perhaps you were imagining things." Miranda said, her voice low. She set her mug down with an unsteady hand and braced herself against the counter.　

"Maybe," Andy replied, tracing her fingers along Miranda’s chin, along the line of her hair. "Maybe not. You know what I think?"　

"I’m sure you’re going to tell me," Miranda mused, both hands coming to grab the counter behind her.　

Andy brushed her lips along Miranda’s jaw line, smiling when she heard the older woman suck in a breath. "I think you wanted me to kiss you," she whispered against Miranda’s ear.　

"You did kiss me…"　

"Not where you wanted me to," Andy said, trailing light kisses along Miranda’s cheekbone before her lips were hovering over Miranda’s mouth. "I think you wanted me to kiss you here."　

"So sure of yourself," Miranda muttered.　

"No more games, Miranda." Andy nipped gently at Miranda’s bottom lip. "What do you want?"　

Miranda seemed to struggle for several agonizing seconds before she tipped her head forward and sealed their mouths together. It was tentative and gentle, soft and searching. When Miranda pulled her mouth away, she licked her lips and kissed her again, this time lingering a little longer.　

Andy sighed and stepped in closer, pressing against Miranda’s body as she leaned back against the counter. She felt like she was on fire and for the first time in a month, it had nothing to do with New York’s blistering heat and humidity. She tilted her head slightly and kissed Miranda’s mouth at a new angle, delighted when Miranda’s lips parted slightly.　

Andy cupped Miranda’s cheeks in her hands and kissed her for what felt like hours. Miranda made slight noises in the back of her throat, groaning when Andy delved her fingers into Miranda’s hair. When Miranda’s tongue stroked against Andy’s, she felt like she was going to explode.　

Andy broke away first, pausing slightly to catch her breath. She stroked her hands over Miranda’s face and neck, hardly daring to believe that she was really pressed flush against her. She began kissing along Miranda’s neck, pausing here and there to suck and nibble at the sensitive column of her throat. Miranda whimpered and sighed, tilting her head back and giving Andy access.　

Miranda, Andy noticed when she released her flesh with a ‘pop’, still had her hands clutched firmly against the edge of the counter. Her knuckles had gone white with the force of her grip. Andy grinned to see it. She pried one of Miranda’s hands loose and brought it to her lips, where she kissed each finger. Miranda watched with hazy, hooded eyes, sighing when Andy swirled her tongue around her index finger.　

"Relax, Miranda," Andy whispered. She pried the other hand from the counter. "Let go. Let’s have fun." Andy pressed Miranda’s hands against her waist and then guided them to her ass. She held them there. "Or is fun against your rules?" Andy challenged, raising an eyebrow. Testing her, Andy let go of Miranda’s hands and was thrilled to realize that Miranda hadn’t taken them away. Instead, she kneaded her fingers into the round curves of Andy’s ass.　

Andy playfully licked at Miranda’s lips, teasing her mouth with barely-there kisses. Miranda squeezed her close, dipping her head forward to seek as much of Andy as she could. It was as if they were trying to absorb each other, trying to gain what had been hidden from each other for so long.　

As Miranda’s hands began to rove her back, Andy considered her options. They could neck like horny teenagers or, at the rate at which Miranda was grappling at her t-shirt, they could end up having sex right in the middle of the kitchen. Her body burned for Miranda’s touch and she craved Miranda’s mouth and hands everywhere. The thought of taking here, for the first time, in her kitchen was a thrill unlike Andy had ever known, and yet something nagged in the back of her mind.　

Did Miranda deserve to get off so easily?　

Andy knew she was playing with fire; who was she to taunt a dragon? Ultimately, it was clear to her that she needed to find out whether or not this was all still a game for the older woman.　

Giving Miranda one final, breathless kiss, Andy stepped back and grinned. "Wow," she said.　

Miranda smirked. "Just you wait," she added, a spark of promise in her eye.　

Arousal surged through Andy’s body and she felt completely torn about what she was going to do. "Wait indeed," Andy agreed, wiping the smudges of lipstick around her mouth. She straightened her t-shirt, trying to avoid the fact that her nipples were proudly pressed against the fabric, aching for Miranda’s touch. "Time to go."　

"You’re not leaving." It wasn’t a question. Miranda glared at her, watching as Andy rounded the island.　

"I am. I’ve got an article for the paper to finish."　

Miranda narrowed her eyes. "Why are you leaving?"　

"Things to do, people to see. You know the drill." Andy sauntered down the hall, giving her hips an extra sway as she went. "Gimme a call sometime. It’d be nice to see you again." With that, and the satisfaction of seeing Miranda’s surprised and slightly angry expression, Andy let herself out of the townhouse and headed home.　

Andy’s plan worked out far better than she ever would have imagined. Despite feeling as though she were about to burst at any minute, she patiently waited to see if Miranda would endure the week of agony that she’d been through. It took less time than Andy thought for Miranda to react.　

On Monday morning, Andy received a frantic text message from Emily, telling her that Miranda’s glow of the week before had dissipated, leaving her an agitated terror around the office. She’d rejected three candidates for the assistant job at first glance and had made Emily make her Starbucks run.　

Andy grinned at the messages and replied with: Now she knows how it feels.　

Andy grinned and waited.　

Later that day, her phone rang while she was in the middle of lunch. She checked the caller ID and grinned around a mouthful of meatball sub to see that it was Miranda. She let it go to voicemail. Miranda did not leave a message.　

Three days later, Andy received an email from Miranda bearing a single line: Now who’s playing games?　

On Friday night, Andy stood in her kitchen, preparing a helping of fruit salad that she had made the day before. As she gathered a forkful of watermelon, she heard a knock at the door. "Jus’ a sec!" Andy called out, swallowing the fruit. She wiped her mouth on a napkin and nearly cried out in shock as she looked through the peephole and saw Miranda standing there.　

She unchained and unbolted the door, hoping to appear as cool and collected as Miranda had that day at the townhouse. "Miranda. Hi. I wasn’t expecting you."　

"Surprise," Miranda said dryly. "Someone seems to have misplaced her manners."　

"I learned from the best," Andy retorted, raising a challenging smirk.　

Miranda pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. "Are you going to make me stand out here all night, or are you going to invite me in and offer me a cup of coffee?"　

Andy’s grin widened at Miranda’s glib recollection of their last meeting and stood aside. "By all means, come in." She avoided looking at Miranda’s face as she scanned the room, taking in the small but comfortable studio apartment.　

Miranda wandered into the kitchenette.　

"So, what brings you here?" Andy asked innocently, flipping on the coffeemaker. She put away the fruit salad and leant back against the fridge, crossing her arms in front of her while she regarded the older woman.　

"It appears I’m not much of a fan of being played with."　

"Now you know how it feels, don’t you?" Andy suggested.　

"Contrary to this situation, I did not play with you intentionally. I simply…did not know what to do with you. I couldn’t promote you. I couldn’t use my influence in your favor. I was at a loss."　

"You could have been my friend," Andy replied. "I’ve never wanted much from you, except to just be seen as someone who constantly went out of my way for you. Regardless of being your assistant, I busted my ass for you and went above and beyond every time I’ve tried to help you."　

"That did not go unnoticed."　

"How would I have known? You never said a word."　

"I’m not one for excessive talking, as you’ve noticed."　

"Oh, I’ve noticed," Andy said with a laugh. "I want to know you. All of you…not just Miranda the boss, but Miranda the woman."　

"All of me, hmm?" Miranda raised an eyebrow and set her Gucci bag on the counter. "What happened to being friends?"　

Andy blushed. "I just meant…you know…well, I do want to be friends with you, but I wouldn’t object to anything else."　

"Anything," Miranda began, inching closer to Andy until she was pressed firmly against the refrigerator, "in particular?"　

Andy licked her lips and watched Miranda’s eyes follow the movement of her tongue. "I wouldn’t mind finishing what we started."　

"What you started, and subsequently ended," Miranda pointed out.　

Before Andy could offer an explanation or argue with Miranda’s assertion they were kissing, their mouths fused together as if they belonged together. Andy whimpered and curled her arms around Miranda’s neck, arching her body so that it grazed against Miranda’s. Miranda was all heat and intensity, devouring Andy’s mouth with a fervor that surprised them both.　

"I really, really hoped you’d come see me," Andy admitted, unbuttoning Miranda’s thin yellow blouse. She parted the halves of the shirt and clutched at Miranda’s waist, both of them sighing when Andy’s hands met Miranda’s bare skin.　

Miranda lowered her head and began to suck on Andy’s throat, surely leaving behind a mark or two. Andy didn’t care; so she’d be able to play connect the dots on her body? It didn’t matter as long as Miranda didn’t stop.　

When Andy cupped Miranda’s breasts through her bra, Miranda moaned and bit down on Andy’s shoulder. Andy rubbed her palms against Miranda’s nipples, which were so hard they seemed as though they’d slice through the fabric, and nearly forgot how to breathe.　

Miranda’s oral assault had brought her to the hem of her tank top. She kissed over Andy’s breasts, delighting to feel with her tongue that Andy was not wearing a bra. She bit and sucked through the peach cotton, teasing Andy until she was dizzy with arousal. Andy tipped her head back against the fridge and sighed.　

"I like you in tank tops," Miranda said, stepping back to admire the wet spots that she’d left behind.　

"Maybe you’ll like me better out of them?" Andy suggested, her face flushed as she registered the fact that she was taking her top off for Miranda Priestly. Miranda nodded her approval and Andy pulled the top over her head, flinging it aside as Miranda gazed at Andy’s breasts.　

The sight of Andy’s naked torso awoke something in Miranda. She tore off her own blouse and stepped into Andy again, palming her breasts as she kissed her mouth. Her tongue probed insistently, stroking against Andy’s in a rhythm that matched the way her fingers were teasing her nipples. When Miranda pinched them, she bit Andy’s lower lip. When Miranda pulled them, she sucked Andy’s lip between her teeth.　

Andy cried out, arching her body against Miranda’s. "Please, Miranda…"　

"’Please’ what?" Miranda asked, kissing her way down her throat once more. She paused to lick along the curve of Andy’s collarbone before descending between the valley of her breasts. She nuzzled her face between them before guiding one nipple into her mouth and sucking slow and hard.　

Andy forgot what she’d been pleading for. A gush of arousal surged between her thighs and all that she could think about was how unbelievable she felt. All of her nighttime fantasies failed to live up to how amazing Miranda worked her tongue against her breasts.　

When Miranda switched breasts, her hands teased down the length of Andy’s belly. Andy trembled and sucked in a breath, trying not to laugh. She groaned instead when Miranda’s fingers unsnapped the button of her denim shorts and slowly undid the zipper. As Miranda tugged the shorts down her legs, she looked up at her, blue eyes wide and searching for Andy’s permission. Andy bit her lip and nodded, whimpering when Miranda’s fingers hooked around her panties and drew them down her legs.　

Miranda was motionless for several minutes, taking in the sight of what she’d uncovered. Andy stood before her completely naked. The older woman licked her lips and roamed her hands over sun-kissed flesh and farmer’s tan lines, placing open-mouthed kisses as she went. Andy felt, possibly for the first time, like she was being worshipped.　

　"Miranda!" Andy shouted, laughing and sucking in her belly.　

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