Miranda could not believe the audacity of it. Here she had tried to explain herself, to smooth things over (two things she never did) and the girl was walking away. Who did Andrea think she was? And who did she think she was dealing with? Miranda could destroy every dream the girl had and not just those relating to journalism.

Miranda was beside herself with anger, confusion, and disbelief. How could one of the few competent employees she had walk away like this; in the middle of Paris Fashion Week? How could the only adult who honestly cared about her betray her in such a way?

Miranda wanted answers; but, she thought, Miranda Priestly does not chase after second assistants. She could have Nigel make the call, but she dismissed that thought almost as soon as she had it. Miranda could read Andrea easier than she could anyone she had ever meet (not that meant much, seeing how she was a master of body language and details) and she just knew Andrea would not tell Nigel the whole story. It would be filtered, then, Nigel would no doubt, on purpose or not, add his own spin to things and Miranda wanted it straight.

A bump from an unpleasantly dressed security guard pulled Miranda back to the present and her senses where flooded with flashing bulbs, loud questions, and people pushing and moving on every side of her. This was not the place to be thinking about this. Nor was it the place to be making any kind of decision.

And with that thought, the Queen of Fashion, made her way through the hotel's front door and slipped off to the side. She checked her watch and was grateful for her undying need to arrive early to everything. She still had twenty minutes before the show would start.

Scanning the hotel lobby allowed her to find the bathrooms fairy quickly and she knew her presence would empty the ladies room, and keep it empty until she was finished. She made her way across the space, not bothering to make eye contact with anyone, and within moments the ladies room was empty.

Miranda took in the couch and two chairs off to the side, the three stalls, and spin to look at herself in the mirror. More gratitude coursed through her as she reaffirmed that none of her internal monolog had appeared on her face. Pulling out her cell phone, Miranda pressed two and send.

As she listened to the phone ring she remembered when she had decided to make Emily speed dial number three. It was the same day Miranda decided that Andrea was ready to deliver the Book. Her second assistant had caught her completely off guard by already having dinner confirmed and messengering her outfit to the shoot. The she smiled at Miranda.

The call went to voicemail. Miranda bit back a growl and dialed again as she made her way to the closest chair. After making sure there was nothing on it that would ruin her dress, Miranda sat.

She had spent the next week watching every single employee that came anywhere near her. And the ones she didn't verbally castrate even more. Not one single employee, designer, writer, or photographer ever smiled at Miranda; not after the first time she pointed out what an imbecile they were.

Andrea, however, smiled at Miranda every chance she got. Every morning when Miranda walked into the office there was a smile with Andrea's morning greeting. A greeting Miranda never returned. There was smile with every coffee; coffee that was always right. With every list of demands, with every That's all, at every turn the girl smiled. Even after Miranda demanded the Harry Potter manuscript.

This time when the call went to voicemail Miranda did not attempt to hide her anger. She growled, releasing some of her frustration, and checked her watch. Eight minutes had passed and surely, the two woman that were in the bathroom were standing outside the door wondering what the Fashion Maven could be doing.

"Well, let them wonder." Miranda spoke out loud as she speed dialed Andrea for what she told herself would be the last time.

This time the phone rang five times and when the connection clicked Miranda spoke without giving Andrea a chance to say anything.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"I just need some time, Miranda, surely you can manage to take your own notes, just this once? Hell, have Nigel do it for all I care." Miranda was amazed at how calm Andrea's voice seemed, but she knew better, the girl was just so nervous she had lost the filter she fought to keep in place in Miranda's presence.

"What could you possibly need time for?" Miranda could feel the venom dripping from her voice. "I just sold my soul so I could keep my heart, but you need time?" Miranda internally winced. She would have to figure out what was it about this girl that made her speak so honestly.

"Well according to you, I did the same thing when I decided to come to Paris." She lowered her voice in shock. When she continued Miranda could here the tears in her voice. "At least you knew what you were doing, you have time to prepare yourself. I can't pretend this is okay. I need time."

A full minute passed in silence. Miranda only ended up with more questions, but at least she had her immediate one answered, Andrea was not walking away. Not permanently, anyway.

"You have until this showing is over. You will be in the car when it leaves this hotel." Any other phone call and Miranda would have hung up at this point, but she needed to make sure Andrea understood and would comply. So she waited.

Another thirty seconds went by before she heard, "Yes, Miranda." Then she disconnected the call.