Author's note: This is a fill for the Mirandy Year of Fun & Frolics bingo prompt "lawyer".
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Disclaimer: I don't own the Devil Wears Prada.
Prima facie: adj. Latin for "at first look," or "on its face."
Miranda's first impression of Andrea Sachs is that she is very, very young to be an attorney. Are they handing out JDs to high school students now? Though, she concedes in the privacy of her own mind, with how much she pays to send her girls to Dalton, a law degree would be the least the school could provide.
Her second impression of Andrea Sachs is that this wet-behind-the-ears junior associate from the law firm of Nobody Nowhere and No How is somehow, inexplicably, holding her own against Miranda's seasoned pitbull of an attorney, Lucas Hastings. The two have thrown so many laws, codes, and ordinances at each other in the past twenty minutes that Miranda's head is spinning. Andrea's client, a middle-aged woman, appears equally dizzy.
Andrea's cheeks glow from the exertion of her impressive intellect against Lucas's. She looks as if she could go another ten rounds. Lucas, on the other hand, looks on the verge of collapse. If he hadn't suffered a heart attack last year, Miranda would be tempted to let this play out and see where it goes. With the man's health at stake, however, and finding a good lawyer being a Herculean task, she takes it upon herself to intervene.
"That's enough."
Lucas settles instantly, a well-trained hound looking to his mistress for another command. Andrea, diverted mid-sentence, turns her attention on Miranda, gaze so sharp it makes her breath catch. Miranda looks to the girl's client. "What is it you want from me, Ms. Warner?"
"Ms. Priestly, I have to ask that you address me and not my client," Andrea says firmly. She doesn't quail when Miranda's lips purse and her nostrils flare. The imagined invulnerability of youth, or the confidence of a woman twice her age? "Ms. Warner's demands are beyond reasonable. All she is seeking are medical costs, restitution for lost wages from hospital visits, and a promise to enroll your dog in obedience classes."
Miranda cares nothing for the money, of course. She pays more for meals out in a week than the woman is asking for. It's the obedience classes that have been a non-starter from the beginning. The thought of subjecting her beloved dog to such training, as if she's no better than some common mongrel, repulses her.
"I am personally acquainted with Patricia," Lucas says, dabbing his florid face with a handkerchief. "She's harmless—"
Andrea snorts. It's an indelicate sound, yet oddly charming. "She's 200 pounds and thinks she's a puppy. We're not saying she hurt my client's child on purpose, but she jumped on a seven-year-old girl and broke her arm. Surely you agree this cannot be permitted to happen again."
Lucas bristles. Miranda lays a light hand on his arm before he can counter. Much as she wishes to defend Patricia's honor, were she in Ms. Warner's unsightly shoes, with Caroline or Cassidy in a cast, she would be demanding far more than a paltry sum and obedience classes as punishment. Someone's head, most likely.
"Very well," she decides. "You can have it all, and an extra fifty thousand dollars to compensate for the carelessness of my assistant."
"Miranda!" Lucas protests.
Andrea's mouth falls open. It isn't a flattering look, though it does reveal a set of very white, perfectly straight teeth. "Really? I mean. Good. Great. Thank you!"
Even younger than she originally thought, Miranda decides. Painfully young. Disarmingly young.
"Make the arrangements," Miranda instructs a sputtering Lucas. She inclines her head to Ms. Warner. "I apologize for the harm to your daughter. I assure you that Patricia will never harm another child."
The woman's eyes tear up. "Thank you, Ms. Priestly. Thank you for being kind." She takes Andrea's hand. "And thank you , Andy. Without your help, I'd have nothing."
Andrea—so very young, if she thinks it appropriate to use a pedestrian nickname in a professional capacity—smiles warmly. "It was my pleasure, Ms. Warner. Truly." She seems to mean it.
Tilting her head, Miranda examines the girl. Excellent cheekbones. Smart, if poorly fitted, suit. Terrible hair, though its thickness has potential. Lovely frame. "Ms. Sachs, I'd like a word with you in private."
Lucas straightens in his chair. "Miranda, I really have to advise against that."
"Your concern is noted." She raises an eyebrow at Andrea. "Shall we?"
The girl hesitates. "Why on Earth would you want to talk to me?"
Ms. Warner saves Miranda from having to reply. "Don't you know who she is?" the woman hisses, giving her attorney a shove. "Go talk to her!"
Trusting Andrea will show some common sense, Miranda leads the way out of Lucas's largest conference room and into the small, empty one next door. When she turns around, the girl is closing the door behind them. She touches her hair nervously under Miranda's regard, notices Miranda noticing, and quickly forces her hand to her side.
Miranda leans against the table, crossing her legs at the ankle. The movement draws Andrea's attention downwards. She's keenly aware of how Andrea's eyes drag their way up her calves, skirt, and blouse (lingering for a moment on a hint of cleavage) before finally settling on her face.
The girl is young. She probably doesn't realize how suggestive that slow perusal was.
Miranda begins her interrogation briskly. "You attended law school where?"
"Stanford."
"And you've been a member of the New York Bar for how long?"
"A week."
Miranda has her next question lined up, but that answer stops her in her tracks. She stares incredulously. "Do you mean to tell me that this is your first case?"
Andrea bobs her head. "Yep."
"Your first case ever, and you chose to go up against me?"
"Actually, Ms. Priestly, I was up against Lucas Hastings, and—"
Miranda cuts her off with a scowl. "How did you end up on this case at all?"
Andrea perks up. "Oh, well, my law firm permits us to take on pro bono cases in our own time—it's actually why I went with that firm after law school—so I was down at the legal aid office when Ms. Warner came in to ask for help. The other attorneys were too busy with bigger cases, but I could see how upset she was, and when she told me the story I knew I had to do something to help her." She bites her bottom lip and looks at Miranda with big brown eyes. "Thank you for making this so easy on her. You could have drawn the whole thing out if you'd wanted to."
Miranda taps her mouth with one long-nailed finger, considering. Andrea's eyes follow the gesture, linger on Miranda's lips. "You'll learn in time that I don't do favors, Andrea."
"I doubt I'll ever see you again, Ms. Priestly," Andrea says with a smile that is half-amused and half-puzzled. "You and I don't exactly run in the same circles. My firm would never let me on a real case against you."
Clearly, no one ever warned Andrea about dragons and their covetous natures. "Later this afternoon, you'll be receiving a job offer from Hastings Clearwell LLP," Miranda says. "I don't need to tell you it's one of the top firms in New York. You will serve as Lucas Hastings' associate on any cases involving myself or Elias-Clark. I daresay if you continue to show the competence you just demonstrated, you'll be well-positioned to take over for him as lead counsel for Elias-Clark when he retires in a decade or so."
Feeling rather pleased with herself, Miranda awaits Andrea's grateful reply.
"That's very kind, Ms. Priestly, but I'm not interested."
Miranda clenches the table's edge. She glares at the impudent girl. "Pardon?"
Andrea's eyes glint in a way that isn't naïve, nor all that young. "Hastings Clearwell offered me a job straight out of law school. I turned them down. They don't do pro bono."
"I must have heard you wrong," Miranda says slowly. "Tell me you did not turn down an incredible opportunity—back then, and again today—because of some misguided plan to be a do-gooder."
"Your cynicism would be more convincing if you hadn't just tossed an extra fifty grand onto that settlement out of guilt," Andrea points out, taking a casual step closer.
Miranda waves dismissively. "I can afford to be generous because I've spent my life ascending towards the top of the corporate hierarchy, Andrea. You, starting out, are not in a position to do the same."
"We'll have to agree to disagree."
"I have always despised that cliché."
Miranda has known the girl for less than an hour, knows virtually nothing about her, and yet the thought of their paths diverging, never to cross again, fills her with inexplicable disappointment.
"You won't change your mind?" Miranda asks, a question that would make Emily spontaneously combust were she to hear it from the indomitable Miranda Priestly.
"Nope." Andrea wears an odd little smile, as if she knows something Miranda doesn't. It should be more irritating than it actually is.
Miranda nods. "Then I suppose there's nothing further to say. Best of luck in your foolish endeavor, Andrea Sachs."
She pushes off of the table and heads for the door. As she passes the disappointing girl, an impertinent hand darts out to seize hers.
She freezes, her body flashing cold and then very, very hot as she stares incredulously at this person, this stranger, who is touching her, Miranda Priestly, as if she has a right to.
"What," she says, too stunned to pull away. In fact, her entire traitorous body rotates towards Andrea the way a blossom turns toward the sun. She looks down to where Andrea's hand tangles with hers, idly contemplating the softness of the girl's skin and the sureness of her fingers.
"Ms. Priestly—Miranda," Andrea says in a warm, knowing voice that really isn't young at all. "You didn't really want to offer me a job."
"I didn't?" Miranda says faintly, allowing herself to be gently tugged towards the other woman.
Andrea very deliberately licks her lips. Miranda's body tingles.
"I see the way you look at me," Andrea says. "You're not interested in me as a lawyer. And I'm not interested in you as a client."
Miranda swallows. "No?"
They're practically touching now, clasped hands down at their waists, Andrea's face close enough for Miranda to make out every imperfection, every incongruously attractive detail. Andrea leans even closer, pressing their bodies together until her lips are just brushing Miranda's ear.
"If you were a client, I couldn't take you to dinner," Andrea whispers, sending a shiver down her spine.
"Dinner?" Miranda repeats, ineloquent as a model on a crash diet.
Andrea evidently takes this meaningless utterance as agreement. She squeezes Miranda's hand, then pulls away. "Perfect. I'll pick you up at seven. The Elias-Clark building, right?"
And without waiting for a response, she saunters away with an extra swing to her luscious hips that definitely wasn't there before.
Miranda stares after her in complete befuddlement. She wants to be outraged by Andrea's presumption, but she's too busy imagining exactly what those strong, slender fingers might be capable of. What that young body might look like without that tedious suit. What interesting sounds Miranda might be able to coax out of that full red mouth.
"Miranda? Are you done in here?"
Miranda blinks her way out of a daydream, hastily dropping her hand, which has been tracing slow, sensual circles on her neck.
Lucas Hastings stands at the door, peering in at her. He seems to have recovered from his verbal duel. "That Andy Sachs is something, isn't she? You know, we tried to court her when she graduated from Stanford. She turned us down flat. I think we missed a good opportunity there."
Miranda clears her throat; gives him a credible enough scowl to make him wince. "Lucas, I do not pay an exorbitant fee so that you will extol the virtues of my opponents. Next time you go up against Andrea Sachs—and I'm certain there will be a next time—you will crush her, or you can find yourself another Fortune 500 client. That's all."
She glides out, head held high, and thinks with delicious anticipation of tonight.