DISCLAIMER: The Devil Wears Prada and its characters belong to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

Worst Day Ever
By Elf_Jet


God damn it all to a place where the sun don't shine. The whole day had sucked and it didn't seem like it was looking up either. Andy was really beginning to believe that karma could, and would come back to bite you in the ass.

Of course it would lull you into a false sense of security, and then when you were least expecting it...SNAP—and there it was, happily munching on your now very sore ass.

The worst thing about it all was that you knew you probably deserved all of it or so Andy was convinced.

The day had started with Andy being late for work because her alarm-clock hadn't gone off, making her scramble franticly to the shower and in her haste getting shampoo in her eyes.

Then as she finally arrived at the New York Mirror her editor informed her that Susan had called in sick and the piece she had been working on was now Andy's responsibility on top of her own two articles with deadlines the following day.

Great, just great...do I look like a machine? Was what Andy really wanted to ask but instead just nodded her head and went to work and that was when her computer crashed. Thank god for backups.

As 11am came around Andy had a migraine and wondered, not for the first time why she had even bothered getting out of bed that morning.

Thinking that she could at least re-caffeinate her system she got up from her small desk and walked towards the coffee pot.

On her way there she tripped twice and then proceeded to burn her hand when she accidently spilt the coffee.

After that Andy decided to just stay put at her work station and try not to curse the whole day to hell.

2 o'clock came and went and Andy foolishly thought everything was looking up. But as 3pm drew closer her editor decided to crush her optimism by informing her that she was to cover the MET event that evening and that she should take a photographer.

Just like that Andy's quiet evening at home was snatched away and to make it worse she had to find something acceptable to wear. Luckily enough she still had plenty of clothes from her tenure at Runway.

They were all very much last year but she really didn't have a choice now, did she. At five she was sent home with instructions to meet Sean at the MET at 9pm. He would bring the tickets.

As luck would have it she found an acceptable dress fairly quickly and decided that karma really didn't hate her as much as she thought and went about getting ready.

Little did she know how the evening would end! It wasn't until she was on her way there that she remembered the last time she was at one of these events.

The entire evening she was trailing behind Miranda enveloped in her perfume and had had a great view of her boss's figure, not that she knew why she was looking.

No, that revelation had come much later after she got on the plane in Paris and it had been too late. Of course the notion of telling Miranda Priestly that you had the hots for her was probably very bad for your general health and your career.

That had been a year ago and still Andy hadn't got rid of her feelings for world's leading fashion icon or the woman Andy knew was hidden under that persona.

Andy was just coming out of the memory when she suddenly realised that there was a big chance of Miranda being there that night and she had no idea what she would say to Miranda if they should run into each other. Well she'd just have to cross that bridge when she came to it.

As it was she had just spotted Sean waiting by the foot of the stairs wearing...oh god were those Converses, Jesus what was he thinking? At least he had on a tux but come on those shoes were a sin to fashion.

Deciding it was too late to do anything about her companion's choice of footwear she plastered on a smile and joined Sean.

Everything was going according to plan, it was the same elite people as always. Sean got a couple of good shots of the rich and famous and Andy got the quotes her editor wanted and finally she could go home and end this god forsaken day.

That's when Andy realised she was going to burn in hell for leaving Miranda in Paris. A group of immaculate dressed people parted and there she was... Miranda... And she was a vision.

She had on a staples dark blue Valentino and her white hair was a beacon. Andy let her eyes trail from the top of Miranda's head admiring how a lock of hair fell over the brilliantly ice blue eyes, going lower to the slope of the woman's creamy neck and shoulders and on to the gentle curve of her breasts and hips. Oh, she had to get out of there and fast.

Sean had left five minutes ago offering to share a cab, but Andy didn't really like him all that much and Sean seem to be a little too interested in her for her to be comfortable around him.

So she had sent him home and right now she was ecstatic that he was not here to see her fall apart because of her former boss.

Andy turned away but couldn't leave without a last look. Looking over her shoulder she was startled to meet and lock eyes with Miranda and her heart broke.

Miranda looked shocked to see her and Andy couldn't blame her, the only other time they had seen each other was that day in front of Elias - Clark and Miranda hadn't even acknowledge her then.

Andy could only imagine what the older woman was thinking right now and she really needed to get away right now so she turned her head and walked blindly until she reached the street outside.

This really had been the worst day ever.        

The End

Return to The Devil Wears Prada Fiction

Return to Main Page