The next day, the pain truly set in. Andy was intensely grateful Miranda had offered Roy’s services. Earlier she thought maybe she wouldn’t need it, but when she awoke she knew she would be calling.
He delivered her to the apartment, double parking to help her climb the stairs and unlock her door. Everything hurt and the swelling in her arm was pretty significant. It suddenly made sense why they would not fit her custom brace until more time had passed.
Unable to concentrate on much of anything, Andy slept. A lot. For the first two days, she checked her email every few hours but unless there was a little exclamation point next to the subject line, she ignored it.
On Thursday morning, Nate arrived with two friends from the restaurant to collect as much as he could haul in a rental van. She tried to ignore the sound of his packing, but it was nearly impossible considering how small their apartment really was. He took the free-standing butcher’s block Andy had never used, most of the cooking supplies, and weirdly, three sets of plastic bathroom storage drawers that would be easily replaceable. The couch, bed, kitchen table, and two chairs were all hers. They would negotiate the rest later, but there wasn’t much left to divide.
As they shared an awkward goodbye at the door, Andy felt tears close to the surface but managed to hold them back. They both were startled at the horn sounding twice from the street. “That’s my ride,” he said. “See you?” The plaintive, mournful sound in his voice hurt more than any raging argument could have.
“Yeah,” she replied. “For sure.”
She couldn’t bring herself to say more. For the rest of the day, she zoned out watching a fortunately timed marathon of SVU with the cable subscription she would cancel as soon as her first solo rent check was paid.
On Friday night, Emily brought over her laptop and crowed effusively about how glad she was that Andy had been the one injured and not herself. However would Miranda have managed with Andrea as first assistant if Emily had been hit by that taxi? It was simply ridiculous to even imagine it.
Andy held her tongue. Roy had texted earlier that morning that once Miranda’s plane departed for Paris, he would be driving her to and from work. She wondered if Emily would have been granted such special treatment if she’d been left behind. She doubted it.
On Sunday morning, Miranda and the team left for Paris, which meant when Andy made it into the office on Monday, it was relatively quiet. Although more than ninety percent of the staff remained stateside, the energy of the place was entirely different without Nigel, Miranda, and even Emily around. Andy was very happy to also learn that the closest Starbucks would deliver whatever order she liked. The baristas were apparently big fans since she was a significant improvement over the previous clackers. For one thing she never looked down her nose at any of the employees, plus she always left a good tip from her own wallet. With delivery now an option, that went double to whatever lucky barista spent an extra few minutes running over a couple of cardboard carafes for the grateful staff (plus a caramel frapp with an extra shot for Andy). She should have asked about the service months before.
By mid-week Andy felt like she was getting the hang of one-handed typing and covering the phones on her own. Since by the time she woke up Miranda and Emily had already attended breakfasts and lunches and showings, Andy was able to visit with people she rarely saw. Every day she got to enjoy lunch with a different team, from design to beauty to editorial. She could actually see herself hanging out with one of the assistant editors for more than a minute; usually all they had time for were brief hallway chats when Miranda was gone. Andy was happy when the young woman, Leilani, asked to get together for coffee on a Sunday afternoon next month. She hoped it didn’t seem too obvious that she’d be fishing for more details on what her day to day was really like.
On Wednesday upon her return from a full hour and fifteen minutes out at lunch, a messenger arrived at Andy's desk. He held a manila envelope addressed to Miranda care of Andy herself, which she signed for post haste. She opened the envelope right away, only to nearly drop all the papers with her good hand.
“Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit.”
It was a gut punch from the first sentence: they were divorce proceedings from Stephen, who was covering all his bases. This set was marked as a copy for Miranda’s assistant, since the originals had to be signed and returned to the court to prove receipt. They were likely being served right now.
Tonight was the dinner with the team from Versace; tomorrow was the luncheon with CFG where Miranda was speaking. They’d spent weeks planning every single detail. Andy decided then and there, for the sanity of Miranda and everyone else in Paris, that the papers had to wait. She would not let Stephen ruin this night for Miranda, and damn the consequences.
She called Emily once, twice, and a third time, until she finally picked up.
“Good lord, what on earth could be so important--”
“Em, I need you to get to Miranda’s suite right away and intercept a delivery. Like, now. Like, ten minutes ago.”
“Andrea, I am extremely busy right now. I do not have time to--”
“Stephen is having Miranda served with divorce papers,” she whispered into the phone. “She might already have them in hand, I just got a copy messengered to the office. Get over there. Now.”
Silence met her declaration. “Fucking bollocks, what a prat. I’m going.”
“Okay, good.” Andy assumed that Stephen would undoubtedly have someone hand-deliver the papers to Miranda to cause maximum injury. He had been due to arrive the next morning to spend the few remaining days in Paris with her, and instead, she would learn that he wanted out of their relationship. It was exactly the kind of move Andy would have expected from a dickhead like Stephen. Whatever happened, Emily would need to replace the papers with something innocuous and Miranda could learn the news after their big event tomorrow. “So there’s a set of designs from Zanotti that you can print from an email I sent about an hour ago--if the envelope isn’t labeled, switch the paperwork. If the envelope is labeled--”
“Just hold on, for Christ’s sake,” Emily mumbled.
Andy waited and held her breath. The minute was very long.
“Someone’s at the door. Just--I’ll call you back.”
“What--no!” But there was silence on the line--Emily had hung up.
Andy’s heart was pounding. It wouldn’t be the worst thing ever if Miranda read the papers; at least she would know what the rest of them did about her miserable excuse for a spouse. But if she didn’t, it would be easier to handle whatever stressful thing she’d alluded to about Nigel.
She waited, and waited. And waited.
Twelve endless minutes later, the phone rang. Andy gasped and grabbed it. “Hello?”
“I’ve got them. If she hadn’t signed for the damned things herself I’d have just shoved the whole envelope under the couch till later. Now of course I have to make up an explanation as to why someone would messenger something they already emailed, but--oh hell, I just realized I’m supposed to be at the airport at 10 to fetch the wanker.” She paused for breath before groaning. “You don’t think he’ll show up just to rub her face in it, do you?”
Andy knew they didn’t have to worry about that, having just canceled the ticket since she’d made the original arrangements herself. “I know for sure he won’t be there. Um, don’t say anything for now. We can fake it till the morning--tell her the flight was late or canceled. Miranda probably isn’t thinking about him at all, much less emailing or texting him. Put the papers in your room till things settle down a bit. Miranda’s under a lot of pressure--”
“As if I don’t know that!” Emily hissed. “She’s been an absolute monster the entire trip. I haven’t even walked along the Champs-Élysées and we’ve been here for days!” Emily scoffed, almost as though reminding herself that being in Paris was what she wanted. “I mean, of course the shows have been beyond belief; I met Signore Garavani again on the red carpet, and he complimented me on my dress. I simply love Valentino.”
Andy bit her lip. Emily hadn’t worn Valentino for as long as Andy had known her, but if she was happy, it was good for them both. “Wow, I am so jealous,” Andy breathed, putting her all into it.
“Hmm, well, perhaps next year. If you can make it that long. I’m sure I’ll be promoted by then, or even working at whatever design house I please. I’ve--I’ve heard Vivienne could be looking for someone in the style department, and of course I know everyone there.”
“That sounds like it would be perfect for you, Em. How long do you have till you think you can move up?”
“My second year is over in two months. I’m sure Miranda already has big plans for me.”
The sound of her enthusiasm was heart-breaking to Andy. “I’m sure she does. I’m so glad you got to go to Paris with Miranda, Emily. Even if you’re busy every second, it just goes to show how important you are to the magazine.”
“Well, obviously. I’ve collected the most amazing clothes already, and we still have three more days. I’ll have a wardrobe for the entire year, at this rate.”
“God, you’re ridiculous. I’ve got to get these back to my room, and tomorrow we’ll come up with the next steps. I’m not sure exactly what to do…”
“I’ll think of something. I have time.”
“It has to be before she hears it from Stephen himself--”
“I know, Em. Let me mull it over. You go have fun tonight.”
“Fun?” Emily’s exuberant chuckle rang down the line loudly enough to startle Andy. “Don’t be idiotic. I’ve got too much to do to plan for tomorrow’s luncheon. We have to go over the seating chart, then I’m going to accompany Miranda to her dinner with Allegra and Donatella.”
In that moment, Andy felt a surprisingly hot stab of authentic jealousy. Andy deserved to be the one at Miranda’s side tonight. She was the one who made Miranda’s life run smoothly even from afar, but instead Emily was there in her place, in Miranda’s suite. They would be in a quiet hotel room together, and Miranda’s marriage, despite her lack of knowledge, was no longer part of the equation. Andy’s face flushed with heat. “Okay. Uh, have a nice night then.”
“Right.” Unsurprisingly, Emily hung up on her.
Andy swallowed and gazed down at the divorce papers on the desk. Miranda was her (sort of) married boss. She’d made Andy’s life difficult for months. She was, for all intents and purposes, impossible. But she was incredibly beautiful and smart and made Andy crazy with… something. It was more than just admiration; Andy had learned the difference between wanting to be like another woman and wanting to be with another woman years ago. Her attraction to Miranda and her particular charisma had grown stronger instead of weaker over the past few months. And she missed her now much more than she’d expected to.
What the hell was she thinking?
Andy slept through three overnight texts from Emily. She blamed the painkillers, but it was probably the exhaustion of trying to cover the desk from multiple time zones.
What do I tell her? Oh my god, she’s asking.
You’re a useless sodding cow. I’ll come up with something.
Said flight was rescheduled. I’ll have to tell her tonight.
Andy sighed. She texted back. I’ll tell her. It’s my fault you’re having to deal in the first place.
No response came right away, so Andy guessed they were still at the luncheon.
She dragged herself to the bathroom and got herself ready for the day. As promised, Roy kindly picked her up; he was officially her favorite person. Once at the office, Andy received a reply. Luncheon weird. Jaq Follet taking big spot at James Holt Int. M hates her! Left the papers on banquette at the back of the suite. Can’t believe I’m saying this but good luck. Better you than me.
Andy was stuck on the first part of the text, scowling into her phone screen. She didn’t know much about Jacqueline Follet, but Emily was right. She wondered what Nigel would have to say about the news. He was very friendly with James and would probably have the dirt. The rest she tried not to think about, because every time she did, her heart pounded in dread.
She answered email after email all morning long, queuing up a series of approvals for the upcoming issue that she could run through with Miranda in less than twenty minutes if she was lucky. But first, she had to personally destroy the central adult relationship in Miranda’s life.
Just as Andy sat down with a salad and soup courtesy of a very generous Leilani, she realized she couldn’t eat it--she was too anxious. At that moment, her cell phone rang. One quick glance told her it was Miranda. Andy took a deep breath and shut her eyes. She could do this. She would do this, no matter what. She picked up and scuttled into Miranda’s office, closing the door.
“Hi, Miranda. How are you?”
“Well. The luncheon was a great success. The announcement for James Holt International went off without a hitch. And…” Andy held her breath as she waited for Miranda to continue. “A few days ago, I spoke to Nigel about what we discussed last week. I believe it was the right decision.”
For a moment, Andy had no idea what she was talking about; she had been laser-focused on the divorce. Then it came back: the visit to the hospital, the vague conversation related to Nigel that had so troubled Miranda. Andy smiled, briefly feeling a flush spread across her chest. “That is… I’m so glad to hear that, Miranda. I really am. I’m still not sure what happened--”
“Nigel will fill you in upon his return, no doubt.”
Andy inhaled. “Right. So, we have a bunch of things to go over, but there’s something really important I need to talk with you about.” Her heart pounded in her chest; her palms were sweating. “Are you at the hotel?”
“I’ve just returned to change. I don’t have time for dawdling so get to it.”
“Okay.” She’s an adult, she’ll survive. “There should be an envelope on the banquette at the back of your room. Do you see it?” she asked.
There was a pause as Miranda hmmed into the phone for a few seconds. “I have it.”
“Okay. So, I need to tell you that Stephen isn’t coming to Paris. His plane wasn’t late.”
The silence that met her ears was electric and lengthy. “Andrea.” Miranda’s voice was firm and emotionless. “I received this envelope yesterday. It contained the spring Zanotti designs I asked for last week.”
Andy had trouble finding her voice. “It didn’t. I asked Emily to remove the original documents so you could get through the luncheon without having too much on your mind. I will understand if you’re angry. I’ll understand if you can’t forgive me for invading your privacy like this, but it was an accident. A copy of what’s in that envelope was delivered to the office yesterday, and I had no idea what it was till I opened it.” Her voice wobbled as she added, “I’m so sorry, Miranda.”
More than a minute went by as Andy pictured Miranda opening the paperwork, reading the language, realizing that her husband was leaving her. Knowing that he had intended to deliberately not just punish her but abandon her during the most important and stressful week of her year. Andy heard the exhalation of shock. Tears filled her own eyes, but she kept from interrupting the quiet with gibberish.
“Well,” Miranda sighed. “That’s that.”
Andy sniffled, embarrassed at the tears that slipped down her cheeks.
“Everything else can wait. I’ll ring you later.” And Miranda was gone.
Shortly after the big reveal, Andy’s text to Emily was short.
Emily responded immediately with a single letter--K.
An hour later, Emily added, seems alright.
Nothing more was said about the subject. So far Emily wasn’t fired, Andy wasn’t fired, and Stephen was on his way out of the picture. First herself, now her boss; Andy wondered how many other people were getting dumped this week.
She wrapped up all of Emily’s various email requests and called the townhouse to make sure everything was fine with the twins. Then she texted Roy and got herself into the elevator without falling over as the workday came to an end.
In the car, she thought about Miranda, who usually sat in this seat, heading home to see her husband and children late every night. Stephen couldn’t have been surprised about her dedication to her profession, could he? She’d met the guy three times (only exchanging words with him once) and he seemed intelligent enough. But he liked his liquor, which she’d learned at the Gala. He was handsome in that manicured, moneyed way that made her wonder if he had a little something on the side. She could imagine some bright young thing luring his eye away from the woman whose beauty Andy had grown to appreciate more each day. She shivered in disgust. Why she was thinking about Stephen in the first place was beyond her. At some point, Andy wondered if she would need to get the locks changed on the townhouse. Legally, that was probably a bad idea. Emotionally, she thought it would be a nice touch.
She wondered how much Miranda really cared for him, how they’d fallen in love in the first place. There were dozens of images of them together on Google covering the six months before their surprise wedding at Miranda’s Hamptons vacation home five years before. They’d carried on a very public sort of partnership at various benefits, premieres, and fancy dinners. But there was never an image of them holding hands or looking lovingly at one another or kissing, even on the cheek, for the cameras. That was no surprise, really, because Miranda was certainly not one for public displays of affection. But it still seemed sad. Miranda deserved more. She deserved to be romanced, so much so that everyone would recognize how alluring, how desirable she really was. What man in his right mind would be able to keep his eyes off--
Andy’s brain skidded to a halt. She shook her head for a moment. This path was the wrong one to go down. Her emotions were getting mixed up around a woman who was really fucking good at her job and equally reviled by the press. Andy reminded herself how tired she was. She had a broken arm and a sore back. She was on drugs. And she was newly single. So was her boss.
She closed the door on thoughts of Miranda, or romance, or desire.
But she spent the last twelve minutes in the car unable to dislodge the memory of Miranda’s ivory collarbones, so beautifully displayed by that bolero jacket at the Gala.
After a weekend of moping around her half-empty apartment and deliberately not thinking of Miranda (or her collarbones), Andy’s back had improved and she’d weaned herself off the high doses of ibuprofen for the pain. On Sunday morning, the Runway staff returned to New York without incident, while Emily handled the heavy lifting of getting Miranda home safely. Once the weekend was over, Andy’s time of semi-calm recovery would come to an end. At some point on Monday she needed to get to the doctor to be fitted for her brace, but she wasn’t sure how she’d manage with so much up in the air. She couldn’t imagine the state Miranda would be in when she returned to a house without the husband she’d had when she’d left, so her job would most likely involve a lot more than scheduling run-throughs and meetings for a while.
She’d miss Roy’s daily pick ups and drop offs; they had been beyond nice. By now she had figured out a way to get to work by condensing her stuff to one bag on her good shoulder. Since their latest conversation she’d had zero phone contact with Miranda, only emailing sporadically and exchanging a handful of texts. Emily remained her main point of contact, and from what she could tell, things had gone relatively well for her in Paris. Andy had helped her out of a few jams but overall she was glad the whole thing was over.
Monday morning she exited her building at 7 only to find a silver Mercedes idling near the fire hydrant in front of her building. The front side passenger window descended.
“Roy, hi! What are you doing here?”
“Picking you up. We’ll get Miranda on the way.”
“Uh, okay? I’m not sure--”
“She asked me to, Andy. We’re fine.”
Andy slid into the car and carefully pulled on her seat belt. “All right. All right,” she repeated to herself. “Thanks, um, for the ride.”
Roy ignored her but chuckled. He was probably sick of hearing her appreciation by now.
They were silent on the way uptown so Andy checked emails and tried not to freak out. As much as she enjoyed the lack of terrified adrenaline bursts she usually had on a daily basis, she felt an almost desperate anticipation to see Miranda.
“Roy, mind if we stop at the Starbucks at 66th? I’d love to not have to argue with Emily about who’s going to pick up coffee when we get to the office. I can do a carrier with one arm.”
“Want anything?” she asked.
He held up what looked like a stainless thermal carafe. “I’m appropriately caffeinated, but thanks anyway.”
Andy found the number and called, placing her order and paying for it in advance of their arrival. It was only a few minutes’ drive between there and Miranda’s, so the coffee would be scalding, as required. Once they got there, Roy double-parked, and to her surprise, hopped out of the car to get everything himself. She cringed, waiting for the angry horns to honk, but at this time of the morning traffic was just picking up. When he got back, he set the carrier on the back seat floor at Andy’s feet. “Took a lot less time for me than it would for you,” he said.
“You’ve got that right. You’re a life-saver.”
She had an iced toffee nut latte for herself but left it in the carrier, afraid to risk a spill in traffic. When they got to Miranda’s house, she took a nervous deep breath. Chewing her lip, she watched the door open and exhaled in pleasure at the view. Andy had always known that Miranda was elegant and well-dressed and brilliant, despite the caustic language that often flowed from her mouth like water. But today, after not seeing her for more than a week, Andy’s heart thudded in excitement. As she descended lightly down the steps, Andy wondered at the refined beauty that appeared so effortless. Had her legs always looked so good in heels? She knew that beneath that calm facade was undoubtedly a roiling devastation due to Stephen’s departure, but she could see none of that in the few moments before she entered the car.
When she slid inside, Miranda barely glanced at Andrea until she’d fastened her seat belt and they moved back into traffic. “I imagine one of those is mine?” she finally asked, eyebrow raised.
“Two of them are.” Andy leaned down, but Miranda brushed her aside and took the carrier on her own lap.
Miranda removed one and inhaled the scent of it, taking a sip. “Mm,” she hummed. “Quite nice to have it now.”
“Great,” Andy said, relieved. “I hope you’re not too jet lagged.”
“Not at all. But I do want to discuss something--” Miranda looked at the back of Roy’s neck in the front seat. The car today was just a sedan, so no privacy screen. Her lips twisted in dismay. “It will wait. Tell me the schedule for today, in any case.”
Andy rattled off the list of meetings, including a forty-five minute lunch with her lawyer sandwiched between them all. Stephen could not have selected a worse possible time to have thrown this at his soon-to-be ex. “And dinner with Nigel.” Andy smiled at that. She didn’t often make note of a dinner on the calendar between the two of them. Often they would meet when they were both in the office late, but this felt different. “You have a reservation for 8 o’clock at Daniel.”
Miranda nodded, appearing to Andy deep in thought. Perhaps she was tired, or unhappy, or simply needed some quiet time, but she did not speak. Once it looked like their conversation had ended, Andy leaned back in her seat and sighed. She felt a streak of pain up into her shoulder for a moment and gasped. It was odd how the smallest movement could spark agony, but it receded just as quickly. She looked over at Miranda, who watched her with something resembling concern. “It’s okay. I’m good.”
Gazing at the splint, Miranda huffed. “Good is not what I would call it. How is your back?”
Andy masked her surprise at the question. “Much better.”
With a typically irritated roll of the eyes, Miranda added, “Details, please.”
This time, Andy couldn’t quite control the drop of her mouth at Miranda’s inquiry. “Um, it’s still uncomfortable now and then, but it doesn’t hurt as much.”
“Fading. A bit.” That much was true; now it was just an angry, mottled green and purple instead of a swath of near-black.
“Is your arm still swollen?”
“No, it’s mostly back to normal. It’s really okay, Miranda.”
“I hope you’re taking the appropriate pain medication and icing when necessary. Have you scheduled physical therapy?”
Now Andy really was gob-smacked. “Yes, all taken care of. That reminds me, I’m supposed to get my brace today. I can get it at my lunch break, but I’ll be gone longer than--”
“Take whatever time you need,” Miranda said, turning toward the window as she delivered this remarkably generous statement. “And for now Emily will do everything out of the office. That includes coffee runs and delivering the book.”
Blinking quickly, Andy nodded in astonishment. After a moment of realization, her disappointment at missing evening visits to Miranda’s home, not to mention catching a ride with Roy, was palpable. “Of course. Thank you, Miranda.”
The day went by in a flurry of the million expected phone calls. Andy stole away at 12:15 for her fitting, ignoring Emily’s weaker than usual glare. Her partner in crime had said literally nothing of the trip, or Miranda, or their successful heist of divorce papers. She hoped at some point Em would give her at least a few details about the shows and all the clothing she’d brought home.
The appointment was quick, and with her brace firmly fastened around her broken limb, she devoured a falafel pita in a cab on the way back from the doctor’s office while Miranda was still with her lawyer. When Miranda herself returned from lunch, she looked drained. Andy noticed an atypical red tinge around her eyelids, and it made her stomach feel hollow to know that Miranda was suffering.
By 7:30, Andy ached all over and was practically counting the seconds until Miranda’s departure for dinner with Nigel. Fortunately after only a few more minutes, she heard the telltale shuffle of papers and the snap of the laptop lip that meant she was nearly off the hook. “Andrea, come along,” Miranda said. Emily’s eyes snapped toward hers, and they briefly stared at one another in silence.
“Of course, Miranda.” Andy put her computer to sleep and snagged her coat from the back of her chair. Carefully she slipped her phone and notebook into her bag and slung it over her good arm. Emily flashed wide, accusatory eyes at her. Andy just shrugged in confusion.
“See you tomorrow, Miranda,” Emily said as Miranda breezed past them both, flinging her jacket over one shoulder.
“Yes,” Miranda answered.
Andy hurried after her. At the elevator, Andy paused, only to rush forward when Miranda jerked her head in impatience. This was the second time she’d been in the elevator with Miranda in one day. Into the lobby and out onto the sidewalk, Andy followed her boss, eyeing the swing of Miranda’s hips in her skirt. By now Andy should be able to identify the designer, but if it wasn’t Chanel or marked with an identifiable logo, she still had trouble. At the door, Andy was stunned when Miranda rounded the car and entered from the street side. Roy was there moments later, taking Andy’s bag and setting it on the floor as he had that morning with the coffee. Andy was nearly sweating when she got her belt fastened, only to hear a snort from next to her.
Miranda was almost… smiling at her.
“Sorry,” Andy said, mostly because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Roy retook his seat and they were off. Andy wondered exactly what was going on, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask. Fortunately, she had to wait only a minute before she had her answer.
“Roy, when you’re through dropping Andrea off, you’re free for the night.”
“Yes, Miranda,” Roy said, and Andy sank back into the smooth leather in relief. For a split second she’d wondered if she was going to end up at dinner with Nigel and Miranda, but as much as she found herself wanting to know Miranda on a more personal level, this would have been too weird. Andy couldn’t imagine being at a restaurant with the two of them. If they all spent more than five minutes together, Nigel would probably be able to tell that the torch she’d started carrying was flaring up a little higher these days.
“Tomorrow first thing, I need you to review expenses for Nigel, Emily, and me. Emily should have the reports completed but I’m not signing anything till you check it. Every single line item needs to be confirmed before it goes to accounting. Understood?”
“Yes, Miranda. Not a problem.”
“The last thing we need is some lackey triggering an audit because Emily’s too distracted by her new shoes to get the reports right.” She turned to Andy, nearly pouting. “Your broken arm was very inconvenient to me in Paris. I would have preferred you to be at my side. You missed many excellent events. You could have met Mr. Garavani at his show.”
Andy chuckled. “Way to rub it in.” She glanced down at her arm, which was in a different state of discomfort after switching out the splint for a brace. She still caught herself trying to use it and paid the price in aches and pains. “Wish I’d never thought to go to Hermès that day.”
“Indeed. I believe you would have also appreciated the look on Irv’s face at the luncheon once he realized he had absolutely no chance to remove me from my post at Runway.”
Andy gasped. Remove Miranda? From Runway? “What?”
The car rolled to a stop. Andy realized they’d arrived at Daniel, but she couldn’t stop herself from actually asking Miranda a question. No, not asking; demanding. “What are you talking about?”
Smirking, Miranda gathered her bag and replied, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She dropped a parting shot on her way out of the car. “You’ll have to wait till tomorrow. Roy will be at your apartment at 6:45.” Then she slammed the door in Andy’s face.