A/N: Hello, once again! I know it has been forever, and I feel like I owe the readers of this story an explanation (I might not, but it doesn't feel quite right). I was pulled into the world of fanfiction because my own world was falling apart. I was clinically depressed, slightly agoraphobic and had been all but put under suicide watch by my University counselor. I don't know what possessed me to start writing fanfics, or to even consider the DWP fandom in the first place. All I know is that suddenly, there was something I liked doing, and there were people that liked the result. For that, I want to thank everyone who has been following this story from the beginning. It may sound stupid even to me at times, but this story is what held me together when I was about to break. But it got to a point where not even this could help me, and I had to stop and heal.
Now, I'm in a better place. I'm starting University again in the Spring, doing something that I like. I've found someone who is with me during my happy days as well as my not-so-happy days. I've reconnected with a support system that I had left behind. And it didn't feel right to just leave this story just because my life was turning around- I still have every intention to finish it. I apologize for the massive delay; but I needed time. I've had the time, and now, I'm back. So here's a small chapter, to get us all back into the swing of things.
Thank you all so much for your unending patience and support.
~Naralanis
Emily's jaw had practically disconnected from its hinges as she walked into the most luxurious plane interior she had ever set foot in— which was really saying something, considering who she worked for.
"A jet?! You have a bloody jet?!" she had squawked almost immediately upon entering, before she could stop herself.
"Temporarily, yes. I don't own it, I'm just renting it" explained the brunette behind her.
"You do realise that this flight takes less than two hours, don't you?" Emily pointed out, prompting her former co-worker to roll her eyes.
"I'm well aware, Emily. I'm just trying this one out before I get my own." She supplied helpfully.
"Buy your own?! Buy your own! Can't you just fly first class for the rest of your days?" the redhead questioned as she made herself comfortable on one of the plush seats, letting out a contented sigh.
"On second thought, just buy this one. And send me one of these" she gestured around the seat she occupied "it feels absolutely divine."
Andrea simply laughed at the Brit's antics. She took a seat across from the redhead, setting herself up for the flight.
"I probably could just fly first class." She said after a few moments of contemplation. "But there's the hassle of being recognised, a problem I didn't really have before. Plus, with a jet I'm on my own schedule, not the airline's." she reasoned.
Emily let out a rather ungraceful snort of laughter.
"There are only two people I know in this whole wide world who would refer to flying first class as a hassle, and you're one of them." She said through her chuckles.
"Who's the second one?" Andy asked, even though she had an inkling.
"Who do you think?" Emily quipped sarcastically "Miranda bloody Priestly, that's who."
Andrea chose not to comment. Perhaps in the past the idea of buying a jet would have seemed ridiculous to her, but those days were long gone. Now she longed for the privacy it would provide. And it wasn't like she couldn't afford it. It took her a long time to get it through her own stubbornness, but it was not a crime to live within one's means.
"Though I have to admit, not even Miranda has a jet." Emily added, clearly amused. Andy just chuckled.
"She doesn't need one— she has friends who have jets." She pointed out.
"True. There are always designers throwing themselves at her feet to get in her good graces." The redhead turned to Andy with a questioning look. "What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Will you lend Miranda your jet?" Emily questioned with exaggerated air-quotes. "So to speak."
Andrea huffed, raising an eyebrow.
"You just want to fly on this one at every opportunity." She accused playfully.
"Guilty" Emily muttered, leaning into the seat and closing her eyes happily.
Once they landed in London, Emily realised the error of her ways. Private jets were absolutely delightful. Everyone should have one. She would have to mention it to Serena; who needed a house when you could have a 'house' that flew? It was bloody genius.
Once again, she was sunk in a plush, comfortable seat, only this one was a Victorian armchair in the guestroom she would be staying in at Andrea's townhouse. She had received quite a shock once she walked into the beautiful townhome in the familiar neighbourhood; it just didn't seem like Andrea at all. However, that first impression was quickly remedied as she went deeper into the house, up to the floor where her room was located. She dreaded staying in the abode of Alexandra Saxton, but she thought she could handle being in the home of Andy Sachs.
"Hello, Emily."
The redhead jumped nearly three feet in the air when the disembodied childish voice called to her, greeting her quite abruptly. She finally her eyes on another familiar brunette; though quite a smaller one.
"Christ. What in the bloo— Oh, hello. You're Allie, is that right?" She said, recovering with remarkable speed. She had almost forgotten about the little girl, who was quite frankly a miniature carbon copy of her mother.
"You remembered!" Allie exclaimed with a blinding grin. Her expression turned pensive all of a sudden. "I mean, unless you don't like nicknames. Do you like nicknames?" she asked, very seriously.
"Uh, I don't particularly mind them most of the time." Emily said truthfully, because really, how else was she supposed to respond to that? It seemed to be the right thing to say in the end, because the girl's blinding smile returned at once.
"OK, good. I didn't know if you would be like Miranda. Miranda doesn't like nicknames, so I didn't know if you'd be like Miranda and not like nicknames, but I like nicknames as long as they're not mean." She said in once rapid breath.
The fast-spoken sentence momentarily threw Emily in for a loop, but once she recovered her eyes were as wide as saucers.
"Miranda?" She squeaked. Surely the child didn't mean her boss, Miranda Fucking Priestly. "You don't mean Miranda Priestly, do you?"
"Of course! She came here to meet with mum, and she played with Minnie, or rather, Minnie played with her, really, I'm not sure if Miranda liked Minnie very much."
Emily was lost once again. Who the Hell was Minnie?"
"And who would Minnie be?" she prompted, legitimately curious.
"Oh, Minnie's out cat, though Miranda called her Minerva, just like she called me Alice because Miranda isn't particularly fond of them or at least that's what she told me." The child provided, rather quickly once again.
The redhead blinked very slowly and forcefully a couple of times, trying to get rid of her confusion. She was quite sure that the girl had just mentioned that her boss, Miranda 'The Ice Queen' Priestly had interacted with a cat, which was honestly ludicrous. Miranda despised cats.
The little girl looked at her expectantly.
"I always thought 'Allie' was short for 'Allison'" she supplied rather unhelpfully.
"No! I just said that my name's Alice!" the little girl said, crossing her arms in an exasperated fashion, quickly making the redhead backtrack.
"Well, since I'm just going to call you Alice anyway, it doesn't really make a difference, does it?"
Allie — or Alice, whatever it was going to be— uncrossed her arms from her chest and eyed Emily pensively, giving the redhead's point serious consideration.
"I guess that's true" she finally conceded. Emily breathed a sigh of relief. Children were never really her forte.
"What are you doing here, Emily? Have you come for a visit?" Allie said, her change of subject blindsiding the sitting Brit.
Emily shook her head in amusement at the little girl currently dangling from the arm of her chair by her elbows.
"Not really. I'm here to help your mother out on a few things." She said truthfully, uncertain of how much she should— or even could— divulge to a child.
"You work for Miranda, right?" she pressed on.
Emily nodded in confirmation.
"Are you going to put my mum's stuff on Miranda's magazine?" the child continued.
"I don't put anything on Runway. Miranda is the Editor-in-Chief, so she is the one who decides what will be in it." Emily said almost automatically.
Allie furrowed her brows, but the action seemed to be borne more out of frustration rather than confusion.
"But is Miranda going to put mum's stuff on it? Is that hat you're here to help with?" she demanded.
"No" Emily admitted. "I'm here to help your mother with a spread for Runway France." She explained.
Allie let out a surprised squeak and threw her little hands into the air, her frustration palpable.
"Runway France? But that's like the worst Runway! That lady's hair looks like a skunk on her head!" she squealed indignantly, crossing her lanky arms across her chest once she was done.
Emily tried to resist the overwhelming urge to laugh, with limited success— an ungraceful snort was able to escape. The child did have a solid point about Jacqueline's hairdo; it did resemble a skunk at times. Her slip drew a giggle from Allie, who seemed to recover far more quickly than the redhead.
"So, is my mum ever gonna be on the real Runway?" she asked in a defiant tone that totally took Emily by surprise.
"Well, I'm not really the right person to ask" she dodged. "Why don't you ask your mother?"
An annoyed huff was her only response before a knock on the door startled them. Alice's eyes widened considerably.
"It's mum! Hide me, Emily!"
Before the Brit could even blink, a mass of brown hair hurled itself behind her armchair with a giggle. The action was almost immediately followed by Andrea entering the room politely, with a playful look on her face.
"Hello there, Em. You wouldn't have happened to see a Munchkin stomping around these parts, would you?" she asked with a knowing smile.
"I do believe one has sprouted behind my chair." Emily said, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"Emily! You weren't supposed to give me away!" an indignant voice called from its hideaway.
The two women laughed, and Andy peeked over the back of the armchair, shooting her spawn a jokingly stern look.
"Stop bothering Auntie Em, Munchkin. Go wash up, dinner's in two minutes."
A grumbling Alice did as her mother asked, but not before she shot Emily the dirtiest look a six-year-old could manage.
"Auntie Em?" the redhead squeaked.
"Munchkin, Auntie Em… I'm sticking with the theme."
"Right." The Brit responded with more than just a hint of sarcasm.