This drabble came from a two word prompt challenge ... the prompt is the title. Didn't really know where I was going with this, just felt like writing, so I hope it's not too much of a disappointment.
Enjoy!
Miranda flicked her eyes up, looking over the screen of her laptop into the outer-office. Emily, not having found a suitable replacement for Andréa yet, was clearly struggling to keep up with the workload.
There would be a run-through in an hour and someone had brought in a rack of samples ahead of time, so Miranda wandered over. Standing in front of the rack she uncharacteristically shifted from one foot to the other; she was fidgety. It wasn't the samples she was looking at - for once someone might have done something right with them - it was that standing in the middle of her office was the perfect vantage point to look out at the desk that her former assistants used to occupy. Of course there was only one former assistant she cared about.
Miranda walked slowly through the empty offices at the pace of a toddler just learning to walk: carefully and with hesitation. Her eyes took everything in; glass walls, scattered pens, racks of clothing. She gently pushed open the door to her outer-office, letting it swing shut behind her as she stood on the white carpet, sheathed in silence. Her eyes dragged over everything and then stopped on the desk to her right. Andréa's desk, as she would forever think of it.
Pulling out the chair she sat down and leaned back, hands gripping the armrests, and let her neck relax. She breathed in deep through her nose. "What have I done?" It could have been a whisper or a thought, for there was no one around to hear it.
She reached out with her left hand, opening the top drawer of the desk. She had wondered if Andréa had come back here to collect her things, and it appeared as though she hadn't. Miranda supposed that the younger woman wouldn't have had the chance. Even if she had gotten back to the States already, Emily no doubt would have cancelled her security pass the moment Miranda called and told her she needed a new second assistant. She wondered if Emily was happy to be rid of Andréa. Until this morning Miranda had thought she herself was.
She pulled out a half-used legal pad, a few packs of both opened and unopened gum, and an empty glasses case. The second drawer held a myriad of notes and files on different designers, but nothing Miranda was interested in. The bottom drawer, however, contained, at the very bottom and under a lot of other "stuff," a scrap of paper with a partial sketch of her face, including her cheekbone, the end of her nose, her lips and chin, and her neck down to her shoulders and across her collarbone. It was rough and realistic and smudged in places, as though its owner had spent quite a bit of time rubbing her thumb over the image.
"Miranda?" She snapped out of her memory, focusing on the redhead who was struggling on crutches in front of her.
"Yes? What?" It came out sharp and acerbic, exactly how she'd intended.
"The models are here for the run-through."
"Fine." Miranda moved away from the rack, standing back so the models could get themselves ready. She was being silly, daydreaming like this; nothing could come of it.
Emily had long since gone, but since the girls were at their grandmother's for the weekend Miranda found no harm in staying at the office late. It was her job, after all.
The main lights had been turned off hours ago, and now the only light that illuminated her office - or the entire floor, for that matter - was the one on her desk. As she sometimes did when alone in the quiet space of the night, Miranda took out the scrap of paper that held her well-loved image. She usually kept it tucked away in her safe, just in case.
Tonight she spread it out flat on the glass of her desk, her two pointer fingers and thumbs holding down the edges. She didn't want to smudge it more than it already was.
Standing, she walked to the double doors of her office, leaning against the frame, watching the nothing that was happening at the empty space of Andréa's desk. Miranda knew she'd never find a replacement; that desk couldn't stay vacant forever.
She looked down at the scrap of paper in her hands and held it close to her face. This would have to be enough.
Hearing the door swish open Miranda clutched the drawing close to chest and snapped her head up towards the intruder, a reprimand ready on her tounge. Her eyes went wide, as though she'd seen a ghost.
"Oh, Miranda, I didn't think -"
"Andréa. Thank God." She let out a breath.
fin.
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