Week 2

One week after the publishing consultants were hired, Andy nervously shifted in her seat as Tom began the meeting. "Well, we all know why we are here. After closely observing all aspects of this organization, we have reduced to writing several recommendations to streamline production and best utilize your staff and money. I have reviewed all the reports, and I am happy to say that these recommendations are solid. Most can be implemented immediately."

Tom passed out folders to all seated. In them were copies of the reports which outlined the different impressions his employees had concerning the various aspects of Elias-Clarke publications. Miranda paged through the documents leisurely, her eyes scanning the recommendations for Runway.

"You cannot be serious," Miranda said in a low, threatening voice. The temperature dropped as all motion ceased. "Surely this is some ill-advised joke." Miranda threw the folder on the table and stood. "I have a magazine to run."

"If you want to keep running that magazine, you will sit down," Irv said calmly.

Miranda, halfway to the door, stopped and turned slowly to face Irv. "Are you threatening me, Irving?" Her eyes glittered with a fire that no one could miss.

They stared at each other. "Yes." Miranda cocked her head, clearly surprised. "I have the full backing of the board, Miranda. Whether you like it or not, you must follow these recommendations just like all the other editors for all the other publications. You are not exempt just because Runway is the flagship."

"Some of them are utterly ridiculous—" Miranda began before being cut off.

"I disagree. You will try them, really try them, and if there are logistical problems for some of them," Irv shrugged, "those recommendations will be reviewed and adjusted. Don't forget, the more far-reaching changes are still to come. If, instead of fighting this, you become helpful, you may find it to your benefit." Irv looked toward Tom. "Thank you for all you have done so far. These recommendations will be implemented today."


Miranda sat at her desk shaking her head. Quietly, she enunciated, "Andrea." A moment later, she looked up to see the younger woman standing before her. Miranda narrowed her eyes. "I suppose it never occurred to you to inform me of these recommendations before submitting them to your employer."

Andy's eyes widened in surprise. "Miranda, you know why I'm here. I didn't think—"

"No, you didn't think. That is the problem. These changes may seem simple and logical, but that is due to your utter ignorance of the fashion industry not to mention the responsibilities inherent with managing the number one fashion publication in the world." Miranda sneered. "If you think saving a few dollars by recycling paper and using a coffee maker will make a difference, you are an idiot." The fashion icon began reading from the report, ridicule dripping off each word. "Reduction of subscriptions to periodicals, limitations on business lunches and dinners, no drivers after 7:00 PM unless for special, preapproved functions, personal errands kept to a minimum, maximum twenty hours of overtime allowed for nonexempt employees per week—absurd and unrealistic. Not surprising coming from the smart, fat girl."

Miranda's lips were pulled back in a snarl as her eyes blazed disdain. Without another word, she turned her chair toward the windows, effectively dismissing Andy.

Frozen, horror and embarrassment warring for dominance on her face, Andy took several deep breaths as she blinked quickly. She was bent slightly at the waist, her arms crossed before her, hands grasping her elbows. Taking one more deep breath, Andy straightened, pivoted, and left. Emily smirked as Andy blew past the desk and walked quickly toward the restrooms.


"Nigel," Andy said as she entered his office a few minutes later. "I need help. She hates me, and I don't know why."

"And that's my problem because—oh, wait. No, it's not my problem." Nigel continued to review the marked up pages of the Book while Andy sat in a dejected heap. Looking up, Nigel's face softened. With a sigh, Nigel ran a hand over his bald pate and pulled his glasses off, wiping them with a silk handkerchief. "Andy, what did you expect? You know nothing about Runway or what it represents, yet you presume to create sweeping changes that will empower Irv and undermine Miranda. Irv would like nothing better than to have ammunition to use against her, and you're giving it to him."

"I'm just trying to do my job, and, come on, Nigel, these recommendations aren't that bad." Andy ran a hand through her hair. "I don't know what to do."

"What is it that you want me to say to you, huh? Do you want me to say, 'Poor you. Miranda's picking on you. Poor you. Poor Andy'? Hmm? Wake up, sweetheart." Although the words were harsh, his expression was compassionate. He stared at her for several moments, a contemplative look on his face. "I do know one way to help you. Come with me."

Soon Andy's eyes were as wide as saucers as she received a crash course in all things haute couture. Her fashion knowledge consisted of Nine West, Coldwater Creek, and Ann Taylor. Nigel introduced her Chanel, Dior, and Donna Karan. After giving her several outfits from the Closet, Nigel led her to the beauty department for a haircut and cosmetics lesson. Her beauty show-cased by cutting-edge fashion and expertly applied make-up, Andy left the building to pick up what she hoped would placate Miranda.

An hour later, Andy carried a top-of-the-line Krups Coffee and Espresso Combination machine into the small kitchen area. This machine would fulfill all Miranda's coffee, espresso, and latte needs. Emily stood next to Andy and stared at the machine. "You can't be serious."

"Of course I am. Look, I worked at a Starbucks during college, and I can teach you everything you need to know to make her drinks. You and," Andy waved behind her toward the second assistant, "what's her name?"

"The other Emily," Emily answered smugly. Andy blinked.

"Right. Well, you'll both be fine. I can show you right now." With a sigh and roll of the eyes, Emily suffered through the tutorial. Soon she was able to make a perfect no foam skimmed latte with an extra shot without having to think about it.

"Don't think I like you, at all, just because of this. Or because you look passable in that Chanel. I don't. Not one bit," Emily declared.

Andy nodded. "Okay, but I like you." Emily huffed and walked away, latte in hand since Miranda had just arrived. She delivered it to Miranda, who did not question why it was not in a Starbucks cup or why Emily clearly had not just come from outside. She merely nodded and began to spout out the next list of tasks.


The next morning, Miranda looked up when she heard movement. She watched, her mask firmly in place, as Andy approached her with a wrapped box.

Andy placed the gift in front of Miranda, her hand shaking slightly. "This is for you." Miranda took the time to assess Andy, her stare starting from Andy's Louboutin-clad feet, up the well-proportioned black Armani business suit, above the swelling of firm breasts encased in an attractive plum silk blouse to a nervous smile and rounded eyes. Miranda raised an eyebrow as Andy filled in the silence. "It's nothing big, but…" she trailed off with a tremulous chuckle.

Extending her hand, Miranda took the present and unwrapped the box without a word, her expression neutral. A confounded look crossed her visage as she withdrew the present, but her face cleared so quickly, one would have missed her emotion if not watching closely.

In Miranda's hand was a large, cerulean blue coffee mug. Miranda read the words, "That's all." Although Miranda's lips twitched, she did not smile. Raising her eyes, Miranda waited. As expected, Andy filled in the silence.

"I know you are not thrilled with the coffee changes, but I thought that if you at least had your own special mug, it might make things more palatable—or, at least, the coffee. Um." Andy shifted from foot to foot.

Miranda nodded. "I am sure this mug will make the coffee taste much more palatable." The sarcasm was not lost on Andy, who seemed to wilt.

"Okay, well, I'll just," Andy pointed her thumb behind her as if she were hitch-hiking and was out the door without giving Miranda a chance to cast more insults.

"Emily," Miranda called quietly. When her assistant stood before her scant seconds later, Miranda said, "Fill this up for me," and handed the mug over. "That's all."

Once Emily left, Miranda lips turned up, and she shook her head slowly. Miranda turned her attention toward the magazines on her desk, not sparing a glance at Emily as she sat the steaming coffee in front of her. Miranda was perusing the last periodical when she heard a throat cleared. Only one person would dare.

"I like your cup," Nigel drawled while staring at it, his eyes bright. Miranda narrowed her eyes. She glanced at the mug, cocking her head as her eyes scanned the bold lettering showcasing, "That's all." Glancing at Nigel again, a crease of confusion formed between her eyebrows. Finally, she turned the mug around.

On the other side sat the words, "I am center-of-the-sun hot." Underneath were the words, "That's all." Miranda sniffed, unable to entirely hide her amusement.

"Let me guess—Andy gave that to you?" Nigel said.

Miranda removed her glasses and chewed gently on the end of one arm. "Mmm," she confirmed.

Nigel chuckled. "She really is something."

"Are you here for a reason, Nigel?"

"Yes. Here are the results of Monday's shoot in Central Park," Nigel began, relinquishing the photographs to Miranda. Evidently, social time was over.


Andy worked in the outer office without speaking to anyone. Every so often, Miranda cocked her head a certain way which gave her a clear view of the brunette. Andy hunched over her laptop transcribing pages of messy notes. Her face, serious and sad, echoed loudly in the bustling office. Even Nigel's arrival did little to elicit more than a half-hearted smile in greeting.

For days now, Andy remained tucked in a chair ignoring all that occurred. She did not rise to use the restroom, to eat, or even to drink the coffee that was always at the ready for those who wished to indulge. Instead, Andy remained in one place, not acknowledging anyone unless directly addressed.

It was unnerving.

Since Miranda's last verbal lashing, Andy had not interacted with the editor unless absolutely necessary. Instead, each day Andy arrived at Runway and proceeded to observe, take notes, review the budget, and type in the outer office. Although everyone acted as if it didn't matter, it did. Andy's bright smile and happy voice had been effectively and ruthlessly doused by one Miranda Priestly.

A cup of steaming coffee placed in front of Andy interrupted her solitude. Emily stalked to her desk and flounced down with a huff. "Don't get any ideas. Miranda didn't want it." Andy stared at the redhead for a few moments before a small smile appeared.

"Thank you, Em," Andy murmured.

Miranda sat at her desk observing the exchange. She firmed her lips in a faint grimace.

"Emily."

The first assistant rushed into Miranda's office, pen and pad at the ready. "Schedule a viewing for James' new line for Tuesday morning. Confirm my lunch with Patrick on Monday. Get the latest results from yesterday's photo shoot from Nigel. Then you and the new girl can leave." Miranda looked back at her computer before saying quietly, "That's all."

Emily turned quickly, an incredulous look on her face. It was only 4:30. On a Friday.

Nigel walked into Miranda's outer office, photos in hand. Raising his eyebrows at Emily, he looked at Andy's down-turned head then back to the redhead. Emily shrugged. Before walking in Miranda's office, he sidled up to Andy. "Hey there, Sunshine. It's awfully cloudy around here."

Andy looked up and smiled wanly. "Hello, Nigel." The man gazed at her with a contemplative look.

"How about we meet for drinks tonight? I know I could use one, and it looks like you could, too." Slowly, Andy nodded her head. "Good. Meet me at Morrell's at eight." With a fleeting pat on Andy's arm, Nigel squared his shoulders and entered Miranda's office.


Seated at a booth in the bar area, drink in hand, Andy lolled her head against the seat and sighed.

"That bad, huh?" Nigel asked sympathetically. Andy opened one eye and stared at him incredulously. "Right. You're right. Why am I even bothering to ask?" He took a sip of his drink. "You know, it's nothing personal, Andy. She would act the same way with anyone in your position."

"Well, that makes it all better, then," Andy replied, sarcasm dripping off her words.

"Not better. But understandable. This is business. She's fighting to keep her job. She's more vulnerable now than she ever has been what with all the publicity about her divorce."

"I read about that. It sounds pretty ugly. But, Nigel, I'm trying to help her, help Runway, and she's taking every opportunity to slice me apart and grind me under her Prada heels." Andy looked away, idly watching people joking and laughing at the bar.

"Irv could use your reports to get her fired by showing that she has been overspending for years, that she is a detriment to the company. Last fall during Paris Fashion Week, he tried to remove her by staging a coup, which she barely defeated. He has been waiting to strike again ever since, and I'm sure he's planning to use this as his opportunity. You must know she will do everything in her power to make sure that does not occur. You, Sunshine, are caught in the middle. I've been there. It's not a pleasant experience." Nigel leaned forward, searching Andy's eyes. "You need to remember that it isn't personal. In different circumstances, she'd probably even like you."

Andy snorted. "Yeah, right. I can see her affection through every snide comment and humiliating insult she lobs my way. I just want to do my job. Believe it or not I've been doing this for several years—not twenty like her, but enough that I know what I'm doing. I can't help it if she doesn't like me or my recommendations. I've tried to learn about Runway, the way it works. I've tried to find out more about her and the reasons why she runs the magazine the way she does. At the end of the day, though, I have to do what's right, not what she wants me to do."

"Well, you're brave, I'll give you that. Or extremely foolish." Nigel lifted his glass. "Here's to you, kid. Let's hope you get out of this alive." They clinked glasses and swallowed their liquor companionably. Neither said another word about Runway. Even though there was so much more to say.