A/N: I know, two new chapters this weekend! I won't have much time to write in the next 10 days, so I thought I'd give you an early treat. Enjoy!
For the next week, Miranda vowed to completely disconnect from work and spend time with her daughters. They went to museums and saw a few plays, and more importantly, they spent quality time together, just the three of them.
She didn't talk to Andrea all week. The young woman kept her distance, but every night she would send a text asking how things were. Miranda's response was always the same: We are good - thank you. She wanted—no, needed—to keep her distance. That's not to say she didn't appreciate her thoughtfulness. She did, very much so. But, she had to trust that Andrea knew she needed this time alone, and understood why.
On Friday after the Runway team returned from Paris, a gorgeous bouquet of spring tulips and daisies was delivered to the townhouse. Cassidy plucked the card out and read it, with a confused look on her face.
"Who are these from?" Miranda asked, walking over.
"It doesn't say," she said, handing it over to Miranda. "It just has some weird quote on here."
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Paper is a poor medium for the communication of feeling. You desire the company of one who could sympathize with you, whose eyes would reply to yours. You have no one near you, gentle yet courageous, possessed of a cultivated as well as of a capacious mind, whose tastes are like your own, to approve or amend your plans. How would such a friend repair the faults of your beautiful soul! You are too ardent in execution and too impatient of difficulties. You greatly need a friend who would have sense enough not to despise you as romantic, and affection enough for you to endeavour to regulate your mind.
Well, these are useless complaints; you shall certainly find no friend on the wide ocean, nor even here in New York, among elites. Yet some feelings, unallied to the dross of human nature, beat even in your full bosoms. There is something at work your my soul which you do not understand. You are practically industrious—painstaking, a workaholic to execute with perseverance and labour—but besides this there is a love for the marvellous, a belief in the marvellous, intertwined in all your projects, which hurries you out of the common pathways, even to the wild sea and unvisited regions we are about to explore. x
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Miranda wiped a tear from her eye.
"What is it, Mom? Who sent it?"
"A friend," Miranda said. "My friend. Excuse me," she said, running upstairs. She took her cell phone off her nightstand and went into her bathroom, shutting and locking the door.
The past week had been wonderful, yet unbearable at the same time. After having grown so close to the young woman, being apart from her was nearly impossible. She yearned for the quiet conversation, the casual touches, the empathy that seemed to roll off of Andrea in waves. These flowers with a quote from her favorite novel—it made her miss the young woman terribly.
She opened her phone to begin a message, thinking about what to write. All the words that came to her mind seemed to pale in comparison to what she wanted to say more than anything: I love you, too.
"Oh god!" she cried, sinking down to the floor. "Why is this so difficult?!"
She shut down her phone and threw it across the room as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm a 50-year-old woman. I'm still married, but I broke my vow to my husband. I'm going through a public divorce," she said aloud. "I am suing a teenager for violating my right of publicity and using my likeness. My daughter was suspended from school for fighting. I treated Nigel terribly. I almost lost my job. I almost lost my daughters. I almost lost Andrea." She continued to repeat this over and over, a mantra of sorts, until she calmed down and stopped crying.
"And all I can think about is how much I love Andrea," she said.
A gentle knock sounded on the bathroom door. "Mom? Are you okay?"
She wiped her eyes and pulled herself to her feet. "Yes, darling, I'm fine. I'll be out in a minute," she said as she fixed her makeup in the mirror.
She looked over at the cell phone on the floor in the corner of the room and decided it best to leave it there. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and was surprised to see Caroline sitting on her bed.
"You were crying," Caroline said.
Miranda knew that even with the best makeup, she couldn't hide the redness in her eyes. She nodded and sat next to the young girl, wrapping her arm around her shoulders. "You're right, I was. They were happy tears, sweetheart," she said, kissing her daughter on the top of her head.
"Because of the flowers? Cassidy said they were from a friend—who, Mom?"
"A friend who knows how to get me all sentimental," Miranda said, chuckling. "She heard about the divorce, and then the website, and she knows me. She knows that I often insist on fighting battles on my own, and her card reassured me that I am not alone."
"Mom, you have us. Of course you're not alone," Caroline said, hugging her tightly.
"Oh, I know, sweetheart. I am so grateful that I have you and your sister. But this is a little different. Some things are meant for adults to discuss, not children—or teenagers," she added with a smile.
"You can talk to us about that jerk Stephen and the divorce, you know," Caroline said. "I didn't even like his pancakes—Dad's are way better."
Miranda laughed. "Oh, darling, I love you so much," she said, hugging her.
"Did that make you feel better?"
"Yes, actually, it did. Thank you."
"No prob," she said. "Do Cass and I know this friend of yours?"
"I don't think so. Maybe you'll meet her someday," Miranda said. "Come on, let's go downstairs and see what your sister wants to do this afternoon."
On Monday morning, Miranda went straight to Claire's office when she arrived, and explained that she would be switching Andrea over to the editorial team, effective in one week. She asked Claire to give her some uncredited pieces first, and if it was suitable, to allow her one piece per month, in addition to other editorial duties.
Claire was honestly surprised, but knew better than to question the editor. Plus, she would never turn down the extra help around the department. Editorial was one of the smaller departments at the magazine and most of the pieces had to be freelanced out, so an extra on-staff writer—with a degree in journalism from Northwestern, no less—was a dream for her.
When she returned to her office, she tossed her coat and bag on Emily's desk. "I need a replacement for Andrea, starting one week from tomorrow. She's moving to editorial."
Emily's eyes widened, but she nodded and responded, "Yes, Miranda."
Miranda sat at her desk and sipped her coffee as she flipped through the stacks of papers awaiting her attention. She couldn't think about anything aside from the young woman, and the minute she returned to her desk, Miranda stood.
"Andrea?"
"Yes, Miranda?" she replied, hurrying into her office.
"Close the door," Miranda said.
Andrea frowned and pulled the door shut. "Is everything okay?"
"We need to talk," Miranda said as she walked over to the couch. "Come, sit."
Andrea cautiously sat next to the editor. "You're making me nervous," she said quietly.
Miranda quickly reached out and covered her hand. "No need to be nervous," she said, hoping to reassure the young woman. "I talked to Claire this morning, and beginning next week, you will join the editorial team."
Andrea opened her mouth, but Miranda quickly held her hand up, stopping her.
"It was a difficult decision, but I one-hundred percent feel this is the best for your career, if you still wish to pursue journalism. It will show that you worked your way up and you will have published articles in a prominent magazine."
"But I don't want to write about fashion. I'm not qualified to do that."
"I know. While I have no doubt that you could do it, we're going to give you the opportunity to pitch your own stories. In a way it's the fashion world from your perspective. Andrea, I think it will be an invaluable experience for you. After that, should you wish to join the ranks of the Times or the Journal, it will all be within your reach," she said, squeezing her hand.
"Is this your way of telling me goodbye? Transferring me to another department and not answering my messages?"
Miranda smiled. "No, it's not. Nothing close."
"Huh?"
The editor reached up and stroked the young woman's cheek. "When you sent the flowers, I wanted to thank you, but I was so overwhelmed by the accompanying note. I couldn't find the words to express what it meant to me, and once I found them, I couldn't bring myself to send the message."
Andrea frowned, gently brushing her thumb over Miranda's hand.
"I have to sort a few things out, and while this isn't the reason I'm moving you, it will certainly help to have a small bit of distance from you."
"I-I'm sorry. I don't understand."
"Darling," Miranda said, cupping her cheek. She closed her eyes and whispered the next four words: "I love you, too."
The young woman gasped and reached up for Miranda's hand, holding it against her cheek before turning to kiss her palm. She reached for Miranda's cheek, brushing it gently. Her thumb lingered over the woman's lips.
Miranda quickly grabbed her hands and held them firmly in front of her. "Darling, I know that it's all been complicated. Please, I am asking you to do this for me. I need to wait until my divorce is finalized. I know it seems silly now—after what happened in Paris and all—but this website with me and the flyers…the optics are not right."
She bent down and kissed their joined hands, then stood and walked to the window. "If it wasn't for that damn website—it's just that now, if we're caught together, it gives truth to their claims."
Andrea stood behind the woman and wrapped her arms around her waist. "I thought they took it down?"
"It's down, but there are still screenshots all over the place," she said.
"Ahh. Well, it's okay. It will be okay," Andrea said, resting her chin on the editor's shoulder.
"It's not okay!" Miranda shouted, spinning around. Tears threatened to fall from her eyes. "It's not okay. We shouldn't have to hide. I shouldn't be worrying about what other people think!"
"Hey," Andrea said, hugging her tightly. "Do you want to step into the bathroom?"
She spent a moment considering it, then gently nodded her head and let the young woman lead her into the private room.
Andrea locked the bathroom door. "It's not wrong to worry what others think. It could jeopardize your divorce and the website settlement, and I think more importantly, it could make your daughters' classmates go crazy again. I get it. I've always understood your priorities. I love that about you," she said, gently lifting up Miranda's chin.
The sweet gesture made Miranda's knees grow weak, and she practically fell into the woman's arms. "We can't do this," she whispered.
"Miranda," she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. "I know we can't make a habit of this, but I think you need a kiss right now."
Miranda reached up and pulled the woman closer, pressing their lips firmly together. Andrea pushed her back against the wall and deepened the kiss. Miranda felt like a guppy, standing there, motionless with her mouth open while the young woman's tongue did wondrous, marvelous things.
After some time, she pushed Andrea back, gasping for air. The young woman stayed there, with their foreheads pressed together as they caught their breath.
Miranda could feel the flutter of the young woman's eyelashes on her nose, and it warmed her heart. "Thank you for the flowers," she said.
Andrea laughed out loud. "If that's the kind of thank you I have to look forward to, I will have to send you flowers more often," she said with a wink.
"No, you can't…you should go. You should get back out there before Emily gets suspicious," Miranda said as she used her fingers to fix the smudged makeup on Andrea's face. She pulled a brush from the drawer and applied some matte finishing powder, then a neutral lipstick. "I'm sorry," she said.
The young woman shook her head. "When can I see you again?" she asked, kissing the editor's hand.
"I don't know—maybe dinner later this week? Or the following? You know my schedule better than I do."
The young woman smiled. "Okay, I'll see what's available. Will it be okay to text?"
"No. Stephen's lawyer could subpoena our phone records."
"Okay, I understand," she said. "But I am still an employee, so you know, you still should to talk to me or it will look even more suspicious."
Miranda looked at the young woman intently. "Are you certain that you are okay with the role in editorial?"
"Yeah," she said. "I mean, I honestly love being your assistant; however, I trust you completely, and it seems like this is a great opportunity for me. For us."
"Okay. We will figure this out," Miranda said. "And hopefully the divorce and all will be over soon. Until then—"
Andrea pressed a finger to the editor's lips. "Until then," she whispered before unlocking the door and walking out of the editor's office.
Miranda leaned against the sink and took a deep breath. For the first time in weeks, she didn't feel like something was gnawing at her stomach. She felt a sort of relief, as though a weight had been lifted. Despite the mess that was currently her personal life, there was hope. There was Andrea.
The work week went by quickly. After having been out for two weeks, there was more than enough work piled up, not to mention Emily began training a new assistant, and then there were the girls, who didn't have the best week back at school. On top of all that, she had learned some disturbing news about the creator of the website.
It was Saturday afternoon and Miranda had enough work to keep her busy for the rest of the month piled up on her desk. James just picked up Caroline and Cassidy to take them to the movies, and they were going to spend the night and have pancakes in the morning. Miranda walked out of her home office, knowing that if she didn't take a break, it would take her twice as long to get through it all. She poured herself a vodka tonic and typed up a text message to Andrea: Do you have the changes to Pierre's contract? I need to see them, if possible.
The young woman replied immediately: Of course. As a reminder, Jessica is the new assistant who will be taking over my duties.
Miranda chuckled at that. Jessica will not be working with Pierre. That will continue to be your responsibility as long as you're an employee of the magazine.
Andrea wrote back: On my way.
Miranda had to admit that it would be difficult to remember not to message Andrea whenever she needed something. Jessica seemed competent—more like Emily than Andrea—and she would hopefully be suitable. She would never admit this to anyone, but of the options that Emily presented her with, she deliberately chose the woman who was least like Andrea.
Sighing, she thought about how much she would miss seeing the Andrea on a daily basis. There's no doubt that it was the best step for her in her career, one that she likely wouldn't have gotten otherwise. Not that she wasn't capable—Miranda had full confidence in her abilities—but most publications wouldn't look twice at her resume or portfolio if she didn't have a year's experience at an established, non-collegiate publication. This was an incredible opportunity for the young woman, and maybe if she wasn't so disappointed to be losing her, she could find it within herself to be happy for the young woman.
She finished her drink, but thought twice before pouring a second, opting for sparkling water instead. She had some information to share with Andrea, and while it would be wonderful to see her again, she couldn't let things go too far tonight.
The doorbell rang, and for a moment, Miranda wondered why Andrea didn't use her key. As if she could read her mind, the moment the door opened, Andrea reminded her that she had to give the key back to Emily for safekeeping, and that it would eventually be passed on to Jessica.
Miranda took her coat and led her into the den. "What will you have to drink?" she asked.
"Oh, um, nothing. I'm fine," she said.
Miranda ignored the girl and poured her a glass of wine, handing it to her before sitting on the opposite end of the couch.
"Are the girls with James?" Andrea asked, accepting the drink and taking a sip.
"Yes, but—" Miranda closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Before she could finish her thought, the young woman was next to her, taking her face in her hands. "Shhh," she whispered, pressing their lips together.
The woman returned the kiss, but quickly pulled away before it went any further than a chaste peck. "Darling, we can't—not here. There are windows and it's just—we can't." She grasped Andrea's hands and held them tightly. "But that doesn't mean we can't spend time with each other."
"I know. I'm sorry—I shouldn't have kissed you," she said. "Believe me, the last thing I want to do is complicate things. It's just that I feel like I can be so patient, but then I see you, and I can't help myself."
Miranda smiled. "I know the feeling. We'll have to think of something else." When the woman didn't respond, she took a deep breath and reached for the envelope on the coffee table. "I asked you to come over because the detectives stopped by this morning and gave me some interesting information. Information about the website that I believe you should hear," she said.
"Oh god. What is it?"
"Take a look," Miranda said, handing her the envelope. She watched as the young woman's eyes skimmed the page. "They identified the man behind the website as…Nathaniel Cooper."
"Nate!" Andrea gasped.
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TBC
A/N: Thanks for the reviews and comments (positive + negative). I really do love the feedback, and sometimes it even makes me change the direction of the story. As always, thanks for letting me know what you think...and thanks for reading! xo
