?

Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

Maybe it's fate, maybe it's luck. But some things are just meant to be.


A/N 1: I’ve been out of commission for a while, so please be nice
A/N 2: Shout out to Elliewrites, the world’s greatest cheerleader even halfway across the world.
A/N 3: There is the smallest Will & Grace reference ever buried within. Bonus points if you can find it.

You really should pay closer attention to these things.

After all, isn’t your whole life about attention to detail? It is you, and you alone who makes final decisions about what sinks and what sails in the fashion world. It’s a widely known fact that what starts in fashion seeps into other arenas, so really your decisions don’t stop at ink on paper. And that skill comes from years and years of hard work polishing your discerning eye. Many don’t possess the patience required to do this. And that is precisely what makes you the best of the best.

It’s not just about attention to detail, though. It’s also about deciding what’s practical, and what is not just a passing fad. What’s persistent enough to last the test of time, and what’s strong enough to climb above the rest. It’s not only about what can do all of these things, but who.

Success is also due in part to the ability to multitask. This is not just about walking and talking, but about juggling photo shoots and run-throughs and remembering which twin played what song at a piano recital. Walking and talking by contrast should be a piece of cake.

Many people think that you toss out assistants as a hobby. But this is entirely incorrect. In fact, most assistants that are fired from your employ meet this fate because they simply do not have what it takes. If a girl cannot bring your coffee as hot as you want it, or if she fails to learn the difference between charcoal and dove gray, or even if she lets important phone calls run to voicemail she does not belong at that desk of yours. There’s a reason that people work for you one year and they can get a job anywhere they want. It’s because they work hard, and they earn it.

Andrea, you admit, was the exception to most of your rules. The girl waltzed into your office looking and acting like no assistant you had ever seen, so you let her stick around simply to see where things would go. Not only do you live on hope, but you can be passionately curious when you want to be. Little did you know that Andrea Sachs would take you on the wildest journey of your life.

You did not mean to fall for her.

She came to you with deplorable hair and clothes and attitude and everything. Falling for this girl was the last thing on your mind. But like the sweetest flower in your garden, under your helpful hand she changed and grew and took up root in your life. Forgetting her will be impossible, but holding her here with you would be squashing her under your heel. You have no doubt in your mind that no matter where she plants herself after Runway, she will blossom beautifully.

Sometimes when waiting for the book, you take Andrea out to a late dinner. The meal always begins with talk of work, but then morphs into something more personal and enjoyable. Over chicken caesar salads or grilled salmon and asparagus you learn the smallest things about Andrea Sachs. You learn that Andrea is addicted to red licorice and reality TV, and you learn which novels always make her cry. She learns that your daughters are named from movie characters, and that in the privacy of your home you secretly enjoy a nice cold beer. Some of your responses to her questions even make her laugh.

Especially when she asked you one night, “If you didn’t work at Runway, what would you be?”

Your eyes held mirth over your wine glass as you answered, “A romance novelist.”

Andrea cackled at the unexpected answer and pried for more, “Is that so?”

“Mmhmm,” you’d said teasingly. “My pen name would be Anastasia Beaverhousen,” your lips quirked into a reluctant smile, “And I would also lead an underground kitten breeding operation.”

“I see,” she giggled, “So you’d be a cat lady who writes smut?”

You nod once, “Precisely.”

“Well it sounds to me, Miranda Priestly, that you’ve got your alternate life all figured out.” Andrea’s elbows rested on the table, propping up her chin. Those brown eyes shined with humor and something else that looked a lot like affection.

You neglect to tell her that also in this other life, you and she would life happily ever after. Somehow you think that this little nugget of information would kill the mood.

Not only is Andrea gorgeous and smart, but she’s loyal to a fault. During the past couple months you have spent time with her and she’s taken up residence in your heart. You aren’t foolish enough to believe that she returns these feelings, but the thought of that very thing has kept you warm on cold nights.

It happens on a sidewalk.

You’re meeting with possible new talent in a nondescript office building in Manhattan. Roy is parked a few blocks away, gridlocked in traffic. Luckily, it’s not too far to walk back to your office, and this will probably be the last warm day before fall hits. You may as well take advantage of it.

You typically do not let daydreams overwhelm you to the point of negligence to your own task. But Andrea has decided to walk in front of you today, with her nose in her cell phone, emailing some minion on your behalf. Her slacks are navy blue, and she’s tucked a cream-colored blouse with and emerald print into them. Her figure looks fantastic.

You’re content to walk a few paces behind her, enjoying the stroll. You wish she would put down her device and enjoy it with you. Perhaps another time. At the crosswalk, you catch up to Andrea, and it’s now that she chooses to speak.

“That last designer was pretty cool,” she says absentmindedly still looking at her phone. Her feet prepare to take a step into the street when they hear the crosswalk sign ding to notify pedestrians of their turn to cross the street.

“But his assistant is a real piece of wo–“ All at once your arms are around her midsection, pulling her out of the street and back onto the sidewalk. A horn blares, and within milliseconds a giant city bus speeds through the space where Andrea was just standing. If you had not pulled her from the street, she would have been flattened under the vehicle of a careless driver that ran a red light. Although you are squeezing Andrea tight enough that her lungs should probably collapse, it is you who is fighting with a sudden shortness of breath.

If you had been a second later, Andrea could be dead. Or at least severely injured. Nothing on this earth has ever scared you more.

You should have been paying attention. What happened to attention to detail? What happened to multitasking? You were distracted by a pretty girl in a pretty blouse. A girl whose nose was practically attached to her phone screen on your behalf. A girl who almost died doing work for you, too busy to look up.

She is still alive, but you might soon be sick.

Andrea spins around in your arms, searching your face and squeezing your biceps. “Are you okay?” she asks. You must look like you’ve just seen a ghost. You can feel how wide your eyes are and how they can’t stop looking at Andrea, making sure she’s real.

“I…” you try to say, but your voice sounds like dust. Your eyes are still huge and you are still holding her around her waist. “I..” you try again. This is too hard. You cannot do this here. You refuse to.

How do you face the fact that the one person on the planet who holds your affections aside from two red heads could have just as soon been on her way to the morgue?

You run.

Andrea is pushed out of your arms by your own muscles and you make a break for it. The street is now clear so you do not hesitate to trot across it and in the direction of the Elias-Clarke building. You can hear her hot on your heels, but you’ve had decades more practice than her at running in stilettos.

“Miranda!” Andrea calls after you, “Wait!”

That’s one thing that you simply cannot do. Your destination is getting closer and closer the faster you run even if you know that you cannot run forever. The Elias Clarke building swims into view, but for the life of you, you cannot force yourself to enter it and continue working like this is a regular day. Today is anything but regular. Today is the day that you came ridiculously close to almost losing half of your heart.

You keep up your fast clip as you walk past the building, but you hear her hot on your heels. Your pace is slowed as you squeeze your way through foot traffic. It seems like everyone else feels perfectly at ease blocking your way and they are in no hurry at all. “Miranda!” she sounds a little breathless and it makes you want to turn around. Instead, you keep swiftly moving down the street, not ready to try and face her. One look into your eyes and she will know, you are certain of it, the depth of your feelings. One look into your eyes and she might turn around and run from you instead.

“Would you just-“ Andrea bumps into someone on the sidewalk who yells an obscenity in her direction, “slow down for like a minute?” There is another cross walk up ahead, you just have to make it in time for her to be left on this side of the street. You hope you can make it, but the odds are not in your favor.

At the last second, the walk sign dims into the red hand that halts your journey across this street and a way from Andrea. You hear heavy breathing behind you, before a hand whips you around by your wrist. “What,” she swallows, “the hell is wrong with you?” Heavy breaths wheeze from the both of you, hers from running, yours from her.

You are not given enough time to mask your face and all of your emotions spill out of your eyes at once. She looks at you and is immediately taken aback, probably because she has rarely seen you this expressive. The truth hits her and her eyelids flutter a little. They gorgeously frame her eyes, and your reverent gaze probably tells her so. “Oh,” she simply says, but keeps her eyes on yours.

Embarrassed, your eyes get a little wet, so Andrea gently pulls you out of sidewalk traffic to the side of a brick building. You haven’t felt the urge to cry in years and for a moment you curse this girl who pulls such emotion out of you. Your gaze shifts down toward your wringing hands, and you prepare to step away from Andrea Sachs, perhaps forever.

“No, wait, Miranda. No,” she says, pulling you back towards her. No? What could she possibly mean? Your clueless face is full of questions so she elaborates a little. “I um,” she blushes, “me too.”

Could it be possible that Andrea Sachs may just love you back? It is her that sees the love in her eyes. Willful Andrea Sachs who has not had a lifetime of admiring details. The both of you are not prepared to say these words to one another, but she pulls you into a hug instead. If there were any lingering doubts the kiss she places on your cheek silences them quite nicely. “Oh,” slips out from your mouth unintentionally. She laughs a little, her hand still at the base of your neck. Her smile is blinding. Yours might be too.

Before she can pull her arms away, you pull her waist in closer and decide to just go for it. Why not? People swarm around the two of you in the evening traffic, too poorly dressed to care about Miranda Priestly. Her mouth is warm and soft and wet against yours, and the whimper she lets out travels to the soft part of your belly. You love her. She loves you back. She is quite pleasantly alive in your arms, and that’s the thought that pulls you away from her addictive lips.

Both of your eyes connect after the kiss. She looks a little dreamy, but you imagine that you probably do as well. “I could have lost you.” The words feel loud in the air after such soft kisses.

“But you didn’t,” she says back gently, “I’m right here.” For emphasis she gently takes your head in her hands, smoothing your hair behind your ear before kissing both of your eyelids. Her kiss then travels to the bump in your nose and wanders down to your own lips. You sigh. “You are.”

A car horn beeps a little too loudly, but it sensibly pulls you both back to reality. Silently you walk back in the direction of the Elias-Clarke building, the knuckles on your hand brushing hers every few steps. You cannot recall being this happy in quite a long time. It baffles you that your entire career is built on attention to detail, yet you neglected to notice the most important detail of all. Too blinded by your seemingly hopeless affection, you could not see that she loves you too.

In front of the building, Roy has made it through the traffic and is waiting to ferry you off to whatever destination you choose. Andrea waits beside you with her little paper pad and pen, ready to play the part of your faithful assistant for the sake of your reputation. Maybe she has forgotten your very public kiss on a very public sidewalk. You have to try not to melt just as much as you have to try not to kiss her adorable cheek. You smirk at her surprise when you take the items from her hands and say, “Where would you like to go for dinner?”

There is shock in her eyes but a smile on her lips.

“Anywhere.”

A/N 4: As always, it’s been a pleasure.