A/N: I know this update took awhile. I'm back at school now, and I'm sorry to say updates will be a little slower.

I hope this borderline T/M chapter (you know what that means!) will make up for it. Enjoy.


The list.

It was composed of various names of Runway employees that vowed to find alternate forms of employment should a coup ever dethrone me from my position of Editor-in-Chief.

It didn't exist.

There had always been the possibility that, among the models, photographers, writers, and designers, someone might actually demonstrate some act of resistance and leave. However, it was very unlikely that the followers and workers of the magazine would ever stand for me when I took special care to always push them down. Therefore, I lied to the oblivious and bumbling Mr. Ravitz, and he fully believed my bluff after only twenty minutes on a computer's word document cross-referenced with a list of employed workers. The buffoon didn't even bother double-checking my work.

Unfortunately, Jacqueline Follet hadn't decided to go into hiding as per my plan. Failure with James Holt, the ultimate realization of absolute lack of talent, and the complete disappearance from society seemed like the only possible route after such a public embarrassment. I was not one to underestimate my opponents, but it seemed so obvious the only alternative would be her eradiation from the field altogether. A woman that truly thought hair mimicking a skunk was an educated fashion choice clearly didn't deserve to be associated with the human race or, consequently, Runway.

There were whispers in the publishing circles Jacqueline was suddenly making more public appearances. In almost two weeks time, Elis-Clark would be hosting a dinner in which a 'special announcement' was to be made.

They were naïve to think I wouldn't recognize the signs.

The board thought a younger leader would help sales. Irving wanted more money, and Jacqueline's techniques whilst at French Runway, cheap and uninspiring, required little funding. Jacqueline desired fame, and the empire I built would provide such a pedestal. The revenge of toppling me over would certainly make them both ecstatic.

However, they lacked what I possessed. Of course, talent and drive were given.

My children were the loves of my life. Andrea was quickly slipping into the long forgotten corners of my heart. While my soul and body belonged elsewhere, my mind, intellectual thirst, and spirit had surrendered everything to this magazine. My magazine.

The only way to claim it securely was to have it placed into my hands freely.

Indeed, the master plan was to let them be happy. For a little while.

"Emily."

When I felt the presence of a figure hovering in front of the desk, I looked up to address the veteran assistant.

"For the next week, you will be in charge of hiring and training your replacement. If you wish to promote," I paused and simply gestured towards the two desks outside my office where the insignificant girl was sitting, "and replace the second assistant position, then do so. So long as I have two competent assistants, you are free to go."

Eyes lurking in a dark green cloud of shadow stared wide and scarred. Her application of eye makeup always was interesting, but this literal popping of the eyes was becoming burdensome.

"There is currently an opening in the Beauty department. You will be filling it."

Well-defined eyebrows crinkled before exploding upwards yet again.

Oh, for the love of Chanel, stop gawking.

"Unless of course you do not wish to continue working here. In either case, leave. Now," I instructed nonchalantly, looking down again to the photos from a shoot yesterday afternoon.

I heard the clearing of a throat before a muttered, "Thank you," and the clicking of heels signaled the speaker's exit.

I resisted a small smirk before calling, "Oh, and Emily?"

I continued looking down, though I could easily imagine the head of red hair that quickly whipped around to face me once more.

"Do not disappoint me. That's all."


"I walked all the way to your office to find you missing. Must I do everything?"

Nigel turned away from the set of the photo shoot and smirked at my comment.

"Some of us are trying to provide high-class fashion for the poor, tasteless souls in this cruel world," he responded, turning with crossed arms back to the photographer attempting to rally the models.

"And some of us need not 'try.' We simply succeed," I retorted before feeling a vibrating sensation in the pocket of my suit jacket. Andrea? Pulling out the silver device, I noticed Cassidy's name flash briefly beside the image of a sealed letter.

"Your girlfriend perhaps? Rumors around Elis have it you look at your phone and smile. The horror."

"Andrea tends to relax my usual unshakable control of my external reactions. It is becoming quite the problem," I said, pocketing the phone once more and fixing my eyes on the shoot before us. Male models in business suits were being drenched in water. It appeared to be an advertisement focusing on the versatility of the couture for everyday wear, such as the rain. I felt myself nodding.

"You two text. How cute. Have you held hands? Had your first kiss? When do you take Six home to meet the parents?"

I rolled my eyes at the overly obnoxious tone before replying, "She has been over twice already for dinner with the girls. And kissing certainly isn't an issue."

"Oh my. Done the deed, have we?"

I pursed my lips and the unfortunate model in my line of sight almost tripped on the set.

"Silly me. Sorry for asking. Don't smile like you're in Singin' in the Rain, for Pete's sake," Nigel shouted towards the set before turning in my direction, "To the point, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

My voice lowered to an almost inaudible level when I said, "Is there perhaps a position for Young Nigel somewhere in the ranks of Men's Runway?"

"What do you mean?" He responded in a tone just as hushed.

"There might be a change in leadership. He has potential that should not be wasted. New leadership might wish to," I spoke softly, glancing around at the surrounding chaos of the shoot, "make various personnel adjustments."

His hand quickly went to his head and scratched the hairless skin; it was his tell when he was worried or in deep thought. I had witness the habit various times during troublesome shoots or run-through disasters. I desperately wished he would select a more sanitary practice by possibly using his handkerchief.

"Jeremiah's thin enough to hide in the closet until the storm passes, I suppose," he whispered, looking around the room, "Why didn't we have this little chitchat in my office?"

"Because it would be expedient if people were under the impression I am worried, unprepared, and in desperate need of your advice for my inevitable downfall."

"Are you?"

Honestly. I simply glared in response.

"Fine. What's the plan?"

"Instruct that model to remove those leather shoes before they get ruined in the torrential downpour," I stated sternly before turning on my heel and approaching the exit, "and you'll simple have to see for yourself."


It wasn't until I reached the domain of my office that I opened my phone to peruse the message from my daughter.

'Can me & sis stay ovr stephs 2nite & shop 2mrw w/ her mom?'

Primarily, I needed to have a serious discussion with my girls on the merits of proper English.

Secondly, I would be calling Stephanie's mother in order to confirm the reality of such an event and secure proper contact information.

Thirdly, and most importantly, I did not have my children for the evening and tomorrow afternoon.

'Yes. Text me Mrs. George's number. Sending Roy to drive you. Be safe. Love you.'

After sending the first message and another to the driver, I clicked over to a familiar name with a recently familiar number and listened to the officious sound of ringing before a melodious voice drifted sweetly towards me.

"Hiya, Cougar."

Perhaps not quite so melodious.

"Is there anything I can do in order to eliminate such a nickname?" I sighed with a hint of humor in my voice.

"Nope. It's either that or I get to call you my 'love muffin.'"

A small fluttering ensued in my chest simply at the mention of the word despite the ridiculousness of her name. Love. We certainly hadn't made any declarations, nor did I feel it was exactly the right moment; however, admittedly, I was falling in love with her. I was keenly, precisely, and most ferociously realizing my inability to be without her. I covered my momentary lapse with a thoughtful hum.

"Hm, at least the first sounds mildly intimidating."

"I thought you'd see it my way. So what's going on? Still at work?"

"Yes, though I do hope to leave within an hour or two," I said, resting the phone between my shoulder and ear while reaching for a pen, "And yourself?"

"Just got home a while ago from some errands. I went out with Doug last night, so I think tonight's just a wine and Friends reruns kind of night."

"Would you care for some company?" I said casually, initialing the budget proposal for the Art department and giving my approval. Probably the last budget I would have the privilege of validating for some time.

"Sure! Bring the girls over and we can order pizza. Or salad since you're crazy and think your hot body can't handle some cheese," she responded excitedly, and I unintentionally grinned at her warmth in embracing us as a family.

"The girls will be staying over a friend's house for the evening and be otherwise preoccupied until late tomorrow afternoon," I added smoothly, licking a finger to turn a page in my calendar.

"Oh?" came her reply, the inflection in her voice still holding the previous note of eagerness, though for a much different reason.

"Tomorrow just so happens to be Sunday, the one day of the week I do not go into the office, as you well know," I continued, trying to keep my voice steady and seemingly nonchalant, "Therefore, if it wouldn't terribly inconvenience you-"

"Miranda, go get your work done, then hurry up and come over," she interrupted impatiently.

"My, my, is there a rush, darling cub?" I teased lightly, pleased with her apparent anticipation.

"If you really enjoy a 'glacial pace' as much as you say you do, we'll need all the time we can get," she said, her voice dripping with suggestive implications, "That's all."

The line went dead.

In that moment I was unsure if I was going to kill Andrea Sachs or make her howl in pleasure until she died of an overabundance of sexual gratification.

"Emily."

A pair of legs soon entered my peripheral vision.

"If the Book is not here in half an hour to be delivered to me before I depart for the evening, the only pieces of literature any of the department staff will ever handle again are their severance checks," I sneered bitterly before adding with dark fulfillment, "That's all."


What if it wasn't satisfactory?

I typically operated by the rule that if I intended to do something, I would undoubtedly succeed. Goals required skill and confidence, two traits I strongly considered to be pivotal to my personality. However, sitting in the backseat of the town car, my mind stumbled upon the fact my last physical interaction involving another woman was approximately five years ago with a photographer I made quite clear I would never see again.

In terms of experience, there was no logical reasoning for this new wave of nervousness. I possessed knowledge from past (very distant past) encounters, and Andrea had admitted that she gave women the classic "college try" before entering a long-term relationship with Nathaniel. Statistically, the odds were in our favor for a positive evening.

I frowned with displeasure.

As to the question of whether we were personally compatible with one another, the answer was extremely obvious. Her sex appeal tortured me to no end, and I proudly recognized the signs of arousal in her eyes on multiple occasions. Between the back-and-forth of our conversations and the heated moments of affection on the couch after the girls had gone to bed, we were unquestionably sexually compatible.

I simply couldn't identify the reason for my useless anxiousness. Even inevitably going through the motions of crawling into bed with the girls' father or Stephen hadn't carried this odd burden.

I peered outside the window to the sidewalk corner while the car remained stationary at a stoplight. A couple stood in the glow of a streetlight outside a building holding hands.

Oh.

"We're here."

Roy's voice startled me out of my thoughts and I again focused on the outside image of Andrea's apartment. Screw your courage to the sticking place, Priestly.

"Your services will not be needed for the rest of the evening," I said sternly, and, before my confidence could waver, or I could see Roy's knowing smirk in the rearview mirror, I left the safety of the town car and marched into the battlefield.

By the time I had ascended all forty-eight steps, my heart was pounding from a source other than physical exertion. I forced a steady hand through my hair as I stood outside her door and took a calming breath.

Victory will be mine.

I knocked firmly with the air of a queen announcing her war-like arrival onto soon-to-be conquered lands.

When the door opened to reveal a woman clad in a neckline determined to go southward, all my bloodlust drive died away instantly.

The Queen surrenders, I thought drily as I eyed the silver necklace sparkling on the brink of an ample chest. My sight was about to travel even lower when the clearing of a throat interrupted what must have been my very blatant scrutiny. I looked up to mirth-filled eyes.

"Good evening, " I said, licking my lips. She smiled at the action and pushed against the door to further broaden the entrance.

"Come on in," she replied, her voice caring an underlying richness that further flamed the fire growing between my legs.

I walked through the doorway slowly, stopping when a leg suddenly blocked my path. A very smooth, naked leg. With a pair of shorts barely covering said leg's thigh. I followed the path up the woman's torso, again meeting eyes smoldering like darkened wood.

This was going to be a slow death via torture.

"I don't even get a kiss 'hello?'" she quipped with a smirk.

"Pardon my manners," I responded hazily, slowly leaning towards her smiling face. A mere second before I touched her tantalizing lips, I decidedly turned and planted a firm kiss on her cheek.

If she had the audacity to rudely torture a prisoner that had politely surrendered, I would not be going down without a fight.

A small laugh filled the room, and I felt some type of balance restored as I continued deeper into the abode. I heard the shutting of the door and minor clicking while I removed my coat.

"I'm sorry about before."

I placed the garment on a nearby chair and turned around to face the speaker. The dark, romantic red of the shirt complimented her light skin quite wonderfully. Upon further examination, it seemed the maddening bottoms were nothing more than running shorts.

"Whatever for?" I finally questioned. Driving me crazy with something as unfashionable as athletic garb?

"I did hang up the phone on Miranda Priestly," she explained with a small smile.

"I've accepted you're rude and cheeky. Dealing with it is troublesome but hopefully doable," was my playful response. She rolled her eyes as I walked towards her and I couldn't help my returning grin.

"How was your day?" she asked, changing the subject, grabbing my hand, and leading me to the kitchen. A bottle of wine stood alone on the center of the clean counter, and I was contently distracted until I noticed the cracked door leading from the kitchen. The bedroom.

"Exhausting as usual," I said, watching her reach up to a cabinet in order to retrieve wine glasses. Her shirt rose, revealing a small appetizer of a curvy hip. I cleared my throat before continuing, "I'd much rather hear about yours."

"Not too much happened," she replied, setting the glassware on the counter and pulling the bottle closer, "I really needed to get some groceries, and I worked a little bit on the biography. At least I tried to be productive," she summarized with a chuckle, pulling out a drawer to claim the device to open the cork.

She tucked her hair behind her ear before screwing the twisted metal into the cork of the bottle. I took a moment to admire the brunette waves. In the past months, it had returned to the longer length from her earlier days at Runway. She had maintained the bangs, and it was clear she now diligently used more products; however, there was an added volume and fullness that had disappeared as she extended her stay at the magazine. I was unable to resist reaching out to run my fingers through the silky strands.

"I'm pleased you decided to grow your hair out again."

"I thought it wasn't stylish enough when it was like this," she said with a smirk, looking up out of the corner of her eyes as she popped out the cork.

I took a small step back and admired her face momentarily, taking sanctuary in escaping my nerves and switching to the critique of an editor.

"It adds a sense of maturity that didn't quite belong at Runway," I pondered aloud, my critical eye softening at the flick of her eyebrow.

"Are you saying it makes me look old?" she crooned with mock hurt.

I resisted a smile before explaining, "Us fashionistas, we're always clinging to what keeps us youthful. You took what you learned and fused it with the charming respectability your intelligence and charisma provides you. You're not 'stylish' anymore," I said softly, again running my fingers through her hair, "but rather you have embraced entirely this style that is uniquely you. You've become a wonderfully refined and mature woman, Andrea."

She placed the bottle on the counter and started at me with a look of disbelief and a peculiar smile.

"How am I the only one that sees how big of a softie you are?"

I snorted, "Most likely because I am not."

She shook her head and grabbed my hands before answering, "No, that's not true. I've seen how passionate you get at work and how much you love your children. You treat your dog like royalty and protect your friends, like Nigel. You're so sweet to me and kind enough to still be donating to all those charities," she continued, her chocolate eyes refusing to leave mine, "Everything you do is one giant act of compassion, and no one seems to see it."

Andrea.

"Because it is an act of selfishness," I almost whispered.

"How?" she asked, reaching up to cup my face with her hand. The warmth was intoxicating, and I leaned into the source.

"My children, my dog, you…I need them."

"Trying to be happy isn't self-" she paused before a small smile emerged on her face, "You need me?"

"Need. Want. I can no longer deduce the difference. I simply know you are becoming a mandatory presence in my life," I murmured. Is this not the reason I had pursued her? For her to stay? Perhaps my nervousness from before was not so entirely related to a lack of physical contact in my recent years but more so because of the emotional emptiness. Tonight, this final step would solidify her place in my world. The taking and giving, the display of both strength and weakness. Yes, wanting or needing did not begin to define the desperation behind the final leap.

She loosely grabbed my hands and placed them on her waist before wrapping her own around my shoulders. Pressing our foreheads together, her lips touched a delicate but confident kiss on my own.

"This is needing someone. Do you need me?" she whispered against my mouth.

"Quite frantically."

She took a step and I felt my back press against the kitchen counter. Her hips began to rock against my own, the pressure of her chest leaving mine breathless. Those tempting lips slid to my ear, lightly biting the lobe. I was losing my mind.

"And this," she breathed hotly into my ear, "this is wanting someone. Do you want me, Miranda?"

"Most ardently," I gasped.

'Then how many times do I have to tell you I'm yours before you act on it?"

Victory.

The hands that rested uselessly on her hips suddenly snapped to life with the overwhelming desire to explore and possess.

I was only immediately aware of the heat and hunger that surrounded me and raged deep within my bones. Lips battled against mine with the same voracious ferocity my fingers clawed at the devious shirt that exposed only a small sample of what I craved. The other hand tangled into her hair, our legs tangled together as I pushed a knee to her center, and, after hearing her gasp with pleasure at the movement, I thrust her against the counter in an act of desperation for even more tangling and weaving and intertwining. The absolute ache for her body could not be lessened despite all my efforts, and I growled with impatience at the saccharine madness of having but not yet seizing.

She was panting between my body and the counter while I struggled to resist devouring her in the process of tasting her neck. For all the refinement and gentleman attitude I had claimed to retain, I was withering away into nothing less than an animal.

Based on the way she was whining with every nibble and dart of my tongue, she didn't seem terribly concerned.

I pressed my knee more deeply between the apex of her legs, and I was instantly rewarded with another moan. My mind was swirling in a humid fog, jolting to attention when hands roughly grabbed the collar of my button-down shirt.

"You are not taking me in the kitchen," Andrea rasped, and, in this moment of clarity, I realized my hands had diligently pulled her shorts down to her upper thighs.

Our eyes locked, and moisture pooled in my mouth and at my very core. I could hear the throbbing of my own heartbeat pulsating everywhere.

My hands slowly reached down and palmed the underwear-clad rear the lowered shorts had exposed.

"Andrea," I whined, or maybe growled. I was beyond comprehending.

"Bed, bed, now," was all I heard before being pushed backwards towards the final frontier of her apartment. I was quickly distracted by eager hands beginning to unfasten the buttons of my shirt. Suddenly the idea of removing our clothing entirely seemed the most revolutionary idea of the 21st Century.

My fingers hastened to the smooth belly peaking beneath a shirt I had long ago wrinkled. I lifted the fabric, and the fingers working my own garment left momentarily in order to expedite the process. I cast the red cloth somewhere behind me and immediately began to appreciate the new skin with the tip of my tongue. Straps slid off and shoulders were admired. A well-defined collarbone was deeply enjoyed with little bites as I pulled at fabric elsewhere. My lips rapidly memorized the splendid bosom that peeked over black lace, and I swiftly decided I needed more. Now.

It took a moment for me to apprehend the idea it would be difficult to remove her bra while I was on top of her, and, as I sat up to amend this little hitch, I realized the full implication.

I was on top of her? And when had my own shirt been removed?

I looked down at the woman I was straddling and witnessed a sight I had only dreamt about on the loneliest of evenings. Andrea's cheeks were flushed and her eyes burned like blazing coal. Her hair was fanned chaotically atop the pillow, and her bra sloppily clung more to her upper ribcage than to her actual chest. I eyed the delightful torso and curvy hips and noticed that the dreadful shorts were gone; all that remained was a simple pair of black undergarments. The image cooled me slightly; this was a reminder she was to be enjoyed slowly.

Her eyes bore a note of curiosity when ours gazes met again. I bent over her body and delicately slid my hands under the small of her back, causing her to arch deliciously. Fingers followed a backbone until a clasp was reached.

The bra discarded, I again sat upright to admire the rare gift before me. I began to speak, but only a hoarse echo could escape. I cleared my throat before reaching out to cup her face.

"Andrea, I wish I possessed the words to do your beauty justice."

A glowing smile appeared on her face before she sighed, "Then no words. Come here."

Our lips met with an intensity that had not yet been considered. Before, there was nothing but fire and explosion. A deadly heat meant to consume everything in its path. However, as my hands spread to her body with the intent of memorizing and her tongue slowly mapped the contours of my mouth, there was no urgency. Not a burst of lava but rather the deliberate and gradual rolling of waves on the sand. There was the scent of salt and the sensation of angelic warmth that felt as if the dark bedroom was cast in sunlight. Her hands roamed down my abdomen, and I sighed into her mouth.

My sense of time grew lazy as I delicately sipped and nibbled on this woman, my only markers of progression being the inevitable removal of my slacks, Andrea's increasing moans, and my eventual face-to-face encounter with her final article of clothing.

There was only a tiny hint of awkwardness that came with completely undressing her for the first time, and I knew it was to be expected. It would fade with time.

I tenderly grabbed her ankles, lifted her legs, and placed them on my shoulders. With a delicateness and shyness I had not seem from her in quite some time, Andrea turned her head and closed her eyes with a small whine of seeming embarrassment; it was another shade to her character I found absolutely delightful. I turned to my left and gently kissed her ankle until she turned to look at me once more.

"Are you comfortable, darling?" I whispered against her skin.

Her answer was a smile and a nod before I heard the mumbled, "Please."

My lips descended down her leg, a trail of hot kisses leading to the apex under the knee. The tip of my tongue teased the sensitive nerves at the leg's juncture, much to Andrea's pleasure if her verbal outbursts were any indication, before switching to the limb on my right. My teeth and tongue worked the skin of her thigh, and the scent from before enveloped me as I inched closer. My mouth watered as I recalled her words from before.

She said she was mine, and, finally, I was to have her.

I tasted her slowly and savored the wonderful union of her flavor and the gasp that sounded above. As I continued with tantalizing deliberateness, her hips began to quiver and rock. Strong legs wrapped around my back, and thighs closed around my head, though I was still blessed to hear her muffled cries. Her fingers entangled themselves in my hair, and my own hands secured her suddenly very active hips. I gained momentum with every call of my name until my flickering tongue was pressing roughly against her and lapping greedily. She arched her body, and my own aching center nearly imploded at the sensation.

Much like the hot, sticky air that suddenly snaps and wanes after a storm, there was a slow cooling that overtook the bedroom. I slowly rose and admired the woman panting with her eyes blissfully closed. Remarkable.

I peppered kisses along her jawline, and her arms pulled me into a warm embrace. As I hovered above her, our bodies melded together, I realized I was hers more so than she was mine. I wanted to protect her and love her. I couldn't be without her.

Hands pushed gently against my shoulders, and I pulled back slightly to be met with a deeply concerned gaze.

"Miranda, you're trembling," she said worriedly, hands instantly moving to stroke my face. I shuddered as I realized she was right.

"You're incredible," was all I could breathe out while attempting to control my shivering.

"And you're so beautiful," she whispered, lightly pressing me onto my back. Her lips gently kissed my face, and I felt our bodies quickly entangling once more.

"So strong," she hummed, her hands touching my arms, my legs, my stomach…she was everywhere.

"And so passionate," she breathed against my neck, her fingers doing something torturous to my chest. A gasp that sounded vaguely like her name wrecked through my body.

Her lips pressed against mine once more before she said, "Please let me show you how much I need and want you too." I could only find the strength to nod.

And then she proceeded to mark me as her own. I was finally satisfied.


"What's your favorite color?"

I tightened my grip around her torso, pulling her back closer against my body. I paused from the process of lightly pecking her shoulder with my lips.

"Do you not know? I was under the assumption you knew everything about me."

"Oh, shut up. I could never figure it out. It's not like you had a favorite shirt or something."

"Hm," I brushed my lips against the crook of her neck in mock thought before answering, "Cerulean."

"You're just sooo funny," she responded, turning her head to glare in my direction. Had I taught her such a scathing glance? No, this was clearly a look destined by the heavens to serve as a counter to the Priestly glower.

I kissed away the sarcastic scowl before amending, "I am fond of various blues. I'm sure you've noticed the color palette for the townhouse besides the bright foyer."

She turned in my embrace and extended a hand to stroke my hip. Our noses brushed as she mumbled, "True, but I'm not really paying too much attention to the walls when I come over."

"And after I worked so closely with the interior designer. Such a waste."

"I was just distracted with the rest of the architecture," she practically growled, her hand clawing at my rear friskily.

"I suppose I could forgive you. Possibly."

Just as I finished drawling out my comment, Andrea was pushing me onto my back and pressing every inch of her glorious body against mine with delicious, seductive force.

"I'm really sorry," she purred before nibbling my neck, "I'll beg for forgiveness if I have to."

"If you insist," was all I could gasp while attempting to maintain a false air of playful disinterest. However, my hands quickly rejected the rouse and spread across the smooth field of skin on Andrea's back. I hummed as a tongue danced just behind my ear and chuckle brought hot breath against my tingling skin.

"I love how the hair that meets your neck has this little bit of black," she mumbled, her lips brushing against the very spot she was discussing.

"Black and white work well together when used appropriately," I said, flipping through my mental catalogue of various designs and hairstyles, "Jacqueline, however, seems unaware that her current ratio produces the outrageous lookalike of a skunk."

Another string of muffled giggles emerged from the woman buried in my neck, and I enveloped my arms around her in contented bliss.

Her head moved so it rested more solidly on my shoulder before she said softly, "I'm worried about this whole thing with Irv and Jacqueline trying to get rid of you."

"You have no need to worry, I assure you."

"I wish you would tell me what you're thinking. Maybe there's someway I could help?" she questioned, lifting her head slightly to look into my eyes. I too mimicked the action, lifting my head from the pillow. Her compassion brought a small but warm smile to my face. Couldn't she see this was help enough?

"Why are you here in bed with me, Andrea?"

The brunette moved to rest on her arm and said with amusement, "That answer seems pretty obvious considering we had sex, and I told you the kitchen was a no-no."

I rolled my eyes but pressed further, "Well, yes, but why did you select me as your sexual partner?"

"Because I care about you. And you're smokin' hot." I snorted at the comment but eagerly accepted the hand that began tracing patterns on my stomach.

"And does your reasoning for caring about me have anything to do with the fact I am blessed with a sizeable income?" I continued, knowing full well her answer.

The hand stopped. "Of course not!"

"Or, alternatively, my position of power and career?"

She frowned before slowly answering, "I wouldn't say I'm with you just because of your job. I just think being Editor says a lot about who you are, you know? You're smart, powerful, and authoritative. You excel because that's where you belong," she mused, leaning forward and brushing a front lock of my hair away from my eyes, "I guess I'm just trying to say that I care about your job because you care about it. I'm not here because I need your job to further mine, Miranda."

I kissed her to lessen the seriousness of her expression resulting from such a deep response. "You certainly don't. You're already very successful, and, quite soon, you will be the only one between the two of us that is gainfully employed."

Her eyebrows crinkled in confusion, and I was touched at how quickly she became upset. "I thought you had a way to stop Irv. Miranda, what-"

"Darling, I'm almost disappointed. Do you honestly think I lack a plan?" I said impishly, lightly grabbing hold of the chin of the woman on top of me once more.

The brown eyes searched mine for a few moments before growing even more confused.

"…You want them to take Runway?" she guessed slowly.

"I am allowing them to borrow it, yes."

"Why? Jacqueline will run it into the ground. She sucks."

"Use that wonderfully big brain of yours," I hummed, kissing her cheek.

A beat passed before she repeated almost breathlessly, "Jacqueline sucks."

"Indeed." Another kiss to the forehead.

"No one can do what you can do."

"Obviously." A peck on the nose.

"They'll need you to save it."

"Absolutely." A final kiss on the lips.

Andrea blinked multiple times, as she did when she pondered something, and ultimately answered, "Miranda, I know you're the best. They know you're the best. But how can you be sure they'll come back begging for you?"

With an evil smirk, I asked, "Tell me, do you often dabble in the stock market?"

"Oh, you know, just for fun here and there," she responded sarcastically.

"Well, the bedroom certainly isn't the place to discuss the finer details of such fiscal matters," I stated matter-of-factly, turning her over and climbing atop the young woman, "In fact, I'm finished with all forms of discourse at the moment."

"Really now?"

I proceeded to kiss her skin along the lines of her collarbone when I heard a weak voice mumble, "Are you really trying to distract me with sex?"

"You don't seem opposed," I purred, pinching her nipple.

Her answering moan was the only validation I required.

"Now, I do believe you mentioned begging before," I murmured before descending her body.


A/N: That was the first sex scene I have ever written. Ever. Feel free to give me lots of criticism on it. I can feel Miranda's voice changing a little during the scene, and I actually think it's kinda good. A person's state of mind is completely different when you're, well, otherwise preoccupied. Also, is everyone okay with this pacing? I hope it's obvious some time passes in between chapters.

Soon the drama unfolds! What's all this money/stock market business? How will the press handle Mirandy? Will Patricia ever get her very own chapter!? Please review!