DISCLAIMER: The Devil Wears Prada and its characters belong to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: 2 of 2. The first story in this short series was called Forbidden Doors. Enjoy! (this one is from Andy's POV)
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
By The Raven
Andy Sachs mused this question as she sat beside her boss, Miranda Priestly in the back of the car. They were stopped at a traffic light and from the way Miranda was fidgeting, Andy half expected to hear the silver-haired woman order her out of the car to go hot-wire the traffic light into cooperation with Miranda's schedule.
Risking a glance at Miranda made Andy realise that her boss was not in fact fidgeting with irritation.
Something else was driving her.
Any was paid a very poor salary to know anything and everything that Miranda might want. Even before the woman herself might know what it was. What did Miranda want?
Cerulean eyes turned to look at her and for a moment, Andy was pinned by the seeming cool gaze. Only it was not cold. Not today anyway. Andy suppressed the urge to gasp as she felt the heat of Miranda's gaze scorch her skin.
What on earth?
So many questions, so few answers. In other words, the situation was perfectly normal. Except it was not. Nothing was normal about Miranda or her relationship with Miranda. Nothing.
Andy tore her eyes away and tried in vain to regain her composure.
It suddenly felt hot and oppressive in the car, even though it was a late autumn day and the temperatures outside the car were in the thirties. This was irrational. Andy was sure if she managed to allow even one drop of sweat to escape her skin, Miranda would notice it and there would be immediate consequences.
The image of sweat on her own skin made Andy's brain stutter as she involuntarily imagined a scenario that involved Miranda, and Andy, naked. Sweating. In bed.
Actually any surface would do, Andy was not fussy; not when it came to her thoughts about Miranda...
A slight noise that had nothing to do with the sounds of traffic or the car around them made Andy almost stop breathing. It sounded like a sigh. Had Miranda just sighed? The sigh was not one of impatience. Or ennui. It sounded almost wistful.
Why would Miranda be wistful?
"Andrea." Miranda's voice. Soft, gentle, almost a whisper. It commanded Andrea like nothing else in her life ever had.
"Yes, Miranda?" Andy said at once, her pencil poised over her notepad as she waited.
Perhaps Miranda wanted her to go hot-wire the traffic lights after all.
When no words were forthcoming from the woman in question, Andy risked another glance at her boss. Miranda looked startled.
It only took a few of moments for Andy to realise why. But, in that handful of time, Andy felt something profound cascade over her as she hit home at the realisation as to why Miranda had sighed. Why she had said Andy's name in that way that drove Andy to distraction.
The answer to Miranda's startled visage was simple: She had not meant to say the word out loud. Whatever was going on inside the normally impassive expression of her boss, had managed to slip out.
Why was Miranda thinking about her assistant and sighing in a way that made Andy think that whatever thoughts her boss was having were not exactly work related?
So many questions. So many damned questions.
Yet so few answers...
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