It's harmless.
Because…well because, Miranda flirts with everyone; it's second nature to her. When that lovely mouth opens, if its tongue isn't eviscerating, it's charming and complimentary and flirty. Miranda only operates in those two extremes.
So, of course, the little innuendos and possible double entendres that drop with ease from Miranda's lips mean nothing. They're harmless.
That's what Andy tells herself. The words have become her mantra. She repeats them in her head constantly like Emily repeats her I love my job line constantly. She ignores the fact that her mantra is as useless as Emily's.
Andy breaks her own rules and crosses lines she doesn't realize she's crossing because Miranda is her exception to every rule. And, she flirts back. Subtly. With her eyes and her smiles and her body. Sometimes, when they are alone, she uses her words and inflection and tone.
Flirting isn't second nature to Andy, but practice makes her better. And, she finds that pleasing Miranda is highly satisfying. But, the words and looks are just a game, they mean nothing.
It's the touches that steal Andy's breath and rattle her composure. They're innocuous and dismissible. They can hardly be considered touches. The fleeting touch of a wrist, the brush of fingers, the slide of a palm on a shoulder. Never anything overt. But the touches burn Andy's skin long after Miranda has stopped touching her.
"Andrea." The implicit command to come has Andy's feet moving before her mind registers the command. Andy doesn't consider the conditioned—almost Pavlovian—response to Miranda's voice.
"Yes, Miranda," Andy feels the rough, breathless register of her voice. She hadn't meant to sound so subservient.
Miranda's eyes darken with something Andy doesn't know how to qualify. The editor motions with her hand for Andy to turn in place.
Andy obeys.
She turns slowly because she has learned that Miranda likes to look. Andy has also learned she likes that focused regard.
"Come."
Andy swallows hard in nervousness and anticipation. Her feet stop in front of Miranda's desk and, at Miranda's pointed stare, she bends to bring herself closer to the editor. Andy holds herself still, barely breathing, before Miranda. Her eyes stare at the woman seated across from her, she licks her lips unconsciously.
Miranda slowly shifts forward in her chair and raises her hands to adjust Andy's shirt collar that needs no adjusting. All Andy feels is fire licking every inch of skin where Miranda's fingers brush her neck. She closes her eyes to keep from doing anything stupid, like moaning. When she opens them, Miranda's face is inches from her own.
They stare at one another. Unmoving.
Miranda licks her lips and Andy's eyes can't help but latch to the motion and the lips. "You may take the rest of the night off."
Andy doesn't even realize she's closing the space between them until Miranda's fingers tighten on her collar and she whispers a very breathy that's all. Miranda releases her. Andy nods (more to clear her head than in understanding) and expels a shaky breath.
Andy's hands tremble only a little as she collects her things to leave.
It's only a little flirting.
It's harmless.