Thanks everybody! I included another love story at the end of this chapter-I thought Emily deserved some loving. :)
As Miranda stood outside the house, she seriously regretted her decision to spend 5 hours in a plane for this. This was a cottage. Not a house, as Nigel put it. A cottage. Sure it looked cozy enough, but it was a far cry from the luxurious accommodations Miranda had grown accustomed to in her own life. Sighing, she told the taxi driver to carry her bags inside the house, earning a mumbled 'geez lady'. Miranda rolled her eyes and ignored him. The guy was actually going to kick her out of the cab, and force her to walk 3 miles to get to the house in the first place! Yes, the road was a little slippery, Miranda had to admit, but there was no chance in hell that she would ever walk that far. She simply raised an eyebrow, and used the voice that reduced men to tears. It did the trick.
Miranda led the way into the cottage, and used her shoulder to get the front door to open, immediately shivering when she felt the cold winter air inside the walls. There didn't appear to be any sort of heating system. There was a log fireplace, but that was about it, from what Miranda could tell. She was going to kill Nigel. Even though the press dubbed Miranda the 'Ice Queen', it was a little known fact that she hated the cold. Miranda only put up with it because she lived in an environment that had cold winters, but she secretly wished to move somewhere warmer, like LA or Florida. Masking her shiver from the cab driver who was awkwardly standing in the small living room, she handed him a generous tip and he lumbered away with a hurried 'thanks'.
Miranda was finally alone. She looked around the small room, and couldn't help the small smile that spread across her lips. Sure it was really small, but maybe that was what she needed. A break from the commercialized, rich world of New York, and a chance to unwind and perhaps do a little soul-searching in a place that didn't seem fake. Miranda walked over to the fireplace, and contemplated how to light it. She wasn't an idiot, but she had never before in her life started a fire from scratch. Pursing her lips, her sharp eyes scanned for clues. Rolling her eyes at her idiocy, Miranda picked up a matchbox and pushed it open. Drawing one out, she removed her fur-lined gloves and confidently struck the match against the side of the cardboard. The flame erupted on the little ball at the end of the stick, and she dropped it into the fireplace where it promptly fizzled out and died. Miranda stared at it, and then pursing her lips, drew another match out and struck it harshly against the side of the box, her famous determination and winning streak rearing their heads. Again, she tossed it into the fireplace, and it landed amidst some logs, where it sputtered out again. The Editor tried three more times, and then growled in frustration and gave up. Chucking the matchbox down without any care as to where it landed, Miranda muttered under her breath on her way up the curving staircase.
When she reached the top, she almost cried when she saw the bed. It was big-not as big as the bed she had in New York, but it was definitely the biggest item in the cottage. There was a huge comforter adoring the bed, and multiple pillows crowded it. A small television rested at the foot of the bed, but the fatigued Editor paid almost no mind to it. Miranda sagged in relief when she saw the bed. It looked so warm, and so inviting. Shucking her Michael Kors coat, she draped it over a chair, and kicked her Jimmy Choo heels off before slipping under the warm sheets. They were thick and warm, and while they weren't silk, they were soft in a comforting and familiar way. Miranda, suddenly feeling exhausted from the flight, snuggled deeper into the covers and pulled the blankets up so high, they were almost covering her face. She allowed a few tears to fall, mainly from exhaustion, but also for her failed marriage before she drifted off into a dreamless slumber.
Some time later, she awoke and lazily stretched out, enjoying the sense of peace and freedom she felt. Yawning, Miranda glanced at the bedside clock. It read 9:04 pm. Instead of feeling panicked at the thought she had basically wasted 5 hours just sleeping, she felt contented. She owed it to herself to relax. The silver-haired woman sat up, but then immediately laid back down under the warm sheets after she felt the chilly air. After a few minutes of staring at the slightly cracked ceiling, her stomach growled. She knew she had to get up and eat something, and as much as it pained her to do so, she stuck her feet out and groaned when the icy air penetrated them. Standing quickly, Miranda rushed to put on her coat. She kneeled down by her suitcase, and after she opened it, rummaged around for a minute before she pulled out a thick pair of woolen socks. They were her secret pleasure. The one unfashionable item she loved to wear during the wintertime.
Miranda pulled the coat around her tighter, and shivered before making her way downstairs. She reached the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator door, pleasantly surprised to find it fully stocked. The Editor pulled out eggs and bacon, and proceeded to make herself a dinner that was full of unhealthy calories she hadn't consumed in years. Who knew that a vacation would be this fun? Miranda smirked as she popped a piece of cooked bacon in her mouth. Letting out a soft moan at the flavor she had so carefully avoided since high school, she savored the taste. She couldn't believe she had denied herself one of life's greatest pleasures for so long. Maybe this vacation was making her crazy, but Miranda found herself indulging in things she hadn't in so long-sleeping for long periods of time, eating greasy and fatty foods…what would be next?
As Miranda cleaned the dishes, she pondered what she should do. She had brought her phone and laptop, but really didn't want to spoil her relaxing evening with technology. Pouring herself a generous amount of red wine, she crossed her arms tightly around her body to try and generate some heat, and then busied herself with reading the titles of the books on the shelves. Miranda had read most of them, but a few that she had never heard of stuck out. She shivered again-it was far too cold to be down in the living room. Making a mental note to check the books out later, she climbed back up the stairs and slipped out of her coat before slipping back under the covers. She took a sip of her wine and flipped the tv on, giving into watching an electronic screen since she had nothing else to do. The Editor was so engrossed in a documentary about Jacques Doucet, that she jumped violently when there was a brash knocking on the door. The wine in her glass spilled over the top, and she cursed under her breath when she felt it seep through her expensive, white blouse she was wearing.
Throwing her legs over the bed, Miranda set the glass down on the side table, and reached for her coat. The knocking came again, louder this time, and Miranda's mood shot from relaxed to annoyed in a heartbeat. She stomped down the stairs and yanked open the door, suddenly going speechless when she saw a beautiful young brunette standing in front of her. They stared at each other for a moment, before the mystery woman chuckled and said in a British accent, "Well shit. You're a whole lot prettier than my brother."
"David!" Nigel clapped his best friend on the back.
"Hi Nigel," he responded with an easy-going grin. Nigel bit back a sigh when he remembered the handsome man wasn't gay. David was an even 6-foot tall, dirty blond haired man that any homosexual man would go nuts over.
"How's life?" Nigel shouldered one of the other man's suitcases, and they started walking out of the airport.
"Fine," he shrugged. "Nothing interesting to report. Work's going well and my love life is in the toilet as usual."
"Did Natalie…" Nigel trailed off.
"Yep," David shook his head slightly. "It was going so well until she suddenly decided that I wasn't 'invested' enough in the relationship."
"I'm sorry. If it's any consolation, it sounds like our favorite Editor," Nigel grinned ruefully. "She's having problems in the love department too."
They reached the car and David whistled when he saw the Mercedes Benz. "Must be doing well for yourself," he chuckled as he slid into the luxurious seat. Nigel loaded the suitcase in the back, and then made his way to the driver's seat. They drove to his apartment, easy banter flowing between the two men. When Nigel lived in Surrey, David was the first person he had come out to. An awkward and quiet kid at school, Nigel had few friends, and his struggles with his sexuality didn't help matters at all. David had helped him through the whole ordeal. He had offered a safe haven when Nigel's few friends and family turned on him after he came out, and he provided good advice that helped Nigel become stronger. Soon after graduating Comprehensive school, Nigel had a job offer in New York due to his exceptional talent in fashion, and he jumped at the chance to start over. He tried not to be overly emotional when he said goodbye to the one person who accepted him, not wanting to make a dramatic scene of it. Nigel simply hugged him, thanked him, and that was that. They had each other's phone numbers, so they could stay in touch, and Nigel boarded the plane with a lump in his throat. Once he landed in America, he slowly lost his British accent, shaved his hair off, and replaced his geeky glasses with sleek ones. He had found friends in America who were a lot more accepting of gays, but he still kept in touch with David.
They reached Nigel's apartment, and David whistled when he saw the posh interior. "You're a great decorator," he commented.
"Thank you," Nigel smiled and put David's suitcase in the spare bedroom. He clapped his hands together as he returned to the living room. "Do you want to run to Runway with me really quick? I have to finish editing a page, and then we can grab dinner after."
"Sounds good," David grinned. "Want to hit up a hot dog stand?"
Nigel looked at him, scandalized as he pulled open the door, and David held up his hands in surrender. "Kidding. I'm kidding."
"Okay, I'll just be a second. You can either come in or you can hang around the office. There should be a few people left if you feel social," Nigel said.
"I'm going to go use the loo quickly," David replied and Nigel nodded, then slipped into his office.
After he was done in the restroom, he was distracted and quite literally bumped into a figure that was much smaller than his own.
"Oh my goodness I'm so sorry," he quickly apologized and instinctively placed his hands on the other person's arms.
He pulled back and saw the person for the first time. The petite woman standing in front of him stole his breath away. She was a stunning redhead who had a bit too much eyeshadow and eyeliner on, but was still pretty nevertheless.
"You should be!" her furious voice snapped, but when her eyes lifted to meet his, the tension suddenly drained out of her body. "Uh…"
"Lovely accent," David said, leaving his hands placed in her arms. "Where in England are you from?"
"Hampshire," she replied haughtily, some of her spark returning. "You?"
"Surrey," he grinned and Emily felt weak in the knees. "David Mason."
"Emily Charlton."
"Pleasure to meet you Emily Charlton," David sent her another stunning smile, and Emily was suddenly very glad he was holding onto her.
"Well David Mason, I would be pleased if you took your hands off me," Emily tried to regain control of the situation.
David lifted his hands and wriggled his fingers for emphasis that he wasn't touching her. Emily sniffed and turned around, intent on leaving to ponder the encounter later. Unfortunately, he followed her.
"What the hell are you doing?" Emily said crossly.
"I'm intrigued by you Emily Charlton," he rubbed his chin and continued walking close behind her.
"Where did you even come from anyways? The doors are locked," Emily felt incredibly stupid when she realized that piece of information. This man could be a total lunatic who could kill her without a second's thought. She backed away slowly, her eyes suddenly wide.
"Oh bullocks," David hit his forehead, correctly interpreting her reaction. "I'm not a murderer or a robber. Nigel is a good friend of mine, and I came here with him. I swear I'm not going to hurt you."
"That's what people always say right before they're going to kill their victims," Emily frowned.
"Er, how can I convince you?" David lifted his hands in an attempt to calm the scared-looking woman.
"He's telling the truth Emily," Nigel raised an eyebrow as he stepped forward to rescue both of them. "Miranda's staying at his house in Surrey, and he's staying at mine for the time-being."
"Oh, well then..." Emily trailed off and then turned back around and kept walking. "Welcome to America David Mason," she threw over her shoulder, and David smiled when he saw the corners of her mouth lift up.
"Who was she?" David turned to Nigel, the dopey smile still on his face.
Nigel chuckled and they started walking to the elevators. "She's Emily, Miranda's first assistant. I have to tell you David, that's the first time I've ever seen Emily…flirtatious for lack of a better term."
"Do you think you could give me her number?" David lightly bumped his shoulder. "I think she may be the one."
"You said that about Natalie too," Nigel shook his head and pressed the elevator button.
"But Emily's different," David tried to explain. "She's fiery. Sassy. And she's from England too!"
"Okay," Nigel shrugged, and they stepped off the elevator. "But firstly, don't be too upset if it doesn't work out, and secondly, don't hurt her. She may not be my best friend or anything, but I do care for her."
"I promise," David solemnly swore and could hardly contain his excitement when Nigel took his phone and typed the information in. He hadn't felt this way about another woman in a long time-he was convinced that he was drunk and delusional when he courted Natalie for the few short months they were together. There was something special and different about this Emily, and he wanted desperately to figure it out. Taking his phone back from his good friend, he opened a new message and bit his lip as he stared at the blank screen. Finally, he began typing.
Hello Emily Charlton.
No, I am not a secret CIA agent either-I received your contact information from Nigel. I would very much like to meet with you for a spot of tea sometime. I will be in town for the next month, and will be eagerly awaiting your response.
David Mason.
He confidently hit the send button, and then buttoned up his coat, ignoring Nigel's inquisitive look.
"So?" Nigel tapped his foot.
"So what?" David shrugged. "I texted her asking if she'd like to meet for a spot of tea, and left the rest up to her."
"A spot of tea?" Nigel teased. "You sound so formal."
"I am English after all," David stuck his hands in his pockets. "So I was thinking…maybe we could go to the new Italian place that just opened up?"
Nigel chuckled and followed his high school friend out the door.