Chapter Two

Emily was about to have stroke at um around twenty five give or take a year or something. What in bollocks, hell freezes over, the world is ending was Sachs doing here. Her career was over, simple as that. Everything was against her now. It was any wonder she was not in full blown histrionics.

Lady Fate was slapping her roundly and soundly like a prize fighter, it was like being surrounded by a never-ending street of Dunkin Donuts and Krispy Kreme's. All welcome inside but her. That was a recurring nightmare for Emily many an evening. She'd talked often about that terrifying night terror over with her therapist and still neither could decipher what it meant.

Remain and keep calm. One step at a time. One will get through this and survive. Somehow. Squeezing her eyes shut like an incoming car crash. Wishing this calamity away.

Miranda had seen Sachs. Miranda really did take in everything and everyone. Emily maybe 4%. Do not panic Charlton. Easily able to be handled. Everything has not gone to hell in a hand basket. Not yet.

How to shoo their waitress which was Sachs away. For good. It was against all etiquette to deliberately banish your server for the evening. It would have to be done. Pull up your sleeves Charlton and do it. Maybe Emily could request to the Maître'd that Miranda didn't care for Andrea's ethnic accent. It was too hard to understand. Miranda being British it was too late to require a translator. Yes that would have to work. Miranda was known for her instant dislikes and eccentricity.

Page Six lived on Miranda's whims.

If she didn't act fast it was a train wreck waiting to derail, the Board of Trustees were at this table. If Sachs embarrassed poor Miranda amongst them and by her side Irv Ravitz. That vile little man made Miranda vitriol. There would be hell to pay. Heads would roll. Starting with Emily's. Dear naïve Andrea if she so much as upset Runway's Editor in Chief, Andy would be asking in her new job, will you be having fries with that at a fast food chain. Clearly she liked working in the food service industry.

Thanks to selfish Andrea's sudden appearance, the cause of Miranda's glacial stare, someone would be fired tonight and that someone would be her. Could feel it, a sickening creeping up on her six sense that 'Sunshine Sachs' would cost her, her dream job. Tomorrow morning no doubt, she'd receive a pink slip, be marched mortified to HR.

Ever since she was, once a slightly plump and riddled with acne and Orthodontic Headgear, eleven year old growing up in the Berks, ridiculed at her day school every day by names like Enormous Emily or Eat Everything Charlton, she'd dreamed of Paris. The designer couture, the culture. The snotty ambience. Now she'd never go to Paris, be snogging that proverbial pipe dream goodbye. Goodbye forever.

Wave that one thing she wanted most out the window. It would be back to using her sneering posh accent to greet averagely attired tourists on tour bus, sob, at Harrods. NEVER again.

Shuddering have to go and live with Mum and Dad if they'd let her return home and of course that would depend on if Mumsy would convince her Father to pay for her BA airfare home. Preferably First Class or Business. Economy would not do. Then she'd no doubt be given a two hour lecture on being a dreamer stuck on this side of the pond, penniless and jobless. Hopelessly taking after Mum's side of the family instead of doing better in her A and O Levels. Would have made her more practical and down to earth. Should never have given in and bought her a subscription to Runway on her eleventh birthday. Appeased and over indulged her living in a fantasy world.

Then upon her return, her dear mum would want to fatten her up with comfort food she hadn't let pass her lips since seventeen, telling her in all honesty she resembles a famine victim and by Boxing Day, she'd be the size of miserable and fat Sachs. All set downhill for Em, right before her eyes, scraping out a living simply clothed in Selfridges and Top Shop.

Resolutely determined this freckled strawberry haired size 2 would not stand for it. Nothing would or could upset Miranda tonight of all nights. Least of all Andrea Sachs being here.

Pang of guilt trickled into Emily, Andrea hadn't completely backstabbed her over getting to accompany Miranda to Paris Fashion Week five months ago. In all honesty, Andy had kindly offered and sent her all of the couture she'd been generously riddled down with, it was for the best really, that Andy came to her senses, there was no way Sachs would ever be able to squeeze into any of it and wear it. Sachs was enormous like a baby orca. It was designed for magnificent and miniscule. Not hippos from Cincinnati.

Still had been gobsmacked to the point of fainting that Miranda herself had written a recommendation for Andrea. Personally. Miranda didn't do things like that for nobodies like Sachs. It was all fine and good because Emily didn't even know where the office supply room was or how to load the paper into the printer.

Sachs had royally messed up. Her name was whispered in hushed tones in the office so quietly, least Miranda hear any unfortunate clacker or office minion converse about the one that walked out on Miranda and survived. Scandalised at the cruelty in the beginning of Paris Fashion Week. That brainless ninny was lucky Miranda didn't make her swim home to Manhattan.

It was all so surreal and odd. Andrea had been a one of a kind. Not really meant for Runway Magazine. For an American, one couldn't help but like Andy even when you didn't want to. Though Emily would be loathed to ever admit it. Andrea's ways did charm.

Em, smiled at how pitifully ignorant Andy was about fashion, not knowing how to spell Dolce and Gabbana. Greeting Donatella Versace and cooing over her toy dog. Offering Milk Bones. Slurping soup. Wearing sweaters clearly knitted blindly without bifocals on or pulled off a dead travelling harmonica playing hobo. Almost giving Miranda an apoplexy over the word 'Stuff '.

It was miracle the girl lasted the first day. Most tried to sue HR or be on the line sobbing to be rescued from the Dragon Lady's clutches. Andy, the woefully dressed disaster had? Lasted, even been helped along by resident fairy godmother of frocks Nigel. Nigel had to teach her how to dress decently, a duty to the Magazine, loyal readers would stop subscriptions if they saw that worked here. For Emily it was like sitting at her desk across from a bag lady before her much needed make over. Thank god for Nigel's craftsmanship.

Then Paris happened.

Emily had never dared to get the accurate truth. That was between Miranda and Andrea. Only them. There'd been downright unbelievable rumours that Andy was a corporate spy for Irv Ravitz, a ploy to break their Editor, Irv tried anything to seize and wrest control from Miranda and also one disturbing one, that Andrea was an item with Jacqueline Follet. Emily sniggered, Shagging Jacqueline that was not possible. Miranda had been particularly crueller that day especially the new girl had asked 'Who's Andrea? From Paris office is she? ' That presumption and nerve to ask Miranda about the last assistant had earned the new twit by an hour, errands of needing that thing I told Mario to have in his next shoot, where is my coffee and I want that new designer I met last year in Milan to be on my line, in 35 minutes. That poor thing lasted till after lunch.

Still Miranda hadn't called anyone else Andrea, but still referred for the last few months, each new second assistant that didn't last as 'Emily.' Strange indeed. Andrea didn't deserve this and Emily hated to be viewed as shallowly insensitive but it had to be done. For Miranda's sake and her own future employment.

Emily steeled herself. Somehow with set jaw determination, she'd make Andrea '' Bloody '' Sachs leave. Immediately.

Author's Note: Thank you. Thank you jh728 for being my first review!