NOT GROVELLING

At 2.07am on Saturday the 21st, Miranda Priestly realised she needed Andrea Sachs.

Oh, she'd suspected the awful truth. And there was nothing like her doctor waving it in front of her face in gruesome, close-up detail. But that didn't mean she couldn't pretend for just a little while longer.

The problem was she hadn't been lying when she'd told Ellen Michaels that her ex-husband had ruined her for romantic entanglements for life. It was probably a little cruel to have pointed this out to her, since the good doctor had been the one to introduce them in the first place.

But still.

With Stephen she had tried. Really tried. More than she had with the girls' father who had taken a back seat while she built her burgeoning career.

Stephen she had determined was pretty much perfect for her – good genes, even temperament, independently wealthy, acceptable in bed even if he didn't exactly set the room on fire, and excellent parental material. And on that last point she had been most excited by the match. So she had set about stalking him like a lion on the savannah - and her clueless, prized zebra had not stood a chance.

So when it had all fallen apart, when everyone, especially her husband, had just assumed she hadn't been putting in any effort at all, something inside her broke. And the night it happened – ironically the very night Andrea had witnessed the awful fight that broke her – she knew she would never need anyone else, because, damn it, she was Miranda Priestly. And Miranda Priestly made the rules.

And so it came as both a shock and a vast irritation at 1.55am on Saturday the 21st to discover she did not rule any damn thing, as she gasped for breath, the panic clawing at her chest, ripping away at her stability and equilibrium.

By 2am she'd taken Valium. By 2.02am she was starting to pray to whatever gods she'd been raised with and a few more that she hadn't been. By 2.05am she couldn't stop the tears leaking out at her terror.

And, in desperation, at 2.07am she followed her doctor's advice. And, then, magically, at 2.07am and 32 seconds, she felt the fist that had been clutching her heart release as she imagined calling Andrea again. Touching her. Holding her.

Asking for more.

And as she felt the tension, fear and panic seep out of her, that became her new plan. It seemed pretty simple in the end. She wondered why she hadn't thought of it sooner. Another pretty zebra to chase. And this one she definitely wanted to keep.

At 2.09am she was fast asleep - her first restful repose in the four weeks since Andrea had left her – a smile twitching around her relaxed lips.

She informed the girls at breakfast of her plan to get Andrea back - somewhere between asking them to pass the toast and to not leave their things on the floor. It was a relief to hear Caroline talking again, if only to declare that she'd have to do a "lot of grovelling".

She'd cocked an eyebrow. "I do not grovel, Bobbsey. Now finish your milk."

"Well if you don't grovel, Mom, how are you going to win Andy back? I think you pretty much need, like, a truck full of flowers."

"Don't be absurd," Miranda replied, "I'll just explain things to Andrea. She's a reasonable young woman, she'll see it's for the best for both of us to be together again."

Caroline snorted. A word that suspiciously sounded like "clueless" was muttered under her breath and Miranda shot her a glare. And then her daughters exchanged some sort of wordless conversation with lots of intense looks.

Cassidy nodded and asked to be excused.

Miranda narrowed her eyes, not entirely sure what had just transpired and not sure she wanted to know.

"Now then," she asked Caroline as Cassidy scampered away to do goodness only knows what, "Do you think Andrea would prefer to eat at Le Caprice or Da Silvano?"

"Don't you know?"

"I … well…" Miranda's cheeks reddened. She had never actually taken Andrea anywhere beyond work functions. And she had no idea of her eating preferences beyond lasagne and ... the bedroom.

"God," Caroline humphed. "What does she see in you?"

Miranda pursed her lips. "You're excused too."

"Whatever." Caroline left the table.

But she did make a good, if slightly unpalatable, point.

Miranda called Nigel. "Tell me what Andrea likes to eat and where," she demanded without preamble.

"Shit, Miranda, it's not even seven yet!" she heard the sleep-fogged voice. She tapped her foot impatiently. Honestly if it was late enough for her girls to be awake, her art director should be planning the next issue and halfway into the office by now instead of lolling about in bed. "And why do you want to know anyway?"

"I am going to ask Andrea out on a date," Miranda said simply, seeing no reason to lie. He was one of her oldest friends after all. She even liked him. Well, enough to nominate him for The Advocate's closeted power executives issue. He'd thank her later. "As I wish it to go well, I need a place she will enjoy. So?"

"Miranda, you can't just call Six up and ask her out. You need to apologize first. You really hurt the kid. So I'm not going to help you until you grovel first. And do it well. Spectacularly even, OK?"

"You're as bad as the girls. And you should know by now, Miranda Priestly Does. Not. Grovel." She humphed.

Nigel laughed. "Yeah, well, then good luck with Miranda Priestly ever getting her roll buttered again then."

And then the phone went dead.

Nigel Kipling had just hung up on her. She stared at it in disbelief. Well.

She called Emily who had the good sense to sound more alert than her layabout art director. "I need Andrea's work number at the Mirror, and the name of her favorite restaurant."

There was a pause.

"Well by all means, move at a glacial pace."

Another pause.

"Emily? Have you died of malnutrition and neglected to inform me in advance?"

She peered at her phone and the screen was still lit.

"Oh bollocks, please don't fire me!"

"What?! What are you talking about?"

"I can't do it. I promised Andy when she left that I wouldn't get involved in anything between you. And I wouldn't help you try and make up, either."

"Emily, I'm only going to ask once more…"

"Miranda, if you want her back she wants to see you, YOU, be the one to try. Not your assistants or anyone else. She wants to know YOU care. And that's all I'm saying on the topic and I'll thank you not to involve me again or make me endure horrible mental pictures of whatever you two get up to when alone. Just make her know it's all you." There was a pained hiss as though Emily was awaiting the axe to fall but Miranda's mind had already shot forward.

Her eyebrows lifted. Ahh. A challenge then.

"That's all," she whispered and hung up.

She pulled out her personal stationery and penned an invitation to dinner at the townhouse. If nothing else, the girls would be an excellent lure for Andrea. And it wasn't entirely mercenary. The trio did all adore each other.

She dropped it in the Outgoing Mail slot for courier deliveries on her way into the office marked "ATTN ANDREA SACHS, Journalist, The Mirror" and then went about her business.

As the hours ticked on, she couldn't help but notice her phone, inbox, and in-tray were all empty of any correspondence from one Andrea Sachs, all day.

Well.

The reply, when it came, was scrawled in barely legible handwriting on the back of Mirror notepad stationery. "Unavailable to attend" was all it said.

Her heart clenched fearfully at the offhandedness of the note and what it might mean. Had she waited too long? She glanced at her watch and sighed. She decided to call it a day.

The next day was filled with meetings, not the least of which was Irv's budget catastrophe, so she was in no mood to romance anyone.

That night the girls grilled her about how her efforts were going to get Andrea back. She had told them simply that it was a work in progress. No need for them to know how awful she was at it - for now.

"Try chocolate," Caroline had suggested. "I mean look at her, she must LOVE the stuff."

"CAROLINE!" Miranda snapped. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with Andrea's body. It is the perfect shape for a young woman her age who is not a model. She is in fact quite beautiful."

She glared at her daughter, choosing to ignore the knowing smirks both her daughters were shooting her. "Eat your vegetables," she added in a surly whisper and stared moodily at her own plate.

The following day she'd decided a little wooing couldn't hurt proceedings. Because wooing was not grovelling, and Miranda most definitely did not grovel.

"Emily," she barked.

When the redhead stuck her head into her office, she whispered, "No, no, the other Emily. The Emily who wishes to be useful to me when I need her."

Emily rolled her eyes and stepped back. The blonde second assistant nervously appeared.

"Yes Miranda?"

"You will send two dozen flowers to this person at this address."

She pushed Andrea's details across the desk.

"Yes Miranda. Um, what sort of flowers?"

"Must I be required to think of everything? Really." She waved a dismissive hand.

A derisive snort from the outer office made her pause and question her strategy. "Fine," she sighed with her most put-upon voice. "Roses. Roses that mean …" she lowered her voice out of her annoying first assistant's earshot, "sorry."

"S-sorry?" The girl squawked in a loud voice.

"Are you deaf? Don't colors have meanings or some such thing? Use your brain and send them to her. Flowers - roses - that say sorry. That's all."

Ten minutes passed and her hapless second Emily reappeared.

"Miranda, they didn't have roses that say sorry, apparently there's no such thing, so I thought, you know, to be safe I sent, um, yellow." She was trembling.

"Yellow," Miranda whispered. Her eyes widened as she recalled their meaning. "You sent Andrea friendship roses?"

"Um, yes?" the ridiculous creature squeaked.

This time the muffled snort of laughter from her first assistant was impossible to ignore.

She glared at blonde Emily - while planning some vile punishment on her first assistant involving a dozen coffees, scarves and dodging Manhattan traffic. "What is wrong with you?"

"Um?"

"Get out," Miranda scowled and turned to face the window, furious at her assistant, herself and life in general.

An hour later, on the same dreadful piece of Mirror letterhead, Miranda got her answer. "Is this some sort of a joke? Let's be 'friends'?"

Miranda scrunched it up viciously and hurled it at her bin.

She should probably fire blonde Emily – except this removal would be considerably harder to explain to HR. "Failure to correctly interpret my romantic feelings for my former assistant when sending floral tributes", did not sound particularly good on paper. And if the girl got it into her head to go to Page Six about her cruel boss's behavior … Well. So blonde Emily lived to disappoint for another day.

Her phone beeped and she saw it was a text from Cassidy. She opened the message to read: "MOM – GROVEL! DO IT YOURSELF! Stop getting your assistants to send Andy stupid friendship flowers. DON'T BE AN IDIOT!"

Miranda's eyes narrowed at the impudence and she flicked a glance at Emily, wondering if she was the stool pigeon. However the other girl blinked back at her innocently.

Perhaps Andrea herself was the culprit? Miranda was aware her daughters still emailed her, though Miranda had turned a blind eye to it.

She sniffed. She supposed if she wanted something done, she'd have to do it herself.

She stood and declared "Coat! Bag! Call Roy."

She was in her car heading for The Mirror before she realised she hadn't quite contemplated her strategy. She licked her lips anxiously. Should she bring gifts?

Well, the last one had backfired somewhat spectacularly.

She strode into the newspaper office as though she owned the place, ignoring the startled bark of the security guard. Her nostrils twitched and flared. Ink and paper and coffee and sweat permeated every surface. This was what Andrea found so preferable to Runway? To her?

Good God. She cared for a girl with no taste whatsoever.

At that thought, she almost stumbled. Well, she sniffed to herself, she supposed by now it was obvious she did care. Given here she was in a media hovel about to ask Andrea to come back into her life.

"May I help you, Miss … Oh! OH! You're, you're…"

"I'm well aware of who I am," Miranda told the secretary burbling at her like a star-struck goose from the entrance to Editorial.

"Miss Priestly! Miranda Priestly! Oh my goodness," she continued to prattle..

"Where, pray tell," Miranda said giving her a glacial eyeball which finally silenced her, "Does your reporter Andrea Sachs sit?"

"Who?" The woman gaped at her, face flushed with excitement, clearly wracking her minimal brain cells. "Oh wait you mean the new girl? Andy? She's near the back wall. By the toilets."

Miranda's nose wrinkled in distaste at the thought but nonetheless followed where the woman's enthusiastic finger was pointing.

She strode towards the group of desks along the windowless back wall, well aware conversations were stuttering to a halt around her, and eyes starting to track her progress. She tilted her head back and walked like a queen as she reminded herself she was better than all of them.

She glided to a halt in front of Andrea's desk. And for a moment she felt sure her heart was about to pound out of its chest.

"Andrea," she purred.

The journalist glanced up, surprise widening her beautiful brown eyes, and then she put up one finger, and bent her head again.

Miranda suddenly realised she was on the phone and that she, Miranda Priestly was being asked to wait.

She cooled her heels and glanced around the office, aware many fingers were making a pretence of bashing keyboards as their owners' eyes were glued to the back of the room, on her.

Her color was rising. Was Andrea deliberately making her look foolish by having her wait? She felt the rise of embarrassment paired with a jolt of irritation.

Andrea put the receiver back in its cradle. "Sorry, it was the mayor's secretary, I couldn't hang up – she was talking about her puppies."

"Puppies?" Miranda glared at her. "You made me wait for puppies?"

"Yeah," Andrea smiled. "Well they were award-winning pups. It's the assistant-to-assistant code I learnt from working with you. I was getting on her good side. For later."

"Oh."

"Is there something I can do for you, Miranda?" Andrea asked in her most assistantly voice. She smiled sunnily and Miranda frowned.

"You know very well why I'm here."

"To grovel? At least that's what the twins told me," Andrea said and lifted her cell phone. "They also told me I had to give you a hard time until you prove you're really sorry. So are you?"

Miranda gaped. "I… do not grovel," she whispered.

"Right. So then," Andy said turning back to her screen, "It seems we're done here."

She reached for her work phone.

Miranda's hand shot out to stop it, and rested on top of the soft, warm fingers on the back of the receiver.

"Andrea," she said. "Being without you has been unacceptable." She stared at her. "VERY unacceptable." She willed her to see what she was saying. "Will you come back?"

Andrea eyed her for a very long moment.

"Miranda," she sighed. "You're really crap at apologies, aren't you?"

Miranda's cheeks reddened. "I suppose."

"Lack of practice?" Andrea's eyes sparkled.

Miranda's lips pursed. "Well if you're just going to humiliate me for saying sorry, I'll leave."

"Miranda – you haven't actually said sorry yet. All you've told me is how unacceptable your life is now, and are looking at me like you expect me to fix that. You haven't once said why I should want to be with you. You haven't given me one positive. And, the twins will be disappointed to hear, I also see no evidence whatsoever of grovelling."

Miranda's mouth dropped open in protest.

"Although," Andrea interrupted, "I suppose it's a step up from getting your assistant to send me friendship flowers or hiding me away at the townhouse for a meal where the girls can remind me what I'm missing. That was a clever strategy, but I'm not falling for it."

A silence fell between them.

"So what are you saying?" Miranda asked shakily, her heart was now pounding painfully. She hadn't actually anticipated what she'd do if her pretty little zebra said no. She shook her head after a beat as she realized to her dismay, that Andrea Sachs - sitting regally in her tattered chair in the distasteful surrounds of a Fourth Estate swamp - might actually be the lion in this scenario.

"I don't grovel," Miranda whispered forcefully. "I can't. I don't show weakness because it gets you killed in my game. Not for anyone. Not even for you."

"I see," Andrea looked at her sadly. "Well. Thank you for telling me that in person. If you could see yourself out? I have a lot of work to do. And these obits won't write themselves."

Miranda could see tears welling at the edge of Andrea's wide brown eyes. But her jaw and mouth were resolute. She didn't want this but she was doing it anyway. Because Andrea had her pride.

Miranda understood all about pride. And pride could be costly. She glanced around the room again, licking her lips. Eyes were still on them, but not quite as many.

But enough.

Andrea's eyes had returned to her computer screen.

Miranda considered her options and stood stock still as she decided. Finally she sighed.

"All right," she huffed, and slowly lowered herself to her knees and took Andrea's hands from the keyboard to clasp in her own. "I am sorry, Andrea. I wish to date you. I wish you to know I care for you and your absence in my life has been impossible and I don't wish to endure that anymore."

The brunette froze and blinked at the fashion editor.

"Miranda!" she hissed. "Get up! People are watching! Shit, Louise from the socials pages is watching. And taking notes! Oh GOD, my EDITOR is watching!"

"Yes," Miranda said unmoved. "I am well aware. I believe I was giving you what you wished for: showing you the depth of my sincerity so you could never question it again. Come back to me, Andrea. Please."

"Yes, yes, yes, fine, get up," Andrea hissed and virtually pushed Miranda to her feet. "Oh my God!" Her cheeks flushed bright red. "Holy shit. No one has ever done that for me before." She grinned widely.

"What?" Miranda asked regally as she dusted her knees with an unimpressed slap.

"Grovelled for me." Andrea laughed. "In public no less."

"Oh don't be ridiculous, Andrea," Miranda huffed and then gave her a cheeky kiss on the lips, her eyes sparkling. She adjusted her coat and straightened.

"After all, I already told you, I do not grovel."

With that she swept out of the office with a jaunty swish of her hips and a bright smirk on her face.