By her side, Malcolm engaged another man in a conversation going on about "irons", "fairways" and "bogeys". Most of it she ignored but smiled prettily or cooed when they paused long enough to limply include her. Malcolm hadn't acted as if she needed to play her part with his associate for which Miranda felt relief. As discreetly as possible, she scanned the room for Anna, a far better source of entertainment.

"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen." she murmured when the men took a second to inhale.

"Where are you going, sweetheart?" Malcolm asked, staying her departure with a palm on her lower back.

"I wouldn't let that one out of my sight." his friend said, his appraisal as his eyes lingered scarcely registering.

Squeezing her waist, Malcolm chuckled along with his friend. "She's a handful."

Miranda presented her opened-mouth smile, the one derived from mockery.

"She's beautiful." his friend exclaimed as he lifted his glass at her then took a drink.

"Oh, flattery." Miranda turned toward Malcolm but stepped back, breaking his hold on her waist. "Don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone."

Quickly moving away, she threaded through the crowd to the bar, knowing Anna tended to lurk around alcohol during events.

"It's appalling, darling, how tiny your waist is. Are you wearing a girdle?"

"You dressed yourself tonight, I see." Miranda uttered, lightly scratching the back of her neck. "It looks like you just escaped from a Catholic school."

Anna's brows hovered over the rim of her glasses as she impersonated a guppy.

"Your skirt has a box pleat hemline. Really, Anna, you're too mature—"

"Rude." Anna sniffed then drained a glass of champagne. "Where's your side-piece?"

A waiter with a tray of drinks drifted by. Miranda summoned him over, smiled then plucked a flute of champagne off the tray. Anna took two without smiling.

Miranda tossed back half of the drink then took a few deep breaths. "Andrea is not my 'side-piece', you nasty gnome."

Anna inclined her glass, almost spilling the contents before putting it to rights. "Which is it, school girl or gnome? You're confusing me." She moved closer, looking around, then whispered, "Which do you prefer, muff-diver or carpet muncher?"

Miranda snatched Anna's spare champagne then gracefully tipped it back. "That was horrible."

"It's definitely not Moët Chandon, darling."

Scowling, Miranda hissed, "I was referring to your vulgarity dear."

Anna waved her hand dismissively then frowned. "You're right. I've been...ill informed. You're a unicorn."

"Please, just stop before a gardener comes by and relocates you to the Island of Misfit Statues."

"Oh." Anna gasped then clamped a hand over her mouth. Her shoulders hunched as her delicate frame shook. "That was a good one."

Miranda nodded and finished her drink.

"So, where is your...side-piece?" Anna asked again.

"On a plane to vanquish her mother."

"Sounds like a Greek tragedy."

Miranda stared into her empty glass then looked up, not quite meeting Anna's gaze. "It's not good."

"I think I caught that when you used 'vanquish' and 'mother' in the same sentence. Never bodes well, darling." Anna came closer. "Stay the course. She knows what she's doing. Always has in spite of my lack of faith."

"It's not like I have another choice." she hissed, eyes darting around to find a place to set down the empty flutes in her hands.

"I do believe I'm a bit inebriated, darling."

Miranda jerked back to take in the entirety of her friend's demeanor. "Is it Bee? Shelby?"

Anna faced her and gave the impression she was rolling her eyes but Miranda couldn't honestly tell on account of the dark glasses Anna wore like Kevlar.

"My daughter can handle herself, thank you very much, and Shelby, well, he's Shelby. If you must know, I'm..." Anna pulled down her glasses a bit to peer up at Miranda. "...vexed. Is it too much to ask for a bit of competency? Creativity? God, I need another drink."

"Call your driver and drink in private."

"You're so sensible." Anna pushed her empty flute into Miranda's stomach. "It's annoying."

Jostling three champagne flutes until they were secured in one hand, Miranda used the other one to steady her slightly unsteady friend. "Anna, don't make me call Bee."

"You're insufferable." Anna muttered, digging through her clutch. She pulled out her phone, tapped on the screen for a handful of seconds, then shoved it back inside. "I only came out for you, you know."

"Thank you." Miranda murmured, squeezing Anna's forearm.

"I'm not so drunk I can't smell what you're cooking, Priestly."

"What does that even mean?"

Anna nodded one too many times. "Come by the penthouse this weekend and we'll talk about why your side-piece wants to 'vanquish' her mother."

"Even drunk you remember shit." Miranda groused under her breath.

"Liquor intensifies my intelligence, darling." Anna adjusted her sunglasses then arched one brow. "Be a gentleman and walk me to the car."

After catching a waiter's eye and off-loading the empty glasses, she surveyed the room for the quickest, least populated path out.

Cupping Anna's bony elbow, Miranda guided her through the venue. Three times in twenty-five yards people detained them, their expressions of intrigue splattered across their faces like neon paint. Miranda utilized the Ice Queen guise each time and dug her fingers into Anna's dainty bones whenever she spoke more than a few words. Anna, always overblown with charm whenever in her cups, played the role of maligned fashionista like a Broadway actress, projecting her words to carry across the farthest expanse of the room. It was true, she held her liquor well and a casual acquaintance was blind to her drunken tell which, of course, was the volume of her voice. The protective urge to preserve the legend, however, drove Miranda to collaborate, lending her own high-pitched commentary. They stopped at the coat-check to pick up Anna's luxurious sable coat which Miranda envied immediately.

The chilly evening air swept across Miranda's bare shoulders and arms as negotiated the steps that ended at the broad sidewalk.

"That's me." Anna jerked her chin in the vicinity of a gray Rolls-Royce that pulled up along the curb in front of them. "Go back inside before I see your nip—too late, damnit."

Miranda bit back a laugh, suddenly aware of the curious eyes darting their way. "We have an audience, dear."

"Should I slap you?"

Anna's driver came forward, offering his arm. Miranda glared at him. He shrank back then hurried to open the car door.

"Good night. I'll see you this weekend."

"Remember...stay the course, Miranda."

XxXxXxXxXxXx

The night dimmed without Anna's attendance. Miranda led with her chin, walking across the floor without looking at anyone. The original lie to escape Malcolm suddenly rang true. She diverted ten feet away from where she'd left her date, who was still captivated by his golf buddy, and ducked into the ladies room. Naturally it was crowded. Every settee in the lounge area was occupied which she noted as she walked by and entered the stall area. An attendant showed her to an empty enclosure. From years of experience, Miranda managed the rearrangement of her gown in order to hover over the toilet despite the hassle.

At the mirrored wall she cleaved through the blockade of tittering young women then inspected her reflection, checking for imperfections.

"Excuse me." a peroxide blonde jeered, glaring at her.

Miranda lightly dabbed the corner of her eye then turned around to face the ridiculous woman just behind her. Silently, she evaluated her from head to toe. Adopting a bland expression, she turned away and left the ladies room. Either due to Miranda's reputation or self-possession, people granted her sway and she rejoined Malcolm without being detained.

"The line must have been long." Malcolm greeted her with an open arm, gathering her close when she reached him.

She smiled and wondered just how much longer she was required to stay.

"Well, I better get back to my wife." Malcolm's friend proclaimed, his eye pausing on Miranda's cleavage. "Which table are you two at?"

Malcolm replied, "Twenty-six, I believe. I guess we should start making our way to the table." He peered at Miranda, holding a friendly smile.

"Lead the way, dear."

XxXxXxXxXxXx

When Miranda closed the front door behind her and engaged the alarm, it was just past eleven o'clock. She stepped out of her heels and trudged upstairs. The faint bluish glow from the girls playroom beckoned her. Selah, slouched against the couch's armrest, was asleep. A book, cracked open and face down, splayed across her lap. An unopened green spiral notebook was half-wedged between the cushion and the girl's thigh.

Miranda cleared her throat but the babysitter didn't stir.

"Selah." she said, sitting on the end of the couch.

The young woman roused, blinking and sitting up. "Miranda?"

"Give me a minute to change and I'll—"

"I didn't mean to fall asleep. I was studying. I guess I fell asleep." Selah stammered and stood up, rubbing the tops of her thighs. "I can walk down the street in this neighborhood. I'm pretty sure."

"Perhaps so but..." Miranda rose and said over her shoulder as she walked away, "...I'm still going to walk you home."

XxXxXxXxXxXx

Andrea didn't call.

Miranda reached over and grabbed her phone from the night stand but Andrea hadn't sent a text either. It was past eleven without a change in time zones. Andrea's plane left at seven-fifteen out of LaGuardia. Miranda checked the flight status and her shoulders slumped, the flight's arrival time of nine-thirty-three into Cincinnati confirmed.

Did Andrea go directly to her mother's house? Her father's apartment? Miranda stared at her phone, momentarily confounded. Should she call? Text? Andrea's parting words whispered in her head.

"Not your call."

"She's my mother, not yours."

Running a magazine was a hundred times easier than a personal relationship. Miranda tilted her head back, mouth sagging open as she stared at the ceiling. Christ, it wasn't in her nature to be indecisive. With that reminder ringing in her ears, she started to text Andrea then balked. What could she possibly say? On a mission, Andrea had made it clear she didn't need, didn't want Miranda's help. In any event, texts were ridiculous and entirely too wide open to interpretation. Miranda fluffed her pillow, turned off the lamp, and settled in.

When the glow from her phone winked out, she pressed the button, staring into the darkness. Whatever answers may have been skulking about while she kept reilluminating the screen of her phone propped on her stomach, eluded her save the only one that hung in her mind.

I love you

XxXxXxXxXxXx

She exited her home and was met by Roy who actually wore a pair of aviator sunglasses. Photographers clicked away and hurled their taunts to get a rise out of her. The walk to the car went smoother than the previous day and she was ensconced within the town car with minimal fuss.

Staring at her phone, she struggled not to throw it out the window. God damn Vivian Sachs, Miranda silently fumed. Via a staccato of texts from Andrea this morning, Miranda learned her Fashion Director wouldn't be in the office today but working remotely and would be slow to respond. If any issues arose that needed her attention, Miranda had been kindly informed to send an email.

Well, then.

She punched in the number for the girl's father.

"Something's come up and I need you to take the girls this weekend."

"Well, hello to you, too. I forgot about your shitty manners. Thanks for the reminder."

Miranda gritted her teeth. "Hello, how are you?"

The insufferable asshole goaded, "See how civilized you can be?"

She tried to make an agreeable sound but it came out more like a grunt.

"So, now, you want me to take the girls, right? Well, lucky you, I'm available even at the last minute. It's known as responsible parenting."

Obviously he was in a mood. It wouldn't do to cut him down to size, a pastime she rather enjoyed. Alienating him would only fuel his overplayed sense of self-righteousness and cause him to walk back his acceptance.

"Thank you. I'll send them on the usual train."

The rest of the ride she spent on the phone with Cara then the twins trying to convince them spending time with their half-siblings would be fun.

XxXxXxXxXxXx

When she arrived at Runway the Cerulean Girl sat behind the assistant's desk. Miranda didn't break stride and tossed her coat onto it without looking. Once seated she called for Vanessa.

"Yes, Miranda."

"Close the door."

Vanessa gently set down Miranda's coffee then stepped back with an expectant look on her face as she waited.

"Did we suddenly run out of things for the girl to do?"

"She'll be covering the phones this morning while I finish up your expense report." Vanessa's eyes twinkled. "Then she's spending the day with Emily."

Miranda's eyebrows perked up. "Have you given any thought to what's next for you? Your two years is almost up."

Vanessa didn't fidget or coyly look away. "Communications Associate under Edward."

"I'll let when I've made a decision." With a flick of her wrist, she murmured, "That's all." When she sensed the girl still lurking, Miranda glanced up.

Vanessa nodded slowly, jaw working as if she wanted to speak but kept swallowing it back.

Miranda stared at her until the smile and its owner quickly disappeared.

By noon Miranda arrived at Oscar's, a family-owned eatery several blocks north from Michah Perdue's penthouse. It was a slight risk considering the recent attention she attracted but the conversation with Michah required anonymity. She pointed to a booth away from the windows in the corner, farthest from the kitchen and rest rooms. The waitress obliged with a shrug and disappeared. Miranda slid across the vinyl seat, hopeful she avoided stepping on dropped edibles and other mealtime debris.

"Good lord, you look normal." Michah teased as she carefully slid in. "I almost didn't recognize you. This is a bit covert, isn't it? How did you manage the disguise?"

Miranda refrained from rolling her eyes. "Yes, well, needs must. When you agreed to meet, I told my cook to gather some comfortable clothing I wear at home and sent my driver to get it."

"So, not a disguise per se." Michah pouted, looking almost disappointed then she regained her normal enthusiasm. "Where did you change clothes, dear? An out of the way ladies room in the Elias-Clarke building?"

It had been years since the blush of embarrassment sullied her poker-face but she would be damned before she shied away from direct eye contact, too. Miranda drew herself up and drolly replied, "In the car, of course, on my way here. Using a public bathroom isn't very 'covert'."

Michah clapped her hands, chortling. "There's nothing better than a chauffeur who keeps his mouth shut and eyes up front."

The waitress appeared with their water, napkin-wrapped utensils and menus.

"One moment please." Michah said to the server then looked at Miranda. "I come here quite a bit. Would you mind if I ordered for you?"

Miranda deferred with a nod and prayed the 'Number Six' wasn't something drenched in ketchup.

"Now, your little stratagem certainly took an unexpected turn. So, tell me, Miranda, how an anonymous quote ended up in the gossip columns instead of the picture." Michah pulled out several paper napkins from the dispenser.

As succinctly as possible, Miranda explained in a low voice as her eyes trolled for anyone close enough to overhear.

Before responding, Michah diverted a waitress passing by and requested for the table to be cleaned. "Grab some napkins, dear, because they don't completely leave it dry."

Miranda did as the multi-millionairess instructed while someone sprayed and swiped at the plexiglass protecting the table. The fumes from the cleaning solution hung in the air despite the worker's brief appearance. Miranda, holding in a sneeze, waved away the lingering mist with one hand and used the other to soak up the heavy streaks of cleaner left behind. It was a bit surreal watching a member of New York's wealthy elite move between a gala in a luxury venue and lunch at a local diner.

The waitress that showed Miranda to the booth finally returned and carried on a brief, friendly conversation with Michah then said, "I'll go check on your order, Mike."

Michah scowled. "I have breakfast once a month here with a son-in-law who happens to call me 'Mike' because he thinks he's being charming."

Miranda arched her eyebrows and kept her smirk low-key.

Suddenly the small diner filled with a tourist group spilling into the empty booths and small tables. Miranda breathed a sigh of relief. The noise level rose and the servers grew busier, two effects which were advantageous for her meeting with Michah. Everyone was either too busy talking or working to pay them undue attention. Although they had to lean over the table a bit in order to hear one another, it was a small inconvenience.

"Alright, ladies. A number six for you and your usual, Mike." The waitress announced as she set down their plates, her forehead already beading with sweat. "Can I get you anything else?"

"An iced-tea would be lovely, dear."

Miranda eyed her sandwich with suspicion.

"It's Thanksgiving on a bun, dear. And sweet potato chips. They make their own. Try it."

She skipped breakfast and was too hungry to really care, but she popped a chip into her mouth to appease Michah's eagerness.

"These are rather good." she said then took a bite of the sandwich.

"The bun is actually made from stuffing."

A small hum of satisfaction vibrated in her throat as she chewed. Hiding her mouth behind her hand, she said, "It's very good."

"They roast their own turkey, as well. During the weekend it's almost impossible to get a table." Michah rubbed her fingers against her thumbs after she set down her sandwich then used a napkin to wipe off her fingertips. "The fried pork roll and egg is a bit messy but I'm very fond of it."

It looked ghastly.

"What will you do if Andrea is unable to work it out with her mother?"

"At this point, denial." Miranda shrugged. "Aside from a lengthy conversation, which neither Andrea nor I will collaborate, her mother has no proof beyond her opinions we are anything more than coworkers, possibly friends."

Michah added another balled up napkin to the pile next to her plate. "Andrea taking off could put a wrench in things, especially if she inadvertently gives her mother ammunition. Does Andrea have any pictures of the two of you? Intimate texts?"

Leaning against the backrest, Miranda recalled the Florida trip and Valentine's Day. Andrea certainly could have taken candid photos of her at any time they were alone together. "Perhaps pictures but nothing salacious. So, even if her mother went snooping, I can't conceive it will yield anything that would matter."

"What is Reznick waiting for, do you think? "

Miranda finished chewing then sipped her water. "I think going to the board with the picture was an impulsive move on his part. Jacqueline must have known the picture wasn't explicit enough, merely conjecture. Keeping the photo, however, was a move born of panic or indecision. There's no upside."

"I suppose your theory is the most likely so far." Michah frowned then snapped her fingers. "What if the story broke in the foreign press?"

"Other than point a damning finger at Jacqueline?" Miranda rubbed her closed lips with the pad of her finger. "I'd have to think on that one."

"Don't forget that horrid little television show she was on."

"Let's say she has the photo which will not absolve Reznick. He approached the board with it, after all. Whether the photo shows up on television, some publication in Europe or here in New York doesn't matter really. Once it's public, I'll present my evidence—"

"Oh, my, aren't you a clever one?" Michah purred, the gleam in her eyes somewhat predatory. "You do so love playing it close to the vest. I can't believe I didn't realize your actual intention until now."

Miranda watched the other woman and waited. Michah didn't draw it out.

"Once that picture is released, you're going to accuse Reznick and Jacqueline of altering the photo, aren't you? Of course, they'll say they stole it, which is the lesser of two evils." Michah narrowed her eyes somewhere over Miranda's shoulder. "They won't have any proof that the photo even existed before their theft. There'll be an internal investigation, of course, but you've already set your private investigator on the hunt." Laughing, Michah hunched her frail shoulders until the moment passed. "I suspect it won't take long."

Allowing herself a hint of a smile, Miranda tapped the tabletop with two nails. "No, not when it will be Runway's HR department conducting it."

"And you'll have your evidence." Michah said as she slyly looked at her. "Do you think corporate HR will intervene?"

Miranda's lips twitched in amusement. "Doubtful. It's certainly not my first experience with Human Resources, whether on the corporate or local level. I do have a history of being vindicated."

Snorting behind a napkin, Michah reached for the glass of water nearby. Her hand wobbled although she didn't spill any of the contents. Even more pale than by New York standards, the delicate, wrinkled skin highlighted every vein and bone in her hand. Miranda's gaze returned to Michah's face, her fondness growing for the elderly woman.

"When it's all said and done, Reznick will be fired and Jacqueline, well, you'd have a good defamation case against her...until you and Andrea actually publicize your relationship. That would throw a wrench in the proceedings, I'd wager."

"Perhaps Jacqueline would be amendable to a speedy...settlement and iron-clad NDA. The court system takes so long and can be quite expensive. I'm sure she doesn't have the resources I do. One would think she'd jump at a chance to settle instead of going to court."

"Easier to get done by the end of the year, too." Michah removed the top bun of her sandwich then picked up a fork. "I have one question for you. Can the altered photo be traced back to anyone and linked to you?"

"No." Miranda relaxed, confident of Michah's support.

"Well, then, when this is over, I would consider it a privilege to buy you a congratulatory drink."

The hesitation of her response lasted as long as she debated whether or not to address a salient point. Miranda sat up straighter and leaned forward with her forearms on the table.

"My methods are manipulative and deceitful."

"Oh, that's just precious." Michah teased with matronly amusement. "They didn't have to take the photo nor bring it to the board's attention. Frowning, she continued, "I know you said it can't be linked to you but if anyone were to investigate..."

"At Runway publicity shots are handled by an intern using a digital camera." Miranda plucked a chip from her plate and bit into it. "They're required to return the camera to The Closet after every event. Cameron, the darling, prefers to download the images himself the next work day."

Picking up her sandwich, Michah's eyes twinkled. "Friday events give you plenty of time."

"So does coming in before nine which is, incidentally, when Cameron arrives." Miranda bit her lower lip to keep from smiling. "It took less than a minute to copy them."

"Good lord, I'm thankful I merely like a good intrigue at my age instead of masterminding one." Michah winked. As she used the edge of her fork to cut into her sandwich, yellow egg yolk oozed onto the plate. "I would not want to cross swords with you, my dear. I think I'd quite like to be friends with you instead."

XxXxXxXxXxXx

LaGuardia was the perfect choice despite not being her preference. She almost exclusively flew out of JFK, the international flight schedules better suited to her needs, a fact the paparazzi was well aware of. Besides, LaGuardia offered a non-stop to Cincinnati at a little after seven. The last minute decision, on a Friday night no less, was seemingly in line with providence. How else to explain an available seat in First Class on a full flight? In any event, Miranda pulled a small overnight bag and boarded as soon as the gate agent made the announcement.

While people boarded, she studiously ignored the passenger seated next to her and checked her phone. The glaring absence of a personal communiqué from Andrea annoyed Miranda although group texts and emails concerning Runway business threatened to fry the phone battery. Without knowing Andrea's exact whereabouts, Miranda loathed the uncertainty, but she took comfort in the fact Andrea had scheduled a Web-Ex meeting tomorrow to convene with her minions about an upcoming photo shoot. Even so, she decided to text Andrea.

don't shut me out

Miranda waited through boarding, the flight attendant's announcement and video, then finally the request to turn off all electronics. Andrea didn't respond. Frustrated, she turned off her phone, shoved it into her purse and pulled out a book.

As soon as the plane landed she reclaimed her phone and turned it on. The girls were still awake, of course since their father was lax about bedtime and rules in general. Walking up the jetway, she kept an eye on not stumbling into anyone while Cassidy kept up a stream of nonsense. Miranda suspected a sugar-induced mania. By the time she reached the shuttle stop to the airport hotel, Caroline had taken over the phone, yawning, which Miranda took as a win.

The rumble and sway of the shuttle bus set her on edge. Wedged between a teenager and semi-drunken sports fan spewing "Am I right?" every other sentence, she concentrated on mentally teleporting herself to the hotel room. Andrea still hadn't responded. She was nothing if not consistent, evidently.

After checking-in at the Marriot and swiping the room's keycard, it was almost ten-thirty. She was beyond tired, flopping down on one of the beds and closing her eyes. While at Runway, before her lunch with Michah, she called Q to get the pertinent addresses, business and homes of the Sachs family. A car rental wasn't available tonight but the agency assured Miranda one would be delivered at nine on Saturday morning. All she had to do was drive the employee back to car rental agency. It was yet another inconvenience, but, then, the entire trip challenged her patience. If she kept going down that wormhole, Miranda knew she wouldn't get any rest.

Andrea wanted to handle things herself. Fine. But giving Miranda the cold shoulder was unacceptable. Not after everything and particularly when she hadn't done anything wrong. Miranda sat up, used the bathroom then called Andrea, knowing she wasn't going to answer but still disbelieving when she didn't. In fit of anger, she swept the suitcase off the bed.

It was time for La Priestly to come out.