Chapter Text
Miranda’s P.O.V.
“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about Nigel. I’m doing fine without her and God honestly, you’re all making such a big fuss out of all of this. All that happened was Andrea left after a testing day. Perhaps it was just too much. Disappointing, really. God knows the girl almost had it.”
Miranda spoke curtly, flipping through the pages of her magazine as if the conversation at hand was the most uninteresting thing in the world. The knuckle of her pointer finger gliding back and forth on her chin as she was deep in thought betrayed her. She was clearly going down her own mental spiral and no doubt fully blamed Nigel and not her own thoughts on her former assistant. Of course not. “Surely you’ve got better things to think about? Like your job?”
It was normal for her to go through dozens of assistants because of how difficult it was to keep up with the job—or rather with Miranda. But it had been months! Years had passed in Miranda-time. She usually took less than an hour to get over losing an imp! Nigel clearly understood just how much she actually relied on the woman and respected why she was acting so difficult—Lord knows how difficult she already was, but this was something else.
Miranda Priestly did not dote on former assistants. Not even this one.
For every assistant that came through the office, there were a series of tests and a mountain of inexecutable feats before Miranda even actually recognized their presence in the office. Much like with Andrea before the moment on the street where she had first gained permission to deliver the Book to her house. It was also the first time she had called the woman by her actual name, no longer Emily #2. Some time had gone by since Andrea’s days of learning the ropes in the fashion industry and she was out of Runway’s halls. So why should she care?
Nevertheless, this entire conversation was starting to irritate the man as he had originally come to borrow the new Andrea for an errand that Miranda herself had asked him to do. Nigel rolled his eyes this morning more times than he’d ever had in his entire career with Miranda and he couldn’t bear any more if it. “I just want…it’s hard to see you like this, Mir.” He swatted his hand at her when she snapped her head at him in an attempt to shoo him away.
She stubbornly looked around and rolled her eyes. Unconsciously, her pointer finger rubbed against her chin and she clicked her tongue ever so slightly. Before the door had clicked behind him, she said in her usual tone, bouncing back quickly, “Make sure she’s back in time to return the book.”
A few months earlier…
“Surely, Andrea, this task isn’t too taxing for your mind?” She sighed at Andrea next to her who was currently scrambling to keep up with her sudden change of pace. Not her fault that Irv suddenly wanted to take away half a million dollars from her collective budget over the next issue before he’d left his post. The absolute gall. No, she needed to push back whatever oafish lunch meeting was supposed to come next. Was it her lawyer? Her ex-husband? It was too useless of information to keep up with her next task, especially if Andrea was there to keep track of it for her.
Andrea pleaded, “Miranda, please, the emails just aren’t refreshing. I can’t fix the wifi—I have zero control over this but as I assured you—”
She knew that Andrea knew better than to ramble off like this but she’d probably hoped the morning would offer her some leeway for the mistakes that were bound to occur. She had a wonderful start to the morning with firing two of Irv’s most loyal assistants who had been transferred to the Human Resources department after he’d stepped down as the Chairman at Elias Clark. The act felt like a cleansing of the building, ridding it from the scum in the form of the man and his idiotic goons.
“I don’t care. I thought we had the fastest internet providers at Runway. What use are your flimsy words for the dozens of people awaiting my responses?”
Miranda revealed that their car rides were nothing short of business formal and that Andrea didn’t try to kiss her ass in such a confined space but even now and then a comment would slip from either of them, easing whatever short seconds they had before they were off conquering the beasts of fabrics and threads. Today, unfortunately, as she could already sense, would not be seeing any moment of rest at all.
They had just come from the last stop of their sample selections at the Marc Jacobs showroom for a few articles of clothing that were in line to appear in their magazine and Miranda was far from allowing herself to breathe for even a second before that issue was published. She had not pursed her lips at anything but that didn’t offer an ounce of relief for anyone in the studio who had sensed her disapproval in some other form.
She needed perfection. Heaven forbid anything unplanned or unapproved make it to the papers.
Miranda was trying really hard to not kick the girl out onto the curb. What in her tiny little camel-sized brain is not understanding the importance of my time?
It was close to the publishing of the first Fall Issue and everyone—including Miranda had no time to waste. Surely she understood that! Everyone was just on edge to get it done. “Are you not satisfied with me trying to get you associated with your job as first assistant? Is it truly too much of a hassle to expect you to get your job right?”
“Yes, Miranda, but I’m just trying to—”
“Exactly. Trying. I care little for attempts at a good job. I need you to step up and actually do a good job. It’s what I pay you for. Runway is riding the highs of its success and it’s up to the people who work there to keep it that way. I do not need whatever sad idiotic—”
“Roy!” Andrea yelled abruptly to Miranda’s driver. Her body jerked as the car halted and her arm had instinctively reached across Miranda to shield her.
Miranda jumped. Both she and Roy quickly turned to her. She was glaring and ready to behead the young woman.
“I apologize. I just need a moment.” She restated as she stopped shuffling around and paused to fix herself and get her things in her small purse. Slowly, she looked at her boss who was eyeing her both curiously and murderously.
Miranda breathed in deeply. “Yes? Does the world need to stop for you to get yourself together? Is your little breakdown more impo—”
“Seriously?” Andrea asked, clearly berated.
She nearly let her jaw drop. She was getting more impatient by the second. The lack of internet at the current moment might have delayed them for a few minutes but that didn’t spare them the rest of the day. “I do not appreciate your tone, Andrea. We have more important things to do than sit and feel our frustrations.”
“I have done everything for you.”Andrea raised, “every day I do it all and more. I make everything work for you. I bust my ass off just so things run smoothly and for what? You don’t even notice! You don’t even see it right in front of you? Even everyone else has noticed that you’ve been more at ease because of my work!”
Andrea looked livid and the older woman was sure she wouldn’t be able to stop her anytime soon.
“Every issue, article, dry cleaning, food run, coffee run, casting, photoshoot, car check up, every goddamn time you called my name I came to you because I thought you might actually take notice and help me. Help me! I’m more than an assistant! I was a distinguished student journalist, I–I wanted to work at The New York Times and instead I pursued this job and for what? To get my dreams and my will crushed for someone who wouldn’t take all of my efforts and turn it into more rewarding work? All I’m asking for—and I have never asked for anything Miranda, mind you, is that you slow down for just a second.”
“Well you’ve certainly got the flare for theatrics, don’t you?” Miranda couldn’t help the comment. If there was one thing Andrea was good at, it was emphasizing her every word to make a point. Without the rush of their next appointments, she’d have let herself find this amusing.
Instead, she watched as Andrea closed her eyes once again and breathed in deeply. “Okay.” She heard her whisper calmly. Then left.
Now.
It had been almost a year since their car ride and Miranda was still recovering from the repercussions of losing Andrea in her office. The place was a wreck. Symbolically speaking. A very well composed, unbothered—looking wreck, but still one to say the least. The stress of this made her harsher during previews, curt with conversations and meetings, and extremely unfriendly towards any discussions that had anything to do with the former assistant. Andrea hadn’t left a note or any sort of goodbye to Miranda other than her letter of resignation and Miranda wouldn’t dare ask Nigel if he was still talking to her. God forbid he mistook her curiosity for her caring about the girl. Absolutely not.
She quickly dismissed any and all questions about the situation and took to deflecting anytime Andrea’s name arose.
The only problem with this was that Nigel knew. Everyone sort of understood that she did. Care, that is. But no one would dare talk about it—at least not within the walls of Elias Clark in fear that she might be listening. Shortly after, when she’d walk by people, she could feel their stares and even something in that changed. They were more afraid of her, treating her like a ticking time bomb. On her end, this mew air of silence was used as a weapon to envelope her as she pushed every one of them to work harder than they ever did. It was complete and utter hell for everyone who worked at Runway.
Miranda was just finishing up the last of her responses to a few higher ups in the bigger brands they were publishing in the July issue when she received a text from a certain someone who she wasn’t supposed to consort with.
Anna Wintour has sent you a picture.
Anna Wintour: “We’re being fed to the dogs.”
Her eyes narrowed as she pushed her glasses up her nose to read the text better. What on earth is it this time?
Miranda Priestly: The dogs? Paparazzi?
She zoomed in on the black screen hoping it would hurry up and load into what she was supposed to be seeing but nothing yet.
Anna Wintour: No, look at the picture.
Miranda Priestly: It’s not loading.
Anna Wintour: I thought you fixed your internet months ago.
Miranda Priestly: Of course I have. I just can’t see this one picture.
Anna Wintour: I doubt that. You haven’t even heard anyone talk about the exposé yet?
“Jocelyn.” She drawled out. Pursing her lips as she waited for her second assistant to come in. “Jocelyn. If I scream your name one more time, I’ll have you out the door, Jocelyn.”
The poor girl came in with wide eyes. “Sorry Miranda, how can I help you?”
There was a glimmer in Miranda’s eyes each time she was about to rip someone out a new one. As if she got off on the adrenaline from getting someone in trouble.
“Have you received word of some exposé collaboration between the different newspapers and magazines?” She asked, glaring at the shaking girl.
Jocelyn’s eyes widened. “I’m so s–sorry Miranda, I haven’t checked my emails yet. I just came back from the b-bathroom.”
“The bathroom?” She looked her up and down. “Well? Do I need to tell you to check?”
“No, I’ll do it right now.”
“Brilliant.”
Not only did she actually receive word for it but she had also gotten over 20 emails from newspapers like—The New York Times, GQ, and Elle asking if they had already received a journalist’s request for the major collaboration. The only paper that had actually included the more detailed information about the entire thing was Reader’s Digest but Miranda already made note to say no to them since she hated the list of journalists they’d recommended.
Subject: Invitation to Participate in Collaborative Investigation on Corporate Manipulation and Corruption in Journalism | Reader’s Digest
Dear Ms. Priestly,
I trust this message finds you in good health. I am Marcus Stevenson, contacting you regarding a initiative currently underway within the journalism industry.
Leading journalist newspapers and magazines are joining forces for collaborative papers to reflect our time working within our industries. Given your influential standing in the industry, we believe your involvement and approval could significantly enhance the impact and success of this endeavor.
While the project is still taking shape, I would like to share some initial details:
1. Selection Procedure: Journalists will meticulously choose specific magazines and/or newspapers, current employment or recent, awaiting approval from the respective publishing houses for their inclusion.
In order for us to be completely transparent from our end, these are the journalists we’d like for you to consider for the duration of the collaboration:
1. Olivia Reynolds (Senior Writer)
2. Ethan Mitchell (Senior Writer)
3. Isabella Rodriguez (Senior Writer)
4. Noah Bennett (Junior Editor)
5. Sophia Chang (Junior Writer)
6. Caleb Thompson (Junior Writer)
2. Assignment Duration: Selected journalists will be assigned to the assistant of the executive editor or a prominent writer within a publishing house for a period exceeding six months. Throughout this duration, they are to compare their experiences with the current working conditions of said paper.
3. Focus Areas: The project will focus on crucial elements such as workload, health factors, team building, communication, supportive culture, and inclusion within the chosen publishing houses.
4. Confidentiality: It is crucial to emphasize that the publishing house or company under review will have any editing power or employment power over the writers and should instead encourage them to create their articles with utmost honesty and due respect.
The overarching objective of this project is to unite major journalist companies in a collaborative effort to reflect on the experiences of these crucial workers. We are reaching out to industry leaders like yourself, seeking your willingness to participate in this crucial initiative for the greater integrity and transparency of our field.
Your contribution to this endeavor would be immensely valuable, and we believe your insights could catalyze positive change within our industry. Should you have any inquiries or require additional information, please do not hesitate to reach out. We eagerly anticipate the possibility of your involvement in this groundbreaking project.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Best regards,
Marcus Stevenson
Chief Editor | Reader’s Digest
[email protected]
Most of the emails held less detail but she was glad that at least one of them had the decency to be transparent with the goals. For any project of this magnitude to pass even one paper’s assessment was one thing but to call others into work with them was another. She shook her head at the vague emails that followed and immediately put them in her trash. Jocelyn could take with her what she would but Runway would most certainly not be doing business with those.
After an hour or so of refining her list of potential interviewers, she was able to weed out the people she felt most capable for the project. The list consisted of ten people who she’d remembered as hires from other publishing companies. If all went well, she could send a list to Jocelyn tonight and talk to the writers tomorrow and get the official emails sent out by the afternoon.
“Miranda,” Jocelyn asked hesitantly.
She pursed her lips and looked at the woman, raising her brows. She had not even stepped out of her office yet, let alone a foot from her desk.
Jocelyn prepared herself. “Andrea Sachs from the New York Mirror sent an email like the others and I–”
“Forward it to me. That’s all.”
She made her way to the car, glad to rid herself of the smell of office for the remainder of the night. Her overtime tonight would be paid by the lack of dinner spent with her daughters but she was lucky for the fact that they weren’t at home and wouldn’t be for the next few days. Miranda sighed in relief when she realized it and allowed herself to destress as the car moved.
Then she remembered that Andrea had emailed her.
None of the people hoping to reach Miranda Priestly had ever actually emailed her directly. Fewer people had access to her office number as well. It was a bit of a hassle at first when she had to learn the ropes with having assistants and such but now it was essential to avoid all the nonsense and idiotic desperate emails that would make their way to her without the two assistants blocking them out. From time to time, she checked her assistants’ connected email to make sure that no messages had gone accidentally astray. There was no harm in being careful but still she considered it good practice.
She refreshed the page and saw the email sent by her former assistant.
Subject: Invitation: Participate in In-Depth Investigation on Corporate Manipulation in Journalism
Good evening Miranda,
I think by now you would have heard of the Corporate Investigation Initiative and surely have been reached out to by a few writers as well. I’m writing to you because, in fact, I was part of the team that started it. No, I’m not emailing you to put pressure or anything but I wanted to reach out to you to inform you of my intentions. I understand that the terms of our professional journey didn’t end on a good note. In fact, I acknowledge that there was no note to end on as I left rather abruptly and without a word. For this I’m sorry.
On another note, I’d like to thank you for the reference and recommendation that you gave for my job applications despite how things went down. I truly appreciate your help with my professional endeavors, Miranda, I hope you realize that. But it is also on that note that I’d like to try and stretch my chances by coming back to Runway—for the exposé.
I have no intentions on doing this to get back at you or do anything to hurt the magazine. I just feel that my personal experience and writing abilities can truly reflect the genuine nature of your presence at the magazine—than anyone else, should I be assigned to you specifically. And who knows? I could be assigned to Nigel or maybe even Emily.
Before anything else, I’d like to have a meeting to discuss my request. I can’t fully explain everything here in detail and I want you to hear it from me—everything I want to say and full transparency in what I intend to do should you choose me.
Please let me know. Here’s my number: +1 280 394 5928
Yours truly,
Andrea Sachs
Junior Writer | The New York Mirror
[email protected]
She shook her head with a bitter smirk.
Andrea fucking Sachs.
Andrea’s P.O.V.
A few hours ago…
Andrea was not that far from the woman she used to work for. She was meeting Nate for lunch at Rancho’s Italiano and was currently running five minutes late. God she hated being late, something she picked up as Miranda’s assistant: Being early is on time and being on time is late.
Buzz. Buzz.
“Hello?” She talked into the phone.
Nate spoke, a little muffled by his surroundings. “Andy, are you near yet? My lunch break is almost over y’know.”
Shit. It was peak lunchtime and sure enough everyone would be out and about to get their food.
She had just logged out for her lunch break and had the next two hours free, a courtesy that her new promotion to junior executive writer in the investigative department had given her. Now she had the time to frolic amongst the masses and attempt to get to her fiance in time for a decent meal.
He didn’t know of her promotion just yet. She didn’t feel like it would be something that he would react nicely to and she was honestly in too good of a mood for him to spoil something like that so she just left it out of her news. All he knew was that she went from entry to junior executive writer and at the sound of that he’d made a joke about her earning two dollars more than she used to getting fresh paper for the actual writers. How would a hundred and twenty more dollars sound, Nate? She wished she could have told him. But that would have torn him apart.
“Hey, sorry I’m late.” She said as she leaned in for a peck.
He looked her up and down and rolled his eyes playfully, “I know, I know. Needed to get coffee or whatever for the real writers, huh?” He joked with a smile.
She forced a laugh and began looking for a new dish to try. Really, really funny.
It had become their thing to try a new menu item since he got the job of Maitre D’ at the restaurant and especially because a perk he got was 65% off of his meals.
“I already ordered mine.” He casually said with a shrug. “Sorry, didn’t know if you were actually going to show.”
Personal pepperoni pizza with extra garlic crust with a small platter of pasta Puttanesca. The tradition really only applied to Andrea and he avoided answering the question every time she asked about it. Though she already knew why.
His meal was specially made to be extremely small portioned. He couldn’t afford the real meal and chooses to splurge every meal for her. They only met once a week for lunch but even then, a meal at his workplace was more than twice of what he could actually afford for a meal. He would never admit that but he did spend a hell of a lot of time guilting Andrea about it. It made her want to offer to pay for it but he’d lose his mind.
“I’ll just have the Farro salad.” She said, trying to seem genuinely not hungry.
He scoffed, face light, though she could tell he was slowly starting to get mad. “What? Did your journey here take all the appetite out of you?”
“No, I just–”
“Come on, just get something nice. What, you think I can’t afford this shit Andrea?”
“Nate it’s not that, I’m just not hungry, I promise.” So much for keeping his spirits up.
He slowly stood up, glaring at her as he did. “I can’t believe this shit. I’ll see you at home.”
She blinked. “Nate.” Andrea said in disbelief. He had called her here and in less than two minutes he was storming off.
Andrea looked around their table and thankfully their regular table near the kitchen was more private than the usual tables because of the beads and separation to the bathroom area. In all honesty, their table was practically a waiting area for the bathroom.
Truth be told, she didn’t mind any of this at all. A lot of their past jobs had consisted of some kind of meeting like this and they’d always had the best impromptu dates. Always had. Until Runway.
After a few weeks, she always came home ready to mouth off, telling tales of meals and meetings that she’d gone on to accompany Miranda or Nigel, the luxury and ridiculousness of it all. She didn’t want anything different. She was just excited to tell her best friend about the experiences her job privileged her.
He’d indulged in it at first but then grew weary.“Just remember where you actually are, Andy. You’re never going to be able to do something like that.” That was what he’d said to her. He’d repeat it every time she came home from a work trip. Even at her new job. She could only imagine what he’d tell her now.
Ding! She snapped out of her thoughts.
Richardson: Hey Andy, just checking in about your email this morning. I think it’ll be risky and might even cause a few heads to turn if we publish it. But I trust you. Let me know when you’ve emailed Ms. Priestly and if she says yes. From there we can set up an interview period so the both of you can lay down the rules for your assignment. Richardson.
Andrea: Will do, Greg. Thank you!
Richardson: Whatever Andy. Also, Wendel knows you took the rest of the chocolates from this morning’s breakfast platter.
Ha! Andrea thought to herself, feeling a little better. This was it. It was her biggest break yet and she wasn’t about to give up.
Andy: I’ll replace them! Promise!
Back to the present…
Andy was on her way through the office and about to get into the elevator to go home when her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Unknown: M. Priestly.