Walking at Quarter of Two with Miranda Part 2
Miranda was packing for home, here in her luxury suite in Paris, everything that was Miranda Priestly was neatly contained in five half packed Louis Vuitton pieces of luggage, all Miranda was doing as she folded her wardrobe was think of her . . .
Clearly the silly girl with lofty morals judging her could only be considered insane.
Andrea, that girl made an absolute fool of her, she hoped Andrea was tied up in tangles, no doubt home now in New York in her downtown apartment or perhaps Andrea decidedly ran back home, to where was it? Yes recalling now, boring Ohio she came from, Miranda had heard her once talk on and on about her home state's countless virtues and her words about her treacly hometown to Emily as she heard her while sitting at her desk, the girl was clearly not as clever as she seemed, Miranda would as soon as she arrived back in Manhattan, ensure personally (and viciously) that Andrea's future in publishing would never happen.
Andrea was always hard to steer. Why wouldn't she break first?
Miranda had tried to compliment her in the car. Compared her to herself that was something she thought Andrea would like to hear.
It was a meant as a sincere compliment, few ever measured up to herself.
That was exceptional words of praise from Miranda Priestly.
Seeing now, Andrea was nothing like her.
Miranda had hoped Andrea had something different about her. A drive that could be molded.
Choosing her over Emily, was a big miscalculation on her part. That thought of being wrong about anything making her blue eyes narrow.
She should have listened to her gut, the moment she locked eyes with hers.
Andrea was a challenge. Standing before her with such an adorable little speech that made her hire her.
Yet, Andrea Sachs didn't come with a warning light over her head, did she?
Unpolished, an unfashionable alien amoebae, starting out in the job, Miranda saw how the sweet gentle eyed brunette was seeking her approval.
Miranda was not going to be all coddle and praises to her because she could follow an Outlook diary and paperclip a memo and answer a phone all at the same time.
Not ever to the new to the city graduate.
That damn brown eyed never published in anything except an infantile Northwestern college paper rag, judging her, her, Miranda Priestly, seen as less.
Less!
Less, by a quirky and once woefully unstylish child and despite her trying to break Andrea every morning with her less than agreeable attitude and coats tossing, Andrea was disgustingly nice with that big smile of hers given to her daily and the daily charming all in the office sometimes even her . . .
Lip curling, no Andrea Sachs did not charm her.
She smiled too brightly like some type of stoned Disney World employee.
What the hell had Andrea been doing or thinking leaving her like that?
In the middle of an important event, after she'd barely kept a hold of Runway from Irv, Andrea Sachs from Ohio decided to just up and go.
No other assistant would dare.
Not one would ever contemplate resigning in the middle of fashion week. Except, Andrea.
Leaving her there on the steps and just walking away from her.
She'd turned back searching for her, worried for a moment in a raw panic to where was Andrea? Was she lost in the paparazzi?
Searching for her and finding her across the street, near a fountain, and just like that the girl was gone.
She just walked away from her.
It actually hurt.
More than Stephen's faxed papers for ending their disaster of a marriage did, which was a strange thing to Miranda tonight.
She was equally seething about Andrea and her husband well now ex-husband simountaneously.
Folding a blouse, smoothing at its delicate silk, Miranda crossed the suite to get her date planner, Andrea had tried to suggest it be digital, Miranda adamantly refused, she liked the feeling of paper, sighing out, she had a full morning until her flight lifted off from Paris tomorrow, turning the pages to her Bobbsey's school holidays, Miranda's hand stilled on it.
Picking up the envelope with her name scrawled on it in familiar loopy writing of hers.
It was her resignation letter.
Crumpling it up, she in all honesty, she didn't want to read Andrea's resignation this late at night.
Feeling the crumpled note in her robe pocket. Set on one thing, she was going to make Andrea who hadn't been smart enough to flee Paris, pay.
Andrea and National Enquirer sounded good. No Birds & Blooms.
Miranda's suite door was knocked on, crossing in her robe, opening it to Nigel.
"Miranda you need to hear this."
Pressing his voice mail and speaker.