CHAPTER 1
Monday / "Daytime Distractions"
The Queen of Fashion sat down for a moment.
"That's all," she said.
Promptly as instructed, Nigel and Lucia left. Outside, Emily let her inner sadist go to town on the new girl. Nothing but the good old plunge in combined IQ… the usual tedium.
Oh well, this is Runway. Not exactly the land of the refreshingly unprecedented!
Her entire crew was frantic about the run-through. What a way to start the week! Nigel rushed in with some cover sketches for what seemed to be the tenth time today. It's 11:30 now, and no sign of her Starbucks. Would someone please resuscitate the new Emily?
Miranda Priestly grabbed her San Pellegrino. A few drops on her handkerchief, she dabbed her neck, then she drained an entire glassful of water.
Emily peeked in.
"Excuse me, Miranda, you have a call from Irv Rav—"
"No."
The snooty Brit disappeared. All of her assistants learn to disappear. One never came back.
Where did that come from? It's been a good six months since... well, since Paris. Make that a hellish six months! Irv and his budget concerns. Stephen and that nightmare of a divorce. Men and their agonizing stupidity.
And, talking about assistants: each more hopeless than the last. None with the sterling potential and drive of that… deceitful little…
The Queen felt sick with rage, she needed a fresh glass of water.
"This is absurd," she hissed.
She will not waste another thought on Andrea Sachs!
Each time she walks past the assistants' desks, each time she sees a wide-eyed brunette on the street: it's Andrea in her head. And that odd sweep of warmth in her body. Then she remembers how the girl ran off, and crack!, her blood freezes. The final note is always a searing headache, that nasty weather-type migraine, like her inside climate has gone berserk.
What the hell is wrong with her?