By the time Emily had finally succeeded in dragging Andrea down and on the phone, Miranda was devising a scheme. Of course, this elaborate little idea would put the editor-in-chief in a few positions and places she didn't want to be, but, unfortunately, she'd have to be a proper chameleon, this time, and mold to suit the situation.
Of course she couldn't be seen with Andrea in any reputable place among any reputable public, because that would make people think she was going soft by associating with those she didn't employ—like friends. The word left a repulsive aftertaste in her mouth. It was like drinking cheap wine.
Jules, Emily second-in-command and Miranda's newest head-ache, was clacking away at the keyboard. She was a miserably small creature with untamable black curls and tolerable-to-good taste in heels. However, the single time Miranda had seen her in 'casual attire' all those decent thoughts had gone down the drain. She learnt the girl had a penchant for super-hero t-shirts and once had the audacity to show up in a…
--Miranda's eyebrow arched, suddenly—
…hooded sweatshirt-type-thing with a bat insignia across the chest.
She had it all planned out, now. She would 'borrow' the repulsive grey blob of material (a few days in advance, to thoroughly clean it, of course) and, incognito, she would make reservations for some back-woods café in, say, the West Village where no one would ever see her. Genius, Priestly, divine!
Buying a whole other outfit was just out of the question. What if she was witnessed buying a sweatshirt? Runway would writhe in agony.
Jules' name was, of course, not Jules, but she preferred it to Julia. Miranda absolutely refused to refer to her as 'Jules', dismissing it, mentally, as a stage-name used by a stripper. The twenty-something year old underling did most of the gopher work and left the 'smart people job' to Emily, who Miranda was convinced still wasn't the right caliber of 'smart' for the job. The point was, Julie had been hired because it was rumored she could take mental notes like there was a PC installed in her head, and her untouchably optimistic attitude meant Miranda could kick her around all she liked and never worry about it 'damaging her ego'. Plus, the first time she'd wandered in for an interview she'd been wearing the Manolo Blahnik Mary Janes most considered an 'urban show legend'. If there was one thing the very petite assistant had decent taste in, it was certainly shoes.
"Julie-uh." Miranda had breathed, exasperatedly, and the hazel-eyed ball of stupid-bounce skittered to her doorway. She was all smiles, as always, and Miranda remembered how irritating youth could be, "Inform Emily to pass on to Andrea that we will be having dinner on Thursday at The Elephant Castle. Explain that she should take the subway to Saint Vincent's hospital in the West Village and plod her undoubtedly heavier self up the block to the right side of the hospital. The restaurant is right there and dinner will be at eight o'clock sharp, no later. Should she arrive at eight-oh-one, I shall refuse dinner altogether."
When Miranda used that tone, the case was closed, and in her whip-turn to escape from the frame Jules had managed to smack her forehead with a resounding crash of a nose. Miranda only rolled her translucently blue eyes, and waited patiently for Andrea's inevitable complaint. This girl was certainly not Andrea. Hell, she was barely a Moneypenny. Three. Two. O—
"Miranda cannot speak with you, Andrea, she's very busy. Well, what makes you thi—no, she can do whatever she likes, and in this instance she would very much like it if—Julia!" Another crash of a noise. It appeared as though the twenty-somewhat had smashed her knee on her own desk, "Julia, you bloody git, tell Miranda Andrea wishes to speak with her."
Breathless, the moron jittered to the desk and timidly squeaked, "Andrea wants to talk to you."
"Inform Emily so as she may inform Andrea that I am currently away from my desk and cannot be reached. Reservations have been made, and I am positively dying of excitement to be graced by her presence. She cannot disappoint me."
"Got it, can't disappoint." A pause, a breath—Miranda waited, but to her dismay Thing Two didn't receive more cranial damage, "Emily! Miranda told me to tell you before she left her desk that it's been set up and nothing can be done and she's very enthused to see Andrea so--"
Emily simply mouthed the words, "I heard, idiot" to Julia, and the intimidated girl hunkered down a little shamefully. She was just doing her job, wasn't she? This career was entirely impossible.
Miranda Priestly turned her chair, back facing the door, and smirked casually down toward the city. Her eyes gleamed cheekily, and she let out a throaty, pleased "Hmm..." of a sound.
The queen had moved and it was the pawn's turn, now.
In the end, Miranda Priestly knew she would win.