Disclaimer: Own? Me? Nahhh...
AN: I planned to do just one longer second part, but I decided to put this out now since I may be busy over the weekend. Could possibly end up as four parts, M rating soon, I promise.
Only an editor of a fashion magazine—no, not an editor, rather, the editor—could manage to find a reason to include such a well-furbished bathroom in her workspace, Andy found herself thinking as she perched awkwardly on the rim of the tub. If Andy had been able to find any words to express the strangeness of the situation she was in, she was sure she would be protesting, but sometime between when Miranda had stepped into the tub behind her and when she had wrapped a decadently soft towel around her shoulders, rational thought seemed to have failed her. Instead, she sat, rigid with tension, as Miranda casually ran a hand through her hair.
Andy felt her breath hitch as her skin shivered under the feather-light touch, and knew this was a bad idea.
"Miranda, I—"
As though hearing the protest before it could reach her lips, Miranda interrupted, "—Andrea. I suppose you have no reason to trust my abilities in this particular area, but really. Could it possibly become worse than it already is? Shall we just skip the griping?"
"But, Miranda—"
"—Indulge me," she quipped, a note of humor in her voice adding to the ever-pleasant timbre.
How could Andy say no to that?
Miranda began sifting through the damaged portion of her hair. Though she was quite gentle, Andy could still feel the awkward tugging because the strands were so stiff with hairspray. Miranda appeared to notice as well, because she muttered, "This is hopeless. I will not be able to tell how short this will need to be unless this… gunk is removed. Lean your head back."
Out of habit, Andy obeyed without question. A moment later, a handful of lukewarm water was poured over her hairline. Though it wasn't too cold, Andy still shivered at the unexpected sensation. More water followed until her hair was mostly covered, and two hands chased the moisture into the remaining strands, softly smoothing down Andy's scalp and the hair below. Andy fought to remain tensed and to not relax into the touch, but it was nearly impossible to equate these gentle hands with the commanding presence of her boss.
Andy shivered again as a colder substance dripped onto her head, and the light floral smell told her it was shampoo. Miranda's fingers began to work it into her hair, kneading her scalp as she did so. Miranda is washing my hair. Oh god. Miranda is actually washing my hair. As the belated thought crossed her mind, Andy could not help her eyes fluttering closed. Her spine relaxed as well, perhaps for the first time in months, as the cool hands continued their ministrations. Miranda seemed determined to massage the shampoo into each individual strand by carefully lifting one lock at a time, starting at the roots and tugging downward. As the hands returned to her head with a more forceful touch, Andy could not contain a small sound of pleasure. She knew Miranda had heard, because the sure strokes faltered for a moment, but Miranda did not stop, despite the flush Andy was certain had colored her neck and cheeks.
After a few more wonderful, torturous seconds, the hands pulled back. She could hear as Miranda scooped up more water, and one hand gently pressed to her forehead, tilting her face back just a bit more before the water was poured at her hairline. With sure, competent motions, she began a systematic process to wash out the foam, working from roots to ends without letting a single drip out of line. Andy vaguely realized that she wouldn't even need to fix her makeup when Miranda had finished.
Once every bit of shampoo had been cleansed away, Miranda began to repeat the experience with a similarly scented conditioner. It was not the same smell Andy had come to associate with Miranda, which told her that the silver-haired woman was not of a habit to shower in her office.
She worked even more slowly with the conditioner; seeming to linger over each sensitive bit of skin she could possibly touch. Andy knew she was trembling slightly, and she tried to tense up again. Just as she regained a semblance of control over her body, Miranda's perfectly rounded nails raked down her scalp. She reacted with a visible shudder, an audible breath taken in. A slow-smoldering heat that had been simmering under her skin since the beginning of this occurrence seemed to drip lower, pulsing through her blood. "My apologies," Miranda said softly. Andy knew it was most likely her libido talking, but she thought Miranda sounded anything but sorry. This thought was pushed aside, however, because it was such a rare occurrence to hear a word of apology from Miranda at all.
When Miranda finally finished with the conditioner, Andy felt her body was ready to tear itself apart, torn between the ultimate state of relaxation brought on by the gentle touches, and the ever-present arousal that refused to obey Andy's orders whenever Miranda was in a room. Let alone touching her. Come to think of it, this was one of the first times Miranda had physically interacted with her for any extended period. She tried with limited success to rein in her more erotic thoughts, determined to enjoy what was surely a beyond-rare experience of kindness—if it was even that, and not just annoyance that led Miranda to attempt a repair of Andy's nightmare hair day—and not ruin any moment of this peculiar gift.
Andy understood the practicality of waiting with the conditioner in her hair to let the formula do its job. However, at the moment, she didn't know if she could take it, because Miranda continued to run her fingers through Andy's hair, drifting as though unconsciously. Andy had always enjoyed having her hair played with, but with Miranda's fingers running through it, it was taking enjoyed to a whole new level. Finally, the rinse process began again. The water in the bowl had cooled much more by now, and the chill was enough to take the edge off of Andy's arousal. She knew that this was not the reaction she should be having to a practical, if unconventional, haircut, but months of being nearly always only steps away from the older woman had begun to wear on Andy. She was perfectly willing to admit she had a crush, but the past weeks had given her this tiny window into the private life of the fashion icon, and no matter how much she tried to deny it, crush simply wasn't a strong enough word.
The harsh schnipp! of scissors startled Andy out of her musings. She must have jumped, because Miranda placed a steady hand between her shoulder blades. "Relax, Andrea. I'm not going to stab you," she said dryly. Andy chuckled weakly.
With each deft pinch of fingers, the scissors closed, pulling away with them a lock of hair. Miranda started on the right, swiftly and efficiently removing years' worth of dark, thick hair. Andy found herself better able to relax now, because Miranda had gone into business mode, albeit with less harshness than her usual fare. She cut with speed and precision, and Andy could see in the mirror as her hair became short all around, though not yet styled. She tried to bite her tongue, but Andy somehow let a question past her lips. "Where did you learn to cut hair?"
She wished she could take it back the minute it slid from her mouth, knowing how Miranda despised being questioned. She could see the hesitation clearly in Miranda's face, but after a moment she spoke, "There was a time when I was younger when I did not have quite the resources I do now." A comb began working through the tousled strands of shortened hair. "I was allowed to dress window displays in a boutique across the street from my home. I learned to cut hair in order to turn cheap wigs into what I deemed respectable hairstyles for the mannequins. Once I learned, I would often earn myself a bit of pocket money by styling for friends and relatives."
Andy was beyond startled by this veritable wealth of knowledge she had just been given about Miranda's childhood. Miranda did not share stories with her employees, of this Andy was certain. She could see Miranda bracing herself, face going blank in the mirror again. Andy thought for a moment that perhaps she was worried about her opinion, but that would be silly. The only opinion that mattered to Miranda was her own. Andy mentally shook her head. That wasn't true, nor was it fair. Miranda may have been top bitch, but she was still a person outside of Runway, with a past clearly much different from what many must have expected. So Andy was careful as she shaped her short, sincere reply.
"Well, I am impressed, and grateful."
It was true. As she had spoken, and as Andy had sat in silent deliberation, she had finished her styling. In truth, it was short enough to be boy-cut, but Miranda had managed to pull off a strange oxymoron of chic disarray with a distinctly feminine twist. Filled with seemingly random layers, it was just long enough to hide her fingers as she ran them through it, and the layers fell back into place once her hand had passed. She laughed, immediately understanding the attraction of short hair; it could be sent through a wind tunnel, and with a few quick shakes could be back into place.
She caught a glimpse of a smile as it quirked Miranda's lips, and saw a strange warmth in her eyes, but as quickly as it had come, it was gone.
"Don't expect me to make a habit of it," Miranda said, slipping on her professional mask, but with perhaps a bit of humor still present. "And I trust there will be no hunting for rubber cement in the future, either."
Andy smiled. "Of course not, Miranda. I believe babysitting is more hazardous to the health than I knew."
Andy thought perhaps Miranda had smiled at that, but couldn't be sure, because at the same time she had pulled the towel from around Andy's shoulders and ran it briskly over her hair, toweling out the worst of the stray hairs from the cutting. As Miranda was tossing it into a laundry pail in the corner, Andy stood, stretching her legs from the slightly cramped positions they had been stuck in on the edge of the bathtub.
Miranda walked over to her and placed a finger under her chin, immediately stilling Andy's motion. She tilted the younger woman's head from side to side, studying the cut in a critical manner. When she finished, she gave a quick nod and lowered her hand, brushing her finger against Andy's neck as she did so. Andy's breath hitched, but Miranda had already taken a step back. With the hat out of the way, Miranda proceeded to give Andy the usual once-over that had gone unfinished in the morning. She said nothing, but Andy could practically hear the word, "Acceptable," scrolling through her mind. She quelled the urge to grin or fidget, but she knew she still looked unnaturally happy.
Miranda turned to the door, opening it and gesturing Andy through ahead of her. It appeared she was about to say something, but then she caught sight of something over Andy's shoulder, and her face went immediately icy. "Irv. Did not Emily inform you I was unavailable today?"
Andy's eyes widened in shock as they landed on the figure of a clearly impatient Irv Ravitz pacing the far window of Miranda's office.
"She did, but what I have to say to you will not wait while you carry out business with your assistant in the bathroom," Irv's face was ruddy with annoyance, and it was clear from the leer in his tone just what he thought of Miranda's business with Andy.
Miranda did not bat an eye. "If you cannot conduct whatever conversation seems so urgent to you without being unpleasant, I am sure Andrea would be willing to escort you out."
Irv's face darkened further. "Miranda, you are beginning to take this power trip of yours too far. If you put one more toe out of line…"
Miranda yawned. Andy had the sudden urge to cheer. "Irv. You know very well the board has not been thrilled with your performance lately. Kindly bore someone else with tales of your incompetence. Emily!"
Emily's head popped around the doorway as though she had been standing just outside. "Yes, Miranda?"
"See Mr. Ravitz out of my office. If he makes a fuss, call security. Irv, whatever you wished to discuss with me may be said over the phone if you cannot wait until our appointed lunch this week."
Irv spluttered for a moment, but he was a rather spineless man, and brushed past Emily in an attempt at a dignified exit. Andy almost thought Emily was about to trip him, but the gleam in her eye passed and he made it to the elevator unhindered.
"Miranda, Carlos was wondering if the evening run-through might be moved up. Someone from the Times wanted to do an interview and…"
"Fine," Miranda said. "It seems everyone is determined to disrupt this day. Has my laptop arrived?"
"It's sitting on your desk."
"Very well. That's all."
Emily exited and Andy made to follow.
"Andrea."
She turned back. "Yes, Miranda?"
For a moment, Miranda did not reply, seemingly uncertain what she had meant to say. Finally, she said, "Take this with you and dispose of it properly." She gestured at the old hat. "And make sure the book is ready early tonight. That's all."
