"Andrea."

Andy smacked her lips. She was in a nice place; a shady pine forest so refreshing and cool it was making her skin tingle, just like that familiar, sexy voice murmuring her name in that particular, fancy way.

"Andrea."

"Mhm."

"Andrea!"

She snapped out of the dream, automatically reaching for a nonexistent pen. "Huh? Wha-"

Before she even had time to wonder why she was waking up in a luxurious but unfamiliar car, Miranda's frigid glare brought everything back in a whoosh. Oh,shit. Did she actually kidnap Miranda Priestly and then conked out?

Suddenly very much awake, Andrea blanched and averted her eyes to the window.

There were trees. Everywhere.

"Um. Where are we?"

"North, I presume."

"What do you mean – north? North of where?"

"New York, of course."

"But-"

"We are also out of gas."

"Well, is there a town nearby?" Andy struggled to clear her head; conversations with Miranda were daunting even when one was fully conscious. She looked through the windshield, searching for any familiar landmarks. They were on a gravel road, and not very popular one judging by amount of grass growing on it. Obviously its only reason of existence was to lead a traveler to a lonely beach house ahead. Behind it and through the pines she could see the glint of water. Did Miranda drive until she couldn't go any further?

"How should I now? You, might I remind you, are the kidnapper. I am the hostage. I do believe it is your duty to organize these minor details."

Andrea bristled, "I've told you already, I am not a kidnapper!"

"You kidnapped me, didn't you?" Miranda snapped. "That makes you a kidnapper."

"Even if I were, I ceased being one when I fell asleep!"

"How typical. You are quitting again. You can't even kidnap people properly."

"For the last time," Andy said through her teeth, "I did not kidnap you. I just wanted to talk! You are the one who drove us-"

"I'm sure police will agree with you."

"The pol-, "Andrea gasped.

"It's getting chilly here," Miranda said in bored tone, "perhaps you should check that little shack over there."

"You check the shack!"

Tense silence.

Then, Miranda enunciated, all the while staring at Andy. "Yes, officer? Oh, of course, I can explain: my disgruntled, neurotic ex-employee stole into my car, threatened me with tear gas-"

"It's not tear gas!" Andy dangled a pink and yellow bottle at Miranda, "Look! It's a deodorant!"

"…a stink bomb, then-"

"I'm not letting you stay alone in the car!"

" -furthermore, she stole and dismantled my phone, forced me-"

"OK! Fine! But you are coming with me! Damn it!"

Gravel crunched under their feet as they approached the so-called shack. The swanky one-level house – all smooth planes and sharp lines - was sitting perpendicularly to the water edge, its elongated terrace partly hovering over the calm lake waters. With its façade of weathered, grayish planks, the building resembled a sleek sailing yacht stranded on the beach.

The light breeze tangled in Andy's dress and raised goose bumps on her bare shoulders. She welcomed the feeling: the memory of New York heat was still too vivid to complain of the fresh air. She took a deep breath, inhaling the sharp scent of pines (almost as impressive as the BMW's Forest Fresh Magic Tree TM), and stale lake waters. However, the cool air and the mountains on the horizon confirmed that, yes; Miranda really did drive that far north. Andy thanked the Lord that Canada was brave enough to insert itself between them and Alaska. She had no doubt whatsoever that if it were any less of a country they'd be communing with polar bears right now.

Andy wrecked her brain for those long evaporated geography lessons, but all she could make was ... blank-blank-blank … lakes, rivers, fjords … blank-blank-blank … Appalachian trail ... blank-blank-blank … bear, moose, salmon. Not much help there. Good fishing, she vaguely recollected her father mentioning once. With some relief, she noticed a few docks and tiny cabins peppered further along the coast.

Andy appraised the building ahead: whoever owned it, certainly valued their privacy. The narrow side of the house, the one facing the road, was windowless and uninviting. The fine-grained wooden façade effectively hid the entrance; if not for a door knob, Andy would have probably missed it. She rolled her eyes. Apparently, it was one of those minimalistic designs where making things seem simple and unassuming cost more than gilding them twice over.

She looked around, hoping for signs of human life. Obviously, someone visited semi-regularly; there was a small boat pulled up on the beach, the grass was given a crew cut and a pile of logs was lined along the side wall. Or perhaps not so often; Andy frowned at the half-dead ferns sagging forlornly in three pots aligned next to the entrance. They looked like a sad afterthought, a halfhearted attempt to make the entrance appear somewhat friendly, after all.

There was a miniature buzzer next to the door (no name given), but it made no sound when pressed. Andy knocked, and then thumped the door. "Hello?"

She tried the knob next.

"It's locked," she called to Miranda. "I'll check if any windows are open. Or perhaps I can break in through the back door…"

"Lovely. First kidnapping, and then breaking in… It just piles up, doesn't it?" Miranda drawled behind Andy's back. Andy jumped, but Miranda didn't seem to notice. She was inspecting the potted ferns with morbid fascination.

Andy gnashed her teeth, "And you have a better idea?" Even though there wasn't even a hint of smile on her lips, Miranda was laughing at her, she could just tell.

"Well, we could retain some civility," Miranda purred as she pushed one of the pots away with a tip of her Manolo, "and try a key."

"Yeah, right, it's just waiting for y-"

Except there it was, in its shining glory: the blasted piece of metal peeking under the pot.

"How the hell did you do that?" Andy snatched up the key. "How did you know?"

"If I had a dollar every time someone asked that question," Miranda sniffed. "Oh, wait, I do. Open up already."

"This is… disappointing." Miranda turned around, looking quite offended.

The room they entered was huge, spreading all the way to the glass façade at the far side of the house. Andy thought it was kind of neat: one wall, the entrance, completely closed off, the opposite one its, well, total opposite. Besides, the view towards the terrace and the lake beyond was truly striking.

She could understand Miranda's dismay, though.

The place was empty.

As in, there was no furniture whatsoever. Nothing. No chairs, no carpets, not even pictures on the walls. With some hope, Andy noticed a row of sliding doors along the side wall. Perhaps they'd have more luck with the other rooms.

"Well, I think it has great potential. Although it's evidently unfinished," Andy, quite on purpose, stated the obvious. As a so-called kidnapper, she should have some rights, damn it. Like getting on Miranda's nerves, for example.

"How astute," Miranda said acidly.

Andy poked her head through the first door to her left. She waited until Miranda noticed the huge wooden stove with a couple of pans on it and helpfully continued with her timely observations.

"It's a kitchen!"

Miranda rolled her eyes and retreated. Andy didn't let it stop her. She kept on talking, loudly, as she rummaged through the cupboards.

"Hey, I bet a guy owns this place. A bachelor type. I mean, those half-dead plants up front, right? And, look, a tool cabinet bigger than my apartment. And no proper plates or utensils… it must be a guy."

Finally she spied a treasure.

"Ooh, goody, there are some soup cans! And crackers!"

She could just barely make Miranda's voice from the other room. "Stuff them in your mouth, won't you?"

"No coffee, though," Andy sang back happily.

She squinted into the darkness. "Yay! But there is wine!"

At least she could drink herself into oblivion. And she wouldn't have to do it in dark, because she found candles as well. She also spied some dishes, but noticing their less than exemplary state, decided not to draw attention to them just yet.

Andy greedily guzzled a water bottle she found in the other cupboard, grimacing only a little at water's lukewarm, stale taste.

"Thank Lord." she could hear Miranda's sigh from somewhere further inside and wandered after her. Miranda was carefully inspecting a small but obviously fully furnished bathroom. There was even some toilet paper, Andy realized with the relief of a seasoned camper.

"Check the shower for critters;" she advised nonchalantly, "they just love to crawl in there."

She blinked innocently at Miranda's sudden pallor and promptly escaped. Pissed off Miranda plus large mirrors plus tight places reminded her of Runwayelevators a bit too much, thank you.

Oh,hell, Andy thought as she stared at the center of the last room.

Good news was there was a bed. Bad news was there was a bed. Not even a king sized one. There was no way they would… She felt blood rushing to her face. Perhaps she should sleep in the car. Yup, thecar,Andy nodded to herself, verygoodidea.

She looked away with effort and noted a row of mirror-like panes lined along the wall. She inspected them with interest: solar panels still waiting to be installed. That explained the lack of power, at least.

There was a gasp behind her back and she turned to find Miranda transfixed, staring at the bed. She glanced at Andy, and then quickly averted her eyes.

"One bed. How unfortunate," Miranda said snootily. "You will obviously have to sleep in the car."

Andy could actually feel her vertebrae stiffening, "The hell I will!" Oh, damn.

Miranda narrowed her eyes.

Andy narrowed them back.

"Stop squinting," Miranda said and left the room.

This was ridiculous. They were at it for the last hour and kept going in circles.

"Look," Andy said slowly, trying to be very, very patient. "If you could just point me in direction of the main road, I'm sure I could get to a gas station."

"And you'll walk for miles in those shoes? Don't be ridiculous."

"It's warm enough," Andy shrugged. "I can walk barefoot."

"I have no doubt," Miranda sniffed.

Andy refused to take bait. She would not be provoked.

"Or I could walk around the lake; I noticed other cottages," she tried again. "There might be people inside. Or phones. Or maps, at least."

"You managed to get us lost in broad daylight," Miranda rolled her eyes. "I fail to see how you expect to find your way around here now."

"I got us lost?" Andy sputtered.

Miranda gave her that familiar, unforgettable look of utter incomprehension, the one usually accompanied with a Why are you still here? or a Do I have to do everything by myself?

Andy rubbed her forehead trying to erase a déjà vu. "Look, I need to get back to the city. I have an article due tomorrow." She continued reasonably, "It's only 4 pm. There is still plenty of time before nightfall. I'll be back before you even notice I'm gone."

"Oh, and I am supposed to trust you shall come back with help?"

Exasperated, Andy spread her arms, "What else would I do?"

"How would I know the workings of a criminal mind? You might have accomplices hidden somewhere in these woods."

Andy's jaw dropped. "Huh?"

"You might try to strong arm me," Miranda said, with a strange gleam in her eyes.

"What?"

"Or, even," Miranda licked her lips,"have your way with me."

Andy blushed. Furiously. "I would never!"

"Oh. Well then." Miranda started towards the main door.

Andy surged forward. "Where are you going?" She almost cringed at her own question, but then remembered her freshly grown backbone.

"I am going to retrieve my traveling bag and unpack." Miranda looked back at Andy. "You, on the other hand, should go chop."

"Excuse me?" Andy shook her head. She might have acquired a spine but conversations with Miranda still made her dizzy.

"We need to eat," Miranda said slowly, sounding like she was trying to be very, very patient. "You babbled about soup cans and a wood-burning stove. So go. Find some wood. Chop, chop."

She felt like such a wuss for doing this. Miranda says chop, you chop. Not particularly empowering, no. She seriously considered sulking, but firstly, moping around would not make her feel any tougher, and secondly, the damn woman was right. The firewood needed to be cut.

She cursed. That was the problem with Miranda's orders – when you managed to look beyond the abuse, casual insults and general lack of direction, most of her commands were perfectly rational.

Damn woman.

She needed to change out of her dress, firstly. A part of her really, really wanted to go at it all dolled up in Chanel, if only to witness the horror on Miranda's face. Unfortunately, the dress in question was one of Andy's favorites, and one of the few Parisian pieces she had kept. On a more practical level, having some experience with the intricacies of wood chopping (and those far too long summers on Grandma Pauline's farm were finally paying off), she preferred a tad more protection on her legs.

Fortunately, the salvaging excursion through the house turned out to be a success; the creaky wardrobe in the bedroom proved to be a workman's treasure chest. There, neatly folded on a shelf, she found a pair of worn out but reasonably clean jeans. They were too large, of course, but manageable when tied up with a string of rope she snatched from the tool cabinet in the kitchen.

Even better, on the bottom shelf she found a pair of hard tipped working boots, again a few sizes too big but certainly more resilient to chopping accidents than her Jimmy Choos.

She managed to stuff most of her hair under a washed out but clean baseball cap.

Finally, and with profound pleasure, she liberated a pair of Under Armour socks and white sports bra which Miranda had so thoughtfully unpacked.

She shuffled out, to the log pile, hefting a fine looking hatchet. On her way past the terrace, she sneered at Miranda, doing her best Jack Nicholson expression. Alas, the talent was wasted, since the woman was lounging in a deckchair, deeply engrossed in the Book.

"So glad we are sharing the workload here," Andy spat.

"Mhm. Do chop a bit more, we'll need some for boiling drinking water tomorrow," Miranda advised absentmindedly, sipping from Andy's water bottle. "We are running out."

Andy felt the heat surging into her cheeks. Sometimes, she could just-, she could-

"You should never taunt a woman carrying an axe," she hissed.

"I'm trembling inside," Miranda never even raised her eyes from the Book. "You're in my sun."

Gnashing her teeth, Andy stomped to the log pile, picked a few smaller logs and looked around. There should be… ah. Just a dozen feet from the house, she found a weathered, gray tree stump, heavily scarred by years of splitting wood. Carefully, she positioned the first log on top of it, took a deep breath, tipped the cap bill to her long departed survivalist grandmother and let loose.

The first few blows were shaky, damn logs bouncing around like bunnies on crack, and even without looking she was certain Miranda was snickering. Soon, though, she found her balance and slipped into the rhythm.

Lift, aim, and hit the log. It was refreshingly mind numbing.

In no time, she could feel the sweat washing over her, running down her temples, her neck, trickling down her spine. She didn't really mind. Unlike the hot misery of her morning, this was a good sweat, healthy and earned. She could feel her back muscles tightening, her thighs tensing, her biceps pumping the force into each blow. Wood was splintering with sharp cracks, exploding in sprays of tiny wood chips.

This felt better than working out. The results were immediate, the special effects more than satisfactory.

Andy was almost disappointed when she ran out of wood.

With great satisfaction, she plunked the axe into the stump, straightened up and stretched. This close to water, she could feel a light breeze stirring the air. She raised her arms behind her neck, enjoying the gentle wind on her overheated body. Lazily, still stretching, she turned towards the terrace.

And promptly froze.

Miranda was staring at her, her lips parted, sunglasses dangling from her fingers, the Book forgotten in her lap. Andy could feel the heat of that look scorching her face, her neck, her shoulders, sizzling at her breasts, then traveling slowly, slowly down her stomach, (where Andy's muscles clenched instinctively)… and back up again. Somehow, Andy doubted the misappropriated sports bra was the reason for the scrutiny. And the attention itself was achingly familiar; a reminder of the days long past when each workday started with Miranda's invigorating once over.

Andy gulped. Miranda's gaze did not lose its power: it still managed to perk her up.

Everywhere.

Suddenly thirsty, Andy pulled the jeans up – they tended to slide almost indecently low - and swaggered over. Almost managing nonchalance, she leaned on the terrace fence.

"Pass the water?"

Without a word, Miranda gave up the bottle, snatching her fingers back when their hands touched.

Andy drank in long, slow, messy gulps. The water trickled down her chin, dripped down her neck, lazily snaked between her breasts.

Water never felt so good, so sweet and luscious.

For both of them, evidently: once Andy finally lowered the bottle, they both licked their lips. Silence suddenly felt heavy, loaded with expectations. Miranda's eyes, her pupils huge and dark, flitted from Andy's shoulders to her stomach.

"You work out," Miranda croaked.

"Mhm," Andy murmured, too fascinated by the expression on Miranda's face to form a sentence. She'd seen that look exactly once, the day Valentino presented Miranda with her lush Met Gala evening gown. Miranda had circled the model like a giant cat, her eyes at half mast, and her fingers twitching with the need to touch. When she finally spoke her appreciation, her voice was husky and mellow. At the end of Miranda's appraisal, both the model and Mr Garavani appeared flushed and bothered.

No wonder. Having Miranda's absolute, hungry, undivided focus was inebriating. It made Andy feel unique, and worthy and special.

It made her feel daring.

She hitched her thumbs in her pants, pushing them even lower on her hips.

Miranda's breath caught. She visibly shook herself.

"You might as well keep the top," Miranda tried for arrogance but her voice broke. "It's ruined now."

"Thanks," Andy smirked. And stretched languidly.

"I'll-," Miranda cleared her throat. "I'll go refresh myself."