Prologue

Sitting under a large oak tree in Central Park, Andy doodled on the pages of a well-worn spiral notebook. It was a holdover from college, one she hadn't used for her classes but kept since it showcased her college insignia of Northwestern on the front cover. She'd found it in a box she kept under her bed while looking for her art portfolio that morning.

For a while she thought journalism would fill the void that seemed to expand each day. The gaping maw of boredom sneered at her, whispered in her ear how she was kidding herself. She wasn't flexing her creative muscles or even doing what she dreamed of doing. She may have loved writing for her college newspaper, but her wish to feel the same way while writing for the New York Mirror remained unrealized. She'd believed she was meant to change the world through her words.

She was wrong. So wrong. She felt as if her soul were being sucked out of her while she struggled to pitch ideas and finish the grunge work assigned to her. There was no Nigel to spout tough love. No one to care whether she sank or swam. Certainly not Nate. He moved out before her first day at the paper.

In the end it didn't matter. The paper switched to a purely digital publication, and two-thirds of the staff were let go. She was invited to submit articles on a contractual basis, but her steady paycheck was gone.

She supposed she should be writing something to submit right now, but her thoughts were scattered, too scattered to concentrate on the effects of global warming or the death of print media or life's reality checks. So, she doodled.

She drew budding trees and blooming bushes and blossoming flowers. She drew the shadows made by skyscrapers and wandering dogs and hand-holding couples. She drew the outlines of fences and city signs and the hot dog food carts. And before she knew it, although she hadn't indulged in this medium since coming to New York a little over two years ago, she began sketching a well-known face.

Noticing how the air was becoming chilly, Andy looked down and gasped. Familiar eyes stared back at her. A signature lock of hair and regal tilt of the head made the face unmistakable. Miranda Priestly's eyes held a well-known inscrutable expression, and Andy didn't know what to think.

She never allowed herself to dwell on the events that occurred while she worked for the woman. Refused to process her abrupt exit in Paris the year before, leaving Miranda and Runway behind without a backward glance. Wouldn't discuss it with anyone, not her friends, colleagues, or family. She had tucked her feelings away. This drawing pulled them forth in an unexpected way.

Closing the notebook, Andy rose from the ground, brushing twigs and leaves from her pants before gathering her belongings and making her way back to her apartment. It was time to call it a day. It was time to refocus. Time to write that article or do something—anything—to move forward. She didn't want to look backward. Didn't want to revisit the past. It was a waste of time, and she had no time to waste.

"Honey, I'm home," Andy joked, placing her keys in the bowl near the door and removing her jacket. The door locked with a pronounced click, and she took the time to throw the deadbolt before looking around. The narrow hallway led into the catchall living room, where several small art pieces brightened up the walls. They were eclectic and busy, the colors coalescing into a pleasing variety of artistic expressions while complementing each other. It was like a small party filled with disparate personalities, somehow making the event much more interesting. Smiling, Andy walked through the small apartment to her bedroom and threw her belongings on the unmade bed before strolling to the kitchen. "Hey," she said, plopping into a chair.

"Hey," Lily responded, eyes flicking up. She was in full work-mode, studying several glossy photographs. "I was just about to text you."

Andy hummed. She'd feared the hits to their friendship that occurred while she worked for Runway would have weakened their relationship too much for them to remain close, but Lily surprised her by helping Andy deal with not only her abrupt desertion of her job but also Nate's subsequent desertion of Andy. "What about?" Andy asked, crossing her legs as she rested her chin on folded arms.

"I have a proposition for you."

"Oh, sweetie," Andy said, trying to keep her expression solemn, "you know I love you, but not that way."

"Fuck you. You'd never be so lucky." Lily fluttered her eyelashes, and Andy chuckled. "You remember Jenny from the gallery? She works nights?"

"Sure. Long blonde hair, tattoo on her wrist?"

"That's her. Did I ever tell you she does some side work as a courtroom sketch artist?"

"They still have those?"

"Yep. Even though media is allowed in the courtroom, judges can ban them from high-profile cases. Anyway, Jenny told me she does at least a couple a month."

"I bet it's fascinating," Andy mused. "And stressful."

"Mm. Well, here's the thing. She strained her wrist when her girlfriend became a bit too enthusiastic in the bedroom, and she needs someone to fill in for her."

Andy slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her guffaw. "I'm sorry. That really sucks. She must know some of the other artists, though. Right?"

"Yeah, but she doesn't really trust them. I guess it's a cut-throat business."

"So what's she going to do?"

Lily leaned toward her, and Andy got a bad feeling. Her friend only got that look in her eyes when she was about to propose a harebrained scheme. "Whatever you're going to say, no," Andy tried, holding up her hands to ward off Lily's words.

"Andy, Andy, Andy. Come on. I haven't even told you what I'm thinking."

"It doesn't matter. Whatever it is will be detrimental to my wellbeing. I can tell."

"Andy," Lily said with a sugary-sweet voice. "You've always been great at sketching people. You just have to go to court, take some notes, and capture an important moment each day. Take a photo of the sketch to send to the television station, and you're done. You can always work on your articles during the dull parts of the trial, and if you like it, Jenny will start sharing her assignments with you. She wants to start pulling back a bit."

"Why? Too many death threats?"

"Actually, kind of. She's covered some high-profile cases. Celebrities. Some of their superfans weren't too happy with her pictures when they felt she hadn't done the person justice. Like that picture of Bieber that made him look like a girl."

"That was her? I loved that picture," Andy squawked, laughing when she saw Lily's face. "No, I mean it. She got his features right. I think they were upset that he looked like a dick. He had that smug look on his face."

"I can't argue that. So, are you in? There's a trial that starts on Monday. I guess it can be really lucrative, and I know you could use some extra money."

Sighing, Andy nodded. "I know what I'll be doing this weekend. Practicing my drawing. What's the case?"

"I don't know. With all the celebrities around here, it could be anything. It can last from a day to a month. Here's Jenny's number."

"Thanks. I'll give her a call." Tilting her head, Andy said, "I'm surprised you suggested me."

"Well, it's like I said. I know how good you are at drawing people, and you have that ability to project emotion through people's body language. Even the colors you use tell a story. I know you'll do a good job."