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It happened so fast that there was nothing Andy could do. Roy pulled up outside the Elias-Clark building, Miranda stepped out on the passenger side and Andy, rather than waiting and sliding across, looked both ways and stepped out on the driver’s side. She saw the speeding cyclist in her peripheral vision as she was rounding the trunk, but by then it was already too late.
“Miranda —”
The lycra-clad cyclist knocked the editor down in a screech of tires and a flurry of swearwords before she could say more than that. The man was furious, claiming that Miranda had stepped out of nowhere, but Andy ignored him and Roy quickly scared him off with a few choice words. She was too focused on Miranda to care anyway—she’d heard the sickening crack of the other woman’s head against the pavement, and the bike had been going more than fast enough to do some serious damage.
Outwardly, Miranda seemed okay—by the time Andy reached her side she was sitting up and casting a scornful glare at the departing figure of the reckless cyclist, and she wasn’t in any obvious pain. Still, Andy was concerned enough to break one of Emily’s many rules.
“Miranda, are you alright? Did you hit your head?”
“Stop hovering Andrea,” Miranda snapped, “For goodness sake, I’m not made of glass.”
Andy took a small step backwards at the typically sharp response, though she couldn’t help but notice that Miranda hadn’t actually answered either question. When the editor made to stand, Andy unthinkingly extended a hand to help her up, compounding her first error of asking questions. Miranda gave her such a withering look she almost retracted it immediately, but then she actually took the offered assistance, her hand soft and delicate in Andy’s as she used her for balance. Andy wasn’t sure whether to take that as a warning sign, or simply an acknowledgement of the difficulty of standing from the floor gracefully whilst wearing four-inch heels, but either way it was another rule broken.
Despite her protests, Miranda was clearly more dazed than she was letting on—it was subtle, only visible if you knew how to read her and were close enough to do so, but there was a moment when she first regained her feet when she glanced back at the town car behind her as if she wasn’t quite sure whether they’d been coming or going. Andy knew she was going to have to handle this delicately.
“Good thing the samples are still in the trunk,” she ventured, “or that idiot might have damaged them.”
“Well, hurry up and get them,” Miranda said, facing Elias-Clark with a little more purpose. “I don’t have all day.”
Andy hurried to collect Holt’s latest offerings, sharing a worried look with Roy as she did so. The driver was standing awkwardly by his door, obviously unwilling to leave, but there wasn’t much he could do against Miranda’s wishes. He did raise a hand meaningfully to the back of his head, however, and Andy nodded—she didn’t need any more prompting to keep a close eye on the older woman.
Miranda hadn’t moved, but as soon as Andy appeared at her elbow she took off towards the revolving doors—just a little slower, perhaps, than her usual pace, but not enough to be obvious to the onlookers still milling around. When they reached the elevators, Miranda didn’t even look at Andy as she pressed the door close button—some things at least didn’t change, and it gave Andy time to consider her next moves carefully as she waited for another elevator.
She was fairly certain that Miranda had at least a mild concussion, but getting her to admit that, let alone actually take the time to recover, was going to be all but impossible. Fortunately, she didn’t have any more meetings scheduled for the day, and it was a Friday so she at least had a couple of days to rest if she would only take them, but there was still a run-through in the afternoon which might pose a problem.
When she made it to the Runway offices, Miranda was nowhere to be seen, but her coat and bag were safely on Andy’s desk and Emily looked rattled. Once Andy had put everything where it belonged, the redhead beckoned her over with a furtive glance towards the office.
“What the hell happened? I’ve never seen her like that, it was—freaky,” she hissed.
Emily wasn’t wrong, and she’d need her help if she was going to get Miranda through the rest of the day without any more mishaps.
“The Holt show was okay, a couple of pursed lips but nothing catastrophic,” Andy explained in a low voice. “It was when we got back here, she stepped out of the car and some asshole on a bike pretty much ran her down.”
“You’re kidding?!” Emily explained, looking incensed—Andy couldn’t help but wonder what she’d have done to the guy if she’d been there. “Bloody hell, is she…?” Emily asked in a whisper, the thought of the larger-than-life editor having something so humane as a mild injury obviously disturbing to her.
“I’m pretty sure she’s got a concussion. She didn’t lose consciousness or anything, and she’s obviously walking and talking fine so it’s probably mild, but she should really be at home resting.”
“Did you… tell her that?”
“Of course not, I’m not crazy!” Andy said. She might have gotten away with crossing a couple of lines already, but she still wanted to have a job at the end of the day, thank you very much.
“Well… what should we do?” Emily asked, looking nervously towards the office again.
Andy gaped at the first assistant in surprise—Emily had never once seemed to value Andy’s opinion on their job, their boss, or indeed anything else, and she’d picked a hell of a time to start. “You’re asking me? I was hoping you would know, you’re the first assistant!”
Emily sniffed but had the good grace to look a little embarrassed. “Don’t get me wrong, you still don’t know your Gucci from your Givenchy and you couldn’t do my job in a million years, but—well, maybe there are a few things you’re better at. You know how to talk to her, and—you know, you get away with things I couldn’t.”
The Brit seemed almost insecure, and more than a little defensive, and Andy felt a small surge of pity—Emily hadn’t made it easy to get along with her, but she knew how much working for Miranda meant to her. “I’m sure you’re right that I couldn’t do your job, Em, so you’d better not be planning to go anywhere. As for talking to her, you could do that too, you know. Maybe—maybe just like I had to learn about Miranda Priestly the icon when I first got here, you have to try and remember that she’s still just a woman, okay?”
Emily scoffed. “Just a woman? Tell that to your face, Sachs, we’ve all seen the way you look at her.”
“What?! I don’t—that’s crazy—” Andy spluttered, her face burning. Why would the redhead say something so obviously ridiculous, especially when she’d just been trying to be nice? “That’s—we need to focus on Miranda, okay?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem for you,” Emily smirked, her confidence apparently restored by the effect she’d had on Andy.
For her part, Andy decided to ignore the needling in favour of working out what to do with Miranda. “Look, I’ve had a concussion myself. You’re not meant to do anything that needs a lot of focus or concentration—reading, looking at screens, that sort of thing.”
“How exactly is she meant to do her job without doing any of that?” Emily argued.
“She can’t, that’s the point! Em, she really should be at home resting.”
“Maybe you’re right, but there’s the run-through—”
“ If I can get Miranda out of the office, can you handle things here and do the run-through with Nigel?” Andy asked.
“Of course I can,” Emily said, insulted that Andy even had to ask. “But… how are you going to get her to leave in the first place? She’s not just going to agree to go, and then there’s still the book—”
“Leave that to me to worry about,” Andy said reassuringly, though she was asking herself the same question. “As for the book, I’m hoping that if I can get her back to the townhouse and persuade her to rest for a while, she’ll forget about it.”
“… right,” Emily said dubiously.
“If I have to, I’ll deliver it on Sunday. That should give her time to recover a bit, then still go over it.”
“Assuming you haven’t been fired by then.”
“Assuming that, yes. Who knows, maybe if she does fire me she’ll have forgotten all about it by Monday,” Andy said, trying to sound confident. “And if she remembers, you have my blessing to pretend this was all my idea.”
“It is all your idea,” Emily sniped, then she added in a slightly more sympathetic tone, “If you can manage your part, Nigel and I will be fine here. He knows what she likes well enough to at least push things in the right direction ready for a proper run-through on Monday.”
“So do you, Em.”
Emily looked pleased by the compliment, though she didn’t acknowledge it. “What are you going to do, then?”
Andy shrugged. “I’ll go in, talk to her, play it by ear. Depending on how she’s feeling, I might not have to do anything.”
Emily didn’t look like she believe that any more than Andy did, but she didn’t call her out on it. “Good luck.”
Andy nodded, took a deep breath, and made her way into Miranda’s office. The woman didn’t seem to hear her come in—her eyes were closed and she was frowning slightly, one hand all but propping her head up on the otherwise empty desk. She was clearly suffering, and Andy wondered how long she would have stayed sat like that if she and Emily had decided to leave her alone.
“Miranda,” she said softly, trying not to startle her.
Miranda opened her eyes and immediately winced, but made an effort to sit up straight. Andy struggled to keep a sympathetic grimace off her face and decided a straightforward approach might be best.
“Miranda, you need to go home.”
“Why?” Miranda asked a little sluggishly, eyes widening as a thought occurred to her. “Is it the girls, are they—”
“They’re fine, Miranda, you’re the one I’m worried about,” Andy interrupted, not wanting her to worry. “You need to rest—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Miranda said dismissively, though it lacked any real heat. “You have a job to do, go and do it. That’s all.”
Andy knew she was treading on thin ice, but she wasn’t going to be deterred so easily. “This is my job, Miranda. You’re not well, you—”
“I am fine,” Miranda snapped. “The only thing wrong with me is you, you’re making my head hurt—”
“Actually, that would be the concussion you have,” Andy argued.
“I don’t have a concussion.” The older woman said stubbornly.
“Yes, you do. You hit your head when that cyclist knocked you down earlier, do you remember?”
“Of course I remember.”
“You know if you don’t rest properly, this headache could last for weeks,” Andy said matter-of-factly, tying a different tact. “You’ve got a meeting with the board next week, not to mention the girls’ recital—do you really want to sit through either feeling the way you do right now?”
“Don’t presume to know how I’m feeling.” Miranda glared half-heartedly. “I can’t just leave, I have things to do here.”
She sounded just uncertain enough that Andy decided to throw caution to the wind and press the advantage. “What things?”
“I pay you to manage my calendar, don't I?” Miranda said snippily, avoiding the question.
“You do, and I’m telling you there is nothing you need to be here for,” Andy replied with her best poker face. This was the bit that might come back to bite her, but if it got Miranda out of the office…
Miranda hesitated, not quite convinced, but then the phone rang and she visibly flinched at the sudden noise. Andy could tell she’d won when the other woman raised a pained hand to her temple.
“Call Roy, let me know when he’s out front” she muttered. Andy had fired off a text before she’d finished speaking, and the driver responded almost immediately—he must have been waiting to hear from her.
“He’ll be downstairs in five minutes.”
Miranda simply nodded, and Andy quietly left the office—Miranda could easily get defensive if she seemed too attentive, and she needed to let Emily know what was happening.
“So?” the redhead stage-whispered as soon as she emerged.
“We’re leaving, Roy’s on his way,” Andy confirmed.
“ We? Does she know you’re going with her?” Emily asked, her eyebrows shooting up.
“Not yet.” Andy glanced furtively over her shoulder. “She shouldn’t be alone though, and you know she won’t tell Cara if it’s down to her.”
“How exactly do you plan to get away with babysitting Miranda Priestly in her own home?” Emily hissed. “Be reasonable, Sachs.”
“I don’t know, I’ll just—I’ll take my notebook and act like I assumed she’d want me there to keep working.”
Emily looked torn between being horrified and reluctantly impressed. “You realise she’s just going to leave you here, don’t you? By the time you get down to the lobby—” Emily cut herself off, eyes widening slightly, and Andy knew the five minutes were up.
Just as she’d expected, Miranda was standing in the doorway behind her, looking pale but more herself than she had in her office. She looked impatient, but Andy couldn’t tell whether they’d been overheard or not. She collected Miranda’s coat and bag as quickly as she could, not wanting to keep her waiting, but she knew Emily was right. She didn’t want to involve Roy in her deception by asking him to wait for her, even if it was at best a white lie and entirely for Miranda’s own good, but the editor wouldn’t hang around—if she had to take the next elevator down, she’d be too late. Andy could see only one solution—she just had to time it right, and hope Emily wouldn’t have a fit.
She handed Miranda her belongings and surreptitiously collected her own bag and jacket, biding her time as Miranda pressed the call button. The elevator arrived, Miranda stepped in, and—just as the doors began to close, Andy jumped in after her. She turned just in time to see the look of dismay on Emily’s face before she was lost from view.
She chanced a glance at Miranda and found pursed lips, a sure sign of displeasure, but to her surprise, the older woman didn’t say anything at all—not during the ride down from the seventeenth floor, not as Andy followed her closely through the lobby, not even when she slid into the town car beside her. Even then, Miranda stayed silent, her head tipping back against the seat and her eyes slipping shut in the relative quiet and privacy of the vehicle. After a brief hesitation, Andy caught Roy’s eye in the mirror and mouthed at him to take them to the townhouse. She had no idea how she was getting away with any of this or how it would last, but she definitely wasn’t going to question it too closely.
Miranda took long enough to stir when they pulled up outside the brownstone that Andy began to think she might have to nudge her back to wakefulness, but eventually she collected herself and stepped out wordlessly. Andy made to follow but paused when Roy cleared his throat.
“Good job, Andy.” She sent him a smile which was more of a grimace, and he continued “You take care of her, and let me know if you need me later.”
She nodded, grateful for his support, and followed Miranda inside, catching up to her in the hallway just as Cara emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel and looking surprised to see anyone so early.
“We’ll be working from here for the rest of the day,” Miranda stated, making no mention of why.
Cara took the lack of explanation in her stride. “I’ll bring up some water and coffee in a few minutes.”
Miranda nodded and headed for the stairs. Andy, unsure of how long she’d be allowed to stay, wanted to hang back and inform the housekeeper of Miranda’s concussion, but an impatient look made it clear that would not be tolerated.
When they reached Miranda’s home office the editor took a seat behind her desk, though she looked a little at a loss for what to do without the book there to review. Andy perched uneasily on the sofa, making a show of taking out her work mobile and looking busy. She sent an update to Emily then went through her emails checking for anything urgent. She realised almost immediately that there wasn’t really all that much she could do from the townhouse, but she didn’t plan on letting Miranda know that if she could help it.
As promised, Cara arrived with a tray of drinks a few minutes later. Andy excused herself to use the bathroom when she entered, hoping that Miranda might be willing to mention her injury if it was just the two of them—she wouldn’t bet on it, but it was worth a shot. She returned with the aspirin she’d found in the medicine cabinet to the sight of Miranda slumped uncomfortably in her desk chair, eyes once again screwed shut against the light.
“Here,” Andy said softly, placing the painkillers next to her bottled water. “Maybe you’d be more comfortable on the couch?”
“We are supposed to be working, you know,” Miranda grouched. Andy had to hide a smile—the woman’s infamous bad temper was almost cute when you could tell she didn’t really mean it.
“I’m supposed to be working”—she waved her phone for emphasis—“you’re supposed to be resting.”
Miranda scowled, swallowed two tablets with a sip of water, and switched on her computer with a belligerent jab.
“Hey!” Andy exclaimed in alarm. “You’re meant to avoid screens, you know! Concussion 101.”
Miranda sighed in exasperation and logged in even as she squinted against the glare. Andy stood without quite knowing what she meant to do, but to her surprise Miranda rose as well and gestured impatiently towards the seat. It took her a moment to catch on, and it wasn’t without some trepidation that she sat in the surprisingly comfortable leather chair.
“What… what am I doing?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound as nervous as she suddenly felt. Miranda was standing so close she smell that subtle signature scent and imagine she felt her warmth behind her, and it was making something in her stomach turn somersaults.
“There’s an article I’m supposed to be reviewing, it’ll be in my e-mails.”
Andy suppressed a sigh—she should have known Miranda wouldn’t be content to actually put her feet up, even metaphorically. “You want it printed out?”
“I want you to find it.”
Andy obediently opened the e-mail client and immediately ran into a problem. “Umm…”
“What?” Miranda asked waspishly.
“Nothing, I—I guess I just expected, you know, inbox zero.” The unread icon flashed an intimidating 236.
“You try keeping up with that,” Miranda muttered—even as she said it, three new messages slotted in at the top of the list.
“Well,” Andy cleared her throat, “who’s this article from?”
Her cursor hovered expectantly over the search bar, but there was a long pause before Miranda replied. “I don’t… I don’t remember.”
She sounded a little troubled by the realisation, but Andy wasn’t sure she’d appreciate any attempts to reassure her. Instead, she focused on sounding unconcerned as she replied “No problem, I can just have a look for it if that’s okay? I’m sure it won’t take long.”
“Go ahead, it was—it came in a few days ago I think, but I’m not sure I flagged it.”
Andy nodded and tried not to let the sense of Miranda looking over her shoulder distract her as she tried a few different search terms, figuring that would be quicker than scrolling through the ever-growing pile of unread emails. Eventually, she found something that looked promising. “True to Type, an interview with Katherine Weymouth at the Washington Post?”
Miranda leaned closer to check, one hand absent-mindedly coming down on Andy’s shoulder for balance. She’d probably, definitely, been aiming for the back of the chair instead, but—Andy still froze, not daring to even breathe.
“That’s the one.”
Andy opened the attachment and skimmed the opening. “I can’t wait to read this,” she said without really thinking as she prepared to print the article.
Miranda finally moved away, heading towards the couch. “That would be the logical first step, yes. It needs copy and line edits.”
“I—wait, you want me to edit it?”
“You did list editor on your resume, didn’t you?” Miranda turned with a raised eyebrow.
“Well—yeah, at Northwestern, but—”
“Oh, relax, I’ll go over it myself later, but if you’re going to insist on playing nursemaid you might as well make a start on it.” Andy blushed and didn’t reply. “Of course, if you don’t feel up to the task—”
“No, no I can do it!” she said, finally finding her voice. “Can I look at the edits you make later, just—as a learning exercise?” Miranda looked surprised for a brief instant, then amused. “I mean—never mind. I guess I’ll see them in the issue, anyway.”
“Use the green pen,” Miranda instructed, ignoring Andy’s rambling. She sat on the couch with a soft sigh, water close at hand; Andy didn’t think she’d ever seen her leave a coffee entirely untouched before, a sure sign that her head was still troubling her.
At first, Miranda didn’t seem to know what to do with herself—she wasn’t one to sit idly by, especially not with someone else in the room working, and she looked about as far from relaxed as it was possible to be whilst sitting on what was a surprisingly comfortable couch. However, as Andy set about the unexpected task (in Miranda’s chair, using Miranda’s pen, albeit not the red one), the tension in her shoulders seemed to fade and it wasn’t long before her eyes slipped shut again and she was reclining languidly against the soft leather. Andy could admit privately that under different circumstances she might have found the sight incredibly distracting, but she quickly became engrossed in the article before her; not only was it a genuinely interesting article and the first editing she’d gotten to do in quite a while, but Miranda would be looking over her work when it was done—she didn’t need any more motivation than that.
After her first pass through the text, she looked up to check on Miranda and found her stretched out on the sofa, fast asleep—and snoring, faintly but undeniably. It was utterly adorable, a secret Andy knew she’d take to the grave, and if she watched the older woman sleep for a few moments longer than was strictly polite, well—she was only human. A couple more hours passed and Andy had finished her edits and returned to her own busy e-mail inbox when she heard the distant slam of the front door. She could think of only two people who would dare slam such a door, and she cleared her throat, gently, then a little louder, hoping to wake Miranda without embarrassing her. No response.
“Miranda,” she said softly. Nothing. She took a deep breath. “Miranda—”
The editor startled with a disoriented grunt which absolutely delighted Andy, though she knew she’d earn herself a shallow grave if she ever acknowledged it.
“I, I think I just heard the girls get home,” she explained.
Miranda sat up slowly, casting a surprised look at the clock as she tried to straighten her mussed hair. Andy could tell she was embarrassed, and she focused on keeping her head down and looking busy. She didn’t have to keep the act up long—Cara clearly let the twins know their mom was home, because almost immediately they could be heard charging up the stairs. Miranda sighed at the boisterous behaviour—Andy knew the twins well enough by now to know she’d been fighting, and losing, that particular battle for a while.
The redheads skidded to a halt just outside the door, their gaze going automatically to the desk and finding only Andy. She tipped her head towards the couch with a small smile, and they took it as an invitation to hurl themselves down on either side of Miranda.
“Hi, mom—”
“Cara said you’ve been here all afternoon—”
“—hi, Andy—”
“—why’s Andy here?”
“—why are you home so early?”
“Bobbseys, please—” Andy could see Miranda hiding a slight wince at the onslaught even after the painkillers and nap. “Slow down, and say hello properly.”
The twins sighed, but didn’t argue. “Hello, mother,” they said in unison and with exaggerated formality.
Andy had to bite her lip to prevent a laugh, but one escaped anyway when they turned to her and said, perfectly mimicking Miranda’s pronunciation, “Hello, Ahn-drey-ah.”
“Hello, Priestlys junior,” she replied, matching their tone.
Miranda was watching with a look of exasperated fondness which made Andy’s heart skip a beat, and she was sure she was blushing as the girls looked back at Miranda expectantly.
“We’ve been working from here this afternoon, because—” Miranda hesitated.
“Are you not feeling well?” Caroline asked, always the more perceptively.
“Well…” Miranda might have been willing to fudge the truth, but she wouldn’t tell an outright lie to her daughters. “Actually, I did hit my head earlier, so I’ve had a bit of a headache.”
“What did you hit your head on?” Cassidy asked curiously.
Miranda sighed through her nose but answered honestly. “The pavement—a cyclist knocked me over.”
“That could be serious, mom, you could have one of those things—”
“—yeah, we learnt about them in a first aid thing at school, what are they called—”
“—con something, I think?”
“… a concussion?” Miranda suggested, shooting a narrow-eyed look in Andy’s direction.
“Yeah! Mom, maybe you should see a doctor just in case,” Caroline said anxiously.
“I’m fine, bobbsey, I promise. I may have a mild concussion, but Andrea has been looking after me and she’s been very vigilant.”
Three identical pairs of blue eyes turned her way, and Andy gave a small wave. “If I’d known you two were such experts I might not have bothered,” she joked. The twins grinned proudly, and she was sure the remainder of her headache was the only thing that kept Miranda from rolling her eyes.
“Now, you two go and put your school bags away, Andrea and I just have a few more things to go over,” Miranda said dropping a soft kiss on each forehead. They didn’t argue, leaving at a much more sedate pace than they’d arrived at, but paused at the door for just a moment.
“Bye, Andy,” Caroline stage-whispered.
“See you later,” Cassidy added.
“Bye guys,” she replied with a grin, deciding to ignore Miranda’s curious look at the interaction.
“How’s the article?” the editor asked after a moment.
“Not bad—it’s a fascinating interview, I’ve just streamlined it a bit and emphasised the impact Katherine’s made at the Post.”
“Mmhmm, we’ll see,” Miranda said, though not dismissively. “You’re finished with it?” Andy nodded, tapping the pile of papers beside her. “I’ll look at it later.”
Hopefully later meant tomorrow or, better yet, Sunday, but Andy knew better than to say that; Miranda had been surprisingly cooperative, if only because she’d been asleep for the better part of the afternoon, but she wasn’t looking to push her luck quite to breaking point.
“How long were you planning on sticking around now that the excuse of work has run out?”
Andy smiled at the deadpan question, not bothering to deny anything. “You know, I’d still be at the office if I weren’t here, right? That excuse still has legs.” Miranda narrowed her eyes. “I’ll wait until Mr Tomlinson gets home, then I’ll get out of your hair.”
A dark look crossed Miranda’s face at the mention of Stephen, and Andy wondered whether she’d missed something.
“You needn’t bother, Stephen will be a while yet.”
“It’s fine, Miranda, really—I’ll wait,” Andy tried to reassure her.
“No, I think it’s time for you to go.”
Miranda definitely sounded cold now, and Andy couldn’t tell whether the whiplash change in her mood was down to the concussion or simply her own mercurial nature. Either way, it was pretty obvious that Stephen wasn’t likely to be showing up soon, let alone in the mood to monitor Miranda’s condition.
“I disagree,” Andy said slowly.
“I don’t want you here,” Miranda scowled—this wasn’t her usual, highly controlled, anger, but something else, something she wouldn’t normally show: a wounded animal, lashing out. “You’ll leave eventually, so why not now?”
“I’m not—” she was used to dealing with icy looks and carefully-calculated words from Miranda, but she didn’t know how to deal with this. “I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here alone.”
“I’m not alone,” Miranda spat, jerking to her feet.
Andy stood up as well, an irrational part of her glad for the solidity of the wooden desk between them. “I know you’re not, but you need someone around to keep an eye on your symptoms in case they get worse and it shouldn’t be down to the girls.”
Miranda took a deep breath and for a moment Andy was sure she’d made a huge misstep mentioning them, but the air left Miranda’s lungs in a ragged sigh. Her gaze fell to the carpet at her feet and she suddenly looked quite small and ashamed. “I don’t know when or—or if Stephen will be here.”
“I’ll stay as long as I need to,” Andy said softly, taking care not to show anything that might be taken for pity.
“Don’t you have a boyfriend of your own to be getting back to?”
“He won’t even notice I’m gone.” She must have sounded more bitter than she’d meant to because Miranda frowned. “I mean, he’s working a late shift anyway. Besides—I don’t need his permission to care for you.”
Miranda looked a little bewildered by that, but after a few slow breaths she straightened and seemed to return to something closer to her usual self. “I suppose if you insist on staying, you’ll want feeding?”
She honestly hadn’t even thought about it, but… “Everything Cara cooks smells so good.”
The editor smiled faintly. “I’ll let her know you’ll be staying. You can stay up here if you want, or—”
“I’ve got a few more e-mails to deal with, then I’ll come downstairs.”
Miranda nodded and left to find the housekeeper, and Andy made a quick call to Emily. The first assistant sounded reasonably calm despite the circumstances, and was relieved to hear that Miranda was okay. She also stated that the run-through had been close to disastrous and it was in everyone’s best interest, Miranda included, that the editor hadn’t been there to see it—apparently, she and Nigel had spared no criticism and expected it to be much improved by Tuesday morning.
“I told you you could do it, Em—just don’t let the power go to your head just yet,” Andy laughed. “Listen, I’ll swing by the office tomorrow for the book and collect the dry cleaning as well, so you might as well call it a day.”
Emily protested, but only half-heartedly: she’d gotten used to having free evenings since it was no longer her responsibility to deliver the book, and Andy suspected she had plans with Serena. She hung up with a promise to see her on Monday (she was fairly sure by now that she’d be keeping her job at least that long), then debated calling Nate. She decided against it with only a sliver of guilt—it would only cause an argument, and there were still a few hours to go before he’d be expecting her.
Instead, she made her way downstairs and quickly located the Priestlys in the kitchen—the girls were sat at the breakfast bar swinging their legs as they talked about their day, barely pausing to let Miranda get a word in edgewise. Andy let herself watch for just a moment—it was rare to see the older woman like this, soft and relaxed as she focused on her daughters—then sidled up to Cara.
“Anything I can do to help?” she asked quietly.
Cara gave her a surprisingly stern look. “Not in my kitchen, no. You’ve done your job, now sit down and let me do mine.”
Andy backed away sheepishly, not sure what to do with herself—she didn’t want to intrude on family time more than she already was. Miranda caught her eye with an amused look, though, and nodded her over, and from there it was easy to let the twins’ non-stop chatter carry her through a delicious dinner. It was surprising how welcome she felt in the warm domesticity of the scene, and she felt keenly the privilege of being allowed to not only see this side of Miranda, but to be invited to participate.
After eating, she let the girls drag her upstairs to the den, a cosy and clearly well-used room she’d never been in before. She tried not to let the family photos dotted around distract her—the eleven-year-olds had fallen quiet after asking their mom whether she needed Andy for any ‘work stuff’ (that had earned her a narrow-eyed look from Miranda), and she could tell there was something they wanted to say.
“Andy, is mom really okay?” Cassidy asked quietly. Andy wondered whether it was something about Miranda’s behaviour which had them worried, or just the fact that she was still at the townhouse.
“Yeah, she is,” Andy said confidently. “She might have a bit of a headache and feel a little tired for a few days, but she’ll be good as new in no time.”
“Are you sure?” Caroline piped up.
“Absolutely—I’ve been with her all day and keeping a close eye on her, you know that.” She leaned forward reassuringly, making eye contact with each of the girls in turn. “If I’d been worried, I’d have found a way to get her to the hospital for a proper check-up, okay?”
“Yeah,” Cassidy said, looking relieved.
“Thanks for staying, Andy. I know you didn’t really have a choice—”
“Hey hey, are you not listening? Your mom didn’t force me to be here—in fact, I didn’t really give her a choice. I practically forced her out of the office then stowed away in the car so she couldn’t get rid of me.”
The girls giggled, though Caroline raised an eyebrow sceptically in an uncanny impression of Miranda. “Really?”
“Well, maybe it wasn’t quite that dramatic,” Andy allowed. “I am happy to be here, though.”
“Okay. Thanks anyway, though.”
“Yeah—no way Emily would do this, she doesn’t care enough.”
“She does too,” Andy corrected. “She just gets nervous because apparently your mom is some sort of bigshot in the fashion industry? You know I don’t really—”
“Andy—”
“—don’t really know much about all that fashion stuff—”
“—Andy, stooop!”
The girls were both laughing properly now, their anxieties soothed and hopefully forgotten.
“You must know some stuff by now,” Cassidy argued after catching her breath.
“I know we’re not supposed to say stuff, you’d better not get me in trouble for that,” Andy teased. “Seriously though, Emily does care. She helped me pull this off, she and Nigel stayed at the office to keep everything running smoothly so your mom didn’t have to worry about it.”
“You could do the office though, bet she couldn’t do this,” Caroline pointed out astutely.
“Maybe not, she might have had a breakdown. Still, she is much better at anything fashion-related than I am—that’s why we make such a good team, even if she won’t admit it. I manage your mom, and she manages everything else. I wouldn’t do nearly as good a job with the run-through as she did—”
“Run-through?” Miranda said frostily from the doorway, and Andy couldn’t hide a grimace. The girls’ smiles faded, and she sent them what she hoped was a reassuring wink before following the editor out into the hallway.
“Miranda—”
“You lied to me. You said my afternoon was clear.” Miranda was clearly upset, but perhaps not quite as much as Andy had expected she would be.
“I didn’t lie, I said there wasn’t anything you needed to be in the office for,” Andy justified. “The run-through wasn’t urgent and Nigel and Emily handled it just fine. They said it wasn’t good enough anyway, they’ve cut out the rubbish and pencilled in another run-through for Tuesday morning which should be much higher quality.” Miranda took a breath, but Andy wasn’t done. “Plus, Nigel already sent photos with comments, I printed them and put them with the article. You can review them and the book on Sunday without being behind at all.”
Miranda narrowed her eyes. “Am I to take it that the book won’t be making an appearance tonight?”
“I’ll deliver it, and the dry-cleaning, by lunchtime tomorrow,” Andy said stubbornly. She couldn’t control how Miranda spent her weekend, but she wasn’t budging on at least one full night of rest.
“Where do you get off handling me like that?” Miranda asked, stupefied.
Andy swallowed hard and made a valiant effort to ignore the phrasing of that question. “It’s my job to make things easier for you, and if you don’t take at least a bit of time to recover properly from a concussion the side effects can drag on for ages. I know that first hand, I got one and tried to ignore it and it was weeks before I could focus without a splitting headache.”
“… you must have known I’d find out eventually. You realise I’ve fired people for less.” Andy nodded. “But you did it anyway.”
She didn’t reply—she didn’t have an explanation for that, at least not one that Miranda would accept.
“I…” Miranda sighed, rolling her eyes. “I appreciate the concern, given the circumstances. We will not discuss this further, but if you take such liberties again…”
Andy raised three fingers in a wordless salute, considering herself lucky to escape with a mere warning.
“Cute,” Miranda said dryly. “Now, I…” she hesitated, looking faintly embarrassed. “I realise the hypocrisy of asking this at all, and of course I’m not asking as your employer so you’re under no obligation whatsoever to agree, but—I’d feel better knowing there’s another adult in the house with the girls, just in case. Would you be willing to stay?”
“Sure,” she agreed easily.
“You… understand I mean overnight, yes?” Miranda eyed her warily. “You can take a while to think about it—”
“No, it’s okay. I’d feel better as well—I’d probably do something stupid like call at 2am to check on you, anyway.” Maybe she shouldn’t have admitted that.
“You’re not going to insist on waking me up every hour are you?” Miranda asked, alarmed.
“No, no—that’s not actually necessary for something mild like this, and sleep is the most important thing for recovery. You never lost consciousness, your symptoms are already much better, you’re going to be fine, but—it is recommended to have someone else around. Like you said, just in case.”
“Good.” Miranda sounded relieved. “You’re sure your”—she waved her fingers—“fry-cook won’t mind?”
Andy wrinkled her nose instinctively: Nate would definitely, for sure, mind, but that wasn’t going to change her answer. She’d text him, then maybe turn her phone off—Nate was a problem she could deal with tomorrow. “It’ll be fine.”
Miranda clearly didn’t believe her. “I don’t want to cause an argument between you two.”
“If he wants to start one, that’s on him—don’t worry about it, Miranda. I’ll stay.”
The older woman nodded slowly, a curious look in her eye as if she was re-appraising something about Andy. “Alright. I’ll make up a guest room for you, we should have everything you’ll need. Thank you, Andrea.”
Andy made her way into the office on Monday morning with a certain amount of apprehension. It wasn’t that she expected Miranda to have suddenly decided to fire her, but she was still anticipating a degree of awkwardness—certainly more on her part than on Miranda’s, but the fact remained that this wasn’t just any Monday morning. She’d had dinner with the Priestlys, played mario kart with them, spent the night and left behind borrowed laundry and a used toothbrush—she’d even eaten breakfast with Miranda, just the two of them sitting quietly in the kitchen.
The woman had seemed to be feeling much better, and to be determined to follow through on her decision not to discuss anything beyond the usual bounds of their professional relationship. She had, however, instructed Andy not to make the return trip with the book and dry-cleaning, claiming with a roll of her eyes that she was perfectly capable of running her own errands—and would do so, on Sunday. Andy had left with a spring in her step and a buoyant mood which even Nate’s churlish behaviour and baseless accusations couldn’t damage irreparably. Now, she just had to make sure she fell back into the role of second assistant without overstepping.
She needn’t have worried—Miranda strode in every inch the cool, collected fashion icon, dropping her coat and bag on Andy’s desk in a flurry and already relaying orders to Emily. Below the casually discarded belongings were a couple of sheets of printed type, annotated largely in green with a scattering of additions and amendments in red. Across the top was scrawled one word: acceptable.