A/N: Another chappie, just to get some other things going. Enjoy!
~Naralanis
Miranda sat quietly at her tastefully luxurious room at the Armani Hotel, looking over the selection of documents Philip had left her with concerning Arturo Bosco. The evening and unexpected drive with Andrea had ended in a rather positive and hopeful note, but the photographer still nagged at the recesses of her ever-active mind. So much so, in fact, that she had asked Walden to follow up on the rest of the paternity suits involving the Italian. Miranda briefly wondered if this was considered as being 'meddlesome', but she needed to analyse the situation. Depending on Arturo's behaviour, he would no longer be representative of Runway, and since it did not involve only Andrea, Miranda felt she deserved a pass.
There was no denying that Arturo was an incredibly talented photographer, but if his behaviour was less than exemplary, Miranda would have no qualms about cutting him loose. She would not allow for that to hurt her magazine. In fact, she had gotten more than a little defensive when thinking about his appalling behaviour towards Andrea. The Editor shuddered thinking about how many other women he had possibly directed that behaviour toward. He clearly wanted to be in on all that Saxton publicity, one way or the other. Miranda could only be glad that the brunette had the presence of mind to procure the Termination of Parental Rights, which at least prevented Arturo from going directly to the press and making her life a living nightmare. A grimace marred Miranda's lips at the thought of what that would likely mean for little Alice. For whatever absurd reason, she found that her frigid stone heart held a soft spot for the little girl, despite her recent misadventures with the Sachs family cat. Probably because Alice thought her hair was 'cool'.
A determined knock interrupted Miranda's musings. Her current Art Director did not even wait for her directive allowing him to come in, choosing instead to enter by his own volition, which earned him a particularly cold glare. Seemingly unfazed by it, Nigel made his way towards the armchair facing the Editor, sitting down with a serious expression. He crossed then uncrossed his legs, clearly impatient, eyeing Miranda intently. The silver-haired woman just kept her constant glare, refusing to be the one to start the conversation.
After fiddling with his scarlet De La Renta tie for about five whole minutes, Nigel finally got tired of it.
"Alright, Miranda" he said, obviously not in the mood for niceties "I'll bite. What's with Runway Italia featuring Alexandra Saxton? Before you?" he asked, directing a pensive gaze her way.
Miranda simply sniffed haughtily.
"I'm sure I don't know why you think that matters. Vogue had her before anyone else, after all." She stated nonchalantly.
Nigel simply rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, but now it's a whole different ballgame. You've wanted her for the magazine for years. Something happened when you met, and judging by the theatrics of that Saxton reveal, you more than likely pissed her off. Then, all of a sudden you're sending your photographer to help Guillermo with a Saxton spread for Italia, and walking around arm in arm with Six like you're all made up. What's going on?" he demanded, irritated by Miranda's forcibly disinterested expression.
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Nigel. It's all business."
The bespectacled man bristled.
"Like Paris was business the year that she left? I'm not blind, Miranda. What do you have on Six to make her go to any Runway publication after she wanted nothing to do with you?" he pointed out bitterly.
Miranda rolled her eyes.
"For your information, my dear Nigel" she snapped "We've come to a mutual understanding." She finished sharply.
"And what sort of understanding might that be?" he prodded.
"Not that it concerns you" the Editor began harshly "but I have arranged for Alexandra Saxton to be featured on Runway Italia, France and Britain respectively." She said.
Nigel's eyes widened.
"Runway France? You're letting Jacqueline have her?! After-after—"
"Good God, Nigel, have you suddenly gone daft? Of course not. She'll only be on one edition for Jacqueline."
"And then?" Nigel said, sensing that there was something more to it that Miranda was not letting on.
"And then" Miranda said, a wicked smirk tugging at her lips "Alexandra Saxton will be featured on Runway, for New York Fashion Week." She finished, interlacing her manicured fingers together.
Nigel's eyes nearly bugged out of his head with shock.
"New York? Alexandra Saxton has never been to New York Fashion Week." He stated dumbly, prompting Miranda to yet another roll of her eyes.
"Which is why it will be quite a momentous occasion. Almost as momentous as her reveal, which, sadly, no one can compete with. But I will not need to miss a deadline to accomplish, so I find that it is really quite an acceptable situation."
Nigel scoffed in disbelief.
"How did you manage that? How did you convince her to come back to Runway? After Paris?" he asked.
Miranda's glare intensified momentarily, only to soften unexpectedly. If Nigel did not know any better, he would have thought that there was a flash of embarrassment in those icy blues.
"I did no such thing. It was her own idea." Miranda said simply.
Nigel barked out a disbelieving laugh.
"Are you kidding me, Miranda? Are you saying you did not want Alexandra Saxton for Runway?"
"Now why would I say such a thing, Nigel? I think it's time for you to get your ears checked. Of course I wanted her for Runway. But Andrea had no reservations about coming to the magazine now that she's found herself in the world" she said, deliberately bending the truth a great deal. There was no need for Nigel to know exactly how Andrea wished to return to Runway.
"You really pissed her off at your first meeting. Then she pulls that Vogue stunt. And now it's business as usual?" he tried to clarify, looking for confirmation.
"Precisely." Miranda said.
"Fine" he said, putting both of his hands up in surrender. "You don't want to tell me, then don't. God knows you never do." He mumbled dejectedly, beginning to stand.
"Speaking of business, Nigel" Miranda began again rather suddenly, pinning the Art Director to his chair with merely a flicker of her gaze. "There are certain developments I must discuss with you. I originally planned to wait until we were back in New York, but seeing as you're already here" she waved a hand about by means of explanation.
"What is it?" Nigel asked, suddenly tense.
Miranda continued, her cold gaze never wavering for a second.
"The Paris Fashion Week Edition will be your last." She said finally, waiting for his reaction.
"Wha-What are you…" he began to stutter, bristling.
"Because after that, you will need all the time you can get in order to inaugurate Men's Runway at my 20 year celebration" she cut him off, finishing her sentence flatly.
Nigel suddenly let out all of the air contained within his lungs like a rapidly deflating balloon. His jaw went completely slack, and the hands that had suddenly gripped the arms of his chair with extreme, furious tension went lax just as suddenly.
"Wha… What are you saying, Miranda?" he stammered, resisting an all-consuming urge to pinch himself, while Miranda just huffed.
"You know how I detest repeating myself, Nigel, so why you would require me to do so is truly beyond me." She quipped, obviously enjoying his loss for words. "I've said, the Paris Edition will be your last as Artistic Director, or my employee at all. After that, at my 20th anniversary gala, I will announce a new Elias-Clarke venture with you at the helm. So, rejoice: after eight gruelling years you'll finally be rid of me for good." She said sarcastically, as if talking to a petulant child.
The bespectacled man still looked like he was struggling to find the words necessary to form complete, coherent sentences.
"Men's Runway." He choked out.
"Yes. Men's Runway" Miranda repeated, with a wicked gleam in her blue eyes.
Nigel ran a hand over his bald head, then rubbed his eyes, as if afraid he would wake from a dream, the disbelief still painfully evident. Miranda tapped her nails against the polished surface of the side table, impatient.
"Honestly, Nigel one would think you'd be a little more excited about such an opportunity, especially after the last eight years of constantly trying to leave the Dragon's Cave." She said haughtily.
"I knew" Nigel suddenly said, tears brimming behind his spectacles, to Miranda's surprise and discomfort. "I told myself I was an idiot, but deep down I knew you would make it up to me, eventually." He rasped.
Miranda rolled her eyes, made more uncomfortable by his sudden tears than she would ever care to admit.
"That is not what this is" she assured him, her voice even airier than normal. "I simply indicated the most capable individual I knew to lead Elias-Clarke's newest endeavour from the ground up. You will have plenty of struggles ahead of you." She said, her voice suddenly taking a warmer undertone. "And I have no doubt that you will exceed any and all of my expectations" she finished, taking him by surprise.
Nigel gave her a goofy smile.
"I won't let you down, Miranda" he promised.
"I surely hope so. I vouched for you in front of the entire Elias-Clarke board. Don't you dare embarrass me, Nigel." She said, sounding more like the Miranda he knew.
"I won't, I won't. I promise" he vowed, his goofy grin never leaving his face.
"There is a lot of work ahead of you. I want you to begin training your replacement as soon as we get to New York." She said.
"No problem" he assured her with a wave of his hand "Emily's almost all set already. She's been following me pretty closely for the past few years." He said.
Miranda's brows furrowed.
"Emily?" she asked.
"Yeah" Nigel confirmed "I've been sort of mentoring her. She shows a lot of promise." He assured her.
"No" Miranda said suddenly with a subtle shake of her head. "Not Emily. Serena will replace you."
Nigel's eyes widened in confusion.
"Serena? Well, she's Head of Beauty, but Emily's been Junior Editor for quite a while." He pointed out. "I think she deserves to replace me." He said.
"Not Emily" Miranda repeated. "She will get the promotion she deserves and more. But not within Runway."
Nigel's jaw went slack.
"Not within Runway? Are you sending her out?" he asked with disbelief.
"Not entirely. Elizabeth James from Runway Britain is soon retiring. Emily will replace her." Miranda clarified.
"What? You'll move her to Runway Britain? Miranda, you know that she and Serena…" he shut his mouth once Miranda skewered him with her glare.
"What would their relationship have to do with this? It's an incredible opportunity for Emily. Unprecedented advancement, she would be a fool not to accept it."
"Miranda… That's not how things work. Not always. Emily wouldn't want to leave New York unless Serena came with her. They were talking about settling down, maybe starting a family. Don't take that opportunity away from them." Nigel pleaded.
"I won't make the decision for Emily. She will have a choice to make, a difficult one, but it still is completely up to her. If she stayed, she would likely remain as Junior Editor… indefinitely. This opportunity at Runway Britain is not an offer I or Elizabeth make lightly. Plus" she added "I don't think Emily would be too opposed to some time back home." She finished nonchalantly.
"Miranda, Serena is Emily's home now. She'll say no." he warned her. She merely rolled her eyes.
"Take care of Serena's training as soon as we get back to New York." She said.
"Emily's expecting to get the post as Art Director." He tried.
"That's your own fault, isn't it? In any case, I don't believe the disappointment will last too long." She added through a snarky grin. Nigel resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"And, Nigel" Miranda began again, before he had the opportunity to stand. "Not a word of this to Emily." She said.
He nodded, his previous excitement at his promising future considerably dampened at what awaited his co-workers. His friends.
"That's all" Miranda finally said, turning her attention to the stack of papers she had been previously reading before he got there.
Nigel left without another word.