Shall We Dance Ms Priestly? And One Two Three, One Two Three, Quick, Quick, Slow…

Miranda Priestly still had no idea what had possessed her to actually agree to this, to agree to be on Dancing with Stars 2015. Invited to appear. She simply had to accept. Would be rude not to. She hadn't been dancing in years…this was not just dancing. This was dancing live on television.

Was it because of Caroline and Cassidy's sheer delight? Partly. Her daughters' loved the show and especially ballroom dancing. Teenagers now, soon be ready for their cotillion. James and she were so proud of both.

Usually Miranda would have turned this down but Irv Ravitz had implied it would be good for Runway, draw new readers. The Board agreed with Irv. Miranda was encouraged she should accept at their annual meeting yesterday.

This dancing show would be a good spotlight on not just her. Miranda had held onto her role as Editor-in-Chief with a velvet fist. Miranda knew she was well known and famous in her industry, this appearance would garner a good reaction to Runway. Last month alone in competition with that other little periodical that covered fashion, Miranda had created a beautiful issue covering what was beauty. It was highly praised.

Ravitz knew not to cross her. Ever since that meeting in Paris he never had dared to again, cross her.

Paris, cost her a lot.

Mischievous brown eyes behind horn rimmed glasses greeted his Editor warmly. Thankfully they'd patched everything between them since Paris. Paris had been five years ago and Nigel definitely came out better off than Jacqueline. Follet made Holt bankrupt with her overspending and vision or in Miranda's opinion lack of vision. Thoughts of that Paris trip and Follet almost taking her magazine brought other memories', of one person Miranda didn't like to dwell on.

Her.

Had such pretty eyes.

Looking out her window. Andrea.

Read her work regularly, Andrea's award winning work captured her. Miranda had seen, Andréa reporting on CNN International over Je suis Charlie, there was full of integrity Sachs nearby the many world leaders marching. Then earlier covering Syria, yes brazen Sachs was clearly bullheadedly and rashly determined in getting herself blown up. So much worthier and nobler then working for a silly inferior fashion Editor like her.

Andrea. Her name was bitter to Miranda still.

To actually know that moral Ohioan held her as unscrupulous, substancless and fanciful hurt more then Stephen.

Blue eyes brightened a little as Nigel spun her boldly around the room with a flair, he'd heard the news.

'' Congratulations Miranda.'' Genuinely happy Miranda wasn't snubbing this invitation.

Gushing at her. ''Dancing with the Stars for 11 weeks. I'll start work on a wardrobe.''

Nigel adored the show. Emily had told him the hush hush news. Emily was still Miranda's assistant no matter how many times Miranda tried to offer Emily other roles at Runway. Insisted happiest by her dragon lady boss.

Wonderful, everyone at Runway heard, that meant everyone knew and Irv Ravitz would pay for this, if she was voted off first week.

Nigel clasped her hand thrilled. ''You'll do splendid.'' Glancing at her office shelves. ''I can see the trophy right there Madam Dansant.''

Miranda quirked a small smile, might be fun. Could even be what she needed, a little bit of fun.

''This isn't early April Fools is it? Am I being punk'd? Andy?''

Back from Syria and reporting on ISIS to the horrific Paris shootings to now this offer of being on Dancing with the Stars. Andy saluted her beer to her dinner companion. Waltzing on camera was safer than bullets. Any day.

Doug was still laughing at his oldest friend Andy Sachs predicament. ''You. Dance. On live TV?'' Incredulously Doug stared at his oldest friend swallowing her drink. So calmly. ''On Dancing with the Stars.'' Pinched her toned bicep hard. ''Hey. Doug. Oww.'' Andy rubbed her arm.

''Sorry I thought I was in the dream where David Gandy pops up and sweeps me off my feet after you've agreed and are about to do something incredibly stupid.'' Peering over Andy's shoulder, no dreamboat Gandy in sight crossing the room.

''This is a dance competition. Andy. You were hazardous at the prom.''

Geez. Doug thanks for the heaps of confidence in her.

Andy winced insulted. She wasn't that bad on the dance floor. Her prom date hadn't ended up in traction or ER. In a word Andy danced… ugh…spirited.

Her family had a long tradition of being pretty good at dancing okay not Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers or World Ballroom championships but honestly Andy was maybe more exuberant and athletic in comparison then graceful at swaying to music.

Besides her old editor John at The NY Mirror thought it would make a great blog column each week, if she made it without being voted off. Kidded finals and NY Ballet tours here she comes.

First round sure Sachs down for the count with toes pointe.

''Just don't break anything Andy or fall over your partner.'' Doug clinked her beer bottle. ''Because millions will see.''

Oh. No pressure then. Whew Sachs just seen by only a few mere millions of viewers.

Andy knew it would be bragging rights if she even made it to third week. Andy needed this show to decompress. Hell she didn't even own a television. So no. She'd never see herself making a happy fool out of herself. Shucks and Darn.

Doug would make sure to record it though and ensure she never forgot it. Especially with incriminating evidence on YouTube and TiVo, to send her.

Yeah bust a move Sachs be an internet sensation, her and that dancing toddler. Hey she knew more than Mr Robotic. Besides she'd seen Dirty Dancing and Footloose both originals and Shall We Dance.

Complete and utter humiliation was worth it for charity. Andy didn't truly mind.

''Might be interesting. Andy Sachs daring cool under fire war correspondent, journalist, dancing champion.'' Doug began humming Whitney Houston I Wanna Dance with Somebody to Andy.

'' Seeing anyone?'' Doug leaned closer to Andy on the barstool. Shaking her head firmly at Doug. Andy Sachs was a head turner. Got hit on plenty. Left it at mild flirting. Nothing more.

In truth Andy didn't just want anyone. Who she wanted…well she was unobtainable.

Andy just didn't date or have one night stands. Her bed was empty and that's how she liked it. She was in countries where you didn't step out for a Starbucks or have about last night.

Besides she was still hung up on a certain silvery haired former boss. Almost five years. She was pathetic. What was it about the intense beguiling blue eyed Runway Editor that drew Andy into her memorizing orbit?

Like ice burning Andy. Miranda was cold and yet Andy burned for her still. After five years. Saw her often in the pages of Runway. Andy bought it, every month. Just to read the Editor's Letter. Can't shake her off.

''Doug.''

Warningly at Doug who was exuding matching her up on a blind date, to a very sexy investment banker on his floor named Nikki. ''She's great…skis in Aspen and very attractive. Has a pretty hefty 401k.''

''Not interested.'' Muttering darkly at Doug. Andy was blunt in Doug's attempts at setting her up.

''Still celibate over her…aren't you over her by now.'' Doug asked.

Over her.

Turning away Andy looked at herself in the bar mirror. She wasn't half bad looking. Her burnished hair was lighter now from sandy climates, it had been five years since she'd left this city just after finding out what a lovesick dork with a crush she was. Still not over her.

Miranda Priestly was a lot to get over.

No. Andy wasn't over Miranda Priestly. She'd sort of found her one. Shame Miranda didn't know.

How Andy felt was more than unrequited. Miranda didn't even know she existed beyond being her once disposable assistant who'd walked out on her job.

Paris. Left Andy bereft.

Great way to show Miranda what a great person she was. Saw you in pieces Miranda in that hotel suite and I just bailed and left.

Hell she'd tried once. Sent flowers, a bouquet of Miranda's favourites and an apology to her Upper East Side townhouse the week she'd waved across the street. Andy got no reply.

If that wasn't an answer of how little Miranda regarded Andy, nothing was.

They weren't meant.

No one else measured up though. Not to La Priestly.

Andy had vowed that week hearing nothing. Enough. She was an idiot. She. Meant nothing to Miranda Priestly. It hurt. Never did. Never would. She was so stupid. Sworn she'd saw it in her blue eyes.

Andy had not returned Emily's calls or Nigel's the day they'd called to congratulate her on her article in print at the Mirror. Runway in her Editor's words was a blip. Nothing more.

Took every assignment thrown at her. Now was pretty damn proud of herself. Had a few awards on her mantle and often did stories for BBC and CNN. Accomplished in her industry pretty good for a former fetcher or Miranda girl as Thompson dubbed her once.

Andy often also thought about Miranda. Couldn't help it. How was she? Did Stephen and her reconcile or divorce. Was she dating? No doubt if Miranda was, he'd be wealthy and male. The next Mr Priestly. That salutation made Andy's dark brows furrow.

That blue eyed classy lady with a soul of ice sadistically still messed with Andy's head. Near her or not.

''I need some air.'' Calling it a night to Doug.

''Goodnight Andy. I'll be rooting for you on Sunday.''

Andy walked a few blocks to her building.

She needed this. Needed Dancing with the Stars.

Besides her last reports for CNN and stories in warzones made her want to enjoy this. Life. Really enjoy this. Maybe stay in the city longer and not give in to travel and wanderlust reporting on dangerous places and situations with her well-worn rucksack with lonely hotel rooms as her temporary home.

Yup this was going to be so much fun, to be on Dancing with the Stars. Her. Hadn't yet told her Mom or Dad, let them tune in on Sunday night's premiere and see her. Competing.

Andy Sachs had a plan, stay put in Manhattan and buy new furniture for her new apartment, maybe get a pet and make a complete footloose dancing queen fool of herself on live television.

Douglas was right. Scolding herself, Sachs you gotta let Miranda go.

If and when she did, maybe just maybe if she did, she might met the right someone, Andy would try and give somebody a chance. Let her walls down a bit. Maybe start dating even. Letting Miranda go. It was time.

Unlocking her new apartment door to her place with full moving boxes, had tonight, a Friday to sort it all out.

Took a few hours of unwrapping, Andy went to bed exhausted without sheets on her bed because she hadn't bought any yet.

Andy had boxed the Runway editions she'd eventually recycle but no way was she getting rid of a photo she'd taken of Miranda unawares, talking to the twins on her suite phone the first night in Paris. Her face was softer, eyes crinkling. Andy placed this precious image on her writing desk.

Vowed to tackle her boxes of books tomorrow after she went grocery shopping.

Her phone pinged around midnight. Groaning Andy flicked one eyelid open to Doug's text. ''Hope you don't have to wear sequins. Good luck. Dance. Just Dance. Young Sachs.'' Andy snorted Yoda, Doug was not.

Sent a link to see last season.

Andy groaned this was like ice skating. Lycra and wait a minute would she have to wax? Andy thought reporting and embedded with peshmerga fighters was rough.

Look out Carrie Ann, Bruno, Len and Julianne to Andy Sachs in dancing shoes.