"Patrick?"

"In France. Also too well paid."

I bit my lip, looking down at my laptop perched on my lap and running through my list of suspects.

"Irv?"

Miranda lightly shook her head. "Murder is excessive. For him, everything is strictly business."

"Nice Godfather reference. I'm still listing him as a maybe," I replied chipperly, highlighting the name with a click.

Miranda continued to pace around the hospital room. After the security breach, we both agreed this was the best spot to both monitor and brainstorm. While she had mastered my couch with much practice, she still phased through the furniture here, so sitting wasn't an option. I had curled up on the chair by the window and recommended running through some names in an attempt to distract us both from her frail form lying nearby and tune out the beeping life support.

"Jacqueline?"

Another shake of the head. "Also in France. She's been in Europe almost the whole year."

"She doesn't seem smart enough to plan an international killing anyway," I muttered, digitally crossing out the French editor's name.

Miranda glanced over as she silently passed by, almost purring, "Couldn't have said it better myself."

I smiled back before turning to the computer screen once more, typing a few notes, searching for another name to offer her.

"You can likely remove Christian Thompson," her voice nonchalantly called to me.

Fuck, shit, damnit. She couldn't know about that, could she?

My eyes darted over my laptop screen to look at her.

"Yeah?"

She nodded, still stepping slowly around the room.

"After his brief partnership with Jacqueline, Mr. Thompson has been spending a great deal of time on the West Coast, so you can likely remove him from any lists," she explained smoothly, glancing out the window.

"I wasn't really worried about him trying to hurt you," I replied carefully.

The pacing paused. Her eyes were now on me.

"You two were close," she stated evenly.

Aaaaaand there it was.

"Probably more briefly than him and Jacqueline," I mumbled as I closed my laptop.

Miranda was subtle to most. But I could tell there was more here, and now was as good a time as any to find out what. Maybe if I knew her angle, I could figure out how to best avoid the whole 'Miranda, I love you' disaster.

I shuffled in my seat, crossing my legs, leaving the device on my lap. She didn't look away.

Summoning as casual a tone as possible, I looked up and said, "You've been awfully interested in my dating life."

Her poker face held true, and the turn back towards the window was painfully slow, dare I say glacial. Always thoughtful, always reserved, always calm.

"There is much you know about me," she murmured softly.

I guess even Miranda Priestly got a little curious. But she would never admit it.

"So you want to even the playing field? You could just ask me," I offered gently with a grin.

She looked back over to me.

"You don't seem to regret his absence."

"That's not really a question, but I'll play," I chuckled before leaning back in my chair and recalling, "He was a really messy mistake and rebound. He pretended to like my work when Nate just outwardly hated what I was doing for my career. So, I let him get me drunk and take me to his hotel room. That's how I found out about the whole plot to take you down," I summarized with a wince, fingers tracing the logo on my laptop.

Rebound. I didn't need to admit it was because I was more upset leaving Miranda's room in Paris than I was breaking up with my boyfriend of three years.

Miranda nodded once, placing her hands on her hips as she turned back to the window.

"Hm. I suppose blacklisting him merited some justice then."

"What?" I choked back.

"He allied with the enemy. He subsequently found limited employment opportunities here," she explained, eyes sparkling in the light from the window.

My lips twitched to fight a smile. "You didn't."

Miranda's head turned to look down where I sat.

"A more gallant suitor would not have needed to intoxicate and heavily persuade you," she declared sternly, "Just as a more worthy paramour would support your career."

She hadn't done it for me...but it almost felt like she did.

My lips curled upwards fully now.

"Might make Christian a suspect if you messed with his job," I chided lightly.

She sighed, "He is living quite lucratively writing in Hollywood circles. I wish my revenge was more deserving of murder."

I laughed before shaking my head, looking down at the tile on the floor. "Christian went to California, Nate went to Boston, maybe I'm the problem."

Miranda looked pointedly around the room as if in deep thought. "He was a chef, yes? I have connections to the culinary scene there I could use."

"You can spare him," I snorted, "If Nate's biggest crime wasn't standing around for my big break, I can't blame him, he'd still be waiting."

Her eyes settled on me, a smirk teasing the corners of her lips. "Nonsense. That article on the rat poison was rather clever."

My fingers fiddling with the edge of my laptop froze.

"You read the Mirror?"

Sapphire did not waver above me, still twinkling in the afternoon sunlight, staring at me. The heart monitor near us beeped.

"Occasionally."

Was it suddenly really hot in here? Just me?

I snatched the laptop and hopped up from my seat, shuffling to the corner with my bag. Head low, face concealed, running away from her eyes and my feelings. Very smooth, I know.

"We should probably head back home so I can get ready," I suggested innocently, slipping the machine into the pouch.

As I turned back, Miranda glanced at the clock on the wall and raised an eyebrow. "The gala isn't for another four hours."

I barked a laugh as I slipped my bag over my shoulder. "Not all of us are always red carpet ready. It's gonna take a while."

After all, we had to dig up another ghost.

We needed Andrea.