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“Andréa, since Emily has become an incubus of viral plague, you will accompany me tonight.” 

Andy exchanges looks with Emily, who shrugs while pressing a tissue to her nose. “Yes, Miranda.” 

“See Nigel about something to wear. I’m leaving in thirty minutes—Roy will drive you as well.” Miranda flicks her wrists and turns her attention back to her email.

Andy quickly nods and rushes off to the Closet. “Hey Nige, got a sec? Miranda wants me to go tonight instead because Em’s so sick. Got something for me?” 

“You bet your size six ass I do!” He chuckles and walks back into the racks, and she quietly follows. “I knew she’d ask you—don’t let yourself be fooled. This had nothing to do with Emily’s cold.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“She knows I’m not going this year, she’s no longer with Stephen—I just knew she’d pick you.” He wags his eyebrows.  

“Nige, c’mon.” Andy runs her fingers through her hair. “I’m not her date ! I’m her assistant.”

“And when have you ever seen her show up at the Benefit with her assistant? Hmm?” Trust your Uncle Nigel on these things, would ya, sweetie? She’s wearing Marchesa. You’re going to have to help her in and out of the car, maybe out of the dress.” He peers over his glasses and raises an eyebrow. “Maybe more.” 

Andy can’t hide her blush at the inappropriate thoughts suddenly seeping into her head. 

“I’ve been waiting for the day when I could dress you up in this little Chanel number.” Nigel says as he pulls out a long black gown and hands it to her. “Here, now you’ll need heels—how about these Jimmy Choos? And a bag—I’d put a Judith Lieber with this dress, but you might need to hold onto a few things for Miranda, so how about this delightful Fendi clutch with the handle? Hmm, lipstick—pirate, I think.” After handing her the accessories, he walks over to the beauty counter and plucks the Chanel lipstick from its spot. “You can keep this one—it’s Miranda’s favorite shade,” he adds with a suggestive tilt of his head. 

Andy opens her mouth as a blush reappears on her face. 

“It’s not right for her skin tone and hair anymore, but I know she’ll recognize it immediately.” 

“Um okay, thanks.” She takes the lipstick and balances the other accessories in her arms. “Can you go back to that ‘helping her with the dress’ part? What exactly do I have to do?” 

“She’ll tell you. I don’t want to spoil the surprise,” he says with a wink. “Just, I don’t know, go into it with an open mind.” He laughs and guides her out of the closet. “And remember, Six. She chose you , not Emily or anyone else. She trusts you. Have fun!” 

Andy walks back to her desk in a daze. Emily helps her take the accessories and put them in a tote so she can carry everything easier. 

“I didn’t even notice we had this Chanel,” Emily says, admiring the dress hanging next to Andy’s desk. “But then, I don’t look at anything above a size two—I would simply be drowning in it, of course.” 

Andy has her coat and bags and reaches for the dress. “Oh, of course , Em. It is pretty, though, isn’t it?” She smiles at her coworker. 

Emily sticks her chin out with an air of indifference. “It’s acceptable.” 

“Emily,” Miranda says quietly, standing just behind the woman. “I believe that’s my phone ringing.” 

Andy bites her lip while Emily squeaks and jumps back, profusely apologizing. 

“Andrea, come along.” 

Andy gives Emily a little apologetic wave as she hurries out the doors behind Miranda. 

The ride back to Miranda’s home is quiet, save for a few questions the editor has about the timing of her hair and makeup team. Once inside, Miranda shows Andy into the guest room across the hall from her master suite and asks her to change quickly in case her assistance is needed. She can’t get Nigel’s words out of her head, though. What’s the big deal about attending a fancy event with Miranda? She and Emily have been doing it for the past year. Sure, the woman is wearing an enormous dress tonight, one of the fullest, heaviest gowns Georgina has ever created, but she can't figure out why Nigel made such a point of saying how Miranda trusts her. 

She quickly dresses and reapplies her makeup. Nigel was right, of course. The Chanel “pirate” shade looks amazing on her lips. She plans to leave her hair down, but something doesn’t look right about it with this dress. She thinks maybe a slicked-back ponytail will be better, but before she can decide, the doorbell rings. She quickly runs downstairs to let Damian and Aliana, Miranda’s personal stylists, inside and show them up to Miranda’s room.

Meanwhile, Andy waits downstairs on one of those chairs in the foyer that she never sees anyone use. She picks up the New Yorker from its place on the table and browses the pages while she waits. 

“Andrea?” her voice calls from upstairs. 

“Coming!” she replies, running up the steps and into Miranda’s room. 

She’s seated in a chair in her bathroom, wearing a black cotton robe. Damian is applying hairspray to her perfectly coiffed hair. He starts packing up his things while Miranda turns in her direction. “Let me see what you look like,” she says, gesturing for Andy to turn around. 

“I didn’t know what to do with my hair. I thought maybe a slick ponytail would be better?” She shrugs. “I wanted to ask you first, since I can’t really undo it if I put the gel in.”

Miranda locks eyes with Damian and he gestures for Andy to sit in the other chair. Aliana finishes applying Miranda’s false eyelashes, then proceeds to apply powder highlighter in a few strategic places. Then, Miranda clutches her robe to her chest and carefully slides the shoulders down so Aliana can apply highlighter to her collarbones. Andy watches in the mirror, mesmerized by the way it shimmers against her porcelain skin. When she looks up, she locks eyes with Miranda and meets her gaze for a split second before turning to look straight ahead. 

A while later, Andy walks the others out, and she’s surprised to see Miranda coming down the stairs in her black robe, carrying her shoes and purse. 

“Come along, bring your things. It’s in the garage.” 

She has no clue what the woman is talking about but is not about to disobey a command tonight. When they walk down into the garage—which Andy didn’t even know existed—she sees Roy and another driver there with two different black cars, both larger than the S-class Mercedes Miranda usually preferred. In the other half of the garage, she sees several of the room dividers they often use for photoshoots at Runway . The dividers are set up to create a makeshift dressing room, and she can see the layers of deep plum silk and organza and tulle that make up Miranda’s Marchesa gown peeking out from behind.

Miranda hands her the shoes and clutch she was carrying, then waltzes over to the other side of the garage, behind the divider. 

Andy notices that Roy and the other driver both casually turn away, facing the opposite direction, but she is frozen. The way Miranda tosses her black robe up and over the divider wall is something straight out of Hollywood. “Do you need help with any of that?” Andy asks, cursing herself for not offering sooner. 

“Yes, the hook-and-eyes at the top.” 

After handing her things off to Roy, she walks back behind the screen and is relieved to see Miranda fully dressed but for two tiny fasteners at the top of the dress, beneath her arm. The woman raises her arm and watches as Andy reaches for the fabric, gently tugging it so she has enough slack to hook the closure. 

“Exhale, Miranda,” Andy says quietly.

“Oh.” She takes a deep breath, then exhales. 

And with that, Andy has just enough extra fabric to close the hooks completely. 

Miranda puts her arm down and straightens the dress out. “I didn’t realize I was holding my breath.” 

Andy nods and steps out of the makeshift room. She takes Miranda’s shoes and bends down. “This is a bit like Cinderella,” Andy says. 

Miranda chuckles. “And I’m, who? Anastasia or Drizella?” 

Andy finishes buckling the stiletto sandals on her feet and stands. “You’re obviously Cinderella because the shoe fits you perfectly. And you’re not ugly.” 

Miranda rolls her eyes. “I’ve been called nicer by Page Six .” She quickly walks past her and toward the car. 

“Wait! No,” she sighs. “They’re the ugly stepsisters. Besides the shoe size, that’s another reason you’re not like them. You’re—”

Miranda turns around. “ Not ugly , Andrea?” 

She shakes her head. “You’re beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.” Not wanting to spend any additional time on that topic, she changes the subject and Miranda looks relieved. “Why are there two cars—to arrive separately?”

“No. To see which one works best for getting in and out.” 

“Oh. Because the dress is so big and awkward?” 

Miranda smiles at her. “You’re not stupid .” 

Andy bites her lip to keep from laughing. “So, do I need to hold your dress as you get in?” 

“No.” Miranda starts to take a deep breath, but remembers that her dress and the corset she’s wearing underneath are too restrictive for that. “What I’m about to ask, Andrea, has no bearing on your employment whatsoever. It is a personal request which you may choose to decline without any consequence. Do you understand?” 

“Um, yeah. Yes. What is it?” 

“I need help out of the car. A push… to my backside.” 

“Of course, that’s not a problem.” 

 “Are you sure? It’s okay if you change your mind. I just don’t want any suggestions that I coerced my assistants to come out of this.” 

“Miranda, I would never…” Her voice trails off and she feels her mood dampen. Nigel made it seem like the editor actually liked her, but here, she’s just worried Andy will sue her for sexual harassment. 

“Okay. I thought so, I just had to ask. I’m trying to be more cognizant of these types of situations. I never want any of my employees to feel coerced or pressured into doing anything other than their jobs. It’s less clear with personal assistants, as you can imagine.”

Andy nods. If Miranda explains herself like that, she figures it has to be something that she is seriously nervous about. “So, how does this work?” 

“Trial and error. Every dress is different.” Miranda walks towards the sedan and sinks into the backseat. Her legs fly up and all that can be seen from the outside are her feet and a sea of plum-colored fabric. She calls Andy to come around the other side. The inside of this car is designed more like a small limousine, so there is open space in the middle, and another bench of seats behind the driver, facing backwards. 

Andy sits and takes in her surroundings. “Do you need help getting into the car as well?” 

“Perhaps. Give me a hand,” she says. 

Andy reaches out and helps pull her inside a little more so that she can turn and face forward, sitting normally.

“That was rather ungraceful, but usually at the end of the night, there’s no photographers allowed anywhere near the exit, so the chances of being caught in an unflattering photograph are slim. But we’ll play that by ear.” Miranda gestures for Roy to close the door. “Andrea, I’ll show you what happens if I try to get up without help. Pay attention. I’m not doing it twice.” 

She watches as Roy opens the door and Miranda carefully slides her leg out of the car, taking his arm for balance. As she goes to stand and plant her other foot on the ground, Andy sees the moment where the weight of the dress becomes too much and Roy’s grip is too gentle, and Miranda collapses back into the seat. After thinking about it for a few minutes, Andy says, “So, Roy can’t pull you out without obviously gripping your hand. And that would not photograph well and could even leave a mark.”

Miranda nods at Andy’s astute observation. 

“The dress is heavy and bulky, but it’s more the angle than the weight of the dress. Because you’re in stilettos, the seat of the car is just too low when you’re getting out. Your seat is below your knees.” 

Again, Miranda nods. 

“And you could use the other car, which is an SUV and higher off the ground, but you’re petite and I’m guessing your foot will not reach the ground when you step out.” 

“I am impressed,” Miranda says. 

Andy smiles. “So, why don’t you just use the SUV and get those little steps so you can walk down safely?” 

“I’m the Editor of Runway getting out of a car, not Cinderella emerging from a magical pumpkin carriage.” 

Andy brings her hand up to her face to hide her laugh. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” 

“Yes, so you see the problem?” 

Andy nods. “You need a little push, but not so much that it looks unnatural.” 

“Precisely. Do you mind if we try it with your help?” 

Again, Andy is stunned that Miranda is so nervous about this. There must be a very unflattering picture of her exiting a vehicle floating around somewhere. “Sure. I’m ready,” Andy says. 

Miranda again pulls the door shut, then taps on the glass to let Roy know he can open it. She takes his hand, and as she rises up, Andy’s hands are against her derriere supporting her. With a little push, she smoothly steps out. “I suppose you’ve always been a quick learner,” she says. “Do it just like that when we arrive.” 

Andy smiles. “Let me try and gather up some of this tulle so you can get in.” She carefully scoops up layers of the various fabrics in her arms and holds it up while Miranda slides back into the back seat. 

“If you told me that you had a degree in Fashion PR Engineering, I would have no choice but to believe you,” Miranda says. 

“Is that a major?” 

“No, I don’t believe so.” 

“Oh!” Andrea gasps, finally recognizing Miranda’s compliment. “Thank you. I’m just glad I can make things a little easier for you.” 

Roy interrupts to tell Miranda that they should leave because there’s reports of traffic forming near the venue. After securing the women in the back seat, Roy walks around front, gives Andy a wink, and starts the engine. 

When they arrive, Miranda looks over at her. “Ready? Just like before.” 

“I’m ready. And then I will let Roy drive me a bit farther up before I get out.” 

Miranda nods. The car comes to a stop, and Roy walks around, waiting for Miranda to tap on the window. She takes a deep breath, and taps on the glass. “Here we go,” she says. 

She steps out of the car with ease thanks to Andy’s assistance, and Roy quickly closes the door and drives up a few car lengths to let Andy out. 

When she gets out of the car, she leans into the front seat, which is separated from the backseat by a solid wall in this car. “Roy,” she says, “I want to be in the car before Miranda. I think I can help her better if I’m already back there.”

“Alright, Andy. I’ll keep an eye out for you. Enjoy yourself tonight, huh?”

“Will do. Thanks!” 

She quickly makes her way along the periphery to where Miranda is standing, talking with some celebrities and having loads of photos taken. She looks incredible, and Andy definitely isn’t the only one who notices. Everyone can see that the editor is glowing. 

Towards the end of the night, Miranda whispers to Andy that she’s ready to leave. Andy tells her she’s going to find Roy and will meet her at the car, then disappears. There are a few people lingering around the exit, but none of them appear to be photographers, which is a relief. In the backseat, Andy thinks it best if she kneels near the door so she can quickly pull all the layers of fabric inside the vehicle. 

When the door opens and Miranda sinks into the seat, Andy reaches for the dress and ends up groping the woman’s leg. Miranda gasps and kicks her legs.

“It’s me!” Andy whispers and Miranda stills. “I’m trying to get your dress inside!” She pulls the rest of the fabric inside and Miranda nods for Roy to shut the door. 

“Where are you?” Miranda gasps.  

“Down here. There’s a lot of dress.” 

“Will you get off the floor?” Miranda snaps. 

Andy giggles. “I’m trying, I swear. It’s so dark—I can’t see. Just a second.” 

Miranda shrieks as the girl’s hand strokes her thigh. “Andréa!”

“Sorry,” she says as she tries to move her hand. 

“Ohh!” Miranda’s hips jerk involuntarily off the seat. “Andréa! M-my— ohhh !”

Andy feels the woman’s legs on either side of her, and she can feel the heat radiating off the woman. She moves her hand up higher.

“Andréa,” she exhales, quite nearly moaning the name. “Wh-what are you d-doing to me?” 

Smelling the most arousing scent, Andy presses a kiss to the inside of her right thigh, then her left, then her right again. With each kiss, the woman’s hips jerk and she lets out a moan. The sounds and smells are dizzying. Andy brushes her fingertips across the lace panties and she’s surprised to find Miranda so wet.

“Oh god,” Miranda moans from above. “Andréa, please .” 

She softly moves her fingers up and down the woman’s thighs, her fingertips dancing dangerously close to her core. She gently blows towards the source of the heat. 

“Unngh!” she moans as her muscles clench. “ Fuck … Andréa!” she shouts. 

Andy chuckles and moves the piece of drenched fabric to the side. 

“No, off!” Miranda orders. 

She quickly removes the offending undergarment, then leans forward and drags her tongue through the woman’s slick folds. 

“Ohhh God! Andréa, Andréa, Andréa,” she cries.  

Andy leisurely laps at her juices while her fingers gently stroke inside. She feels the woman’s muscles tightening around her finger. Miranda certainly seemed pleased, if her cries were anything to go by.

She feels Miranda’s hand pressing down on her head, pulling her closer through the layers upon layers of tulle and silk and organza. One leg straightens and twitches beside Andy while the other lifts and hooks over her shoulder. Andy uses her fingers and tongue to apply more pressure in quick circles against Miranda’s clit. Suddenly, Miranda inhales sharply and her body undulates as she climaxes, her muscles clenching around Andy’s fingers, sucking them deeper and deeper inside. 

Above, Miranda pants. Andy feels her muscles relax and she carefully slides her fingers out. “You okay?” Andy asks after a moment. 

“Yes,” she gasps, thrusting her hips forward. “Please, again!” 

Andy grins and licks her lips. Again, she leans in and drinks from the fountain that is Miranda Priestly’s sex. She moans against her as she imagines a marble statue of Miranda, in all her glory, perched in the middle of a piazza in Florence. She drags her teeth across her clitoris and Miranda comes again, her muscles contracting so hard Andy can hear the squelch as copious fluids pour out. She’s vaguely aware that she should avoid ruining the Marchesa, but drinking at La Fontana Di Miranda is like drinking from a firehose.

Andy uses her fingers to gently massage the woman’s swollen folds and again feels Miranda’s hand against her head. 

“More,” she urges, “inside.” 

And Andy isn’t one to ignore the rare direct command from Miranda. She presses two fingers inside, swirling them around, then adds a third and hears a moan. Andy moves her hand in and out while the woman’s hips jerk forward. She applies pressure with her thumb and Miranda’s body jerks once more. 

“Enough… enough,” Miranda sighs. 

Andy carefully slides her fingers out and uses her tongue to clean up as best as she can. Then she sits back on her heels and pushes away layer after layer of fabric until she lays eyes on Miranda. Miranda, who’s never looked more beautiful than she does right now. 

Andy wipes her lips along the inside of her wrist. 

Miranda locks eyes with her. “You are definitely coming with me to the next event.”  


fin .