Saturday, 6:33 a.m.

Riiiiiiiiing. Riiiiiiiiing.

"Hello?"

"Andy, darling!"

"What...? Who?"

"My pretty, pretty Ahndeeee. You don't recall my voice? I'm wounded, absolutely pierced!"

"C – Cruella?"

"Yes, it is I, Cruella. I need a favor, darling Andy."

"How... how did you get this number, Cruella? I only gave you my email..."

"Miranda's other charming assistant gave it to me last night when I attempted to contact Miranda. Once again in the hospital, I hear?"

"Ah, right, yes, unfortunately."

"Consumption is a terrible disease, my girl, terrible. That's beside the point, however. I'm afraid I need you to pop in for a bit. Is that possible?"

"Pop... in?"

"Yes, yes."

"To Canada?"

"Well that's where we're shooting, darling, let's not be silly."

"Sill- I mean, I'm sorry, but I don't think I can make it, Cruella, Runway doesn't have the funds for a last minute ticket and I -"

"Already bought, darling, and I'm afraid we simply must have your presence on the set. The lawyers are all saying a Runway representative needs to be at the shoot. They won't allow it to begin otherwise."

"I... I... of course, Cruella. I'll start packing right away. You can email me the details."

"Were you sleeping, my dear? Your voice sounds... fuzzy."

"Yes, I was, but it's not a problem. I understand. This is an emergency."

"Your voice is... quite nice."

"I think I'll go pack now, Cruella. Thank you for calling."

"Yes, yes."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

How long had Miranda's most capable assistant been in contact with Cruella? Had the restaurant been a first meeting, or the last of a long line of clandestine get togethers? And for what purpose?

Despite what Emily had implied about Le Piazza, the idea of romance between her second assistant and that monstrous creature of a woman was preposterous, whatever fancy restaurant they had been eating at.

Miranda paced around her king sized bed, flinging down her custom-made coat and kicking off her four inch Louboutins. First of all, Andrea would never entertain the idea of a relationship with a person as horrid as Cruella de Ville. Second, even if Andrea were to entertain the idea, it could never come to fruition because Cruella's vicious personality and disgusting habits (kidnapping cute animals and smoking those awful grape cigarettes, to name a few) would invariably push the girl away almost instantly.

Not that Cruella would even have the emotional depth needed to maintain a loving relationship. The psychopath possessed the empathetic capacity of a shoe rack. And Andrea could not possibly stand that awful, ominous flavored smoke that seemed to precede Cruella wherever she traveled.

Yet there was no way Andrea was selling Runway corporate secrets – it had been Miranda's first theory until Emily's romantic description of Le Piazza had effectively shot down the idea, but it wasn't like Runway really had any secrets to begin with. They were a fashion magazine, not a mafia gang.

That left only one possible explanation.

Cruella must have been professionally seducing (and Miranda shuddered at the word) Andrea in order to get back at the editor – some nefarious scheme that Miranda could only guess at, that involved using her second assistant in some dastardly way. That was the only explanation. Miranda knew Andrea's dream was to be a writer. With a promised writing position dangling in front of her second assistant's nose, there was no telling what Andrea would choose.

Either that, or...

No. Love was hardly Cruella's forte – although Cruella was infamous for her obsession of all things fine and soft.

Everyone knew what happened to the objects of Cruella's obsessions – she needed to possess them. She did everything within her power to obtain what she wanted, and then she would keep it, and coo to it, and no one else was ever allowed to wear it, or touch it, or savor its softness.

Miranda just had to talk some sense into the girl. Get Andrea's story, and then squash every iota of good feeling and trust Andrea had ever had in the madwoman. Miranda would promise to ensure every opportunity for advancement at Runway. Yes, all Miranda had to do was call her, and this would all be settled.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

By the time Andy got through security after touching down in Ontario, a suited man had dragged her luggage into the back of a 1940's style Ford before returning with a garish red-and-yellow bouquet of flowers.

"These are from Miss de Ville, Miss Andy."

"Uh, thank you."

Andy brought the blossoms to her nose and sniffed. She stared at them. They smelled lovely.

The ride to the national park passed quickly. Andy sat with her flowers in the back seat, occasionally fiddling with her phone. It hadn't been working since she turned it back on after landing, but she could still play the games. She found herself taking a picture of the bouquet.

The old Ford rolled to a stop, crunching along the dirt path until the brakes squeaked. Andy's door opened before the driver had gotten out.

"Cruella, thank you for the flowers."

A claw-gloved hand took Andy's own and assisted her chivalrously out of the vehicle.

Cruella bared her teeth. "My pleasure, darling."

Andy inhaled as she took in her surroundings, spinning slowly in a circle, unable to tear her gaze from the orange and red treetops above. "This place is beauty itself, Cruella."

Cruella looked briefly uncomfortable, pale cheeks tinging a faint pink. "Well yes, I thought so."

Andy stopped spinning to examine the other woman.

As if sensing the inspection, Cruella clapped her hands and burly men began hauling around lighting equipment and unloading a generator from the back of a flatbed Andy hadn't noticed before.

"Chop chop now, we must hurry."

A harried man dragging a cage filled with chipmunks wheezed by.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

BEEP.

"Yo, it's Nate. Where the fuck are you? I've been waiting here half an hour, your mom said you'd be here... You know what, fuck this. Keep all of it. Not like you'd ever use it anyway. You're too busy trying to weigh fifty pounds or whatever to ever cook yourself a good meal. I'm outta here."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Natasha, hug the moose, darling. There there, nothing to be afraid of. That's a nice moosey."

Andy licked a maple-flavored ice cream cone observing the chaos that embodied Cruella's bizarre photoshoot, which seemed to consist of making cute animals appear to be acting out various Olympic events while wispy models stared on dreamily.

"How are you doing, Andy darling? Would you like my parasol? You're looking a tad cooked."

Andy smiled and shook her head, but Cruella took tentative steps towards her despite the negation, standing close enough to share the shade of her black and white umbrella.

"I need to be back at Runway by Monday morning, you know," Andy warned.

"I know."

Andy nodded, relieved.

"But I will see you in New York," Cruella added.

"If you like." Then Andy added hopefully, "Or you can go home to London straight after the shoot, and I'll just send you a copy of the August edition."

"...Or that."

Something in Cruella's tone made Andy glance over. Cruella was looking hard at a rock in the ground, nudging it around with the top of one black-and-white spotted heel.

"Is something wrong, Cruella?"

"Nothing," Cruella responded in a way that communicated clearly to Andy that there certainly was something.

Andy edged closer into the other woman's aura beneath the parasol.

"Cruella?"

"I said nothing," she assured her. "Nothing at all, dearest."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

BEEP.

"Hey, it's Lily. Your mom's harassing my mom again. Like usual, I should say. Might wanna call her, girl."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Want some?" Andy proffered her maple cone to Cruella, who jerked slightly.

"Ah," the fashionista responded, blinking uncertainly as though she were facing some type of test. "No thank you?" guessed Cruella.

Cruella's sudden shyness tickled a soft spot inside Andy that was close to her heart, and it made her grin. There was something quirky about Cruella that she found appealing, Andy decided.

"Wrong answer," she said smilingly, and placed the cone in Cruella's hand. Cruella looked at her uncertainly and upon receiving an encouraging nod, took a careful, tentative lick.

"Ah," said Cruella. "It's good?"

/\/\/\/\/\/\

BEEP.

"Girl, it's Lily. Your mom called. You know, again. Don't worry, I kept your cover. She firmly believes you're visiting some new love interest in Quebec somewhere. Not a peep out of me about the crazy-haired, puppy-kidnapping nutcase. Do me a favor though while you're up there – find yourself someone sexy as all get out, have a sweet little weekend affair and get the stress out of your system. Then come home and tell me all about it, 'cause I have no life, and I am desperate enough to live vicariously through you. Love ya."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Andy bit her lip, watching the crew pack the last of the set items away onto the back of a semi truck. The animals had been penned and ferried away an hour ago by their handlers, citing Canada's strict animal labor policies, but they had finished their jobs admirably and on time, in any case.

Andy had been sending Cruella smoldering looks all afternoon, eating the other woman up with her gaze . So far, though, Cruella had yet to give any signal, positive or negative in response. It was true the other woman had been excessively polite and thoughtful with her needs, garnering some severely confused looks from the de Ville crew – Andy guessed Cruella wasn't normally super charitable, but really, they were acting like Cruella was some sort of alien clone replacement – but as far as conversational or physical advances, the woman acted as if she were oblivious. Normally, Andy would have gotten a few sly, returned smiles, a breathless comment, a few too-close brushes when walking past each other... she even would have accepted a disgruntled eyeroll to let her know she was barking up the wrong tree.

There were only so many ways to say, 'I like you,' and Andy had run out.

Was Cruella getting what Andy was doing at all? The brunette debated internally as she slid a hand into hers politely to assist her into the back of the car and instinctively sucked in her bottom lip at the sight of the other woman's curvy, white-clothed buttocks swerved in front of her face as Cruella climbed in.

Another night for Andy to return to bed alone, she thought, although the dramatization, even in her own mind, sounded whiny.

"Thank you," said Cruella politely from the back seat, tone of voice suggesting she didn't utter those words a lot. "Would you, um, care to ride with me to your hotel?"

The question was a nervous one. Like Cruella was playing a game she'd never tried before.

Andy bent and peeked into the backseat of the classy vehicle. Cruella hadn't buckled up. In spite of the heat, she had wrapped herself in a lynx shawl and was tugging it distractedly around her front, luxuriously draping the naturally large swell of her breasts. Cruella's gaze was hard on Andy's body – who noticed belatedly that the woman was staring at her chest, which was peeking out of her blouse as she bent over to look into the car.

Cruella's cheeks were unusually ruddy for a pale complexion such as hers. Her eyes were glittering.

Andy swallowed.

Cruella had definitely gotten it.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

BEEP.

"Andy, it's Mom again. You're not answering your phone. I called your work friend, Emily? She said you were visiting some boyfriend in Canada? Then Lily said so too. Why haven't we heard about this unidentified person of interest? Just tell me you're not sleeping around again, damn it. I didn't raise a prostitute."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Once you got passed the hair, the claws, the smoking and the criminal activities, et cetera, by her attributes alone Cruella de Ville was truly was a lovely woman.

By her attributes, Andy of course meant her breasts, her pale flat stomach, her sensuous thighs and the deliciously warm, unknown place between them.

In the backseat of Cruella's Ford, Andy could not stop thinking about that aching center as she unbuckled her seat belt and slid into the woman's lap. Cruella's wicked, wicked eyes were on her, making Andy's skin burn at their invisible contact.

Two hard peaks visible through the ivory fabric of her dress solidified the evidence of Cruella's arousal, who was breathing heavily, eyelids hooded. More than anything at that moment, all Andy wanted to do was peel the shawl away, push down the front of Cruella's dress and taste those opulent nipples for herself.

"I've been imagining you like this all day," Cruella breathed, then her eyes narrowed accusingly. "You've been taunting me all day."

Andy tentatively rearranged her legs, shifting so that she was straddling the other woman, all movements slow, ready for the slightest indication from her partner that this was not what she wanted. Cruella's breathe hitched, and a dark red tongue poked out, surely unconsciously, and ran across her bottom lip. Andy leaned forward, breathing in the sweet scent of perfume from the long, pale neck before her. "I can make up for it," she promised Cruella's ear softly, and bit down gently on the lobe.

Cruella's entire long body shuddered and Andy became hyperaware of the hot center that was separated from her own by only the thinnest of cloth and panties. Unable to withhold her questing hands any longer, Andy pushed the shawl back and ran her fingers under the shoulder straps of the dress before giving both sides a pull. The top of the dress peeled downward, inch by inch revealing creamy flesh and, eventually, released full, heavy breasts marked by large, smokey areolas.

Cruella made a tiny, moaning sound as Andy felt the full weight of them in her palms, running a thumb over the tip of one. Cruella made another small noise, then a claw-gloved hand was pushing on the back of her head, desperately urging her mouth to the abused nipple.

Andy was only too happy to comply, rolling her hips against Cruella's lap as she swirled the tip of the breast around her tongue, one hand massaging the matching breast in aching sympathy, the other slightly up the panting woman's dress, stapled to a smooth, shapely thigh.

Andy ran the flat of her tongue along the bumps of the nipple before sucking deeply, earning her a shocked buck from Cruella's lower regions. The motion incented Andy further, eyes fluttering – the primal urge to sink to her knees, push up Cruella's dress and bury her tongue in the folds was almost overbearing. The sudden need to see the fashionista unravel, keening and moaning because of Andy's attentions, forced a hot clench between her legs.

The fly of Andy's Bill Blass slacks was wide open – how had that happened? She didn't have time to ponder it as a hand – bare, the glove discarded on the seat beside them – slipped down the outside of her panties and pushed aside the thin strip of fabric there.

Andy's hot moan was muffled by a decadent breast she couldn't pull away from as a thumb made contact with the brunette's clit and started to rub. "Oh... god..."

A delicate pressure pressed itself against her nether lips – she spread her legs far and pressed forward, nearly crying out in need. She glanced at Cruella's flushed complextion – she hadn't looked up in a while – and for one awful moment thought the woman would pull away in revenge for taunting her throughout the evening.

Then one delicious finger slid itself inside her hot channel, quickly followed by another.

"Fuuuck." Andy's eyes fell shut, reveling in the tightness of her cunt before giving her lower muscles a titillating squeeze. Her orgasm was there, deep but rushing towards her with the rushing speed and sound of a freight train. Cruella's thumb continued to tease and rub as her fingers moved in and out, speeding up then slowing down, the erratic motions driving Andy to what had to be a form of insanity. "God – don't stop. Please, don't stop,"

Two long fingers curled and twisted inside her, pumping firmly, rubbing against the rough sweet spot on her upper wall, close to the entrance – Andy bucked. Her motions were near erratic, frantically searching, seeking the ultimate high she knew was charging up her bloodstream, screaming and surging towards her center in a race that would slow down for nothing.

"Yes, darling," Cruella gasped, "ride me, ride my hand."

Andy rode – stuttered. "Oh... Ooh..."

A warm wetness flooded the hand between her legs. Andy could not stop making tiny, whimpering noises as she rode out the ebbs of her orgasm, clenching with the final waves until the pleasure was too bright, too painful to continue.

Cruella did not stop her movements until Andy had collapsed on top of her, too breathless to speak. Andy lifted her head to look Cruella in the eyes – whose sharp, olive gaze was directing toward her an intense, fishing stare.

"Just give me a moment, Cruella," Andy murmured into her cheek, still catching her breathe.

"Oh no no, my darling, take your time. I was only admiring your eyes. They're quite fetching, you know."

Andy frowned at the compliment, unused to the praise. It was a peculiar feeling rising between their bodies – something sweet smelling and full of heart.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

BEEP.

"Andrea? It is your job to assist me and if you insist on not returning my calls then you are no good at assisting at all, are you? If you have any interest in ever holding down a job more brain-intensive than 'window washer' in this city, respond immediately. That's all."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable before," said Cruella. "I'm not... well, I thought that was the thing to do in these situations. Compliment you, I mean. From what I've read, anyway. I've never actually, you know, taken the time to – oh." Cruella gasped as she was entered. "Lord, you're so deep."

Cruella's eyes fluttered shut. Her hips undulated upwards, squeezing around three fingers. A tight curl inside her and a warm tongue forced her eyes open and unable to be closed – Cruella could not take her eyes off the brunette head bobbing delicately between her thighs.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Miranda furiously punched the call button for Emily's number. Saturday night or no Saturday night, her assistants should have been at her beck and call. "Hello? Emily?"

"Miranda!"

Miranda frowned at the fearful voice that answered her. Fear – how she detested the emotion. Andrea would never sound so frightful. "Emily, where is Andrea? I've been calling her all morning."

"Andy? Er, I'm afraid she's –"

"Comatose in the hospital?" Miranda sneered. "Because that's the only excuse that will work at this point."

At the sudden, unbidden thought of Andrea lying in the hospital, the cellphone in Miranda's palm turned ice cold. The chilly feeling ran up her wrist to the base of her throat as she took a shaky breathe.

What if Andrea was hurt? What if she had tripped in those five inch high heels she was unstable in, which Miranda always insisted she wear? What if she had been mugged on the subway? Andrea was always zipping around in that dirty little tube, visiting all her ungrateful little friends.

Andrea not diligently answering Miranda's every whim was so rare that she was genuinely beginning to consider the possibility of – of harm having befallen her prized assistant.

"She took a weekend trip to Canada. To er, visit a friend."

"A friend? Which friend?" Miranda began pacing from the end of her bed to the bathroom door... back and forth, she couldn't stop herself.

"Her... boyfriend."

"Her boyfriend who lives in Canada?" Miranda snorted disbelievingly. "Isn't the trope supposed to be the 'girlfriend in Canada'?"

"Oh god, you know!" Emily blurted.

Miranda froze, halting tentatively beside her nightstand. She opened her mouth to ask 'know what?' – then abruptly changed her mind.

"Yes," said Miranda carefully. "I know, Emily. I've known for some time now."

"Andrea is in Canada, but she's with – in Ontario with – well, we know how you feel about Cruella -"

"Oh," Miranda nearly let slip a gasp, bringing a hand to her mouth. It was true.

"We thought being discreet would be in the best interests of Runway-"

"Andrea's seeing Cruella," Miranda breathed to herself, momentarily forgetting the babbling voice on the other end of the line. There was no attempting to deny it any longer. No, no, no...

"Miranda, we have been doing our utmost to keep Runway untarnished, Nigel and I have an arrangement with Andrea -"

"You and Nigel made a deal with Andrea to hide Cruella from me."

"Yes," Emily bit off.

"Andrea is... involved... with Cruella."

"I – yes, Miranda, but –"

"Emily, I want to be in the air, on a plane to Canada within the next sixty minutes. Make it happen, or don't bother calling back. Or coming back to work. Ever."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Do you still have to go back?"

The quiet question caused Andy's eyes to flutter open in the darkness. She adjusted the pillow she had been hugging beneath her head, blinking slowly at the silhouette of the woman with whom she shared the bed.

"I have to be back for work on Monday."

"And I'll see you in New York...?"

Andy smiled genuinely. "Yes. Of course."

"And... later?"

This gave Andy pause. "You live in another country, Cruella. In Europe. I don't – I'm not sure what you're asking me."

"Nothing. Nevermind."

Andy closed her eyes, fully intending to reopen them after she had thought for a bit.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Miranda's plane touched down smoothly in Ontario early Sunday morning. She hadn't slept a wink during the flight. Images of Andrea together with – that woman continued to haunt her to the point of restlessness.

Miranda didn't deeply question why she was doing... whatever the hell it was she was doing. She did know that whatever happened, she could not allow Andrea to consort with Cruella unchecked. The situation simply could not be permitted. Not with her Andrea.

They could say whatever they wanted about Miranda's professional work ethic, but the editor simply would not allow her naive second assistant be caught up in Cruella's cruel claws.

And it didn't look good for Runway.

And also, puppies. Right.

So it was perfectly acceptable for her to take matters into her own hands, fly into Canada and stop this madness at once. For Runway's sake, and Andrea's.

Miranda emerged from the luggage gate into the brisk Canadian sunlight. A car pulled up to her smoothly and the driver hopped out to chivalrously open her door for her.

"Out of the way," Miranda snapped, opening her own door. "Drive, for god's sake. That's what you're being paid for. We could be moving by now."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The most annoying beeping known to man was bludgeoning Andy into consciousness. Her nemesis, the alarm clock.

"God, someone destroy that," she groaned into her pillow. "Destroy it with fire."

BANG. SMASH!

Andy blinked into wakefulness very abruptly. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Destroyed, darling," a voice purred in her ear. "Back to sleep, lovie."

Andy looked to her right – the hotel-provided alarm clock lie strewn in bits on the carpet.

"Cruella, you, ah – well, thank you. I have to get up though, I have a plane to catch."

"Right," mumbled Cruella, then she perked up. "I'll see you Monday, yes? To go over the shoot?"

Andy squinted at her, kicking out the blankets from her feet. "Yes. Um, I think... maybe we should talk about what's going on here."

Cruella's breath hitched up a notch. "Whatever do you mean? We're just ah, having fun, hmm?"

"Right," said Andy.

"It would be silly to think we could continue this after I return to London. So that will be that, then. I hope you didn't think...?"

"No! We're both on the same page then," sighed Andy with a palpable sense of relief, slipping off the bed and reaching for her clothes.

Andy wasn't sure she could explain what had come over her Saturday evening, after the shoot had wrapped, and the models, photographers and animal handlers had vacated the set. Eventually only her, Cruella and the stout driver of the Ford had remained on site.

"So," Cruella had said to her, "it was a pleasure working with you today."

"Well... I had fun, too."

Andy had contributed to several accomplishments that had led to the success of the photoshoot, including coaxing a belligerent mother goose and her goslings out from underneath a terrified female moose's stall, and the heroic successful squashing of a spider that had trapped several models clutching each other on top of the snacks table.

After their sexual encounter in the back seat of the Ford, which had been trundling up the dirt road toward civilization (thankfully an hour long drive), Cruella had breathlessly commented on Andy's valor in defeating the arachnid, then demurely complimented Andy's tender dealings with the animals, and what exactly was a nice girl like her doing working for Miranda Priestly anyway?

"A stepping stone, I guess. Roll with the punches, and all that," Andy had sighed in response, slumping in her seat. She wasn't like Emily, who cared for Runway and fashion enough to stay on as first assistant for nearly two terms. "I can't wait for my year with Miranda to be over with."

Cruella had blinked at Andy curiously. "A million girls would -"

"Kill for this job? Yeah, I know. Fashion's just not my dream. But it's a means to an end. One more month with Miranda and I'll have my pick of any publication I want."

"And do what?"

Andy had smiled shyly. "Write."

Cruella had smiled back. "You seem like the type to be good at it."

They'd made out all the way to the hotel.

Andy slipped out of the bed as quietly as she could.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Andrea wasn't in her hotel room.

At least she better not have been, Miranda thought fiercely, because that would mean that Andrea had ignored ten minutes worth of Miranda knocking, banging and raising her voice to levels edging the borders of uncouthness.

It was four o'clock in the morning on a Sunday, and Andrea wasn't in her own bed.

Miranda very carefully reigned in her rebellious imagination. She wouldn't think about it. She would not.

She did.

"Ugh!" Miranda made an unladylike noise, raising a hand to cover her eyes as she winced, as though that could stymie the tide of images assaulting her.

"Miranda?"

Miranda glanced over her shoulder.

"Andrea," she breathed.

"Miranda, what, uh -" Andrea faltered. She hovered hesitantly, running her large eyes up and down Miranda's finely dressed form. She was turning a magnetic key card over and over in her right hand.

Miranda's slitted eyes were glittering, her lips pursed. "Where have you been?"

"Miranda?" Andrea blinked, shifting from foot to foot. "I – what – what are you doing here?"

Miranda scanned Andrea's hastily put-together wardrobe. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the rumpled silk blouse only three quarters tucked into a skirt, the slightly smeared makeup, and the distinct frizzyness of Andrea's hair.

"Collect your things. I'm taking you back to New York."

Andrea's frown deepened. She looked Miranda solidly in the eye before tilting her head in confusion. "I – well, that's why I'm here. To get my luggage. My flight leaves in three hours."

Miranda shook her head. Her hands were shaking violently with the effort she was exerting to contain whatever the hell it was she was so upset about. Andrea's smug innocence, for one.

"I have a new ticket for you. You will leave accompanying me," she informed Andrea firmly.

"I, ah, Miranda..." Andrea stuttered to a halt at Miranda's eyebrow, which had raised condescendingly in obvious distaste. "Yes, Miranda."

Avoiding physical contact in any way, Andrea carefully sidled past Miranda and slid her magnetic key card down the lock.

Avoiding physical contact now are you, Miranda thought imperiously. There was a desperately sarcastic and cutting comment somewhere in there begging to be unleashed, and oh how she wanted to say something deliciously vicious and lashing. Miranda pushed the urge aside and focused on maintaining her professionalism – she didn't understand why keeping her emotions under control was such a struggle.

Miranda was hot on Andrea's heels as they entered the bedroom, which appeared to be immaculate – the bedspread wasn't even wrinkled. Had room service made her bed yesterday, or was that two nights in a row she had spent away from this room?

Miranda glanced over – Andrea was throwing into her suitcase the odd bits of herself that had somehow been distributed around the ill-used room: a laptop, a cellphone charger, a wad of papers covered in hand-written notes, and a multitudinous supply of spring-scent personal shampoos from the bath. She watched Andrea disappear behind the fridge to scrabble around with some wires before emerging with a hotplate.

"Could there possibly be anything else you need to gather? Have you started a vegetable garden somewhere you need to harvest? No? Well then."

Miranda left the room with a parting nose-crinkle of disdain. She didn't like associating Andrea with hotel rooms or big beds or spring-scented shampoo. Andrea dutifully scurried behind her dragging a wheeled luggage case, hair magically in place and skirt properly straightened somehow while Miranda wasn't looking. Miranda could appreciate that, at least. Her assistant was never one to fail in meeting Miranda's standards for long.

"Call Emily and let her know we're on our way back, then get a hold of Dolce and Gabbana and get those fabric samples delivered to the airport and waiting for me when I step off the plane in New York. Call – no, have Emily call Cruella and make sure she knows that there will be no future intimacies with you, nor any communication at all for that matter. Also, coffee. Andrea?"

Without permission Miranda's throat employed an unfamiliar, uncertain tone to the name that frankly made her uncomfortable. The secure feeling of having her all-knowing assistant once again trailing her had disappeared sometime between passing a laundry room and reaching the elevator.

Miranda turned to verify that Andrea had indeed stopped wheeling her luggage. The blankest expression was on her face. Andrea's face was always expressing something, whether it was annoyance, or determination, or admiration, Miranda thought to herself, albeit to the girl's detriment. To see it blank was... strange.

"No further... intimacies?" Andrea parroted.

"With Cruella de Ville," Miranda clarified, "and we won't speak another word of her."

The frown that had been visiting and revisiting Andrea – as though she were trying to suppress its appearance – returned. "Miranda, is that why you're here? You don't want me sleeping with Cruella? How did you even know?"

Was Andrea even listening to her? Miranda had specifically dictated not to mention another word of that tramp. "Andrea, we're leaving. Come."

Andrea appeared to be totally oblivious of Miranda's instructions today, however, and didn't budge. "Emily can't have known," she said.

"Well that's bosh," snapped Miranda, "because Emily is who informed me. And she told me about your little deal with her and Nigel to hide the entire affair, so don't try to deny anything else."

"But I hadn't -"

"Whatever it is Cruella is offering you, I promise Runway can and would do better, Andrea, if that's what you're worried about. And unlike that vile, immoral trollop, I won't ask you to sleep with me in order to get it."

"I don't – is that what this is about...? Miranda, no, I swear, I wouldn't do anything like that." Andrea was looking at Miranda as though she had transformed into something that was dangerous and fascinating and befuddling all at once. "I don't know what Emily told you, but I'm here doing a shoot with Cruella to keep her occupied and away from Runway."

"You've all but admitted your relation with her already," Miranda accused. "'How did you even know?'" she mimicked.

Andrea wrapped her arms around herself, taking a step back. "What I do with my private life is none of your business."

"Everything you do is my business." Miranda had meant to say Runway's business, but she couldn't correct herself. That would be weak. "Why would you be with her if not to get ahead?"

"I – I like her, Miranda. So I had sex with her," replied Andrea, clearly confused. "Is that so hard to believe?"

Miranda didn't know what the hell could be so confusing about not whoring around with Cruella de Ville. "Then stop."

"Stop liking her?"

Miranda gritted her teeth. "Stop spreading your goddamn legs for her."

The reeling hurt on her assistant's wide-eyed face was not something she was likely to forget – ever. It made Miranda relieved; perhaps she had finally gotten through to the young woman. And it made Miranda feel the slightest bit vindicated about her accusations.

And it made Miranda feel a little bit awful about herself.

"If I have to say this again, you'll be looking for another job on the other side of the country. Let's. Go."

"It's my private -" Andrea stammered, "that's not -"

"You're fired," said Miranda.

"I'm fired," Andrea repeated, then suddenly seemed to realize what the words meant. "No. Just like that?"

Not just like that, Miranda thought. She just couldn't stand looking at Andrea and imagining her laying with that psychopathic harlot. That and the swift viciousness of cutting Andrea down was too much; Miranda detested guilt. The further she got away from Andrea and her wide stunned eyes, the less guilty she would feel.

Miranda continued to wait for a promise of renunciation, a guarantee of faithfulness to Runway if only the editor would allow her to keep her job, but instead Andrea nonsensically said, "One more month."

Not sure of how to respond to that, Miranda pushed the call button for the elevator, which opened immediately, and left.