"So, Ms. Smith, how did you meet Cruella De Vil?"

"Simple. I had just moved here from America..."

The dreary overcast skies of London matched her mood perfectly. She'd never much cared for the small country, but when you've had enough and need to escape what better way to accomplish it than to move across an entire ocean? She sighed, closing her eyes and remembering the moment that had led to her current lot in life.

The stage lights were bright, the crowd was cheering, and she was over the moon. The models grouped around her, congratulating her for the spectacular show that had taken a year to pull off, not to mention numerous favors. Lynn may be only twenty-four, but she'd made it big.

A flash of white caught her attention and she couldn't help the victorious smirk that covered her features as she stared down at Miranda Priestly, the woman who'd all-but blacklisted her eighteen months previous. She still remembered the disastrous showing, the curled lip and the icy "It seems I've wasted my time." Her heart still lurched thinking about it. But now, now she had proven her wrong. Fashion houses across the globe were clamoring for her favor and notice, though for some reason she couldn't muster the excitement she felt the attention deserved.

In truth, she felt slightly hollow, and even as she accepted numerous bouquets of flowers and praise, she could feel exhaustion creeping in, perhaps even some loathing for the people in front of her, the very same people she practically had to sell her soul to a scant year before to even view her work, and all because one woman had them cowed.

…

As the days wore on and the calls kept flooding in, the exhaustion seemed to grow. She bounced around from fashion house to fashion house, always successful, always favored, but never happy. Within six months of her break out she was burned out, and it reflected in her designs. They became uninspired and unoriginal, mere shadows of the creations she had once pulled out of thin air. The job offers began to slow, magazines and contractors alike shying away from what was quickly becoming an imploding artist.

Seven months showed even less promise than the first six, calls now nearly nonexistent and new designs far and few between. With Fall Fashion Week approaching and nothing to show for herself, Lynn finally admitted that maybe, just maybe, she needed a break.

Nine months after officially taking the world by storm, Lynn was mostly forgotten, and also extremely depressed. She missed her work, honestly she did, but she couldn't find the motivation nor inspiration to even pick up a pencil, much less attempt to sketch. She supposed then that Miranda had won after all, had been right all along. As she stared at the New York skyline she'd become so familiar with in the last six years, she felt an immense hatred well up within her. Fuck this city, with all its judgmental people and rigid timelines. She glanced at her desk that hadn't been touched in months, eyes flashing, and grabbed her sketchbook, hurling it across the room. Pages fluttered everywhere, but she didn't stop. She knocked over her cup of pencils and pens, threw her tin of colored pencils across the room. She didn't stop until the room was utterly destroyed, and then, as she viewed the remnants of her tantrum, she sank to her knees and cried.

…

She sold everything except her clothes and personal mementos and spun a globe absentmindedly, closing her eyes and jabbing it randomly. She opened her eyes warily, surprised and a little relieved to see that she was pointing at England. A grin spread across her face as she picked up the phone book and dialed the airport, checking flight departures for London.

She opened her eyes, noting the building looming in the distance. House of De Vil, where she was set to begin her new job. It hadn't been hard really to get herself set up. She'd found a modest apartment, and used what few contacts she still had to scout out a job. When she'd discovered that House of De Vil was in need of a secretary she'd pounced at the offer. It may not be designing, she wasn't quite ready for that yet, but at least it was still in the industry.

She'd heard rumors of the woman's explosive temper, but after spending several years around La Priestly she couldn't say she was intimidated. She'd much rather explosive and expressive than quiet and cutting any day. Perhaps that was why Alonzo had been so quick to grant her employment. Well, that and the fact that no one else seemed to want the job.

The car rolled to a halt at the base of the staircase leading up to the fashion house, and she steeled her nerves, hoping this change would help. She couldn't help but crack a smile as she stepped through the doors, this the first time in several months she had set foot in such a place. As she stepped out onto the third floor, which housed the designers and the devil herself, she immediately noticed the thick tension hanging in the air, not to mention the fear. Cocking an eyebrow, she made her way to Alonzo's desk, introducing herself and not quite able to hide her pleasure at his recognition. He showed her to her desk, a modest thing just outside of massive metal doors, hardly noticeable in comparison to the maze of tables, which she could only assume led to Cruella's office.

"If you n-need an-anything, do l-l-let me kn-know," Alonzo said before skittering off to his own desk.

"Okay," Lynn said quietly, unable to believe her new boss was quite that awful.

She began familiarizing herself with the phone system and layout of the office, her eyes lingering on the tables of the designers longingly. She sighed, grabbing the phone as it began ringing.

"Ms. De Vil's office, may I take a message?"

Production stopped dead. Lynn's head shot up at the sudden and utter absence of sound, only for the hairs on the back of her neck to raise and the temperature of the room to plummet. She found her eyes drawn to a woman who must be Cruella De Vil, if the power that radiated from her was anything to go by. She wore a tight black dress that hugged her small waist and wide hips and pushed up her breasts, stiletto heels that were easily five inches tall, and a black fur coat, perhaps made of leopard. She was gorgeous. She blinked, forcing herself to breathe.

She may have known of the woman, but she had never before laid eyes on her.

Her eyes followed Cruella's descent down the catwalk, a coil beginning to form in her stomach. She barely heard the timid greetings thrown around, more focused on the woman they were aimed at. Said woman stalked around the room, glancing over designers' shoulders at their work before making her way toward the double doors Lynn sat in front of and subsequently Lynn herself.

"You must be my new assistant," Cruella purred, her tone sending shivers down the woman's spine.

"Yes, Ms. De Vil," Lynn answered, forcing her eyes to stay on her employer's face rather than slide down to her chest.

"Come into my office, I think we need to have a little talk."

She followed her warily, unsure what she could have done in the hour she had been at her desk to cause a reprimand. The zebra print floors nearly blinded her, and she was only just able to keep a wince in check as she took in the rest of the office. She looked around with a sharp eye, mentally dissecting the space and putting it back together in a much more tasteful décor. Cruella watched her out of the corner of her eye, settling herself behind her desk and lighting up a cigarette.

She wasn't stupid, she knew who the young woman was. Her designs had brought the fashion world to a screeching halt a mere year previous, and her decline had been well documented. It was no mistake that she had been granted the job that no other dared take, though she was curious as to what caused such a brilliant mind to stall so horrendously.

"Let's not play games," she said, startling the younger woman out of her mental remodel. "I know who you are, dear. My question to you is, why demote yourself to assistant when we both know you could be dominating the industry?"

Lynn sighed, taking a seat in one of the chairs across the desk.

"I need a break. As I'm sure you're aware of I spent over a year creating numerous designs that debuted at spring fashion week in Milan. My popularity was short-lived, and I found myself growing bitter with the world. The only reason I pushed myself so hard was to prove Miranda Priestly wrong, and remind her she is not god."

Cruella arched an eyebrow, all the more interested.

"So your incredible success was merely a form of revenge?" She threw her head back and laughed, deciding she liked this young woman. "Darling, that is simply beautiful."

"Beg pardon?"

"Don't you see? Mind games are some of the most delicate yet effective torture methods there are, and Miranda Priestly is one of the best. I must say, I'm quite impressed you had the courage to stand against her like that. Quite daring."

"Thank you? Honestly I was just frustrated that everyone bows to her whim. It's ridiculous."

"That it is, my dear," the older woman agreed, intrigue lighting up her eyes, though the younger woman couldn't tell.

"Well, I suppose I should get back to work," Lynn said awkwardly, unsure how she was supposed to act around the woman.

"Yes, do that. And do let me know if there is anything I can do to help you settle in."

"Um, I will. Thank you, Ms. De Vil."

"Cruella," the woman said with a predatory smile.

"Cruella," Lynn amended, standing to return to her desk, desperately trying to ignore the eyes searing holes into her back as she walked.

Lynn decided that the woman wasn't as menacing as everyone made her out to be.

In the few weeks she'd been with the company the woman had been nothing but courteous and respectful to her, something that seemed to shock the other employees, Alonzo especially. She was beginning to enjoy her job, relaxing into the flow of the fashion house and getting to know her colleagues, not mention the time she spent with Cruella. The older woman was always gorgeous, always graceful, and Lynn would be lying if she said she wasn't attracted her. She fought that attention, determined not to let a little crush ruin the first ray of happiness she'd had in what felt like forever.

As it so happened, she liked her boss fairly well, and the same could be said of the fashionista. They had several small conversations throughout every day, and she was beginning the realize the woman was quite kind underneath her fiery reputation, though as it turned out said reputation wasn't entirely unfounded. Lynn witnessed a display of her temper mere days after her arrival after a novice tailor sewed the wrong lining into a stole for Cruella's personal collection. As much fuss as she made over it you'd think he had dyed the fur a garish neon and half shaved it to boot. He'd scampered out of her office in tears, clutching the offending piece of clothing to his chest as if it were a shield. She had laughed, she couldn't help it really, not when she was the only living soul not afraid of her boss.

Everyone else in the office had cringed and avoided the black and white whirlwind whenever possible, terrified they'd be the next to receive her scathing temper. Lynn had simply grinned, unable to find it in herself to be afraid when every brain cell screamed that she should be. Cruella seemed to be impressed by her lack of reaction to her temper, thus sparing her from the verbal slaughter Alonzo received. Personally, Lynn thought Cruella was interesting, perhaps in need of someone who wouldn't cower under her sheer personality. It was a challenge, but she had always loved a challenge.