FIC: Five Assistants Miranda Priestly Never Sleeps With [the devil wears prada, miranda, 2 of 2]

[threeguesses]

3.  Dominique Breton (1993)

 

“Marry me,” David says.  They’re eating dry cereal in his apartment because he forgot to buy milk (again).  Miranda’s driver is due to pick her up in less than two minutes. 

 

She looks at him.  He’s licking his spoon and not meeting her eyes. 

 

1. They’ve only been dating for two years.
2. He smiles all the time.
3. His kisses remind her of a spin cycle.  
4. He leaves the toilet seat up.
5. He has gorgeous eyelashes.
6. He has questionable opinions about Lycra.
7. He wants children.
8. She probably loves him.

 

She can’t sort them out, the pros and cons.  She needs a pen and paper and time to write it all down, but she doesn’t think he’ll take very kindly to her getting up right now.

 

“Very well,” Miranda says carefully.  “But if you lick that spoon and stick it to your nose, I may have to reconsider.”

 

 

 

She’s in a meeting for most of the morning, during which David calls her seven times. 

 

“Did it just occur to you to tell me this now, Dominique, instead of, oh, I don’t know, when he called.” 

 

“But Miranda,” Dominique squeaks, “you were with Donatella, and you always say not to disturb—”

 

“I don’t care, just get him on the phone.” 

 

Dominique does so, and Miranda’s hands aren’t shaking as the call dials through.  They aren’t.

 

“David,” she says, cutting off his hello, “what, exactly, is so important that you’re calling me at work?”  And she is thinking, oh, please let it be that someone has died.  Please let it be his mother, or mine, or that Wall Street has crashed.  Please don’t let it be that he’s decided he’s made a—

 

(There is a five second pause along the line, for which she will never forgive him.  Seven years later, in a divorce settlement where she takes everything, Miranda will remember that pause, and she won’t feel guilty.  Not at all.)

 

“We’ve got to tell our parents,” David says in a rush.  “I’ve just realized that.  And my mom’s going to want a huge wedding, I just know she is, with a rabbi and a cake and a white dress and— Can you even wear white now?  I mean, the second time?  Does that sort of thing matter, or—”

 

Miranda lets him talk to himself for a full minute while she gets her breath back.

 

 

 

Dominique cowers when Miranda sweeps out of her office.  The second assistant (because Miranda has two now, and that’s how you know when you’ve made it) ducks her head behind the computer monitor. 

 

“Dominique,” Miranda says, “call Pierre.  I need him to design a wedding dress.”

 

She is halfway back into her office before she hears Dominique’s soft “congratulations”. 

 

 

 

4.  Sabrina Nair (1996)

 

“You’re pregnant,” says Irv after the board meeting. 

 

“No,” Miranda deadpans, “I’m carrying a pillow around under my blouse.  Helps the posture.”

 

“You’re forty years old and, by all accounts,” Irv hisses, “a horrible and conniving bitch.  I thought we were past this sort of danger.  And now you’re telling me, this late in the game, that I’m going to lose you to the frickin’ joys of motherhood?”

 

“‘Past this sort of danger’?” Miranda mimics.  “Tell me, Irv – do you actually keep tabs on the status of your female employees’ fertility?  At what age do you consider us out of the woods?  Thirty-seven?  Thirty-nine?”

 

“Oh, for god’s sakes.”  Irv rolls his eyes.  “How far along are you?”

 

“Three months.”  Miranda flashes him a vindicated smile.  “It’s twins.”

 

“Don’t tell me,” moans Irv, walking out of the office.  “I don’t want to know.”

 

 

 

Miranda’s assistant is just clearing out of the elevator when Miranda catches her arm.  “Ride with me, Sabrina,” she says, and nods towards her midsection.  Because, really, that’s the last thing she needs; to be stuck in an elevator alone and—  Not that this girl looks like she’d be much help.  She’s gaping at Miranda like a fish.

 

“Oh.  Right.  Of course.”  Sabrina tucks herself into a corner.  She’s only been working here a month, and obviously believes Miranda’s temperament to be the result of pregnancy hormones.  Miranda knows that her colleagues are dearly hoping she’ll last long enough to have this precious illusion shattered.

 

Miranda doesn’t intend to disappoint them.

 

 

 

Two weeks after the twins are born, Miranda comes back to work. 

 

She fires Sabrina. 

 

 

 

5.  Emily Charlton (2004)

 

Stephen wants to meet her.  Miranda cannot believe this. 

 

“She is my assistant,” Miranda hisses.  “She exists to ferry coffee and deliver the Book.  What part of this escapes you?”

 

“She comes to your home,” Stephen insists.  “Every day.”

 

“It’s not as if I go to the door to greet her and invite her in for tea and biscuits.  For heaven’s sake.”

 

“She’s part of your life.”  Stephen trails his fingers down her arm.  “And I want to be involved in all aspects of your life, Miranda.  I want this to be serious.”

 

Miranda sighs.  “The twins are an aspect of my life.  My mother is an aspect of my life.  Lint is an aspect of my life.  My assistants are not.  Trust me, you do not need to meet them.”

 

“If you’re sure,” Stephen says.  He drops his hand from her arm.  

 

 

 

 

1.  Andrea Sachs (2006)

 

She doesn’t mean to do it, exactly.  Not really.  It’s Andrea’s fifth coffee run of the day, and Miranda just happens to be looking at the clock when she leaves.  And when she comes back in.

 

“Nine minutes,” she tells Andrea. 

 

“What?” Andrea tries to blink, but her eyes stay closed too long.  It's late, past her bedtime.  She is so very, very young.

 

“Nine minutes,” Miranda says impatiently.  “It took you nine minutes to go to Starbucks and back.”

 

“Sorry?”  Andrea manages to look contrite and confused at the same time.  She shifts uneasily in her stilettos.

 

It’s well after eleven on a Friday.  The lights have been turned off in the hallway and the custodians have long gone home.  They’re the only ones left in the office. 

 

Miranda considers.  There are no impressions to make, no new staff members to terrify.  Andrea, certainly, is plenty afraid.  Miranda can see her legs trembling from here.

 

(Miranda hasn’t had to raise her voice since 1989.)

 

“If you can do it again in five,” Miranda tells Andrea, “I’ll give you a raise.”

 

 

 

Andrea makes it.  She takes the stairs, both there and back – “interesting tactical decision,” Miranda says to herself, and smiles – and clocks in with thirty-two seconds to spare.  She is panting when she hands Miranda the coffee, her skirt rotated several degrees west. 

 

When Miranda reaches out to straighten it, Andrea doesn’t jump.  Doesn't start.  Miranda can feel her ribs contracting and expanding with each steady breath.  It isn’t until Miranda brushes her fingertips along the skirt’s seams that Andrea finally shudders, her breath tripping over itself before starting again. 

 

“Have you—have you ever done this before?” Andrea gasps. 

 

“No,” Miranda says, and kisses her.

 

[end]