Chapter Text
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Ignoring the flashing lights she turned around. She just wanted to get a look at Andrea, especially after the conversation they just had in the car. Perhaps share one of those knowing looks between them that seemed to be happening more and more leading up to Paris. One of those looks from her brown eyes that told her I understand you . Because she did. Miranda could admit it now, that Andrea understood her better than most.
She remembers the wave of confusion that hit her when she realized Andrea wasn't behind her. She remembers the feeling growing when she caught a distant glimpse of Andrea through the crowd. Walking away. Away from her. God did that image haunt her. It was seared into her mind. Especially now that it has finally sunk in that she might never be that close to Andrea again.
It was an important event too. One that she couldn't just leave after her usual fifteen minutes. No matter how much she wanted to as the minutes ticked by and Andrea didn't reappear at her side with some kind of excuse for her momentary absence, like she needed water, or to sit down, or anything really. Miranda would have accepted any excuse even if she knew it wasn't true, if it meant Andrea would be back at her side. But that didn't happen.
She waited all of seven minutes before excusing herself to the restroom, barely locking the door behind her before pulling her phone out and calling Andrea. She remembers how torturous it was to listen to the incessant ringing, waiting to hear Andrea's voice. It stopped ringing after the 5th call.
So Miranda's confusion gradually morphed into panic. Where had Andrea gone? Why wasn't she here? Why wasn't she answering? She's just gone back to the hotel no doubt. Yes, probably just to rest. She'll be there when I get back. She'll be there. She has to be.
Not that anyone noticed her growing panic of course. She remained as elegant as ever. Greeting other guests, subtly posing for the cameras, giving her customary air kisses to all the right people.
By the time she deemed it socially acceptable enough to leave it had been nearly two hours. She basically marched up to Nigel and demanded he fill in for her for the rest of the event, ignoring the fact that he had not so subtly been avoiding her the entire time. Nigel's issues with her could wait. She needed to get to Andrea now.
She had demanded a key card from the front desk as soon as she entered the hotel, walking right past the long line of waiting guests. When they hesitated, she said something or another about Runway paying for the room and thus it was Her right to the room they quickly handed the keycard over.
It really only truly started to set in when she got into Andrea's hotel room. She hadn't even realized that she was holding her breath as she unlocked the door, hoping, practically praying Andrea would be there, and they could just talk it out, and she would go right back to being her dutifull assistant, right by her side, where she belonged, where Miranda needed her.
She just stared at the empty hotel room for a while. No Andrea. No suitcase. No toiletries when she checked the bathroom. No clothes in the closet. She even considered checking under the bed for her, but decided she wasn’t that insane yet, despite feeling a little lightheaded now. There was no sign of Andrea. She was gone. Truly gone.
It was all too much. She could deal with Stephen leaving her, with her girls losing another father-figure. she had seen it coming anyway. The timing was unfortunate. He just had to leave during the most important week of her year, the week she had to defend her position against Irving’s largest plot for her job yet. Sure, it had stung a little that he had waited until she was across the Atlantic. Regardless, she had prepared herself to deal with Stephen, and the girls, and for Nigel to give her the cold shoulder for what she needed to do.
But this. This she didn't see coming. She hadn’t prepared to lose Andrea. The girl that had become such a consistent part of her life these past few months. The thought of losing her had never even crossed her mind. Neither had the thought that she'd feel so …so much when she lost her.
As she left the hotel room, she closed the door behind her and shakily walked the short distance to her own room down the hall. Each step felt foreign, like her legs weren't her own. Her breathing picked up, but it felt like she couldn’t get a full breath in. It felt like she’d never be able to take a full breath ever again. When she reached her door she almost dropped her keycard from her hands shaking so much. When she finally entered her room Miranda let herself fall apart.
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Miranda had been back from Paris for three days. Stephen had already been moved out of the house by the time she had come back. The media unfortunately had caught wind of the divorce. It was even worse than last time. At least the girls' father had kept quiet. Stephen however seemed to be going out of his way to speak to reporters and fueling the rumor mill. And of course Page Six had been eating it up. Each day she got to look forward to seeing wonderful headlines like how her soon to be ex-husband “had finally rid himself of the ice queen” or “she must be as cold in the bedroom as she is at work if she couldn't keep husband #3.” Not to mention the throng of reporters that were camped outside both her house and the Elias-Clarke building. Why they were so interested in her life, she'd never understand.
Her girls were coming home tonight, still having stayed at their father's since Paris. She had already spoken to them on the phone a couple days ago about the divorce, and they took it better than she had expected.
Cassidy had asked, “So he's really going to be gone when we come back?”
They both sounded a little too giddy after she had answered with, “Yes.”
Maybe they hadn't gotten along with him as much as she had thought. Still, she was looking forward to them coming home this evening immensely. After the week she just had she just needed to hold them for a while.
Nigel was still avoiding her, and any necessary interaction with her he had kept curt. Yesterday after a run-through, in which her mood was worse than usual (unrelated to a certain ex-assistant of course) and she had told two members of the jewelry department to leave and not come back, he had made a snide comment about how the carnage of terminations from Paris fashion week were rolling over to this week. Of course, despite the disastrous week, the only employee Runway lost during Paris fashion week was Andrea.
It seems rumor amongst the Runway halls has it that she'd fired Andrea in Paris. They didn’t think Andrea could quit, not after she made it to Paris. Not after she had stumbled her way through the first few months as her assistant, only to emerge as one of Runway’s most dedicated and fashionable employees. Plus her year was almost up. One more month as Miranda Priestly’s assistant would have gotten her a recommendation letter that basically meant a ticket to a career in New York publishing.
So no, they didn’t believe Andrea would quit. She must have made some tiny inconsequential mistake that any employer but Miranda would have found reasonable, and she got fired. Miranda didn’t bother to correct them. Best to uphold her reputation after all.
Emily on the other hand had avoided mentioning anything related to Andrea like the plague. She must have seen when Miranda walked into the office for the first time since returning from Paris and faltered at seeing Andrea’s empty desk. After her lunch meeting that day, she had walked into the office to find a new second assistant that Emily had conjured up from somewhere.
Miranda looked up now from where she was sitting at her desk. The girl was sitting at Andr- …the second assistant’s desk. Emily was precariously perched over her, leaning on a crutch in one hand, computer mouse in the other. Miranda could vaguely hear Emily explaining the software used to manage her schedule to the girl.
The girl, tall enough to be a model, with bleached blonde hair, and brown eyes- but not brown like Andrea's, duller- looked like she wasn't taking in one ounce of what Emily was saying. The girl always had a baffled look about her. Not the sharpest tool in the shed Miranda thought. Yesterday the girl had delivered a disgustingly lukewarm coffee to Miranda's desk, claiming to have “gotten lost” on the way back from Starbucks. Surprisingly though, even Miranda could admit that the girl knew her fashion. She could say “get me that maroon skirt from that show in spring” and the girl would know exactly what she was talking about.
The new girl was so unlike Andrea when she first started, completely ignorant to the fashion world but full of determination and the sharpness of intelligence in her eyes. Of course, with time, Andrea had become a wonderful sight to look at as well, finally getting rid of those disgusting polyblend sweaters for clothes that actually did justice to her bright smile and big eyes.
Miranda remembered how whenever Andrea wore an outfit she was particularly proud of, she would wait a moment after Miranda finished her tirade of instructions and finally stopped what she was doing to finally look at her. Andrea would raise her eyebrows and basically invite her to gaze at her. And she did, Miranda would always take that quiet moment between them to slowly rake her eyes up Andrea's body. God, she used to dress for me , Miranda thought. Andrea had so clearly wanted to impress her with her transformation, and Miranda had eaten right out of the palm of her hand in that regard. One of the only times she willingly did when it came to another person
That Versace skirt Andrea had worn last month had made her mind short-circuit for a moment. Much too short to be appropriate in any office setting besides a fashion magazine’s, it gave a delicious view of Andrea’s long legs. Not that Miranda truly acknowledged or admitted to herself at the time, that she spent a significant amount of that day thinking about dragging her nails up Andrea’s thighs. Miranda frowned. She was thinking about Andrea again.
Closing her laptop, she got up to leave. ”Coat. Bag,” she said as she entered the outer office. The new girl scrambled to get her things from the closet. It was only 5pm, earlier than she normally left, but she was eager to see her Bobbsies.
~
The house was too quiet when she entered. Normally the girls would come bounding down the stairs to greet her after a long trip. Instead the girls' nanny, Cara, came down, an expression on her face that told Miranda she wasn't going to like what she was about to hear.
“Where are the girls?” Miranda asked sharply.
“Hello Miranda,” Cara responded softly. “They’re still staying with their father. Your ex-husband asked for you to call him when you got home. I just wanted to wait until you got home to tell you.”
“What? How preposterous. They're supposed to be here,” Miranda said, pulling out her cellphone while walking up the stairs. Cara stayed behind, likely not wanting to be within fire breathing range while the dragon called her ex-husband.
“What is the meaning of this?” she asked harshly as soon as Gregg, the girls’ father, picked up the phone.
“Hello Miranda,” he responded, used to her lack of greeting.
“That isn’t an answer to my question.”
“Listen, Miranda. I decided that it’s best if they stay with me a little while longer, at least until the media attention dies down,” he said. Continuing before she could start speaking, because he knew she would be irate, “I’m headed to California for a week for business tomorrow. I think the girls could use some time away from New York.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” she basically growled into the phone.
“Miranda, I've seen the pictures. There are reporters outside your house. They were even outside the school this morning.” He kept his voice steady, knowing that it was the only way he would be able to get through this conversion with her with his dignity still intact. “And it isn’t just me. The girls wanted to go as well. Susan promised she’d take them shopping in LA.”
“Oh, Susan as well,” Miranda spat the name, disdain evident in her voice. He had married Susan only eight months after divorcing her.
“Yes, It’ll be good for them to spend time together. Have somewhat of a girls trip while I’m working,” he responded.
“A girls trip? Now? After not seeing their mother for over a week?” He was right, she sounded irate. Probably more than that. It sounded like she wanted to strangle him through the phone line.
“Miranda please, I don’t want them to have to deal with the reporters,” he sighed. “And besides, it will keep them out of your hair, give you more time to deal with your divor-”
“Don’t you dare presume to know what I need,” she cut him off. She was seething. “Let me speak to them,” she demanded.
“They’re packing Miranda. We’ve got an early flight tomorrow, and we’ve already decided we're all going to go. They’re excited.” He needed to end this conversation quickly.
“Just put them on the phone, please.” This was as close as she would come to begging her ex-husband, though she was pretty close. Please don’t take them away from me. Not now.
“Not now,” He tried to sound final. The girls had asked him to deal with their mom, afraid she wouldn’t let them go to California. “Look, I’ll have them call you after we land tomorrow, okay?”
“Gregg, please, I-”
“We’ll speak to you tomorrow, Miranda. Try to rest, goodnight,” with that he hung up.
She stared at her phone, blinking back tears despite no one else being there.
Fuck. Fuck . Looking forward to seeing her daughters was the only thing getting her through the past few days. How dare Gregg do this to her. How dare her daughters do this to her.
A wave of self-loathing immediately ran through her after that thought. No wonder they didn’t even want to talk to her. It wasn’t Caroline and Cassidy’s fault. It wasn’t their fault that she couldn’t keep a husband if her life depended on it, or that one of her longest running friends was currently not speaking to her because of what she needed to do to protect her job, or that Andrea had left.
Her stomach dropped even further. They didn’t even know Andrea had left yet. They were going to hate her. They may not have gotten along with Stephen as well as she had thought, but she knew they liked Andrea. She had overheard them speaking enough times when Andrea had brought over the book. They liked to keep her up to date with all their middle school drama, and brag about their good grades to her. They tried pulling their usual pranks on her as well, nothing as severe as that first time they got her to go upstairs. No, their pranks got a lot more harmless and playful after she had gotten them the Harry Potter book. Ever kind Andrea was always patient with them, always listened, and always played along.
And now she wasn't coming back. And she was going to have to explain that to them.
Fuck. She needed a drink.