Part 3
After dragging her tired body into work, Andy slumped in front of her computer. Hump day. Half-way through the work week. Ten days since Miranda had ruthlessly chewed her up and spit her out. How could she think Andy had an ulterior motive? Didn't that woman trust anyone? According to Nigel and Emily, no. They should know. Andy was still a bit miffed with the sarcasm and mocking laughter they'd directed her way when she had revealed Miranda's suspicions for the article. They were quick to gang up on her, indicating they entertained the same thoughts as Miranda did.
That had hurt. Andy wasn't manipulative. Andy didn't use people to get an advantage. Andy just wanted a chance to get to know the private Miranda, the one who worried about her children, and cried over her failed marriage, and pulled herself up from humble beginnings. Andy was beginning to wonder, however, whether anyone knew the woman behind the icon, even Miranda. Was the woman so driven she couldn't allow anyone to get close? Did Miranda even explore what motivated her to act the way she did?
The pensive reporter was jarred from her thoughts by the arrival of a courier with a garment bag. Thanking the courier, she laid the bag on her desk and unzipped it. Andy felt her eyes widen as she removed the dress—a classic little black dress by Chanel. It was spectacular. It would drape off her shoulder with a fitted bodice and smooth lines to just above her knees. She could hardly wait to try it on. Checking the bag's pockets, Andy chuckled when she saw the shoes—not too high so she could actually walk. How thoughtful. The red soles would catch people's attention as she moved across the room. Classy. A hand-stitched clutch glittered under the harsh fluorescent lights, blinding Andy with its beauty.
Spotting the Tiffany jewelry box, Andy stiffened, shocked. Opening it carefully, she stared for long minutes at the gorgeous pendant nestled within the box's confines. It was a pear-shaped ruby pendant encased in 18 karat gold and attached to a herringbone gold chain. Snapping into action, Andy frantically looked through the rest of the garment bag pockets. She searched for a message, something that would explain why she had received this outfit and fantastic necklace from Miranda. Only Miranda could have sent them. Finding the envelope, Andy ripped it open and read the contents ravenously. The invitation merely confirmed her guess that she was to wear these pieces to the grand event. It was the hand-written note that truly riveted her attention. As succinct as its writer, the words, For you. Andy felt faint.
This gala was one of the biggest, most extravagant events of the year. Anyone and everyone would be present. To be invited meant you were a somebody. The opportunity to hobnob with the best of the best, including those in the publishing business—unimaginable. Yet, here was this invitation, this unspoken apology.
Andy thought about the last time they were together. Miranda had acted so horribly. Nothing had made sense. It's not that she'd imagined Miranda would welcome her back with open arms, but the suspicion, the attack—they had hurt her. Miranda had hurt her.
It's not even as if Miranda had been negatively affected by the article. In fact, all indications pointed toward a divorce degree being entered in favor of Miranda within a couple of months. Stephen did not want any more negative publicity, and his attorneys were working toward entering an agreement that minimized the damage Andy had propagated. The journalist had been surprised to learn that Miranda wasn't pressing her advantage by taking Stephen for all he was worth. Evidently, she just wanted the divorce completed as quickly as possible.
Andy suspected that Miranda hadn't been ready to deal with her, as outlandish as it seemed. Or perhaps it was what Andy offered. At any rate, Miranda seemed to have overcome her misgivings enough to execute this gesture. Andy had no intention of wasting the opportunity.
It had been hard to leave Miranda's townhouse without defending herself even after all the terrible accusations Miranda had hurled her way. Andy had wanted to explain, to make the stubborn editor listen. She had wanted to cut through Miranda's defenses and shake away her doubts. Yet, after seeing Miranda's blazing eyes, feeling her punishing grasp, and experiencing those cutting words, Andy had known nothing she did, nothing she said would penetrate the white-haired woman's walls.
So she had left. Without a word.
A strategic retreat. Andy snorted indelicately. Like she had planned out every contingency. Like she had known exactly how their lunch would play out. As if.
Andy had planned to stay away for a while before requesting an interview for the follow-up article. She had high hopes Miranda would grant it, at the very least to make sure the facts were related by someone who obviously cared for her.
Now, it seemed, Miranda had decided to take her own action. Flutters erupted in Andy's belly. This has to be a positive sign, right? Yes, this was definitely good.
Miranda wasn't the only one who lived on hope.
Gliding up to Emily and Nigel while attempting to appear calm was no easy task. She knew she looked good: how could she not when her outfit had been hand-picked by Miranda? Yet, Andy could not deny her nervousness. How would Miranda act toward her? Knowing the editor, Andy had to assume that there would be no discussion concerning Sunday's conversation. This rubbed Andy the wrong way. She was a strong proponent of talking through misunderstandings. Miranda, on the other hand, never explained herself or apologized. That's why this gesture in and of itself was so momentous.
Greeting Emily, Andy found some comic relief from the first assistant's reaction. As Emily tried to connect the dots as to how Andy came to be by her side, Nigel whistled and slowly walked around Andy, studying the outfit closely. "Very nice, Six. Of course, this isn't a six, is it? A four, I presume? Hmm. Wonderful." Nigel stepped forward to deliver air kisses then turned to Emily. "She cleans up good, wouldn't you agree?" At Emily's sniff, Nigel laughed. "She's jealous."
"What are you doing here? How did you even get in?" Emily asked as she gripped her purse tightly. Andy could tell Emily was bothered and held back a chuckle as Nigel rolled his eyes.
"I was invited. I—" Andy stopped as she felt the energy in the room electrify. Looking toward the grand staircase, she saw Miranda begin her entrance. Exquisite. She couldn't have dragged her eyes away from such a vision even if she had wanted to. She had no such desire.
Flashes of champagne-colored cloth, supple skin, sparkling eyes, and a graceful walk overwhelmed Andy's senses. Suddenly the attractive woman stood before her gazing intently, slowly examining every inch of Andy's body. The young woman stood still as she felt a blush travel over the path Miranda's gaze had just journeyed. To Emily's chagrin, Miranda leaned in to deliver air kisses to Andy. Andy felt Miranda's breath against her ear as the editor whispered, "You look extremely fetching tonight, Andrea." Miranda pulled back, staring into Andy's eyes for long moments as a smile flirted with her lips before turning away to acknowledge her employees.
The rest of the evening became snatches of vivid moments coalescing into a kaleidoscope of impressions. Miranda kept Andy close to her by word and deed, often murmuring to the young woman inconsequential comments or grazing her with gentle fingers. Andy loved every moment. As the night wore on, the young woman felt Miranda staring at her more boldly, more often. Unable to ignore the effect of the powerful editor, Andy captured Miranda's gaze, searching those well-known blue eyes in question. They conversed silently, a wealth of emotion related through the give and take of body language and slight facial movements.
Suddenly Andy understood.
Miranda was afraid. Miranda did not know how to be vulnerable. Miranda railed at the idea of opening up to someone, of revealing the woman behind the professional persona for fear that she would be found lacking. Against all these obstacles, though, Andy recognized a determination reminiscent of the steely resolve the formidable woman often presented when working to meet a deadline. She could see that Miranda wanted to try. Which meant she would succeed, even if this venture were extremely personal, even if she could not choreograph every move. Andy felt happiness bubble inside her. She felt powerful. Miranda wanted Andy in her life. Andy felt a hand on her lower back guiding her forward. Soon they were standing in a small, deserted vestibule staring into each other's eyes.
"Are you sure?" Miranda asked. Andy nodded enthusiastically, causing the editor to smile. Miranda melded into Andy's body as her hand pulled Andy's neck forward. Then they were kissing. Desperate, hard—it was more passionate, more erotic than Andy could ever have imagined. Tongues dueled for dominance as they pressed together; in this realm, at least, Andy felt confident. She loved to kiss. She knew how to elicit moans. She knew how to relate through a kiss her desires, her needs, and her affection.
Right now she desired Miranda.
Not to say she didn't care deeply for the editor or she was merely looking for an affair—in fact, nothing could be further from the truth. However, she was smart enough to recognize that this road would be a long one where many battles would be fought. Miranda probably treated this as a war against her heart, while Andy viewed it as a war for Miranda's heart. There would be tests, boundaries would be drawn and erased, fights would result in giving up and trying again. Andy had a secret weapon, though. Andy knew, even if Miranda did not, that she would not stop until she got what she wanted—completely, unequivocally, and absolutely. And now that she knew Miranda wanted this, too, nothing would keep her from obtaining her goal—Miranda's love. Today, though, she'd settle for receiving Miranda's lust.
With such thoughts fueling her actions, Andy ran her hands across flawless skin as she punctuated her passion with penetrating tongue swipes seeking out every secret of the enticing editor's mouth. Miranda's back muscles flexed as Andy lightly massaged, stroking the area in synch with her tongue strokes. This woman oozed sexuality. For all her sophistication, elegance, and grace, right now in Andy's arms, she was the epitome of wanton, wild abandon. Andy felt Miranda's moan well up as she continued her loving attack, allowing her hands to cup Miranda's bottom intimately and to caress the area suggestively.
"I want you, Miranda," Andy breathed. "I want to make you forget everything but the feel of my hands on your body and my lips making love to yours. Let me help you feel so good, Miranda," Andy crooned. "Let me touch you."
Miranda broke away, her eyes clouded with passion. She took great shuddering breaths, pain evident on her face. "What was I thinking?" Miranda muttered. "I can't do this."
"What? Why? I—" Andy had a hard time focusing on Miranda's words.
"Think, Andrea. The divorce. If this got out, I could be destroyed. All that investigating you did, all those months you dedicated to helping me, would become worthless."
Andy nodded jerkily, at a loss in so many ways. She felt gentle fingers lifting her chin upward to stare into emotion-stained eyes. Andy searched intently for some indication of Miranda's feelings. She saw sadness coupled with yearning.
"I didn't mean for this to happen." Andy watched as Miranda turned away, trembling hands ghosting over her hair and gown aimlessly. "Perhaps it would be best if we did not interact until this divorce business has concluded." Miranda returned her gaze to Andy as somberness cloaked the air.
"No! That is unacceptable. We can be discreet, Miranda. Please." Andy knew she sounded desperate but, God damn it, she couldn't go back to a life without Miranda in it. She clutched the editor's arms, entreating her, "Don't walk away. Don't." She felt tears welling in her eyes and blinked them back forcefully.
"I have no choice, Andrea," Miranda replied.
"You told me once that we always have a choice. Don't make this one." Andy was drowning. She could see that Miranda had made up her mind.
"I am sorry." Miranda walked away as Andy shook with too many emotions to categorize. She felt lost.
"Damn it!" Andy hissed as she raised a shaking hand to her lips. Leaning against the wall, Andy attempted to gather her shredded dignity before reentering the ballroom. Once she returned, she knew without looking around that Miranda had left.
The air felt empty.
As Andy crossed the room, intent on leaving, Nigel waylaid her.
"Leaving already?" He eyed her with interest. "What happened? Looks like your puppy was just killed before your eyes." Nigel took her arm and led her to the bar. Turning to Andy, he waited for an explanation she was unprepared to give.
"Oh, you know," Andy replied noncommittally as she stared at her newly-acquired drink.
"Let me guess: Miranda strikes again. Well, it didn't take long to get back on her bad side, did it, Six?" Nigel teased.
"She doesn't have sides, Nige. It's one size fits all. If you make it on her radar, she shoots you." Andy moaned, gulping her wine. Andy completed the sentence silently: In the heart.
Nigel clucked sympathetically. "You knew that already. Cheer up. She owes you now. Maybe that's what's bothering her."
Andy smirked. If only Nigel knew just how far off the mark he was. However, he did have a point. And she needed that follow-up interview. Feeling a bit better, Andy patted Nigel on the back. "Thanks, Nigel. You always know just how to cheer me up." The reporter smiled brightly.
"Well, you were looking more pathetic than usual," he grumbled. Hearing an elegant snort, they both turned to find Emily.
"Don't tell me you started drinking without me," she huffed.
Shaking their heads innocently while the assistant took a seat next to them, Emily proceeded to regale them with her snide observations of that night's attendants. Soon Andy was able to push aside her morose thoughts, allowing herself to enjoy time spent with friends.