Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, don't own any of these characters.
A/N: This was originally meant to be a sort of noir-ish AU. I don't know exactly what it turned into though. In any case, I hope it's enjoyable.
Bourbon Shadows
The city was hot, even at night. The air shimmered and steam rose from manholes, the concrete itself was sweating in the sweltering humidity. Sweat made my shirt stick to my back and it seeped through to my suspenders. Though it made the heat worse, I was glad for the cover of my suit jacket, it hid the perspiration bleeding through my clothes.
I inhaled the last bitter remnant of the cheap cigarette in my mouth, letting the long plumes of smoke snake through my mouth and down my throat into my lungs, holding it there letting the burn seep into my blood. I crushed the cigarette under my shoe expelling the smoke to join the shimmery heat of the night. The neon sign above the bar buzzed loudly and flickered: The Trip Trap. As seedy a bar as they come, but it was close to home and all I could afford.
The door chimed as I pushed it open. The heat and humidity followed me inside to the rickety barstool that creaked under my weight. I took off my fedora to fan myself and loosened my tie. The usual bartender moved slowly down the bar, Sasha she called herself. I doubted it was her real name but I never asked and she never supplied any other.
She was the prettiest thing to look at in here. "The usual, Sachs?" Her voice was deep and honeyed. I wondered what circumstances caused her to stay here, in this hellhole. I think she often wondered the same about me. We were two lost souls commiserating silently across the wooden panel of a bar. So it goes.
Before I tilted my head, there was a beer in my palm. "On the house. You look like shit."
"Thanks," I deadpanned. She smiled in mild apology.
At least the beer was cold. I sat nursing it, feeling the perspiration of the bottle form beads of water under my fingertips. I heaved a weary sigh; this city really was shit sometimes. There was nothing really clean or crisp or healthy about the Big Apple. It was rotting from the core. I took a long swig from the bottle in a vain attempt to wash the dirty taste of my last case down with the alcohol.
I ignored the tinkling bell on the door announcing another weary soul seeking refuge in this poor excuse for a watering hole. The steady clacking of heels caught my attention. Even with my back to the door, I knew this woman walking so delicately through the dirty floor of the bar did not belong here.
The clacking stopped directly behind me. I could smell her perfume waft up around me. She smelled nothing like this bar, nothing like this neighborhood, nothing like this part of the city; she smelled like style and wealth.
A heavy silence filled the bar. Sasha's eyes were fixed on the woman behind me. I put my beer down and set my fedora on top of the bar. I could feel the woman's eyes boring into my back, assessing me. Whoever she was, she was here for me. A case then.
"Are you Andy Sachs?"
The accent only added to the haughtiness of the tone which grated against my nerves. I turned in my seat to face the stranger. I had assumed correctly: the woman didn't belong here. The British accent wasn't the only giveaway. Fiery red hair framed a face that would be pleasant—beautiful even—if not so painfully pinched in displeasure. The rest of the woman was equally as austere, all angles and sharp edges, but very well dressed. She stood stiffly as if it were a painful experience to even be in the bar; for all I knew, she could be in actual distress.
"It depends on who's asking?" I picked up my beer and drank deeply, enjoying the burn. My eyes meandered up pointed heels, up toned calves, up slightly bared thighs, up a clingy dress that wrapped closely around upper thighs, torso and breasts, across bare shoulders and finally they came to rest on blue eyes narrowed in distaste. Definitely fuckable. I smirked at her; she was definitely a creature worthy of gracing my sheets. "Since you're asking, yes, yes I am Andy Sachs."
She sniffed in disgust. It amused me. She wouldn't take much persuading despite her apparent protestations, but I'd prefer her money to her body, sleeping with my employers never seemed to pay the bills.
I could tell I was found lacking in her sight as her eyes took in my scuffed shoes and rumpled suit, but she obviously wasn't here for my wardrobe. She stopped herself from commenting on my appearance, but I could tell it took her a great effort to resist. That amused me more.
"What is it I can do for you, toots?" I drank the last few drops of alcohol from my bottle before I put it down and picked up my hat. I stood, adjusted my suit jacket, and put on my fedora. I was now face to face with her.
She startled only slightly. She was definitely more resilient than I first gave her credit for. "I am not your toots, thank you very much. My name is Emily Charlton and I have a proposition for you?"
"I bet I'd be willing to take any proposition from you, Miss Charlton." My smile was wolfish.
She was not amused. "An employment proposition."
"Peachy." I reached into my pocket and pulled out a business card. I handed it to her between my fore and middle fingers. She pinched it out of my hand with her thumb and forefinger, not wanting to touch me. "Business hours are on the front. Come in to my office tomorrow and we can discuss your case." I walked past her. It was too late for this and I was feeling too wound up to be much good.
I could hear her clacking follow me back out into the humid night. I pulled out my packet of cigarettes and lit one. I offered the pretty redhead one, she summarily refused it. We walked on in silence, her clacking bouncing off the brick buildings.
"Those things will kill you." She waved the smoke I was exhaling out of her face.
I shrugged. "Why are you following me?" I stopped walking and took a long drag of my cigarette.
"This case cannot wait until morning. I've been sent to retrieve you." She tapped her foot impatiently.
I looked back over at her. My curiosity was piqued. Any gopher that was as well put together as this woman worked for someone of great importance. "What's the job?"
She looked momentarily relieved she wouldn't have to chase me any further. "I will tell you if you come with me." She motioned back to where a private car was idling at the curb.
Curiouser and curiouser.
I was intrigued. I dropped my cigarette and crushed it under my shoe. I followed Emily Charlton into the black sedan.
The car seats felt better than my bed, I almost nodded off as the car smoothly drove us to the business part of town. With my head pressed against the cool glass of the window I knew the moment we crossed the tracks, everything looked less gritty, less dirty, less weary. I hadn't been up here for a while; I almost forgot how beautiful the city could be. I suddenly felt unkept. I was sitting in soft leather seats in day old clothes smelling of cheap beer and cheaper cigarettes. I sighed and wiped my hands on my wrinkled slacks. I need a better fucking job.
"So, Emily," she turned to me, her face scrunched in displeasure (I wondered if she ever smiled), "who is your employer? You can at least tell me that."
"If you get hired," her tone transmitted her belief that I would not, in fact, be offered whatever case her boss needed investigated, "you will be working for Miranda Priestly."
She said the name almost reverently. My eyebrows rose involuntarily. I could only assume from her look that I was supposed to know who her boss was.
"Well, clearly," she huffed giving me a scathing once-over, "someone like you couldn't be expected to know the world's premier fashionista."
I smiled only because I knew it would ruffle her feathers. From the few minutes I had spent in Emily's presence, I knew she was annoying and judgmental but I couldn't help but like her. She felt almost like an overbearing older sister. I need to take a trip back home. "Do enlighten me."
She narrowed her eyes at me inspecting my sincerity. "She's the Editor in Chief of Runway magazine. Not that you would know what that is, considering you've probably never picked up a fashion magazine in your life."
Bitch. My eyes sent the message clearly enough. Emily didn't even bat an eyelash; she seemed more pleased than anything.
"Miranda is efficient and direct. She demands perfection and discards anything or anyone that doesn't deliver. She is powerful, confident, and wrapped in femininity so complete that her presence garners attention regardless of setting." Emily stopped herself and looked away. She seemed slightly embarrassed she had said so much.
"She sounds like a doll." And you sound a little in love with her.
"She would definitely not appreciate that assessment." The car stopped in front of a sleek high-rise. "Come along."
The building was dark and quiet, the security guard half asleep as he let us through to the bank of elevators. The heat of the streets didn't reach anywhere in this building of glass and steel. I felt cold in the cavernous halls that echoed my own footsteps. What am I getting myself into?
The elevator ride was quiet. Each floor we passed lit its assigned number before blinking to the next one in succeeding order. Emily quickly disembarked on the seventeenth floor. I followed at a much more sedate pace, inspecting the darkened and shadowed corners of the level's offices.
"Do hurry please," Emily huffed. She was impatiently waiting in front of a large office with two secretary stations outside its glass walls.
This must be the boss's office. It was indeed impressive. Clean and all clear lines and sharp angles. I imagined the owner to be much the same. An environment was created by those who inhabited the space. This one posed the veneer of a woman who was all the things Emily had described, but also one who was so transparent she was impossible to pin down and understand. Interesting.
"There is a folder on Miranda's desk," she pointed into the darkened office, "she said if you can figure out the discrepancy in the files, she'll consider you for the case."
"A test?" Disbelief colored my voice. "Fancy gophers. Clandestine meetings in the middle of the night. Examinations. I believe this is part of the ride where I get off before I trail into illegal territory."
"Come now, Andrea." The way her soft voice caressed my name and changed its pronunciation sent a shiver shooting up my spine. I was suddenly hyperaware of every motion in the office. That soft voice wafted up from a shadowed corner. I didn't know how I missed her sitting quietly on the settee. "Testing the validity of your skill is a simple precaution on my part. Should I not prove that which I'm purchasing?"
She unfolded her legs and stood. She stood at my height with her heels on but her presence filled the whole office, the whole floor, the whole building. Miranda Priestly was larger than life. She was beguiling in the most alluring way. My world focused entirely on the way she put one foot in front of the other. The black heels with the red soles shone in the snatches of light filtering in from the street and outer office, her legs move in practiced, graceful ease in the confines of the tight knee length skirt she wore, and her hands absently played with the long necklace that was falling onto the bare skin her partially buttoned blouse exposed. I swallowed thickly and tried not to tremble; this woman was surely the devil in high heels.
She stopped in front of me, her blue eyes measuring me in an almost intimate way. I was acutely aware that I was failing whatever assessment she was giving me. It made me angry to be evaluated so unwillingly and based on something of so little value. I squared my shoulders, it somehow mattered to me what this woman thought. "I doubt I'd be standing here if you didn't already know my value."
Her mouth twitched. In amusement, perhaps. Or displeasure. I couldn't be sure. Her eyebrow rose delicately and her eyes studied me openly. "Prove it to me." A challenge. An opportunity. Her fingers tapped her bottom lip. Her head tilted minutely to the folder on her desk, the motion made regal by the complete crown of white hair covering her head.
To my chagrin, I was moving before my head had come to a complete conclusion on the matter of one Miranda Priestly. I acquiesced out of an exterior compulsion. I rubbed my eyes and took my hat off. I opened the folder and studied the first page. The ledger of numbers was boring and gave me nothing I wasn't already expecting. I rifled through the rest of the papers quickly; it was much the same.
I closed the folder and picked up my hat. "So what exactly is the reason you need me?"
Miranda's mouth thinned in displeasure. Now I know where Emily gets it from.
"You can't possibly be done," Emily voiced her boss's displeasure, "you've barely looked through any of the files."
"Well," I put my hat on and stuck my hands in my pockets, I felt just a little smug, "it's not unusual for a high ranking person in a company to line their own pockets with company earnings. I take it that you are either," I took my right hand out of my pocket and lifted my index finger, "guilty and want me to make it seem as if you're not. Or," I lifted my middle finger to accompany the first, "someone is setting you up." I looked down at the folder on Miranda's desk. "To take a mighty big fall it would seem. And, you want to find out who that is." I raised an eyebrow at her. "And maybe enact some justice on them."
Miranda's mouth twitched again. Not displeasure then.
"Your discretion is of absolute importance," she says it softly, completing a transaction I hadn't fully committed to yet.
"With the whole cloak and dagger, I gathered as much." Emily's facial reactions to my words were comical. I could only assume that no one ever spoke to Miranda like I spoke to her. Watching the woman in question, I concluded that no one had ever dared.
"You'll need a cover," Miranda continued, completely ignoring my previous statement.
"Excuse me? A cover?"
Blue eyes gleamed in the illuminated darkness as they looked me up and down. "You'll be my assistant."
"You look…good." Emily sounded more surprised than anything. As if I didn't have the ability to dress myself in anything other than wrinkled, day-old suits. As if she hadn't seen me in everything Runway's closet provided for the last two grueling weeks.
I stared at her sullenly.
"Miranda will be here soon. You should hurry and get her coffee," she said it so gleefully I felt a petty desire to stomp on her foot with the heel of my borrowed Manolo Blahnik's.
"You know, I'm not actually her assistant," my voice was petulant, even to my own ears, "Why don't you go get her coffee?"
"We must keep up appearances." She smirked at me with that same glee. "You are the second assistant. That means you get the coffee, and the skirts, and the scarves, and the little pieces of paper Miranda randomly throws away and wants returned…"
I walked away with Emily still listing off the duties she was more than happy to transfer to me. This is ridiculous. I jammed my finger into the button for the first floor. This is worse than my actual job. Who in their right mind actually looks for this type of work? I strode out the glass doors into the humid heat that seemed to never disappear from the streets of New York.
I was sweating by the time I walked into the cool coffee shop. Great. I'm going to leave stains on clothes that aren't even mine. This day just keeps getting better and better. I smiled at the girl behind the counter, she had my order ready. She was pretty and she liked me, I was sure of it; I wasn't quite certain why I politely ignored her advances. I only knew that being late with Miranda's coffee was not a pleasant experience.
I hurried back to the office. And, I didn't think about the reason I particularly cared whether or not I displeased the woman with the shocking white hair and steady blue eyes.
As I disembarked the elevator, Emily motioned me over to her. "She's almost here. Is her coffee ready? Her water? Her breakfast? Her newspapers and magazines? Her…" I watched the harried expression transform the pretty face into the one I had seen on the first night we had met.
"My god, Em." I stopped her mid-rant. "She's not some omnipotent creature. She's your boss. A pretty bitchy one at that. Take a deep breath and relax. You are excellent at your job." I put the tray of coffees down, handing one to a gaping redhead before taking a long sip of my own cup. "And, thank you. You've just reminded me that this isn't my job." I smiled genuinely at her. These last two weeks had been hell; I wasn't sure how Emily withstood Miranda's treatment every day. "I don't work for Miranda in this capacity." I took another long sip of the scalding coffee. The elevator rang Miranda's arrival. "And, I think it's time I reminded her of the fact as well."
Miranda strode into the outer office with purpose. I could see her mind already whirling in the direction of the day's events. She was beautiful and powerful. I completely understood the urge to worship her; she was a force of nature. I put my coffee down as Emily scampered to man her desk. Today, Miranda wouldn't throw her purse at me. Today, she wouldn't send me to and fro in search of red herrings. Today, I wouldn't allow it.
I made her come to a full stop in front of me. She almost barreled through me, but she managed to stop and stare daggers at me instead. I smiled toothily and deftly took her purse from her making sure my hand brushed hers. I set the purse gently on my desk before picking up her coffee. I turned back and slowly went around her until I was behind her. She watched me but didn't voice dissent. I smoothed out the collar of her shirt before leaning slightly forward and wrapping my arm around to hand her the coffee. I didn't touch her, even though I wanted to. I wanted to shatter the cold, glass façade and see the woman inside.
"Your coffee, Miranda." I was so close I could see her throat work as it swallowed away the dryness I was sure I had just put there. So you're not completely unaffected. "We need to talk," I whispered as I stepped back.
She didn't respond. She walked directly into her office, but I noticed a slight tremor in her hand.
I smiled to myself.
"Are you insane?" Emily hissed at me, eyes wide.
"One way or another, I'm out of this office today, Em." I picked up my coffee and followed Miranda.
I closed the door behind me.
She looked up at the sound of the door closing; it was a rarity for her door to be closed. She leaned back in her chair and took off her glasses. She worked one of the metal legs along her bottom lip. I couldn't help but stare. Her blue eyes took me in. And I suddenly recalled why it was that I was dressed like I worked here. And why I brought her scalding, bitter coffee every morning. And why I did her bidding when I didn't have to. It was the way she looked at me, like her eyes were touching me, like her heavy approving gaze was the goal of my life, like her look alone could make me come undone.
I swallowed.
Her mouth twitched. Her eyes twinkled.
I'm in such deep shit. I walked the few feet between us and sat without asking for permission. We stared at one another for a long, breathless moment.
"Yes, Andrea?" Her voice was soft but her eyes were heavy.
I crossed my legs and uncrossed them and crossed them again trying to ease an uncomfortable pressure. Oh my god! I finally stood.
"Do you need the restroom?" I swear she was smiling.
"No," I choked. I cleared my throat and sat back down. Wasn't I abreast of this situation a minute ago? "Listen," I leaned forward and looked at her in the eye, ignoring the obvious something in her gaze, "I need access to Runway's complete financial records. You've had me here for two weeks and I haven't seen anything but the preliminary files you showed me on the night you hired me."
"All in due time, Andrea. All in due time." And now her eyes went back to the mockup of her magazine. I was dismissed.
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. All the excitement of a moment ago dissipated from my body, all I felt was an uncomfortably heavy burden settle on my shoulders. Miranda could be more stubborn than a mule. "This isn't a fucking game, Miranda."
Sharp eyes cut across to me. I had the editor's full attention. The thin set of her lips quickly telegraphed it was very displeased attention.
"You're being set up to take a major felony charge. If I don't root out who's behind the frame, you're going to be collared for embezzlement and fraud." I stared right back at her. It was important to me that she understood her predicament. "Even if you managed to pull yourself out from under a guilty charge, your reputation would be ruined. No one would trust you to run a newspaper stand, much less a multimillion dollar magazine." I could see the tense set of thin shoulders as the words processed through a brilliant mind. "And, chances are, you won't be able to weasel your way out of this mess without some help. And, prison isn't some stroll in the park. Your money—whatever is left of it after lawyers and a long, drawn out, public trial—will do you very little good there. What are your girls going to do with you in prison?"
The silence that settled around us was anything but comfortable.
Miranda finally leaned forward and clasped her hands together, her eyes steady and with an edge that surely meant danger for someone. "What course of action do you suggest?"
"Let me do my job." Let me help you.
"This is you doing your job?" There was no malice in the question.
"No," I replied with a small laugh. Miranda liked being contrary. "This is me not doing my job at all. It's my day off. No work. Just two woman enjoying a lovely day together."
"As what, exactly?" The query was delivered softly with a raised eyebrow.
"Friends, mainly." I wrapped my hand around hers. "But, I wouldn't mind a different definition."
Miranda watched me through narrowed eyes. She opened her mouth to speak.
"Shhhh…" I covered her lips with a finger. "Don't ruin the moment."
A tap on my shoulder pulled my attention from the file in front of me.
"I believe there is someone knocking at your door, querida." Smiling green eyes regarded me with amusement.
"Shit." My joints cracked as I stood. "Has the knocking been going on for a while?"
"Andy Sachs, I will not stand out in this bloody hallway all night long. Open this door immediately." The voice was muffled through the door but there was no mistaking it.
I rushed to the door, flipping the lock and deadbolt before I came to a complete stop. I swung to door wide. "Hey, Em. Thanks for coming. Come in."
"Yes, well, you certainly kept me waiting long enough," she sniffed and walked through the threshold. She stopped short when she spotted the tall, Brazilian woman in my living room.
It was amusing to see the redhead speechless; she usually had to bite her tongue to keep from saying all the things going through her mind.
I bumped her shoulder and motioned to the other woman. "Emily Charlton I'd like to introduce you to Serena Vieira." I motioned between them. "Serena this is Emily."
Serena, being her usual flirtatious self, took the redhead's hand and brought it to her lips, a small smile playing across the lips kissing the hand. "It's a pleasure."
Emily cleared her throat softly, she was flattered. "The pleasure is mine."
I gave Serena a big thumbs up from behind the enchanted Brit.
I plopped down on the couch and picked up the files I was looking through before I opened the door. "So, Em, I need you to clarify some of these expenses."
Emily looked at Serena curiously before swinging her gaze to me.
"You can trust her. After a week of combing through several years of financial records during Miranda's tenure at Runway, I needed reinforcements." I pointed to the blonde. "I also needed a different set of eyes to corroborate my findings." I looked up at the redhead. "What I need from you is some clarification so I know I have the correct numbers where it regards designers, photo shoots, and general running of the editor's office."
"Right." Emily nodded.
We spent the next hour confirming and narrowing the possible perpetrators before Emily got called away on some wild errand for Miranda.
"We'll meet again tomorrow?" I asked as I walked the redhead to the door.
"Yes, the sooner we can figure this out, the sooner we can all move on with our lives," she remarked dryly, "Or, maybe start having a life in my case."
Serena handed Emily her purse. "Let me walk you out." She smiled widely.
I rolled my eyes. "Good night, ladies."
"What is it? I'm busy." Miranda's voice was soft and whispery, registering lower than normal. She was pissed at someone or something.
"You're always busy," I teased. She didn't scare me. And, she had answered my call regardless of how busy she was.
"Is this conversation going somewhere of any import?" She really was unhappy.
"Hey," my tone changed, now I was concerned. "What's wrong?"
She sighed but didn't elaborate. "Is there something you wanted, Andrea?"
I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I had no right to feel hurt that she didn't want to share. We weren't anything. Barely friends. "I'm bringing you lunch so you can forget whatever it is for at least a little while," I said with enthusiasm I didn't particularly feel.
"She's in a mood," Emily whispered in warning as I walked through the outer office.
No kidding. Miranda was withdrawn, distracted almost, when I set out our meal. I talked about everything I could think of that didn't involve the case. I was in the middle of explaining an amusing run in I'd had with a very disgruntled client when she cut me off.
"What is this," she motioned between us, "thing we are doing, exactly?"
I closed my mouth and swallowed the bite of food in it. "Whatever you want it to be."
"Friends?" She asked as if the concept was foreign to her.
"Uh, yeah," I smiled, though I didn't like where this was heading. "I'm trying to be."
"Do you think it wise to get emotionally invested in a client?" It was a question that required no answer. "I pay you, you render a service. That is the extent of our relationship. Why are we attempting to muddle such an easy transaction?"
"Maybe because," my tone was indifferent but I was shaking on the inside, "we're human beings."
"You want more than friendship." Not a question but her blue eyes were asking.
Of course I do. But right now… "At this moment, I don't particularly want anything." My heart beat loudly in my ears.
A weight seemed to lift off her shoulders. "Good." She tucked into her meal with enthusiasm. "It's easier this way. Less of a mess when things fall apart."
I smiled woodenly and nodded at her. I continued my story so I wouldn't hear my heart breaking under my ribs.
I heard it rending anyway.
Miranda seemed much more at ease in all our interactions after the conversation we'd had, but I couldn't bring myself to interrupt her at work again. I was what she had purchased: a private eye. And I tried valiantly to be only what she wanted: a friend.
I spent the week licking my wounds and doing my job.
The week passed in relative quiet and with a great deal of study into Runway's financial history. It all showed the magazine had greatly profited from Miranda's vision and direction. Everything balanced in the books until Paris Fashion Week of the previous year. After the week abroad, there was money disappearing into a vacuum. Thousands of dollars, sometimes hundreds of thousands, but never an amount that would raise immediate suspicion.
"Em, did something happen at Paris Fashion Week last year?" I kept coming back to that specific time period. Something was bothering me about the amounts of money disappearing into no discernible place directly after that week.
I looked up when no answer was forthcoming. The redhead was distracted and jumpy. She's distinctly uncomfortable. I looked over at Serena who was much quieter than her normal self. I looked between them for a minute noticing their avoidance of each other's gaze. There were no accidental touches as papers were handed back and forth. "What's the matter with you two?"
"Nothing," Emily said all too quickly.
Serena didn't respond.
"Last year," Emily barreled on through the awkwardness, "Miranda almost lost the magazine. Irv wanted her replaced with someone younger, more chic, more in tune with what was happening in the fashion world." She shook her head at his audacity. "As if someone could replace Miranda. There is no one who could do what she does. He just wanted someone he could manipulate and control, neither or which he's able to do with Miranda."
Emily was nothing if not loyal. I watched Serena scowl at the words coming out of the redhead's mouth. Yup, still a little in love with Miranda. Aren't we all? The last thought caught me by surprise. I ignored it.
"But, Miranda knew about his little plan and foiled it before it even got off the ground. She showed him a list of people she had built from the ground up, people who would leave the magazine if she were to leave the position of editor." She nodded her head emphatically as if agreeing with every name of the list.
"Do you know who Irv had in mind to replace Miranda?" That was suddenly a very important question.
Emily shook her head. "I do know that it would've had to be someone in a similar position already on the Elias-Clark payroll. The board would have never approved of an untested replacement."
"Pass me that." I motioned to Serena to hand me the stack dating back a decade. There's something here. I just can't quite put my finger on it.
"Not that it matters who Irv had in mind for replacing Miranda," Emily continued, "We all know that the most likely suspect in attempting to frame Miranda is Irv Ravitz himself."
"That's where all the evidence points," I agreed, "He has means and opportunity." I stood to pace. "But, he has no motive."
"Maybe revenge for being beaten at his own game by Miranda," Serena suggested offhandedly.
"I've met the man and he doesn't strike me as the masterminding revenge type. All he's interested in is the amount of money something can get him. His besetting sin isn't pride it's greed. He'd lick someone's boot if it meant he'd have some financial advantage. That's why he didn't replace Miranda when he could've, he would've lost millions upon millions of dollars. So, he backed off and let Miranda be. That's why this doesn't make sense to me. Where is his advantage? Where is he gaining?" I looked down at the papers strewn all over the coffee table and floor.
"Why don't we call it a night?" We were all exhausted and the tension between my two helpers was starting to affect my efficiency. "We'll start fresh tomorrow."
Emily nodded and gathered her things. She waited uncertainly at the door, looking back at the suddenly taciturn blonde.
"Come on, Em, I'll walk you out." She didn't protest but she looked sadly at Serena.
We waited silently for the elevator that by some miracle was working. I looked at the redhead out of the corner of my eye.
"Just ask already. I feel you wearing a hole in the side of my face." She didn't look at me.
The elevator dinged open. "What happened between you two?"
She sighed deeply. "Nothing." Her eyes turned to me. "I said something daft, something I shouldn't have said."
"It'll get better," I soothed. "Serena forgives easily."
"I hope you're right."
I left her at the door of the same black sedan of several weeks ago. I took the stairs back up to my apartment. It gave me time to think.
I wasn't expecting Serena to grab me as I walked back through my door and kiss me like she was exorcising pain through our lips. She felt so good against me, and I remembered us. When we were good, we were so good.
She pulled back slightly. "Why didn't we ever work out?"
"Because we make better friends than lovers." It was hard to remember exactly how that was at the moment. Her lips made me forget the ache under my ribs.
I leaned in. She met me halfway.
"At the moment, I can't remember how that's possible," she said against my lips.
"Wait…wait, Serena." I cupped her face between my hands, my thumbs mapping the planes of her face.
Green eyes held a deep sadness. I suspected that same sadness was reflected in my own gaze.
"You took her out on a date, didn't you?" I asked.
Serena nodded, her normally happy countenance sullen. "She's not interested."
"Impossible. She's been watching like she wants you the whole week."
The blonde smirked and shook her head. "She's not interested in women."
"You could change her mind," I insisted.
"Probably," she agreed easily. "But, I'm tired of being a game. An experiment, I think you say. I want realness and substance."
"Hey," I bit my lip, my hands moved to her shoulders and squeezed in sympathy, "I'm sorry."
She shrugged it off. "What about you? How is it with Miranda?"
I laughed, the sound hollow like it broke from the center of my chest. "She's so far from me." It made me sad to think about it. "As far as the earth is from the sun."
She lifted her hands and entwined them with mine. "Untouchable, unreachable, yes." She pulled me to her and her lips pressed mine softly. Electricity shot up my spine. Serena had always tasted like almonds, subtle, soft. She had always been an incredible kisser, an incredible lover.
I pressed a palm to her cheek again in a futile effort to still her, to still us. "You like Emily," I reminded her.
"And, you love Miranda," she reminded me. "They are so far from us. Can we not have this, at least, querida?"
And, I couldn't find a counter argument. She wasn't wrong. "Yes." My hands fumbled along the buttons of her shirt.
She kissed me with fervor. Fire licked my blood. Her long, lovely fingers didn't fumble along the seam of my trousers. She was unerring in her intent.
"Not slow, then." I gasped breathlessly as her hand deftly slid under the elastic of my panties.
"We've got all night for slow," she husked against my neck, "it's been too long since I've touched you."
The knocking on the door was insistent.
"Who the hell…" I grumbled as I stumbled out of bed. I had the sense to pick up a shirt thrown on the floor on my way out of the room. I buttoned three or four buttons on it before realizing I could barely see straight and I had no hope of buttoning the shirt properly. I was barely covered but I couldn't care less at that time of night.
I stubbed my toe in the darkness. "Ah fuck!"
The knocking turned to banging.
"Hold on just a goddamn moment." I limped the final distance to the door. I turned the deadbolt and lock without looking to see who was knocking so loudly on my door at three in the morning.
Had the knocking come at a different, more acceptable time, I still wouldn't have been prepared for the sight that greeted me when I opened the door. I stared. "Miranda?"
She was supporting herself on the doorframe and her face was pale, almost as white as her hair. In the darkness, I couldn't see much else except for what looked like blood on her temple and the gleam of a gun in her hand. She teetered.
I reached out and held her upright. "My god, Miranda." Forgetting propriety, I picked her up and carried her to the couch. She didn't say anything. I turned back and closed the door and turned some lights on as I walked back to her.
I knelt in front of her, carefully removing the gun in her hands. "Are you okay?" That was the most important question.
Blue eyes were glassy and dilated. Miranda didn't respond. I tried to rise and get some supplies to clean her up but two strong hands grabbed my forearms and held me.
"I'm going to clean you up and get you something to drink okay…" I had to see if the blood on her was from a deep wound.
She nodded slowly. Her blue eyes finally focused and she looked at me for a long moment. The scrutiny of the gaze reminded me that I was practically naked in front of her. She let me go.
I buttoned the shirt up properly and dashed into my room to pick up a pair of pants before getting first aid supplies from the bathroom. I put on a kettle for tea before I walked back to Miranda.
She didn't look like she was about to faint anymore though she was still pale. I pulled up the coffee table and sat across from her. "This might sting." She didn't flinch as I cleaned what looked like a blow to the head. What the hell happened to you? And why did you come here?
"Andy, who was at the door?"
Miranda was shaken but her first reaction at seeing Serena step out of my bedroom in a robe that had no hope of covering her long legs was jealousy, intense and visceral. "Perhaps, I could inconvenience you at a different time, I seem to have interrupted something," she said before she tamped down on any further reaction. It was the first thing she'd said since she knocked on my door.
I ignored the comment for a moment. "Serena, could you make Miranda some tea please?" The blonde nodded and walked into the kitchen. I could hear her pulling down cups and preparing the tea.
I watched Miranda recede into herself. "You can always come to me. You're not an inconvenience. And, me and Serena…" I shook my head. Right now was not the time for that conversation. I took her cold hands in mine. She was trembling; she let me hold her hands. "Never mind that now. What happened?"
Blue eyes regarding me for a long minute. "Irv Ravitz is dead."
It took a moment for that sentence to sink in. Her appearance at my door. Her injured head. Her gun.
Irv Ravitz was dead. Well fuck.
"Miranda…did you kill him?" I wasn't sure what I was going to do, but I had to know.
"Don't be ridiculous. Why would I kill him?" She dismissed the question out of hand.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
Serena walked in with a tray of steeping tea and cups. She set it down beside me before handing Miranda a cup full of steaming liquid. "Drink. It will help with the nerves." She sat on the seat opposite us unashamed of being in nothing but a flimsy robe.
Blue and green gazes locked and an uncomfortable silence filled the room as the two women assessed each other. I cleared my throat. "Serena this is Miranda Priestly, Miranda this is Serena Vieira."
Miranda brought the cup to her lips and sipped, her blue eyes never leaving Serena's face. "You look familiar."
"We have been to several parties but we've never been introduced," Serena said easily, "Though, I think you have met my father."
A raised eyebrow was question enough.
"The Brazilian Ambassador to the US." Serena supplied nothings else.
"Lovely man," Miranda sounded much more like herself.
The tense atmosphere didn't abate with the exchange. I felt distinctly like I was in the middle of some invisible competition, over what I wasn't certain.
"Yes, he is," I interjected into the silence, "now can we please get to how you ended up on my doorstep with a bloody head, a gun, and a dead CEO?"
"I'm not entirely certain," Miranda admitted. Her hands were still cold.
"Let's start from the beginning."
"I was working late," she began, her eyes narrowing in focus, "I heard a commotion in the outer office but it was too dark for me to see what it was. So, I went to look that Emily hadn't destroyed some important piece of clothing. I was bludgeoned from behind as soon as I stepped out of my office." She pointed to the now covered injury. "I must have passed out because when I came to, there was a gun on Emily's desk that hadn't been there before. I'm not sure why I picked it up. Maybe I wanted to feel more secure. Anyway, I went to call security and gather my things from my office but when I walked in Irv Ravitz was in my chair with a bullet in his heart. His blood all over my desk and floor." She shuddered.
"Is there anything else you can remember?" I pressed.
She put a hand up to her forehead as if staving off a headache. "I think someone else was in the office. But, my vision was blurry by then. I felt like I was going to vomit. They rushed me and I think I shot at them. I'm not sure if I hit them, but I must have because they stopped advancing. I left as quickly as I could. And, then I was here."
Miranda began trembling. "Hey," I wrapped my arms around her, "you're alright. You're safe here." I looked over at Serena. What a mess. And there was still that one tiny detail I couldn't get out of my head.
"Miranda, do you know who was supposed to replace you if Irv's plan had worked last year in Paris?" I had a feeling this was all connected.
"Jacqueline Follet."
I pulled back to be able to look at the editor in the face. "Do you know her? Is there bad blood between you two?"
"I care very little about Jacqueline Follet," Miranda shrugged. "But, she does have a bit of an obsession with me."
"It must be the rivalry between Runway and its French branch," Serena supplied as she drank her tea. She was watching us with curiosity.
"She'll never be the editor I am," Miranda said as if complete fact.
Wait. I got up and searched through the stack of papers behind me. "Do all Elias-Clark editors in chief get paid the same? And does the breakdown of cost vary greatly for running the magazine?"
"I get paid more than most, but the extra money on top of that is mostly bonuses." Her hands are folded in her lap and she looks composed now. "And the cost will vary slightly from magazine to magazine but they all have the same basic requirements."
"So an editor from French Runway would essentially know the financial breakdown of Runway?"
Understanding dawned in blue eyes. "Yes, they are similar enough that if someone is only looking at paperwork, they'd be nearly indistinguishable."
"That explains the discrepancies." I pointed to the money that seemed to be going nowhere on paper. "And, I think I know what the large sums of money every two weeks were for. They were an editor's salary being disbursed directly to your CEO." That was Irv's profit right there. His motivation.
"What a fool." Miranda shook her head. "His greed killed him in the end."
"What I don't understand is why," I paced. "Surely there has to be more to it than being passed up for a position." I stopped and looked at Miranda. "I mean this woman really hates you. She hates you enough to plan this for months, maybe years. And now that we're close to catching her, she's murdered her co-conspirator just to take you down. What happened to make her want to destroy you?"
Miranda was quiet so long, I assumed she didn't know the woman's motives either. I rubbed my face. I had to figure this out soon. I was almost certain the weapon on my coffee table was the one used to murder Irv Ravitz. And it had Miranda's prints all over it.
"When she worked for me," Miranda began so softly I had to strain to hear her, "we were lovers. She was young and impressionable; I was younger and had a much larger sense of my own self-importance." Serana scoffed. Miranda ignored her. "I think she loved me, and I may have loved her, too. But, not enough to risk my job and status."
I listened quietly.
"Jaqueline got much more attached to our clandestine affair than I did. And, when it was her time to move on, she refused. So, I discarded her the way I discard things that are no longer of any use to me. I forced her to return to her country of birth and revoked her visa to the United States. I got her a job comparable to what she had here and forgot about her."
Serena looked at her aghast. I just stood there and thought perhaps I understood Miranda a little better.
"That is, until Paris last year." She wiped away invisible lint on her skirt. "She didn't want to oust me from Runway. She wanted to work alongside me. She wanted to come back into my life. I laughed at her before summarily refusing her."
"You're a royal bitch, you know," Serena said it like she was discussing the humidity, like it was just fact, "if you've treated Andy like that and she still tries to be your friend, she has a bigger heart than I have given her credit for." She rose and walked toward the room.
Miranda's lips pursed but no rebuttal was forthcoming.
I sighed. "I'll be right back." I followed Serena. We dressed in silence. "She hasn't treated me like that," I said softly to a lean back.
"I'm sorry, Andy," she turned to me, "I shouldn't have said anything. It's just hard to see her heart. It's buried very deep. And I don't want you to foolishly dig for something that may not be able to be given even if found."
"I know. Thank you." I pressed my lips to hers chastely. "Now I need you to take her home and keep her safe for me."
I left Serena dressing in the room. Miranda was still seated where I left her. Even now I felt my heart tremble at the sight of her. I'm a fool.
I sat next to her. "I called Emily. She's going to meet you at the townhouse. Serena is going to take you home."
"She needn't bother," Miranda said affecting indifference.
I smiled. So stubborn. I didn't touch her even though I want to comfort her. I rose.
She stopped me with her hand in mine. "Where are you going?"
"Back to your office. I need to see what kind of evidence Jaqueline left for a frame. And, I need to inform the police." I squeezed her hand in reassurance.
She didn't let me go. Her eyes were more open than I had ever seen. "I wasn't rejecting you. I was trying to protect you from myself. I was trying to keep you away from my fickle nature and keep you in a place where I couldn't hurt you so deeply."
I kissed her hand and pressed it against my cheek. "You can't control everything. Let yourself live in the moment. I'm here in whatever capacity you'd like me to be, but don't let your fear dictate what that is."
She surged up and captured my lips. At the first touch, I was lost. I knew nothing but the sensation of her pressed up against me and the feel of her lips against mine. I forgot my name but hers pounded against my skull.
Miranda.
The phone rang endlessly before the other end clicked on.
"Someone better be dead," came the gruff, sleep riddled voice, "or someone'll soon be."
"Hey, Nige, it's your lucky night, someone is dead."
"Andy?" He sounded more awake now. I could hear him pulling himself out of bed, cursing as he got his groggy self up. "Who's dead? Did you kill them? Do you know who did?"
"Ah…Irv Ravits CEO of Elias-Clark. No, I didn't kill him. But, I may know who did."
I could hear his hand rubbing his face. "CEO? The shit is going to hit the fan, kiddo." I could hear his booted feet hit the ground. "What happened?"
"I don't know, Nigel. I'm at the Elias-Clark building right now. I just wanted to let you know. I've been investigating a case but I think it has gotten way deeper than I can do without some help."
"Are you in any way connected to the murder?"
"I don't think so." It was the best I could do.
"I'll meet you there as soon as I can." The call disconnected.
I made my way meticulously through the office. The outer office was clean except for the spots of blood I was certain were Miranda's. Just past the threshold to Miranda's office I could see a trail of blood. Miranda did hit her.
From what I could see at the door, the office was pristine except for the dead body that had bled all over Miranda's glass desk and the trail of blood leading back to it. I moved further into the room.
"Quite a series of unfortunate events, wouldn't you say, detective?"
The words startled me out of my inspection of the scene. I turned to see the slightly rumpled appearance of my old friend. "Nigel!" I pulled him into a fierce hug; her returned it. I stepped back and looked at him. He looked so tired. "And don't call me detective. I haven't been one in a very long time." I smile lopsidedly at him. "It's good to see you."
"It's good to see you, too. I just wish it were under better circumstances." He stepped aside to inspect the body. "What do you know of what happened here?"
"I don't know much. I've been investigating a frame up for a fraud. And, it seems to have gotten a lot more complicated sometime this morning."
"I can see that," his tone was dry. "It looks like he was shot right where he's sitting, but whoever shot him seems to have taken the gun with them."
I felt the weight of the gun against my waist.
"I'm going to have to call the forensics team." He stepped back from the desk. "Is there anything else you need to look over before I make the call?"
"Just give me a sec…"I walked around to where Irv's body was sitting on the chair. The papers on top of the desk were undisturbed except for a sheet ripped off of what looked like Miranda's personal correspondence. I blanched. Shit. Shit. Shit.
"Let me know what you find, Nige." I hugged him again. "I have to go."
Oh god, I hope I'm wrong.
The door to the townhouse was open. That's not a good sign.
I entered the house slowly. It was eerily quiet. "Miranda! Serena!" My voiced bounced up the empty halls. I trembled on the inside. I couldn't imagine what I would do if anything happened to Miranda. Please don't be dead.
I heard movement upstairs. I pulled out the gun and started slowly up the stairwell. My blood was pumping in my ears and I recalled every time I'd done this when me and Nigel worked together on the force.
At the landing I saw a body sprawled out at the bottom of the adjoining stairwell. I rushed to it. Emily. There was a pool of blood surrounding her head. It almost seemed to flow out from the ends of her hair. I knelt down and reached my free hand to her neck searching for a pulse. Thank god. It looked as if someone had pushed her down the stairs. She had a gash on the side of her head and was probably concussed but she had a strong heartbeat.
As I made to rise, I felt a crushing blow hit me on the side of the head. My head exploded in pain. I stumbled back to my knees. Sneaky little bitch is strong…and fast. Another blow made my vision blur. I let myself fall completely to the ground and roll away from my attacker. I felt the gun being smacked out of my hand.
I saw the small shadowed form of a woman approach me with a square object raised above her head.
"Are you one her whores, too?" Her voice was shrill as she shouted the question at me.
I pulled back my knees and kicked her as hard as I could in the stomach before scrambling to pick up the gun. She jumped on my back before I was close enough to pick up the weapon. She wrapped her arm around my throat and started squeezing. I pulled at her arm but she squeezed harder. I tried to jab my elbows into her ribs but she squirmed away from the blows.
My vision started to blacken at the edges. I gasped for air. In a last ditch effort, I sunk my teeth into her forearm. I bit her as hard as I could with my lungs protesting for air. I felt my teeth sink into soft flesh and the taste of rust invaded my mouth.
She screamed and pushed away from me. "You fucking bitch!"
I spat out her blood and gasped for air.
Jaqueline rushed me again.
Three shots rang out.
I could see each impact hit her body. She looked like a ragdoll being punched in the back. She stood suspended for an infinite moment before falling to her knees, then dropping face first onto the floor. Blood pooled around her as she bled from the holes in her back.
I held on to the banister and wiped my mouth with the sleeve of my suit jacket. My eyes followed the path from the now dead Jaqueline Follet to her killer. Serena was standing there, gun still held up, deathly pale. I knew she had diplomatic immunity—even in this case. But, I also knew that if she did not have that, she would have still shot the crazy woman if it meant saving me.
Miranda walked toward me, eyes wide. Frightened.
"Where are the girls?" It was my first question.
"Summer camp," came the succinct response. I had forgotten they had left a week previous. Worried hands inspected the gashes on my head. I leaned into Miranda's touch.
"Good." I looked around. "I think we need to call the cops."
"I'm going home with you," Miranda said with a finality that brooked no argument. "Until this whole mess is sorted out."
I entwined our hands.
I wasn't arguing.
There were still loose ends for the police. I knew Nigel would want a rundown of the events leading up to the death of Irving Ravitz and Jacqueline Follet. And, he'd want to know Miranda's involvement in it all. But, I had a woman I loved waiting for me. Everything else could wait for another day.
"You heading home, querida?" Serena's voice pulled me from my musings. She was pulling her things together. I assumed she was heading to the hospital to see Emily.
I nodded, the smile on my face permanently stuck in place. Home.
I filed away the folder labeled The Devil in High Heels. As far as I was concerned, it was over.
Case closed.