Chapter Seven "Boredom"

"Adele wants a word. She's in your office. Your ten o'clock cancelled." Vanessa relayed.

Miranda raised an eyebrow as she threw her coat on the second assistant's desk without looking.

"The designer wasn't ready."

"Don't reschedule." she instructed then stepped into her office. "Have the cerulean girl bring the book tonight."

Adele Florian stood by the row of windows with her hands clasped behind her back. "You know, I love your view."

"It's quite lovely, isn't it?"

Adele finally faced her but didn't move in Miranda's direction. The behavior was a little odd until Miranda realized the reason why the woman stood in the corner farthest from the door while looking out of the window as if merely enjoying the view.

"I only need a few minutes."

Miranda stood by Adele and waited for the older woman to speak.

"Have you made a decision yet?"

Miranda crossed her arms then took in the view. "My answer is yes, of course, provided we stay to the agreed timetable."

"Nothing has changed. I'm well aware you require time to put certain pieces in place." Adele's grin lit up her unlined face. "That's excellent news."

"Did you really think I'd have answered no, Adele?"

The CEO turned toward her and smiled. "Not for one minute. Well, I'll let you get to it then."

"It's always a pleasure when you come visit a our little part of the world." Miranda said as she took a seat behind her desk.

"Oh, by the way." Adele said as she paused at the door. "I hear your new Fashion Director is quite a marvel."

Adele winked before leaving. Miranda rolled her eyes.

By eight-forty-five, Miranda's temples counted down to detonation time. Assembled around the main conference table, everyone waited for her to start the meeting. All Miranda wanted to do was lay down with a cold compress. Her shoulders felt as if they were going to crumble under the strain of tension. Rubbing the back of her neck, she picked up her pen.

"Emily, have you found a replacement for Peter?"

"Interviews start tomorrow. I'll update you by the end of the day. "

Miranda checked it off her list. "Nigel, be sure to attend Alexis Mabille's show in Paris. If you think Andrea's ready, divide up the shows between you."

"I'll email our schedules"

Taking off her glasses, she set them on the table and said, "Let's begin. Germaine, the advertising budget increase has been approved. That also allows for additional personnel. In your presentation last year, you estimated three months to make the transition to social networking platforms. If the forecast is accurate, this will mean a significant increase in Runway sales. You have two months."

"Miranda, that's not..."

"It was not a question. For someone who just received everything they asked for with the exception of thirty days, you don't seem pleased." Miranda snatched up her glasses. "If you can't do your job..."

"I can." he interrupted, sitting up taller in his chair. "I will."

Much to Miranda's extreme distaste the meeting ran over. She went directly to her office, grabbed her purse off the floor and started digging through it as if her life depended on it. Not paying attention to the voices beyond her door, she scowled when she discovered the empty pill bottle.

"Here. Take these."

Miranda looked up to see Andrea placing a pill container on her desk and holding a bottle of water. She shook out two tablets as Andrea twisted off the cap.

"How did you know?"

"You kept taking off your glasses." Andrea placed two fingertips on the edge of Miranda's desk. She tapped them gently, her gaze focused downward then she abruptly looked up and smiled. "We have headaches in common, too."

Miranda lips quirked upward for a brief second. "So it seems."

With a light rap of knuckles on Miranda's desk, Andrea turned away.

"You forgot the pain meds."

"Keep them."

Miranda grimaced but managed a faint, "Thank you."

Andrea gave no indication that she heard.

At eleven Nigel texted her to pop into Conference room B. Since he knew she had about fifteen minutes before she left for an offsite lunch, Miranda stood and walked down the stairs that led to the bullpen. Everyone scurried out of her path, a circumstance she relished. Now, if only midday traffic would follow such an example.

Excited chatter streamed through the open door. It wasn't a foreign sound within the hallowed halls of Runway, particularly, Miranda suspected, in her absence. Most of the time it was a bit more circumspect. Regardless, as long as people didn't disturb her inner sanctum, she didn't care. Gently she pushed the door open all the way, leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her arms.

A few interns from Accessories, a stylist from Emily's group, as well as representatives from Jewelry, and Beauty were divided into four groups as Andrea stood up front and directed them.

"Yes, Miranda?" Andrea greeted her, excusing herself.

Casting a cold stare toward the subdued group, Miranda murmured, "Where is Nigel?"

"One sec, guys." she said, then walked out, beckoning Miranda to follow. She shut the door behind her and replied, "He's in a meeting with Features and Copy." Andrea frowned. "It's on his calendar."

"And why aren't you attending?"

Folding her arms across her chest, she explained rather impatiently, "After he and I discussed it, I decided to have a team building exercise. Last week at the accessory run-through Joselyn struggled. They need to flex their creativity and we need to appeal to a lower economic base. Khatera is talented but I think she needs a little direction. Don't get me started on Robert."

Miranda stopped the smile that wanted to bloom across her face. "And how do you intend on...inspiring them?"

"Doug and I went thrift store shopping after we saw you on Saturday. I grabbed a ton of ugly garments in plus sizes, a few nice pieces and some other things. Their job is to make it look fashionable. The winning team gets to pitch a feature to Emily."

Hardly a novel notion, a page right from the first and last managerial seminar she had been required to attend and, yet, Andrea's fervor enlivened it. The urge to be nice, to give her a compliment or to express her appreciation caused Miranda to bite the inside of her cheek. Standing in the hallway, asking questions, and hurting herself so she wouldn't smile at the damn girl was not how Miranda Priestly operated at Runway.

"And, just FYI, I'm going to recommend to Nigel that Brent and Jill be terminated and if he doesn't agree, then I'll just do it when he leaves."

Miranda raised her eyebrows but remained silent, trusting Andrea's judgement in such matters. Besides, she had no clue who they were or what department they worked in. Obviously, somewhere under Nigel's umbrella.

Jesus but Andrea's confidence hit her in the way an orchestra's double bass did: low tones, sometimes rhythmic or long, but always phenomenally powerful, thrumming just underneath Miranda's skin.

With one hand on her hip and the other rubbing the back of her neck, she caught Andrea's gaze then unhurriedly perused the woman from head to toe. Miranda concentrated on the clothes. It was Dolce & Gabbana today, a metallic floral-jacquard straight-leg pants paired with a silk, long-sleeved black button-up shirt and black slingback stiletto high heels. Miranda's heart rate slowed and her breaths no longer felt they were taken under water. She knew clothes, took great comfort and happiness in critiquing an ensemble.

"Do I pass?" Andrea asked, not in doubt but in expectation.

"Acceptable."

Andrea reached over the small space separating them, her cool fingers running down the length of Miranda's arm. "High praise coming from the Queen of Fashion."

"Your entire career has been spent at Vogue. And, yet, I'm the Queen of Fashion and not Anna." Miranda said, her tone laced with irony. Andrea remained composed but Miranda knew a temper lurked behind those dark eyes. It would be amusing to lure it out of captivity. With Stephen, it had been all too easy. "I'm not swayed by flattery."

"Maybe you should just learn to accept a compliment."

"Perhaps you should go back to your little experiment."

Miranda held her breath. They were quite close, voices low, eyes locked.

"I feel like I've missed something here." Andrea said.

"And this affects me how?"

"I wouldn't even attempt to guess." Andrea muttered then lightly touched Miranda's shoulder. "Incidentally, the Alber Elbaz's for Lanvin number you're wearing is...fierce. Just when I think I've figured you out-your style, you surprise me."

"Whereas you are...predictable."

Andrea gaped then struggled to contain her laughter when she retorted, "The day you walk into Runway wearing a Westwood fur coat with a coordinating G-string, I'll wear one of Betsey Johnson's creations."

Biting the inside of her cheek, Miranda prevented the snort but she couldn't do anything about the sting of tears. Andrea, much to Miranda's chagrin, stared at her with a particular glee.

"You'd rock it though while I'd have strut down the hallways in a sequined tie up crop top and latex pants. With my luck I'd look like a bedazzled dominatrix." Andrea took a closer look at her and started grinning. "You're picturing it, aren't you?"

"Just...go." Miranda managed then pivoted away and let herself smile.

Jonathan stood when she approached the table. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"You look beautiful, as always." he said then pulled out her chair.

She gracefully took her seat and set down her purse.

"You know, I was thinking, maybe I could meet your daughters this weekend?"

Miranda looked up when the waiter arrived. "I'll have the diver scallop carpaccio with the pear and pomegranate salad."

"And for you, sir?"

Jonathan asked, "What do you recommend?"

"The roasted quail breasts with rosemary fondant potatoes and braised baby carrots. It's very popular."

"Do you have a porterhouse?"

"Uh, yes, sir. How would you like that cooked?"

"Well done."

Miranda suppressed a wince. To do that to a beautiful cut of beef was sacrilege.

When the waiter departed, Jonathan said, "Why didn't you tell me you've been here enough times you have the menu memorized?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Jonathan." she said as she primly unfurled the cloth napkin. "I always order the scallops when I come here for lunch."

"I would have taken you somewhere else." he lightly groused.

"But I like this place." she said then took a sip of water from the glass.

"Well, what do you think?"

Miranda responded impatiently, "That I like the scallops here."

Jonathan laughed as if she were a silly thing, his irritating indulgence on full display. She frowned and quickly thought back on their brief conversation.

"About meeting the girls this weekend?"

Smiling, his gaze roamed over her face. "So, I'll pick you up Saturday and we'll go..."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Jonathan." There was nothing she could do about the petulant pinch of his mouth. Reminded of Stephen by his bruised expression, Miranda's body suddenly tightened. "We've only had a few dates and Page Six is already calling you the next Mr. Priestly. I'd rather not complicate things by subjecting my children..."

"We're not getting any younger, Miranda. It's time to see if we're a good fit, don't you think?"

Miranda leaned back in her chair as the waiter set down their food. She stared at Jonathan while there were being served and coldly calculated how to address his ill-conceived presumption.

"You're talking about sex." she stated then picked up her fork. "This isn't about my children."

Jonathan blustered a little but the plain intention in his look was too stark to ignore. "Well, yes, sex is a part of it. We're two consenting adults and we find each other attractive."

"You're not the first man to want to bed me." With the fork in one hand and the knife in the other, Miranda set about cutting a scallop in half. "Other than the points you mentioned, are there any others you would like to add to the list?"

Understandably, Jonathan looked suspicious over her reasonable tone. She forked the last cut-up piece of scallop, enjoying the flavor before swallowing and commenced to disassembling the rest.

"It's a good start." he replied softly, trying to encourage or reassure her with a smile.

Miranda set down the utensils and deliberately placed her elbows on the table then folded her arms.

"If you want to embark upon a sexual relationship that's one thing but meeting my daughters is quite another."

It was almost comical to observe his changing expressions while he dealt with an answer. Had she been any more forthright it would have bruised his ego and, over the years, Miranda learned to spare the male fragility as much as feasible in the interest of progress.

"So, we're agreed to adding, uh, a more personal element to our relationship and table talk of meeting each other's family for the time being?"

Miranda offered an artic smile . "I didn't agree to anything, Jonathan."

Confusion gave way to anger, the transition expected given Jonathan's intolerance for not getting what he wanted.

Clearly exasperated, he spoke with an exaggerated slowness. "I would like to have sex with you and meet your daughters."

"I understood you the first time."

"I'm a little too old for these types of games, Miranda." he snapped, tossing the crumbled napkin over his overcooked steak. "Perhaps when you're in a better mood..."

"I'm not in a bad mood." she cut him off, scooting back her chair as he motioned toward the waiter.

"Jesus, I should have just stayed with the model."

Unconcerned, Miranda shrugged and murmured, "If you say so."

"That, that shit right there..." he hissed as he signed the receipt. "...is pure bitch."

"You're coming dangerously close to making a scene, Jonathan."

"I would almost be worth it just to get you to show some feeling."

Miranda picked up her purse then quietly said, "I did. It was boredom."

Tired and a little blue, Miranda entered Runway, taking her time through the bullpen and up the stairs to her office. She threw her coat on the new girl's desk as she called out for Vanessa.

"Yes, Miranda."

"I am no longer taking Jonathan Weber's calls, I want that scarf I saw last week, call Bev Toussaint at Paris Runway, and tell Nigel I want to see him."

"He and Andrea are off-site with a Jamar King."

Miranda narrowed her eyes.

"I'll get him on the phone."

Miranda flipped open the Mac and started going through her personal calendar and deleted two events Jonathan had asked her to attend. The act of uncoupling eased a hard spot that had sprouted in her chest on Friday at Jonathan's fundraiser.

"I have Nigel on the phone, Miranda."

She picked up the receiver and said, "Whatever you have planned for this Saturday night, cancel it."

"You need an escort to the Children's Museum charity ball? I'll be there with bells on."

"And a tuxedo."

"Naturally. Since I have you on the phone, I think a little face time with Jamar may be in order. The man cannot stop talking about you."

"Yes, well, I'll try to fit him in next week. By the way, I'll be wearing the crimson Elle Saab. Do not look prettier than me."

"The one-shoulder draped dress? You in that dress has me feeling a little bit straight."

"Understand this isn't a date."

"And yet I shan't be late."

"We'll never hang up at this rate."

Nigel chuckled then remarked, "Perhaps we should make it a threesome?"

Miranda leaned back in her chair and turned it to look out the window. "One of us will be disappointed and it won't be me."

"I wouldn't think so as the third I have in mind is none other than our Andrea."

Irritation skidded along her nerves but protesting only encouraged him more. Completely ignoring the adrenaline spike zipping through her veins, she decided to play along.

"I suppose that leaves you to watch."

Nigel snorted. "You're in rare form today."

"It's because I'm newly single." Miranda rolled her eyes at the silence. "There'll be another one along, don't worry."

"You already have someone in mind?" Nigel gasped in a scandalized tone.

"Of course not, but I do seem to attract them, don't I? Anyway, Vanessa is about to gnaw off her own arm if I don't get off the phone and obey the schedule."

The girls were in bed when she arrived home at nine-thirty although she heard muffled noises coming from Cassidy's room. She waited outside, hearing both of their low murmurs.

"Cara, call the exterminator tomorrow. I do believe we have mice." she called out, shoulder against the wall and arms folded.

The carpet didn't silence the hurried thumps of running feet. Miranda laughed softly when she heard Cassidy hiss at her sister to be quiet. Still, she waited, wondering which one it would be this time.

"You think she went to bed?" Caroline called out.

Miranda quietly walked toward Caroline's bedroom door then pushed it open.

"I do hope all the mice went back to sleep." she whispered and was rewarded with a giggle. She sank down on the edge of her daughter's bed and lightly patted the squirming lump under the blanket. "Come out and say good night to me properly little mouse."

"Night, mom." Caroline said through a yawn.

Miranda gently kissed her then tucked the blanket over Caroline's bony shoulder.

She crossed the room and cut through the adjoining bathroom to Cassidy's bed. Evidently Miranda had taken too long in Caroline's room. Long red strands covered Cassidy's face as she slept. Her small hands were balled up into fists on either side of her head. The blanket half hung over the edge of the mattress, the rest covering Cassidy's feet and legs. The room, of course, underwent a cyclonic redecoration sometime between the morning cleaning service and Cassidy's arrival from school. She kissed her daughter's cheek, not bothering to tuck her in as she always kicked off the covers.

Once within the confines of her room, Miranda's shoulders deflated. She slipped off her heels and started to remove her earrings in the walk-in closet. The light came on automatically as she went to the mahogany jewelry armoire and placed her earrings in the drawer then shed the rest of her pieces. By the time she did everything she needed to do to get ready for bed, it was ten-thirty and her mind wouldn't shut off.

Of all the things to obsess over, Jonathan hardly mattered and yet, she turned over and punched her pillow. A week ago she had been content. Replaying their conversations in her head, they were all utterly benign. He wanted to meet her children and have sex with her, neither of which were grounds to just...let him go. At lunch, he had been upset but malleable. It would have been so easy to finesse him back. Miranda exhaled in a rush then snuggled deeper into the pillow.

Obviously she didn't want him enough.