SMELL MY FINGERS
Miranda gives Andy a quick lesson in time management. I do not own these adorable characters. Please comment nicely!
"Emily," cried the soft but piercing voice. "Emily!"
"She means you," drawled the cold, stunning English beauty in the outer office, batting her ridiculously long lashes at the frightened new girl.
"Gulp!" Andrea Sachs nearly tripped over her new four-inch heels in her frantic rush to serve Miranda Priestley. It wasn't that she was afraid of making a mistake. Lately she was even more afraid of doing something right.
"Ah, there you are, Emily. How many times must I scream your name?" Miranda's soft-voiced sarcasm couldn't quite disguise the flicker of approval in her cool gray eyes. Her new assistant's high heels and short skirt really drew attention to that slim figure and those long, long legs. Just watching her stumble into the plush private office with such undisguised fear in those enormous brown eyes made the older woman lick her well-glossed lips in anticipation.
"I called James and told him you want Gisele and not Naomi, and I got you the table you like at Michele's, and I told Irv lunch at one-thirty on Friday . . ." Andy was already dreading the moment when Miranda would discover the very slight alteration she'd made to the schedule.
"I said one." Miranda's correction came out as a purr, almost like a caress. "Is it too much to expect even a barely competent assistant to be able to tell time, Emily?"
Andy took a deep breath. "I changed the time on purpose," she gasped, her eyes dropping from Miranda's arctic gaze to the frosted pink sheen of her lips. Her heart thudded in her ears like cannon fire as she forced herself to continue, "I know you wanted to make it earlier, but last Friday you were late because I . . . because you . . . I'm very sorry, Miranda." Humiliated and hot, Andy lowered her gaze to the carpet.
"We lost track of time," the older woman purred, her silken soft whisper contrasting with her piercing glacier-cool gaze. "Close the door and come here, Andrea. This won't take long."
Shamefaced, Andy obeyed, closing the door and slipping around the managing editor's desk. She felt like a naughty schoolgirl. But there was nothing innocent about the way her knees turned to jelly the moment Miranda's long, cool, perfectly-manicured fingers slid between her thighs.