Chapter 2

Over the next four months, Andy was hired to sketch several types of high-profile cases. Criminal, corporate, civil, probate, family law—all were fair game. As long as a party was well-known or the case splashed all over the media, Andy had a job. She crossed paths with other sketch artists, too. Some were complimentary and gave her tips to save time while sketching. Others were downright hostile, slinging insults meant to make her feel inadequate. Andy always did her best to be polite and unassuming, believing that by not reacting to their barbs, they'd grow bored. It usually worked.

Walking out of the courthouse after a long day of drawing some Wall Street slimebags, Andy focused on joining the slipstream of pedestrians making their way downtown. It was a sweltering summer day, but the courthouse was less than a mile away from her apartment. As she dodged two gossiping teens, she heard her name shouted. Turning her head toward the street, she saw Nigel Kipling of all people, waving at her from the back of a black town car.

With a broad smile, Andy strode toward her former colleague with a bounce in her step. She'd thought of him from time to time, but after the way she left Runway, she couldn't help but believe no one would want to hear from her.

He climbed out of the car and leaned in to deliver an air kiss beside each cheek, hands gently grasping her upper arms. "Well, look at you."

"Hi, Nige," Andy said with a small smile. It was really good to see him. She had always dreaded a run-in with him or anyone from Runway, but he seemed happy to see her. "It's good to see you."

"I heard about the newspaper. I'm so sorry, Six. You hanging in there?"

"Oh, thanks. Yeah. I contribute online content every so often, and I've become a courtroom sketch artist."

"Nooo. Really?"

Chuckling, Andy nodded. "I know, right? I fell into it, but I'm enjoying myself."

"Well, come out for drinks. I'll get the girls to join us. Saturday night?"

"Sounds fun. Let me give you my number." Andy accepted his cell phone and input her information.

"I'll text you," Nigel said, his eyes staring at something over Andy's shoulder.

"Okay," Andy said, taking that as her cue. She gave an awkward little wave and turned to go, noticing a silver Mercedes-Benz with tinted windows idling behind the car Nigel arrived in. Her heart rate sped up as she stared straight ahead and walked past it, stopping herself from wondering who was in it. She didn't want to know. It couldn't possibly be who she was thinking of. Life wasn't that coincidental, and she didn't care, anyway.

That's what she kept telling herself. I don't care, I don't care, I don't care. And if her words sounded a bit desperate even in the privacy of her own mind, well, no one could prove it.

Arriving at the bar Nigel texted her, Andy looked around, standing still as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. Noticing a waving hand, she grinned. Striding toward a small booth, Andy dodged a few boisterous guys before stopping in front of three people she never thought she'd see again.

"Six! Glad you could make it. We got some drinks." Nigel stood up and delivered the customary air kisses. Before Andy could slide into the booth, she found herself in a tight hug.

"It's so good to see you, Andy," Serena said, her slight accent caressing Andy's ear.

Andy hugged her back, pulling back enough to smile at the gorgeous woman. "It's great to see you, too." She stepped back, surprised when Emily stepped forward with a sniff and grabbed her.

"I can't believe I've missed you, you bloody cow," Emily muttered, causing Andy to laugh.

"I won't hold it against you, I promise." Andy squeezed her before letting go.

As soon as Andy was seated, they all raised a shot glass, clinking them together and tossing them back as if choreographed.

"I looked up your courtroom sketches, and I am completely floored." Nigel pointed at her. "How did I not know you could draw like that? We worked together for nine months, and you never said a word, even when I was bitching about Stevens' inability to draw simple staging outlines for our shoots."

Andy felt her face heat up. "Well, I didn't really think about it. It was a hobby. Until it wasn't." She shrugged. "I hadn't lifted a pencil since I came to New York until I was asked to fill in for another sketcher. My roommate referred me. We grew up together, so she knew about my drawing abilities and that I could do it."

"Connections are everything," Nigel murmured.

"I'd seen some of the sketches in the New York Times, but I didn't think to pay attention to who the artist was. They're really good, Andy. It makes me wonder what else we don't know about you," Serena said, eyebrows raised. "I felt a distinct moment of déjà vu. It was like when we saw you for the first time after your Cinderella makeover. Remember, Em?"

To Andy's surprise, she watched Emily nod, a contemplative look on her face. "She did that a few times when we worked together." Emily stared at Andy. "I thought I had you figured out from the moment we met, but then you'd do something to surprise me. Like giving me all that couture from fashion week."

"Oh, well, where was I going to wear any of that? I knew you'd make use of them. After you had them taken in, of course." Andy flashed a smile. She leaned back in the booth, happy to be with her former colleagues. She hadn't anticipated this level of friendliness.

"It must be the alcohol talking, but Runway isn't the same without you," Emily said. Her faced flushed, and she was quick to down another shot before looking around the bar.

"Are you still first assistant?" Andy was curious to know what was happening at Runway, but she was hesitant to ask anything that would reveal how starved she was for information concerning her former boss.

"God, no. I was promoted to the art department."

"That's right. She's my slave now."

"Only during working hours," Serena said, her hand coming to rest on top of Emily's with a possessive air.

Andy's eyes widened. This is interesting. She watched Emily's face flush. Very interesting. "How long's this been going on?" she asked, looking from Emily to Serena.

"Not long enough," Nigel said. "I had to watch them dance around each other for months before Serena made a move. It was tortuous. Kind of like watching you and Miranda the last few months before Paris."

I have not drunk enough to hear this. Andy tossed back another shot. She looked up to see three sets of eyes fastened on her. "What?"

"What? That's your reaction?" Emily scoffed. "Not even a ridiculous denial, Andy?"

Taking a deep breath, Andy shrugged. What could she say? It hurt to think about Miranda, and even though that might have been natural right after she quit, it was eight months later. "I didn't realize what was happening, and then I left. What more can I say?"

Nigel patted her arm. "If it makes you feel any better, she's missed you."

"Oh, please." Andy waved her hand. "I doubt she even remembers who I am. I was just another assistant."

"Another assistant," Emily mocked. "I have never heard of an assistant who surprised her, challenged her, and interested her to the extent you did. She watched you. All the time. And after you left, she would call for you. In fact, she did it the week after Paris, and when she realized you weren't there, her mask slipped."

"I remember that." Serena's voice was quiet. "Her eyes." She shuddered. "She looked lost."

"Made my life hell that week, and I blame you," Emily said, picking up a shot glass and downing it.

"Looks like we're getting low on liquor," Nigel said. "Be right back." Andy smiled, watching him hop up a moment later and weave his way to the bar.

"I'm glad Nigel ran into you," Serena said. "We'll have to do this again."

"I suppose I can't stop you if you show up," Emily said. That was as close to an invitation Andy would ever get from her.

"Aw, Em. Don't get all soft on me," Andy teased, giggling at Emily's disgusted expression. She'd missed her. She'd missed all of them.

Nigel arrived with more shots, and they all raised their shot glasses for a toast. "To Andy. The one who walked away from the job a million girls would kill for and lived to tell the tale."

"To Andy," the others echoed. Andy felt warmth slide down her throat and throughout her chest, and she knew it had nothing to do with the alcohol.

After running into Nigel, it became standard for Andy to meet with him, Serena, and Emily for drinks at different hotspots. She got better at asking about Runway, less anxious when Miranda's name came up. She still felt flutters in her stomach when she allowed herself to think about the editor, but over time she learned to no longer shy away from the strong emotions such conversations evoked.

Returning home after drinks on Friday night, Andy unraveled her scarf from around her neck with one hand, as she listened to a voicemail from CNN telling her to check her email for the necessary information on her next assignment. It was another high-profile divorce case set to last two weeks, and she knew most of it would be rather boring. Nevertheless, she could expect to earn a good paycheck, and with some luck, she'd have some articles accepted. Even better, since she'd already paid this month's bills, the extra money she made could go toward holiday gifts. Although she couldn't compete with Runway freebies, she knew her friends well enough to be frugal while personalizing the gifts she wanted to give them.

Lily's face was the picture of surprise when Andy told her about bumping into Nigel four months ago and the subsequent regular meetings for drinks. Andy admitted, if only to herself, that she hadn't volunteered the information because she hadn't wanted to explain why she was grateful for the reconnection.

"I thought you hated Runway and everyone there."

"No, that was you," Andy said, a wry smile twisting her lips. "Nigel helped me while I was there. We were friends. Emily grew on me. She has a tough exterior and a gooey interior, which is the best way to survive working in that industry. And Serena was nice to me once I settled in."

"You mean once you started drinking the Kool-Aid."

"Don't be snarky. It feels good, being around them again. And it has nothing to do with fashion or clothes or any of that. I missed them, not Runway." Andy leaned against the arm of the couch, tucking a fleece blanket around her cold feet. Although glad to pull out her heavy Irish knit sweaters, gifts from Grammy, she wasn't so keen with the freezing nights. She'd be investing in some thick woolen socks the next time she got paid.

With an explosive sigh, Lily said, "Yeah. You're right. I don't know them, and I didn't really know you until we became roommates. I can see why you and Nate didn't work—you've changed since college. That's not a bad thing, though, and I can see how unfair we were to you. We're young, we're building our future, and that's bound to change us as we're tested and challenged and stretched. So if you like hanging out with the Runway crowd, I'm glad. Maybe I can come with you some time when you meet them for drinks."

Andy tilted her head, staring at her friend as her eyebrows touched the sky. "Um, yeah. That'll be fun. I think you'll get a kick out of them."

"Maybe. It's occurred to me that you're my oldest friend, and I haven't met these people you were around sixteen hours a day for nearly a year. People you still want to be around even though you're no longer colleagues. The least I can do is trust your judgment."

Nodding, Andy felt relief sweep through her. She appreciated how Lily was reevaluating their friendship. Andy wasn't an innocent party with their past arguments—she'd refused to listen to her friends' concerns—so she was making a more concerted effort to talk through any problems that arose instead of ignoring them. We've come a long way, she admitted to herself.

The next day, Andy sat in her bedroom, replaying her voicemail for the third time. Distantly, she heard Lily knock on the door and open it, but Andy's attention remained riveted to her phone, her attention focused on the details of her next assignment. A hand on her shoulder had her blinking up at her friend.

"What is it?"

"I…it's my next assignment." Andy disconnected the call and slouched, chewing on her lower lip.

"What's the assignment?"

"Miranda's divorce for two weeks." Andy felt Lily sit down next to her.

"You don't have to do it, Andy."

Peering at her friend, Andy thought about the softly-spoken words. She shook her head.

"Andy, why put yourself through it? You won't even talk about what happened. How are you going to feel seeing her every day for two weeks, staring at her for hours?"

Andy shrugged. "When else will I ever get this close to her again?"

After a pause, Lily asked, "So you want to see her again?"

When Andy looked at her friend, she saw how Lily studied her as if she were piecing together a puzzle. Andy didn't want to have this conversation, but she had a feeling Miranda's name would come up when they got together with Nigel, Emily, and Serena. It was better to deal with this to some extent now. With a loud sigh, Andy ran her hand over her bedspread while gathering her thoughts. "I always thought it was odd that she provided me with a recommendation after I abandoned my job. She had every right to blackball me, but she didn't."

She allowed their eyes to connect, noticing her friend's serious expression. Unlike two years ago, Lily wanted to understand. That prompted Andy to continue. "Once I started working at the paper, I missed her so much, but I figured that was more missing what I knew. You might remember what a steep learning curve it was as a junior reporter." Andy grinned. Part of what helped them grow closer was the wild stories stemming from lousy assignments.

"As the months passed and the feeling of loss remained, I reconciled myself with the realization that I missed her sharp wit, her passion, her strength. I'd never met anyone like that before, and I haven't since."

"From what you've told me, she had begun mentoring you. Is that what you miss? A sense of being seen? Of being chosen?"

Andy knew she could affirm that explanation and keep her other feelings to herself. She knew she wouldn't, though. They worked hard to get to where they were, and Andy didn't want to hide something so important anymore. Even though her feelings would remain unrequited, they were hers, and they were important. "That might be part of it, but no, Lily. That's not it. I loved learning from her, but more than that, I loved watching her. I loved watching her interact with colleagues. I loved watching her with her daughters. I loved listening to the nuances of her voice, the musicality she infused in her words to get her point across. I loved watching her when she gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows at Elias-Clarke or when she sat at her desk sifting through photographs or stood riffling through hangers full of couture, or God, even when she tilted her head while thinking."

"You were in love with her," Lily said, her small gasp seeming to fill the room.

"Were," Andy echoed, her voice flat and bitter.

"You still are," Lily corrected, her voice a near whisper.

With a sigh, Andy nodded. "I can't shake it. God knows I've tried. But I miss her, Lily." Andy looked at Lily, pleading for her to understand. "I don't expect you to understand. You only know her by reputation, and I never told the stories that reflect her humanity. Just the disasters, and those were mostly due to my own ineptitude."

"That's not true—"

Chuckling, Andy cut her off. "Oh, yes it is. I didn't know at the time. I was full of indignation, outraged by her demands, but now that I've been in the workforce for a few years, I get it. I had a huge chip on my shoulder, and I didn't know a damn thing."

"Hello, adulthood."

"Yeah." Andy rose from her bed. "So, I do have to take this assignment. I have to see her again. I have to collect a lifetime of images during the next two weeks because I doubt I'll ever have the opportunity to be that close to her again, and I certainly won't have tacit permission to stare at her for hours on end, uninterrupted. Will it be painful? Of course. Am I scared that she'll ignore me? Yeah. Am I more scared that she'll sneer at me, dismiss me, or look right through me? Hell, yes. But what if she does see me? What if she acknowledges me? I could live on that."

"Oh, Andy." Lily got up and patted her arm. "I think she might surprise you. Time will tell. Have hope."

Nodding, Andy followed Lily out of the room. Miranda lives on hope. I might as well, too.

Two days later Andy forced herself to stop thinking of that conversation and to focus on where she was. She sat in a large courtroom gallery, doing her best to melt into the bench. This is ridiculous. I have a job to do. I have every right to be here. No matter how stern her inner voice sounded, though, Andy couldn't seem to control her instinct to hide. Her reaction made her feel vulnerable, and she tamped down her insecurities as best she could as people entered the courtroom.

Andy listened to several reporters rat-a-tatting about what they expected to witness in court, and she grimaced. This was a high-profile divorce case of the one person she ached to see but wanted to avoid. For the next two weeks she would get to stare for hours at Miranda, studying her every expression. She was terrified. And elated. After a year away from the editor's powerful personality, Andy feared how she would react to such bounty.

People streamed into the gallery, crowding her as several sat on her bench. Andy stiffened her spine and crossed one ankle over her knee so that she could rest her drawing pad on it. She made sure not to make eye contact with anyone. She wasn't at court to make friends. She noticed two other sketch artists setting up and grimaced. She knew they wouldn't impact her work, but she feared they would draw derogatory pictures of Miranda. A knotted ball of anger sat against her sternum, making it hard to breathe. Grinding her teeth, Andy concentrated on sketching the courtroom.

The divorce was taking place in the largest courtroom of the building, all dark wooden panels, black leather jury chairs, and arched, cathedral ceilings. Old-fashioned chandeliers hung throughout the room, and additional light streamed in through a large window to the left of where the judge would sit. A clerk presided, hearing motions and other preliminary matters for other cases. Andy watched several attorneys crowd the bench, waiting to be heard. Some held court paperwork in one hand and a cell phone in the other, multitasking. Glancing at the oval clock above the door leading to the judge's chamber, Andy saw that Miranda's case would begin in fifteen minutes. That meant Miranda would arrive at any moment.

As if on cue, the hair on the back of Andy's neck rose to attention. Andy took a deep, slow breath, cursing when the colored pencil in her hand snapped. She could hear her heart thumping, and she placed a hand over it, as if to keep it from bursting out of her chest. Not able to resist, she turned her head toward the aisle, her eyes colliding with intense blue ones.

Stunning. Dressed in a bold, monochromatic slate gray skirt suit, she emanated the air of professional woman like a weapon. The ensemble hugged her curves, emphasizing her beauty. The severe cut of the jacket gave a don't-fuck-with-me vibe, and it reminded Andy of how powerful the woman was. Time had dulled Andy's memories, but the force of Miranda's commanding nature slammed into her awareness, robbing her of the ability to do anything other than stare.

A simple, slight nod broke Andy's immobility, and she nodded in turn. Ice-blue eyes flicked to her hand before one side of Miranda's lips quirked upward. And then she was passing through the gallery, guided by her team of lawyers, to their table.

The cacophony of clashing voices filled Andy's awareness, and she blinked several times, feeling as if a wave had broken over her head. She scrabbled to make sense of the last few seconds. Looking down, she caught sight of the ruined pencil in her hand. Huffing, Andy threw the pieces in her purse.

The judge arrived, and everyone rose. It didn't take long for the attorneys to begin arguing over motions, preliminary matters, and what should be allowed to be admitted as exhibits. Andy took notes, watching Miranda's soon-to-be-ex huff and puff each time his attorney failed to get what he wanted. Andy smirked, content to draw the pompous man as the petulant, selfish blowhard he was. Unless something sensational occurred in court, her employer only wanted two drawings today and one drawing every day thereafter.

Andy had already blocked out some ideas for a feature article to be published next week. Her past as Miranda's assistant had deep-sixed her attempts to pitch any news articles. The editor-in-chief had pronounced she was too biased. He agreed with her , however, that she had the inside scoop and could use it to flesh out an opinion-based article to be run while the trial was occurring. Andy was determined to let the world know how hard it was for a woman to navigate male-dominated corporate culture. How Miranda was forced to deal with unfair biases in her career while also dealing with the inherent constraints attached to a career woman who was married and had children. Andy was going to write about the obstacles Miranda had overcome to become the most powerful woman in the publishing industry.

By the end of the day, Andy wanted to punch Stephen in the face. She settled for drawing a picture of him reaching out toward the prenuptial agreement, his maw open. She dressed him in wrinkled, out-of-style clothing, an ugly tie, and slight paunch. His face sported an expression of lasciviousness—dollar signs for eyes—and Miranda's attorneys stood on either end of his table, stern looks on their faces, while his attorney studied his notes, the top page reflecting the words "greedy" and "man-child," and "alcoholic." If one studied the drawing, two pointed light bulbs on the chandelier were positioned behind Stephen's head in such a way that they could be construed as devil's ears.

The second sketch was of Miranda, head tilted and lips slightly pursed, a pensive look in her eyes. Whereas she created Stephen with stark, thick lines and clashing colors, Andy illuminated Miranda with the sunlight which streamed in through a side window, surrounding her with soft shades of color. Andy blended the lines around the editor's head, creating a subtle halo effect. Andy chuckled at her little joke. Not the devil this time.

She submitted the drawings from the courthouse, standing behind a pillar for some privacy. She was curious to see what the other sketch artists submitted, but not enough to try to see them before they were published. She'd taken her own precautions to prevent anyone from seeing her finished products, including sitting at an angle, propping her drawing paper on her knee in a certain way, and closing the pad during breaks. The last thing she wanted was for another artist to steal her ideas.

As soon as she got home, she heard Lily call out to her. She veered toward the couch, where Lily sat watching a show on flipping houses. Lily stretched out her hands, making grabbing gestures. "Let me see."

Andy handed over her drawing pad, and plunked down beside her. This had become a thing. Each time Andy had a drawing assignment, she would let Lily see the end results, and they would discuss them. Lily often provided insight regarding the tone of the sketches and how they might be interpreted. Over time, Andy learned how to anticipate what types of drawings would yield certain results. She learned how to slant public bias.

"Did you talk to her?" Lily asked, eyes on the pictures.

"Of course not. That would be unethical, given my role."

Lily hummed, studying the sketches. "And your good versus evil motif doesn't show any bias? These tell quite a story, Andy." She looked up, eyebrows raised.

"He's an asshole. They signed a prenup, and he's still trying to get money from her. I hope he gets raked over the coals."

"No doubt he will, both by her lawyers and you. So you two didn't talk?"

"No," Andy ran a hand through her hair. "But she did acknowledge me. She nodded when she first got there. Didn't seem surprised to see me."

"I'm sure she knew before today that you're a sketch artist. You've made a name for yourself in a short period of time. Not to mention you've had several articles published."

"Yeah, but that's digital media. I don't know whether she even looks at that."

"Why not? She's always on the lookout for cutting-edge fashion. Wouldn't it follow that she keeps abreast of media in all formats?"

Shrugging, Andy unbuttoned her winter coat and shucked it off. "I guess. I hadn't really thought about it. The difference between our job descriptions is so pronounced, I find it hard to believe that she'd look at anything I've done."

"Well, even if that's true, you have several friends who have access to her. Friends who might have called her attention toward your recent work."

"No way to know for sure. I'm not going to ask anyone. But that reminds me. I'm meeting with the Runway gang on Friday for drinks. You in?"

"I'm in. It's time I spend some time with them. Get to know them."

"Good." Andy slapped her hands on her thighs and stood up. "I'm going to take a quick shower. Any ideas for food?"

"I'm making stir fry."

"Yes!" Andy pumped her fist, smiling. She scooped up her belongings and turned toward her room. "I won't be long." Once in her room, she gazed at her drawing of Miranda. Lily was right. Her drawings made clear who she believed should prevail. And I'm gonna do whatever I can to sway the public's opinion. Nodding her head, Andy closed the drawing pad and placed it on her bed. She would think more about the trial after dinner when she begin writing the article. For now, Andy decided to wash off the dirty residue she felt sticking to her skin after being forced to sit in the same room all day with sleazy Stephen.