Chapter Text
“Miranda?” Emily’s voice trailed into her office, making the Editor In Chief raise her head from the spread she had been perusing. Normally Miranda wouldn’t even acknowledge her assistant’s voice unless some noteworthy words followed, yet something seemed off this time. There was a certain hesitance to Emily’s voice and it gave her pause.
“Yes Emily?”
“I-I have Police Commissioner McRae on the line for you.”
The statement made both her eyebrows rise high on her usually stoic features. What on earth would the political head of the NYPD have to talk to her about?
“Put him through.”
“Mister McRae,” she greeted him once the line clicked, her business voice showing none of her curiosity. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Miss Priestly, lovely to hear your voice. I have a bit of an unusual request which I am loathe to discuss over the phone. Would you be able to clear an hour or two to meet with me sometime this week?”
Cutting right to the chase then. That was something Miranda could appreciate at least, though it wasn’t unexpected as he too needed to be highly efficient with his time. What was unexpected though, was the simple fact that he was calling her at all and it piqued her interest.
“Am I correct in assuming this isn’t a social call?”
“You would be, yes.”
Clicking open the calendar app on her laptop, Miranda quickly scanned the empty spaces in her schedule. There weren’t any, but since the next Runway release date was still a couple of weeks away, she could make an effort. James Holt wouldn’t truly be ready for the showing on Thursday anyway, so if she postponed that meeting, she might actually see something worthwhile the week after.
“Thursday, 4 p.m.?” she offered McRae.
There was some rustling and clicking on the other end of the line as the man was likely checking his own schedule.
“That will work. I will send a car to pick you up at Elias Clarke.”
“Alright. Anything else?”
“No, that would be all, Miranda. Thank you.”
When the call ended, Miranda took a moment to let the irregularity of it sink in. Maybe there was something wrong with the upcoming photoshoot in Central Park and one of the permits hadn’t been filled out correctly or something along that line? Yes, some paperwork issue, that was probably it, Miranda tried to brush it off, yet knowing all too well that something so trivial wouldn’t warrant a call from the Commissioner himself. Ah well, she’d get her answers on Thursday.
“Emily,” she called softly and was greeted by her first assistant as the redhead hastily walked into the office, notebook at the ready. “Cancel James Holt on Thursday and reschedule for next week. Tell him to use the additional time wisely, I expect something original for his next collection, not those drab colours that hurt my eyes last time. Keep the rest of Thursday afternoon free, I have a personal meeting at four.”
“Yes, Miranda.”
“And Emily?” The warning undercurrent in her voice was enough to make her assistant look up at her hesitantly. “Call the new girl and tell her that if my Starbucks isn’t here in the next five minutes, she shouldn’t bother returning.”
Seeing Emily wince at her words, Miranda already knew the girl probably wouldn’t make it. The new girl had lasted… all of three days? Four? Their PR department wouldn’t be happy with yet another second assistant fired, but what was she to do? If Emily and Andrea could manage a Starbucks run in less than fifteen minutes, then she was allowed to expect the same from the new second assistant, wasn’t she? Maybe she would allow the new girl to stay if it was less than eight minutes from now… She had been running through second assistants at an alarming pace these past several months. Ever since Paris… Stopping her trail of thought there, Miranda shoved her La Priestly mask back on and regarded Emily with her trademark raised eyebrow.
“That’s all.”
--
Thursday at 4 p.m. sharp, Miranda stepped out of the nondescript city car that had picked her up and was escorted into an equally bland building. Due to the noticeable absence of any indicators of both the car’s and the building’s ownership, they actually screamed government property. It made Miranda roll her eyes and scoff silently, despite her rising concern. The meeting itself was bound to be interesting at least.
A man in a prim but completely uninspiring suit greeted her politely before guiding her through the empty hall and into an adjacent corridor. The floors were all black and white tiles and the colour pallet on the walls barely deviated from the dullest shade of grey Miranda had seen in a long time. The sharp clack of her four inch heels echoed almost ominously in the seemingly deserted structure. Eventually they stopped before a door and the man knocked twice before opening it. With another polite tilt of his head, he gestured for her to enter.
The room beyond was an immediate contrast to the emptiness before. The floor here was a dark hardwood of respectable quality and the wall had been painted in a warm rose taupe. An impressive desk stood in the corner while two wide chesterfields stood facing each other in the centre, flanking a low table. Everything was pristine and bare, unused except for a half-empty glass of amber liquid on the table.
In one of those chesterfields sat the man who had piqued her curiosity a few days ago with his call.
“Miranda!” Commissioner McRae exclaimed jovially as he stood to greet her. “I’m so glad you could make it. Please, have a seat. Drink?”
Foregoing the usual air kisses, Miranda briefly but firmly shook his extended hand. “I’m tempted to join you in that scotch you’re having, Commissioner.”
“It’s a Glen Moray, if that suits your tastes?”
“Acceptable.”
In the corner of the room, an assistant busied himself with a bottle and a glass as Miranda took her seat opposite McRae. Crossing her legs, she accepted the glass before turning her upper body towards the Commissioner. The scotch smelled fabulous, but now that she was here, she wanted answers. Luckily McRae didn’t need any prompting.
“Now, as you are probably wondering why you are here, I will get right to it.” The assistant who had taken a standing position at the other end of the couch coughed discretely and opened a map with official-looking papers. “Ah, yes,” McRae chuckled at the interruption, “I have to mention that what we are about to discuss is completely off the record. Are you willing to sign an NDA?”
“I will sign it once my lawyers have looked it over,” Miranda replied evenly. She was Miranda Priestly after all. She didn’t just sign external papers without having taken the time to verify the small letters.
There was a look of alarm from the assistant at her condition, but McRae waved him off before he could voice his protest. “That’s fine, Miranda, that’s fine. Jeffrey here will send them over to them right away. The NYC Cromwell and sons firm?”
Nodding once in affirmation, Miranda hid her surprise and watched as the assistant immediately started typing away on his Notebook, likely sending those papers to her lawyers already. Taking an enjoyable sip from her scotch, she once again turned her eyes to McRae, effectively indicating that he had her attention.
“Right,” McRae said and his tone held that business-like tone of authority, making Miranda smile internally. “You are here because the NYPD needs your help. Our team has unearthed a web of corruption in the Elias Clarke board and some of its publications.”
Miranda sucked in a sharp breath at that little bomb. “You are aware that I run one of those publications?”
“I am. You are here because you are the only significant Editor of all the Elias publications that we couldn’t find any dirt on.”
“You had me investigated?!” Miranda asked incredulously.
“Yes,” McRae answered without missing a beat. “You and many others. You might be known as the Devil in Prada, Miranda, but your machinations seem to take place on the right side of the law, at least. Something that apparently can’t be said of many others at EC.”
Taking a moment to organise her spiralling thoughts, Miranda took a bigger gulp of scotch before eyeing the Police Commissioner intently.
“Go on,” she urged him, mask firmly back in place.
“We have a multitude of names linked to the embezzlement and fraud, but the investigators have hit a wall. We need someone on the inside to gather more proof.”
“Commissioner, with all due respect, but if you aren’t able to find sufficient evidence, what makes you think I will?”
“You know the company, Miranda and you have access to… more sensitive information.”
“I have a contract and signed NDA with Elias Clarke which forbids me to share that information with outsiders. You cannot truly believe I would put my livelihood on the line for rumours?”
“Oh, they’re more than rumours alright,” McRae answered darkly, “but no, that’s not what I’m asking.”
“Then what are you asking?”
“I’m asking you to hire someone who could go undercover and gather the necessary intel.”
Miranda blinked at that. “A… a police officer at Runway?”
“Yes.”
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Miranda took a deep breath in order to find the right words. When she couldn’t find any that would spare the sensitivities of New York’s finest, she decided to just be forward.
“A police officer has no place in the fashion world.”
To her surprise, McRae chuckled at her blunt words. “That’s exactly what I was told you would say.”
Raising her eyebrow at that titbit of information, she demanded: “By whom?”
“By one of the candidates we have for you to hire as part of your staff.”
Feeling more than a little blindsided, Miranda stood up and walked to the nearby window in silence, cajoling her tumbling thoughts. Staring out at the brick wall of the building across the street, she took a few minutes to contemplate the Commissioner’s request. If it was true what he was saying, and she realised he wouldn’t have contacted her in the first place if he wasn’t convinced, the entire male-dominated structure of Elias Clarke could be shaken and lose its rotten apples. If they were successful, that is.
She had her suspicions about who those rotten apples were and it just so happened to be the people who usually stood in her way of letting Runway run smoothly and unhindered. Irving would be one of the people leaving Elias Clarke if they could pull this off. It could clear some seats on the board for new blood and the longer she thought about it, the more she realised that the likely replacements would actually make her job a lot easier and less constrictive.
Yet the entire plan still held an immense risk, both to Runway and herself. She couldn’t just allow anyone to join her team, no matter how good they were at infiltrating. They would have to have a fairly thorough understanding of fashion if they wanted to remain on her staff for longer than a few weeks without raising suspicion.
Without turning away from the window, she spoke up: “You mentioned you have candidates for me to hire. I will need to verify that they can fit in with my employees before making any decisions.”
“Of course,” McRae conceded without fanfare.
Turning away from the window, she approached him and didn’t bother to hide her doubtfulness of this plan. “Which position did you have in mind for your agent?”
“That is completely up to you, but it would have to be a position that lets them have contact with the wider range of offices to be effective.”
“An assistant function then,” she said contemplatively, more to herself than to him.
“I have an idea of which function would be easiest to fill, but I’ll leave that decision up to you.”
“At least I have a reputation for firing and rehiring regularly, so I suppose it won’t be too hard to open up a spot if anyone meets the requirements,” she mused.
“Wonderful! Let’s meet your candidates, shall we?”
Now that did raise her eyebrow. “You have them waiting? Did you truly believe I would consider this so easily?”
“Unlike many of my peers, Miranda, I appreciate the efficiency women can bring to the workspace and I’m an advocate of equal rights. When I reviewed the Elias Clarke board members I couldn’t help but notice that they all fit a certain type.”
“You mean male, white and above a certain age?”
“I mean fossils, yes,” he answered dryly, making Miranda chuckle quietly despite herself.
“I would have thought your own ego to rise up to defend your peers, Commissioner,” Miranda dared to jab. Depending on how he reacted, she could weigh the truthfulness of his statement.
To her surprise, McRae barked out a laugh. “Oh Miranda, you are every bit the clever woman I was assured you would be.”
Feeling as though he had seen right through her attempt at gaining some personal insight, she wasn’t sure on how to proceed.
Fortunately she didn’t have to answer as McRae continued talking himself: “We don’t rise to positions of power without developing more than a little ego and I am more than aware of the range of my own. I am however, not in the habit of defending peers who think the law doesn’t apply to them. When I joined the police force with all my principles of rightfulness and honour and whatnot, I promised myself to quit if I was ever tempted to scrape the line between right and wrong.”
“And where you ever tempted?” Miranda once again countered boldly.
“More times than I can count,” came the surprisingly honest answer. “If not for my wife talking me through some of the more cutthroat decisions, I would have left the NYPD decades ago.” Looking at Miranda from the corner of his eyes, he added: “She is the reason I always found ways around the corruption, though I have stepped over quite some bodies on my way up. It is unavoidable, but I can look back at my career and still sleep peacefully at night.”
“Quite a feat, if I may say so.”
A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Coming from you, I can actually accept those words for what they are.”
It certainly felt as if they had reached a silent understand when her phone beeped with a message. Unlocking her phone, she saw it was her lawyer’s office, stating that the NDA had been received, reviewed, adapted and cleared.
“I’ll sign the NDA,” she declared without preamble. “Let’s go interview my new Runway employee.”
--
The first two women who entered the office to introduce themselves, Miranda dismissed on sight. The third candidate was a young man who actually knew the difference between couture and Walmart and would be able to fit in with the IT staff. Sadly he was also rather skittish and Miranda already knew he wouldn’t survive a day in Runway’s demanding atmosphere without some serious personality training.
The fourth and fifth candidates were again women and the last one was dressed in an outfit that could be qualified as somewhat acceptable. Unfortunately she had been with the force for quite some years already and she would stand out amongst the mostly younger assistants. Miranda was contemplating if she could have her make-up crew do something about the no-nonsense mature demeanour, because this detective was certainly qualified, when McRae drew her attention.
“Before you decide, I have one more candidate. One I know who can manage to get both the jobs done, but who I saved for last because of her personal involvement with you.”
Not bothering to hide her surprise, she asked: “Someone I know, you mean?”
“Someone who has worked for you in the past,” he corrected. Looking at the detective currently waiting patiently for their decision, he nodded his dismissal. “Don’t go too far yet, Martha, but send in the girl on your way out.”
Baffled by his words, Miranda internally went over a list of former employees who could’ve joined the police force after their tenure with Runway, but her mind came up blank as it was such an improbable possibility.
Remaining silent as the door closed behind the detective, she heard the muttering of two voices on the other end of that door before it opened once more. Her eyes grew wide in disbelief when she saw who entered the room.
“Absolutely not,” she said in a voice dripping with frost before the new arrival could cross even the small distance.