"Okay, can I start?" she asked.

I nodded.

"My two truths and a lie are The Beach Boys was my first concert, I was obsessed with the musical Annie as a kid, and I played the flute in grade school marching band."

I pondered these ideas. One was not true, but she was rather good at this game. I could see all of the above being true.

"Give up?"

"No. But this is more difficult than I imagined," I said. "Fine, the lie is the Beach Boys concert. You're just making that up because of this," I said, gesturing at the speakers.

"Wrong! First round!" she giggled. "We're keeping score, right?"

"Absolutely not. So wait, that was really your first concert?" I was shocked.

"Yes. With my parents. Summer of 1992. With Brian Wilson," she said proudly. "And for the record I am keeping score in my head. When you're off these painkillers, you will drink up," she said with a smile.

"Wait, so what was the lie?" I asked.

"Oh, Annie. I hate that musical. Your turn."

I nodded my head, storing all this information away for another time. It was curious, and I wanted to know more, but tonight was really about scratching the surface, wasn't it? I thought for a moment about what mine would be.

"I have dual citizenship in the US and UK, I play three instruments, and I never attended junior high."

"Dual citizenship," she said confidently.

My jaw practically dropped. She answered so quickly, she didn't even need to think about it. "What? How?"

"Miranda, I handle all of your travel arrangements, did you forget? Do you think I would be fishing out your US Passport every time you went to London or Paris or Milan if I didn't need to?"

"Oh, I guess…I forgot about that," I said. I was actually disappointed in myself for not coming up with something better.

"Can I ask about junior high?" she said, sipping on her wine.

"I had to take some jobs in my neighborhood to help my family keep food on the table—at least for a while," I said. I trembled as I felt a chill run through my body. I was not prepared to have this conversation about my childhood with her—not yet.

Seeing me shiver, Andrea took the throw from the back of the sofa she was sitting on and brought it over to me. "We can share," she said as she sat next to me, huddled under the blanket. I didn't have the heart to tell her that it wasn't the temperature that caused it.

"I can see that's not a comfortable subject," Andrea said. "I'm sorry to have brought it up. I hope it didn't ruin the evening."

"Don't be silly. Now, it's your turn," I said.

"Okay. My mom is a lawyer, my dad is an accountant, and my brother is in college at Ohio State," she said.

I thought about it for a minute, then turned to look her in the eye. "You don't have a brother," I said proudly.

"Damn. My winning streak was short-lived," she said, giggling. She got up from the space next to me to get her wine glass and took a drink.

"What kind of law does your mother practice?" I asked.

"She works in the public sector, mostly pro-bono work. A lot of housing and family advising. And she lectures regularly at the homeless shelters in Cincinnati. Dad is an accountant for Nationwide insurance, which is based in Columbus," she volunteered.

"Okay, my turn so soon. My hair color for most of my life was strawberry blonde, my given name is Miriam, and," I paused, looking at her with a devilish grin, "Andrea Sachs is a satisfactory assistant."

"That is so not fair," she said.

I was through with the stories about our families and this dancing around the elephant in the room. I needed to take things a step further.

"Miriam isn't your name," she said.

"Wrong," I said, grinning. "Your confidence is faltering."

"I knew about the strawberry blonde hair—I've seen pictures around the house. But your name? Is it not Miranda?"

"On my sixteenth birthday, I changed it. And that's all you're getting on the subject tonight," I added. "I do believe that's another drink for you, Miss Sachs."

"Wait, what was the lie then?" she asked, puzzled.

"Oh!" I said, suddenly remembering the game. "Andrea Sachs is not a satisfactory assistant, she is an extraordinary assistant and human being."

She had the good sense to blush and took a long swig of her glass. "Miranda Priestly, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to get me drunk."

"If you knew me better, you wouldn't be losing at this game," I said.

"Okay, two can play at this," she said, grinning at me over her glass. "I have a white cat named Miranda, I've masturbated in the ladies' room at Elias-Clarke, and I've put on your jackets at work after you've left for the night."

Oh my—she saw my plan and raised the stakes. "The ladies room at Elias-Clarke," I said.

"Nope," she grinned.

"What?!" I gasped. "When? Why? Which one?"

"The day you wore that green silk Gaultier camisole under your blazer," she said. "For the Spring issue planning meeting back in February. And that is all I will say on the subject," she added with a wink.

I gazed at her curiously. "So the lie?"

"I do not have a cat named Miranda—that would be way too weird."

I shook my head, baffled at these revelations. She said that as if the other truth—that she had put on my jackets after I left—was perfectly normal.

As if she had sensed my fears, she reached for my hand under the blanket and squeezed. "I promise you, I am not a creepy psychopath stalker. There was just something about having my arms inside a jacket that smelled like you—it felt like you were hugging me, and it was comforting, especially when things were really bad with Nate and I didn't even want to go home."

I squeezed her hand in appreciation. The explanation actually helped put my mind at ease. "Okay, last round—tiebreaker, I suppose—then we can go inside for dessert," I said. "Two truths and one lie: I love french silk pie, I had a wonderful time this evening, and I really want you to kiss me."

She squeezed my hand and pressed her lips to my cheek, near my ear. I nearly moaned at the sensation. She whispered, "I, unlike you, actually do love french silk pie, and I think you will, too, if you taste it directly from my lips."

I gasped and shuddered at the anticipation. She kissed my cheek once again, then pulled away.

"My turn," she said. "I had a wonderful time this evening, I have kissed you in your sleep, and I left in Paris because I actually couldn't control my emotions for you."

It was my turn to gasp and look at her. "You've kissed me in my sleep?"

"No!" she shouted, laughing almost hysterically. "Why do you keep thinking I am this creepy stalker? You realize the point is to say one thing that's not true, right? And you're supposed to guess what the lie is?" she laughed.

"So, it's true about Paris, your emotions for me?" I asked.

She nodded. "Can we talk about this over pie?" she asked eagerly.

I nodded and pushed the blanket aside, but she tugged on my hand, pulling me back to the sofa. "I can get it and bring it back out here—is that alright?" she said. Again, I nodded and watched through the windows as this lovely woman made herself at home in my kitchen. She returned with the pie, two napkins, one spoon, and a bottle of water.

She took the first bite of pie and moaned as she placed the spoon in her mouth. I quickly realized that if french silk pie meant watching the brunette lick that spoon dry, I would gladly order it every day. She took a smaller spoonful and teased my lips with it, careful not to get any chocolate on me—only a bit of whipped topping. She again devoured the second bite, licking the spoon clean each time.

When she had eaten a good portion of the pie, she set the plate on the table and turned to face me. Her eyes were dark and full of desire. "I know I said we could talk about Paris, but would you mind if we—"

She didn't get to finish her thought because my lips were on hers, pressing her back into the cushion. She tasted divine, and her lips, oh god, I could go on for days about her lips. My hands were on her shoulders, but I wanted to explore everything all at once. Everything and anything. I needed to feel this woman against me.

Andrea sensed the urgency and quickly spun us around so I was pressed into the back of the sofa. "Is this okay on your back?" she asked, gently kissing my temple and my cheek and trailing her lips down my jawline and neck.

"Yes—it's fine. Oh god," I moaned once again. Her hands were on my neck, my chest, my shoulders. That creamy expanse of skin I knew she enjoyed so much, on display for her and her alone tonight. I arched my back for her.

She groaned in response and attacked my chest with her hands and her mouth, squeezing and pulling and pinching my breasts through the cashmere fabric, licking and sucking and kissing every inch of exposed skin. Whenever any of my other lovers would handle me like this, I felt nothing but soreness, yet Andrea's touch was so light and gentle, I knew I would never ever get enough of this young woman.

"Darling," I said, softly brushing her cheek, guiding her lips back up to mine. I kissed her, then pulled away slightly, pressing my cheek to hers as I tried to calm my racing heart. "Darling, I think we better take things inside."

She smirked and kissed my cheek. "Will you come, inside?" she asked. Her eyes glistened with desire.

I could not ignore that dramatic pause, and I certainly was not about to be upstaged by her, not after losing our little game before. "Will you take two fingers, or three?" I asked.

She gasped, and I kissed her cheek before squirming out from beneath her arms and smoothing out my sweater. Things had taken a sharp turn, and I wasn't sure that I was ready for that. Inside, I quickly wrapped the dinner leftovers and placed them in the refrigerator. As I bent over to put the aluminum foil back in the drawer, I could feel the sharp pain in my back again, and I had to rely heavily on countertop to help myself back up.

Andrea came up behind me, her hand resting gently on the small of my back. "You should probably take your medication now," she said.

I opened my mouth to protest, but she interrupted, pulling me closer to her and wrapping her arms around my waist as she laid her head on my shoulder.

"I am not going anywhere, Miranda. I want you to be healthy, and the last thing I want is for you to be in any pain, especially because of me," she said.

I nodded. She knew me so well, it was actually a bit scary. "I wish the medication didn't make me so sleepy," I said as I accepted one and a half pills from the young woman. Turning around to face her, I put my hands gently on her shoulders.

"Let's just go upstairs," she said. "I don't want you to think I am not interested in where this was going, because I am. But I'm—I just want to take this slowly."

I certainly wasn't expecting to hear that from the young woman, but I could respect her honesty—although she sure didn't seem to want to go slowly when she had my breast in her palm. I shivered at the memory.

"Look, there are some things we should discuss first," she said.

I closed my eyes and prepared myself. I had heard and dreaded this speech more times than I could count:

I'm sorry, I didn't think you were interested in something serious... It's not you, it's me... You have such a demanding career... I don't want people thinking I'm using you to get ahead... I'm not sure that your daughters will like me... I can't tell my family about you... I love you, but I can't... Anyone would be lucky to have you.

I took a deep breath and shook my head. I thought she would be different. That maybe she could protect my heart like no other. Well, I was about to be proved wrong once again, but this time, I didn't want to linger around for the pathetic second act in which we attempt to remain friends.

"I'm going upstairs. You may show yourself out," I said, quickly pulling away from her arms and heading up the stairs.

Before I reached the second floor she was on my heels.

"Wait, Miranda. What happened? What did I miss?" she asked.

I rolled my eyes. "Andrea, I have been dating since before you were born. I know how this goes. I'm exhausted, and honestly, I'm not interested to hear your excuse. Save your breath," I said, marching back up to my bedroom. I had heard it all before, and it was disappointing to learn she would be no different.

I paused at the entrance to my room, sensing that she was still standing at the top of the stairs. "Andrea, that's all," I said, entering my room and shutting the door behind me. I locked it, to be safe. How foolish of me to think that I actually had a chance with this young woman, I thought as I removed my makeup. I took the sweater off quickly, balling it up before throwing it rather forcefully at my laundry basket.

How could I have been so foolish? Playing that silly game with her. Telling her about my childhood, my name, even! I threw away the working relationship with my best assistant to date…all for a few kisses because I couldn't control myself. How humiliating.

Laying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, I could begin to feel the medication seep into my veins. I took another half of the muscle relaxer, and made a mental note to stay in bed this time. Maybe, if I slept long enough, I'd wake up from this nightmare. Or, maybe it wasn't too late to blame it on the medication.

"If you don't have good news, I don't want to hear it," Nigel answered the phone. It was late Friday night, and he was still at the office, thanks to my unplanned absence.

"Nige, it's me. And I don't have good news," Andrea said.

"What happened now?"

"Nothing with the magazine, not really. Do you have a minute?"

"Sixty seconds. Go," he said.

"We had dinner last night—a romantic dinner—and we kissed. We kissed a lot, actually. We started to talk about Paris, and I was going to explain everything, but things went from zero to sixty in about three-and-a-half seconds. And then her back started hurting again, so I kind of hit pause and said we should talk and take it a little more slowly. She freaked out and sent me home!"

"What exactly did she say? I've known her for long enough. She likes to be in control of the situation, the pace—she demands it, actually. My guess is that you trying to slow her down just didn't sit well."

"I don't think that's it. She said she didn't want to hear my excuse, that she's been dating since before I was born. She locked herself in her bedroom."

"And you left?"

"She told me to show myself out!"

"Did you get where you are by always doing what she says?"

"Well, no."

"Exactly. This is a classic knee-jerk reaction for Miranda. She lets someone in, starts to feel something, then convinces herself she doesn't deserve it. If you want her—and I know you do—go fight for her. Especially now. If she's going to be off for the next few weeks, she can't throw herself into work like she usually does."

"You think?"

"Honey. Tell her about Paris. Tell her like you told me. I know that she has no idea what really happened."

"What if she tells me to leave again and kicks me out?"

"You'll think of something. Take advantage of her incapacitation. Make her listen before you release her pain meds. Tie her down to the bed, I don't know."

"Okay, I get it. I'm going to freshen up at home tonight, but I'll go back early in the morning."

"Keep me posted."

"Will do. Need anything at Runway?"

"Yes, Miranda back to work and in a good mood. See what you can do for me?"

"On it. Thanks, Nige!"

"Good luck, Six!"

That night, I didn't hear Andrea after I shut the door, and she didn't try to call my cell phone. Part of me hoped she would—that she would at least want to fight for me, even though it would be pointless. Then again, she was the smartest assistant I've ever had, so it didn't surprise me that she knew better than to waste her time with such nonsense.

I thought about finding her replacement, about finding someone more like Emily Charlton to take her place—competent and loyal, but more importantly, not distracting. Not that anyone could ever fill Andrea's shoes.

That night, my dreams were filled with visions of Andrea Sachs—kissing me, watching me, hugging me, walking with me, holding me. It was a peaceful sort of dream, and for those first few moments after waking, I forgot that it wasn't real. I could almost feel her arm across my waist.

I blinked several times. The early morning sunlight was trickling through the curtains. As my eyes adjusted, I could see that the other side of the bed hadn't been touched. The events of the previous night came flooding back to my mind and I was tempted to close my eyes and go back to sleep. It wasn't often the case that my dreams were preferred to reality, but today it was.

I laid in bed for a while longer, staring up at the ceiling. Last night felt so…good. So easy. I have never met another human being I feel so comfortable around. And now I lost that.

I didn't even get to hear about Paris. Would she go back to work at the office or quit entirely? I wasn't sure, but I was fairly confident that I would not see her again. I climbed out of bed, awkwardly, feeling a tightness in all the muscles of my body. I needed coffee and my medication, both of which were downstairs.

After using the bathroom and brushing my teeth, I went downstairs. I could almost smell the coffee. The stairs were difficult without Andrea's help. I think going down was worse than going up. By the time I reached the bottom, I was out of breath and feeling some intense pain in my back, causing me to drop to my knees at the foot of the stairs. I rested my head against the bannister, closing my eyes and breathing through the pain.

I heard footsteps approaching and quickly looked up, shocked to see Andrea standing in my foyer. "What are you doing here?" I asked.

"I want to talk."

I was confused. I couldn't think straight. When would the pain subside? She went to the kitchen and came back with an ice pack. I sighed in relief at the site of it, but when she didn't apply it to my lower back, I got confused. "Andrea?"

"I want to talk," she repeated. "You want this ice pack? You have to give me five minutes."

I groaned. I didn't want to hear this. I already had tears in my eyes from the pain in my back. I didn't want to hear her tell me I am unfit for a relationship or whatever other excuse she had.

"Okay, fine. But—the ice?"

She held the ice pack on my lower back and I felt the sharp pain slowly replaced by a cold numbing sensation.

"So, I walked away that day in Paris because I wasn't ready to talk about my feelings, but now I am, as cheesy as that sounds. I wanted you then—like, it was borderline obsession. I knew I didn't have a chance, that it was just a crush that I would grow out of. But you started talking to me that day in the car—and combined with the night before—you saw me for me. You paid attention to me, and I was possibly more than just some young employee to you. I couldn't take the warring emotions, and I needed some space. I thought about quitting, but I didn't really want that. So, I convinced myself to forget about the crush and to just do the job I was hired to do," she said.

"That doesn't really make sense," I said. The pain was still there, but much more bearable.

"I know. I started talking to a therapist, too. And it didn't really work either, but that's what I kept telling myself. Until yesterday," she said.

"I still don't understand what you're doing here? I thought you wanted—"

"Look, I want you. Stop thinking you know what I am going to say or do. Last night, I wanted to talk a little more, to tell you I wanted to take it slowly because I was nervous. Because things escalated quicker than I could have imagined. I've never done this with a woman. None of that changes how I feel about you, Miranda. I think we had a wonderful dinner last night and I love the time we spent getting to know one another. I just—"

"Spit it out," I said, bracing myself.

She started crying, and suddenly I felt horrible. "I didn't know how to put my emotions into words," she said, wiping her eyes and sniffling. "Last night was basically our first date! There are certain words you just can't say on a first date!" she said, waving her hands through her hair.

I was in shock. Did she mean…those three little words? I surely thought she would have been trying to find the words to tell me that it wouldn't work for one reason or another. But instead—I would have never imagined this. I needed to know. "Would you have said those certain words if it was the hundredth date?" I asked after a few minutes, sitting back on my heels.

"Don't ask me that. You can't ask me that—it's not fair," she said.

She was right. It wasn't fair, and I owed her an apology. "I overreacted," I said, closing my eyes, "and I am sorry." I stood and walked over to her, reaching out for her elbow.

"I was going to spend the night at my own apartment from now on," she said.

I froze, then carefully peeled my fingers away from her arm. "I see," I said. There was a palpable chill in the air, and I wrapped my arms around my waist in effort to comfort myself. I took a deep breath. "I'm going to go upstairs and lie down," I said.

"Please, hear me out," she said.

"Why should I?" I asked. "You either want to be here with me or you don't. I don't deserve to be treated like this." I knew I should look her in the eye—it was cowardly not to—but I couldn't bring myself to face that rejection.

"You didn't let me finish," she said quietly, reaching for my hand. "I was going to spend the night at home, now that you're back is doing a little better and all, but if you were to extend an invitation to me, I might be persuaded."

"Oh Andrea, honestly."

"Honestly what? I need to know that you want me here—not as your assistant or as a caregiver, but as a sort of friend," she said.

"A 'sort of friend?'" I asked.

Andrea looked up at me and smiled. "Yeah," she grinned.

She stepped closer and pressed her lips against mine. There was a lingering taste of minty mouthwash on her tongue, and it only ignited my desire. I wanted to taste every inch of this beautiful woman. I moaned into her mouth and my hands reached for her, cupping her cheek, sliding through her hair, touching her shoulder, her chest, her arms.

I could feel her pushing me away, so I broke the kiss, instead focusing my attention on that delicate skin along her neck.

"Miranda?" she whispered.

"Mmm?"

"I want to do more of this—tomorrow and the next day and the next," Andrea said. "Do you think that could be arranged?"

I chuckled and wrapped my arms around the young woman. I most definitely could arrange this.

.

.

TBC... or not? Haven't had much time to work on this one lately, not sure if it's worth continuing?