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"You don't read Runway?" The older woman asked, glancing up at Andy over her glasses.
Andy fidgeted in front of Miranda Priestly's desk, still a bit in shock at how she'd ended up there. 2026 was not a good year for journalism. After graduating from Northwestern and moving to the city, Andy waitressed in between being rejected from every other job she applied to. It didn't help that newspapers were shuttering and nearly every magazine were quickly replacing writers with ai.
She had been called to Elias-Clarke by the temp agency only to find out that all the spots for the fall internship had ready been filled. Just when she thought it was another dead end, the woman at HR sent her up to Runway, where Miranda, newly promoted to Head of Global Content, was waiting to interview her for an assistant position.
"Not really, my doctor's office reading material of choice leans towards The New Yorker, but I admire your dedication to keeping the publication human made-"
"And you have no sense of fashion," said Miranda hot gaze flicking up and down Andy before turning back to Andy's resume on the desk before her.
"Well I think that depends on who you ask-"
"No, no, that wasn't a question," Miranda said. Andy flushed hot, bristling. Sure her clothes weren't designer, but she didn't look bad.
In contrast, Miranda looked immaculate. Not a single white hair was out of place- Andy had heard a rumor that she had her hairstylist cut it for her every morning- and her clothing looked elegant but not too showy. Unlike others at her age and in her industry, Miranda's face bore the lines of age, only making her look even more interesting.
Andy swallowed, "Look, I know I'm not the conventional choice, but I work hard and I learn fast and I think I could be a real benefit to you if you let me-"
"Miranda, Nigel's here for your ten o'clock," Miranda's stunningly beautiful assistant, Amari, said, leaning into the office. She gave Andy one departing glance ladened with disapproving judgment.
"That's all," said Miranda, waving Andy away.
"Alright," Andy tried not to deflate, adding, "Thank you for your time."
But an older bald man had already stepped in, leaning over to pass Miranda a mock up of a magazine cover, Andy's resume forgotten in the mess of papers on her desk.
"Who was that? Are you hiring a new dog walker?"
The dinner rush helped to take Andy's mind off of her latest in a long line of failures. She was sleeping on her friend Doug's couch, slowly spending all of her savings and barely making up to survive. If she didn't find something soon, she'd have to go back to Ohio, and that was the last thing she wanted.
"Order for table seven," said Nate, one of the chefs at the restaurant, winking at Andy as she put the plate on her tray. He'd been hinting at interest, and Andy was dreading the day he would finally get the courage to ask her out.
Waving through the crowded restaurant, Andy barely registered the faces of the wealthy patrons seated at each table, instead focused on her destination.
"Signature Filet Mignon," Andy said, setting the plate in front of the table's only occupant. "Careful, the plate is hot."
"Is there anything else I can get for you?" asked Andy, finally looking up. She froze in place, heart leaping into her throat. "Ms. Priestly, I didn't realize-"
Miranda Priestly raised an eyebrow, "Miranda will suffice."
"Miranda. Is there anything else I can get for you?" Andy clasped her hands behind her back, in an effort to maintain calm. "This might not be professional but can I just say thank you again for speaking with me today-"
"What time do you get off?"
Andy blinked, the words sounding totally foreign to her, "What?"
"What time are you finished-" Miranda gestured with her fork, "Here? Really, Andrea, if your aspirations are for journalism you must come up with something better that what."
"I don't get done until midnight," said Andy.
Miranda pursed her lips with displeasure, "Wait out front when you're done. My driver will pick you up."
"Is this about the assistant position?" Asked Andy, worrying her lip. She'd never heard of an interview ending with the boss picking them up from their old job at midnight.
"No," Miranda said shortly, "The position has been filled."
"I don't understand-"
"Miranda!" Murray, the restaurant manager, said from behind Andy, putting his hands on both her shoulders. Miranda's frown deepened. "Is there a problem here?"
"None at all," said Miranda, stabbing a piece of meat all without breaking eye contact with Andy.
For the rest of her shift, it was impossible to focus. Questions swirled in Andy's mind, distracting her, but that was not as distracting as the feeling of Miranda's sharp gaze following her around the dinning room. Miranda ate slowly, ordering another glass of wine, a dessert she only picked at, all so she could linger whilst Andy worked. Whenever Andy turned around, Miranda was watching her, bright blue eyes cutting through her.
By the time midnight came, Andy was exhausted, nervous, and ready to turn into a pumpkin. As she hung her apron up, Nate sidled up to her, grinning.
"Hey Andy, wanna walk to the subway together?" He asked, leaning against the wall beside her.
"I can't tonight," said Andy, "I have plans."
"Then I can walk you to that," Nate pressed, following her out.
At the curb idled at a fancy towncar with tinted windows, the driver, clad in a smart jacket, waited, then opened the door for Andy.
"Ms. Sachs," he said.
"Who is that?" Nate said.
Andy wished she had an answer, "I'll see you later."
The sounds of the city melted away as she slid into the car, driver closing the door behind her. Miranda was waiting, watching Andy buckle up with an unreadable expression.
"Your boyfriend didn't seem too happy to let you go," Miranda said once the car had pulled out.
"He only wishes he were my boyfriend," said Andy, suddenly embarrassed that Miranda had seen all that.
"And you?"
Andy furrowed her brow, but still managed a more intelligent, "Excuse me?"
"Do you wish he were your boyfriend?" Miranda asked.
"No," Andy said, "I don't think he's heard one word I've said to him in the past ten months we've worked together."
Miranda sat back, mollified by that answer, but why Andy didn't know.
"Look, if the position I interviewed for has been filled, then I don't understand what happening here," said Andy. "I've been on my feet all day and I really need to try to get some sleep before doing it all over again because no one wants to hire a journalist who's only written for their college newspaper- most people don't even read the news, they just scroll past it."
"That's quite a lot of cynicism in a twenty-one year old," commented Miranda.
"Twenty- two," Andy corrected, making Miranda scoff.
"My apologies," the older woman said, sarcastically. "And where is this bed you so desperately crave."
Andy blushed at but at that, imagining Miranda imagining her sleeping, "It's actually my friend's couch."
"Of course," Miranda finally turned from the window to pierce Andy with a knowing look. "And how long until you run out of time and funds and good will and have to run back to Indiana?"
"Ohio," said Andy.
Miranda chuckled, "Pardon me."
"If you're just here to rub it in my face that I didn't get the job, then you can let me out right here. I don't have to listen to this-" Andy's angry words died in her mouth as Miranda covered her hand, reaching for the door handle, with her own.
"I asked you here-"
"You didn't ask me-"
"-to offer you another option."
"Another job?" Said Andy.
"Not in the traditional sense. You see, my last husband divorced me four years ago, and this has been the longest stretch of time since I was your age that I've been… unattached. Attending social functions and required obligations alone has been draining, not to mention that my home has been alarmingly quiet," said Miranda. Her hand was soft and warm on top of Andy's, and Andy wasn't sure where to look, their joined hands or Miranda's deep blue gaze never wavering from Andy's own.
"At the time I thought I would enjoy it, but it has grown unpleasant," continued Miranda. "I require someone to fill that void. Someone intelligent and charming, who is able to carry on polite conversation and accompany me to social events. As well as… fill the space on weekends and holidays."
Andy didn't quite understand. She searched Miranda's features, trying to find the joke or clue or anything that would explain what she was talking about and how Andy fit into it.
"I go to these events and see plenty of my male peers with younger and younger wives, brainless pretty girls, who look attractive on their arms," she said, "And I thought, why not? Why can't I have that as well. They seem happy enough."
"You want a trophy wife?" Asked Andy.
"A crass way of putting it, but yes. You'd have a place to live, all your needs would be taken care of given you time to continue your idealistic search for truth and justice in journalism, and all I'd ask is that you'd accompany me to dinner when asked."
Miranda said this as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if every day, young women like Andy were picked off the street by publishing legends and offered to play house. She tried to ignore the jab at her chosen profession as well, but she couldn't keep the pout off her face.
"Or you could write a book," said Miranda, "I am well acquainted with those at Penguin Random House, and the New Yorker, now that I think of it."
"Hold on," Andy pulled her hand away, holding both hands up to stop Miranda. "You want me to marry you so I can come with you to parties?"
"What about my offer was not clear?"
"But why not just, like, date?" Andy asked.
"I don't do things halfway," Miranda said with a shrug. "There is something interesting about you Andrea, and I want to know more."
Andy's stomach flipped not uncomfortably and she felt heat flood her face. She'd said her last husband, and Andy did remember seeing many a paparazzi photo on tabloids at the grocery store featuring the many ex husbands of Miranda Priestly.
"Would this be… a totally platonic thing?" She asked. Surely Miranda was straight, right?
Andy's breath was knocked out of her lungs as she fell back to the bed, the skirt of her white dress- her wedding dress- hiked up to her waist. Miranda smirked down at her briefly, an expression Andy had learned in their three month relationship meant nothing but trouble, before climbing on top of her, pressing her to the bed as she pepped hot kisses against Andy's throat, hand slipping between her legs.
"Spread your legs for me Andrea," Miranda all but purred, pushing Andy's new designer underwear to the slide. She was already embarrassingly wet, something Miranda quickly discovered as she stroked her folds, parter her lower lips with two fingers.
"That's a good girl, I knew you'd make such a sweet little wife," said Miranda between kisses, stroking Andy's inner walls once, twice, theee times before adding another finger.
Andy trembled. They had done nothing but chastely kiss, all while Miranda had stared at her with open lust, eyes roving up and down Andy's body like she wanted to devour her. On the way to the courthouse Miranda had rested a hand on Andy's thigh, slowly creeping higher and higher until Andy was squirming.
Now she quickened her pace, fucking Andy with her fingers, curling them just so, hitting that place within her that made Andy see stars. Embarrassingly, Andy came quickly, flooding Miranda's palm with liquid.
Miranda's chuckle vibrated against her throat, "Mmm, aren't you easy to please?"
She didn't slow her pace, instead driving Andy quickly to the edge yet again, all while Andy sobbed with pleasure. Just before she orgasmed again, Andy imagined the gossip column headlines- Miranda Priestly's Controversially Young Wife! -and almost laughed.
It wasn't love, not yet, but Andy thought it could be be one day soon. It wasn't simply the connections Miranda had or the money, Andy liked the way Miranda said her name, Andrea, she liked talking to her, listening to her thoughts shaped by over seventy years of experience, and sometimes, Andy would catch Miranda watching her, a fond smile on her face.
"Yes," Miranda murmured as Andy trembled, clinging to her helplessly as she came again, "I think I picked quite well."