DAMSELS AND DRAGONS
Miranda doesn't deal well with feeling vulnerable. Luckily Andy is very understanding. Of course I do not own these enchanting characters. Please comment nicely!
Chapter One: Museum Fundraiser
"Oh, I know this one. I know this one! I . . . I . . . oh, bloody hell!" With a violent sneeze, poor Emily Charlton noisily announced that she really was not ready to identify the tall, silver-haired man who was about to shake Miranda's hand at the exclusive Manhattan fund-raiser.
"Prescott Hamilton," Andy Sachs supplied helpfully, whispering in her boss' ear. "Harvard trained, foreign affairs journalist. Wrote the classic work on Vietnam policy makers, Knights of Dishonor. Now he mostly writes about baseball."
"Prescott, what a thrill!" Miranda was already squeezing the attractive older man's hand, her radiant smile in full force. "The Babe Ruth of sports writers, hitting a home run for an art museum in trouble. Some knights really do rescue damsels in distress!"
"Only from fire-breathing dragons," the legendary journalist replied, tossing a friendly wink at youthful Andy while presenting white-haired Miranda with an enormous check.
"Wud was thad sub-posed to mead?" Emily's crisp, elegant British accent was buried beneath a terrible cold.
"Miranda, would it possibly be okay if we sent Emily home a little early? She's really not feeling well," Andy whispered, gently squeezing Miranda's arm.
"Have you absolutely lost your mind?" The icy challenge in those clear gray eyes instantly reduced Andy to jelly. "This happens to be a very important event. We are here to raise money for the museum, not to make eyes at older men."
"I'll stay with you," Andy promised, sounding a lot more confident than she felt. "I'm yours for the night, Miranda."
It was a very successful night. Even with silly Emily gone home to bed, Miranda was able to work the room brilliantly with Andrea by her side. There was no question that the brown-eyed beauty was growing comfortable with her role. Maybe a little too comfortable, Miranda thought, watching the slim young creature hold that silly old writer absolutely spellbound with some incomprehensible story about watching baseball on television with her grandfather.
"You certainly connected with Prescott Hamilton tonight," the older woman observed, in her most acid tone, when the two of them were finally alone together in her private limousine.
"He reminded me of my grandfather," Andy innocently confided. "I could have talked to him all night!" The young woman blushed. "I mean, I know he's a very important writer, but we just connected like we'd known each other forever."
"Yes, I can definitely see the attraction," Miranda snarked. "A silver knight to rescue you from the fire-breathing dragon."
"Miranda?" Andy's lovely face showed a child's wonder. "Miranda, are you telling me you were jealous?"
"Not another word," snapped the famous fashion editor. "I have two assistants. One of them is moderately capable. That's all."
The two of them rode on in silence for a while. Miranda sat very straight, cloaking herself with fragile dignity. With her chin in the air and her diamonds glittering, she looked every inch the elegant princess. Not the fire-breathing dragon.
Then something quite remarkable occurred. As Roy guided the limo around a sharp curve, Andrea accidentally allowed her lovely head to fall against the older woman's shoulder.
"Sometimes the stories have it wrong," she whispered. "Sometimes the damsel falls in love with the dragon."