Chapter Text
One day, like any other, Andrea Sachs was getting ready for her job at Runway.
With her hair dampening her lilac sweater, she went to grab the coat she always wore from the closet. "Nate, I'm leaving now." She tells her boyfriend, who is still sleeping half-naked, and he responds with a vague smile from the bed without even opening his eyes to say goodbye. Andrea is already used to getting up before him, preparing the perfect breakfast, washing the dishes from the night before, ironing his clothes, among many other household chores. Getting used to it isn't the same as wanting it, though.
On the streets of New York, she walks eating an onion bagel—her favorite—while preparing for another day enduring the specific demands of her boss, Miranda Priestly. And the judgmental stares of her coworkers, especially that one coworker.
Emily Charlton.
Andrea remembers the first time she saw that tall, slender girl behind those glass doors. A leather skirt hung from her hips to her calves, and her red hair was pulled back in a high, messy bun, but it still looked spectacular on her. Her skin was flawless and pale, but if you looked closer you could see the failed attempt to cover her freckles. She also remembers leaving the failed interview when Emily yelled her name, making her turn around immediately to see that she was pointing at her with disgust, telling her to come back. That day, she was hired as a junior assistant, a job millions of girls would kill for.
The sound of a car horn brings her back to the present. She glances at her watch, which reads almost 7 a.m.
Arriving at the Runway lobby, she starts greeting everyone, receiving nothing but glares. Emily gets up from her desk and stands in front of her, stopping her.
"Emily, I'm so sorry, the traffic—"
"You're late," the redhead says. Today she's wearing her hair down with the ends slightly flipped up, and her usual light blue eyeshadow.
"Yeah, but—"
"Shut up, you're late. Miranda needs you to pick up her shoes from Blahnik." She starts writing something on a yellow piece of paper. "Here's the address."
"Like, right now?"
"No, take all the time you want... Obviously now! Chop chop!"
Andrea nods and leaves immediately.
Upon returning, with not just one pair but five more pairs of luxurious shoes for Miranda, she sees Emily chatting with Serena. Once, she had tried to join their conversation despite not understanding any of the terms they were using, but Emily dismissed her by mentioning the "outrageous blue color of her sweater" and her "hair worthy of being a bird's nest." So she decided to stay and watch them from the comfort of her desk.
"What is it, Sachs?" Emily exclaimed, Serena examining her and taking off her glasses. "Didn't your parents teach you that eavesdropping is wrong?" Andrea glanced back at her computer and pretended to type, "I wasn't even listening," she muttered.
Emily rolls her eyes and settles back in her chair. Serena leans against her desk, standing with one leg crossed over the other. "So, are you coming?" she asks in her Brazilian accent. Emily exhales. "I don't know yet. I have to finish this guest list and then make a reservation for EIGHT at Delmonico's," she replies, emphasizing the number of people. "You can do that another day. I'll wait for you at 8:00 p.m."
Andrea could see Serena brush her fingers against Emily's hand, causing a pink blush to appear on her cheeks.
The Emily Charlton blushing? It was the last thing she expected Emily to express today: vulnerability.
Despite her blush, her expression remained serious. "I'll see if I can manage. You can go now." Serena didn't think twice and left.
Andrea stands up to hand her a folder with papers organized by category.
"Here's the guest list you requested." Emily opens her mouth to say something but is interrupted. "I already made the reservation. It wasn't easy, but my boyfriend has connections, so..."
"Could you stop talking about your stupid boyfriend?" She covers her face with her hands. "As if he were something you could brag about," she whispers.
Andrea frowned, and just as she was about to return to her desk, a hand grabbed her wrist tightly, stopping her. "Wait. Actually, there's a favor you could do for me." This surprised her.
"Do you go to the movies?" This surprised her even more.
"As a hobby? Or...?"
"Come with me to the movies today. I'll pick you up at 7:30 p.m."
"I—" "Be ready." With that, she skillfully resumed typing on her computer. Was this her way of saying she wanted them to be friends? Andrea thought so, and she agreed.