Andy toed off her heels and carefully seated herself on the pristine white sofa.
"Perhaps you should lie down, Andréa," Miranda said from behind her desk as she slid on her reading glasses.
Though couched as a suggestion, it was, Andy knew, a command, and she complied, her movements awkward and slow. When she finally managed to get settled, she distracted herself from the pain by watching Miranda work.
The woman really is brilliant, Andy thought, awed as always by the editor's fierce focus and intense concentration. Miranda seemed to embody the concept of "flow," a mental state about which Andy had learned in one of her psychology classes. No wonder Runway meant so much to her; those who characterized Miranda as a career-obsessed workaholic, Andy realized as she stifled a yawn, did not understand how much joy and satisfaction the editor must find in utilizing her considerable skills and talents to meet the challenges of producing the world's foremost fashion magazine. Yes, flow…
Miranda looked up from her laptop to check on Andréa and was not surprised in the least to see that the young woman had fallen asleep. She was loath to disturb her, but Miranda needed to get back to the townhouse to change for a dinner party she was obligated to attend. At one time she might have looked forward to it as a way to pass a lonely evening without the twins, but now she viewed it as a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it would keep her from spending more time with Andréa. On the other…it would keep her from spending more time with Andréa.
With a sigh, she shut down her computer and rolled her shoulders in an attempt to ease the stiffness. Pushing back her chair, she stood and walked over to the couch.
She allowed herself a long moment to study the girl close up, her gaze greedily drinking in high cheekbones, full lips, and stubborn chin.
Leaning over, she placed a hand lightly on her assistant's left forearm. "Andréa," she called softly, "wake up."
"Miranda?" Andy, disoriented and now well under the influence of narcotics, blinked in confusion and struggled to sit up. It took her several seconds to recall exactly where she was and how she got there.
Miranda pressed her back down. "Slowly," she cautioned. "Let me help you."
And with a care that was generally reserved for her daughters—though my feelings for Andréa are hardly maternal in nature, she thought wryly—the editor assisted Andréa into a sitting position.
Andy, dizzy as much from her boss' touch as from fatigue and having taken the Percocet on an empty stomach, really didn't want to move, but she pushed to her feet anyway.
The room spun dangerously and she staggered.
Miranda was quick to steady her. "I said 'slowly,' Andréa."
"Sorry," Andy said. She took deep breaths until most of the dizziness subsided. Only when Miranda removed her hands did it disappear completely. "I'm okay now. Thank you."
"Are you stable enough to walk in those?" Miranda asked as Andy stepped into her high heels.
"I think so."
"How very reassuring," Miranda drawled wryly. "Come. And please be careful."
Miranda, fearing Andréa might stumble or faint, kept close to her assistant as they made their way out of the building and into the backseat of the waiting Mercedes.
Once Roy pulled into traffic, the editor turned to Andréa. "Did you find a suitable replacement for yourself?"
Andy nodded. "Yes. I need to look at your schedule to determine when you will have a moment to meet her and approve—"
Miranda waved a dismissive hand. "That won't be necessary. I trust your judgment."
"Oh." Andy blinked in surprise and felt herself flush with pleasure at what was perhaps the highest compliment Miranda had ever paid to her. "Okay."
Miranda couldn't help but smile at Andréa's reaction.
"Um, her name is Laurel. She recently graduated from F.I.T. with a B.S. in Fashion Merchandising Management. Last summer she interned at Issey Miyake USA. She's fluent in Mandarin and her Cantonese is passable. I'll start training her first thing in the morning. Phones first, I think, so Jessica can run errands and—"
"Andréa," Miranda interrupted, her voice stern, "you will not overtax yourself tomorrow the way you did today. Am I clear?" She gave her assistant a hard look to drive home the point. "You will work until noon at the latest. That's more than enough time to teach the new girl the basics of the phone. It's not rocket science."
"But she might have to add something to your schedule," Andy protested, "and that is complicated."
"She can leave that to Jessica for the time being." Miranda's tone brooked no argument.
Andy reluctantly nodded her acquiescence.
"Good. Speaking of the schedule, a good deal of the mess around the cover shoot has been straightened out." The editor raised an eyebrow. "I believe Jessica and I have you to thank for much of that."
Andy gave a single-shoulder shrug. "I just made a few suggestions."
"Yes. And they proved to be invaluable."
Andy warmed at the praise. "I-I'm glad I was able to help, Miranda."
