I know the idea of the press incorrectly interrupting Miranda and Andy's relationship isn't a total original one, but I hope to play this out a little differently than most. This chapter ended up being longer than I had planned, though that's hardly something to complain about. This chapter focuses a lot on Andy's internal monologue and thoughts, but I'm hoping to balance that out with a lot more focus on Miranda in the next chapter.

"I can't help but love you
Even though I try not to
I can't help but want you
I know that I'd die without you" – War of Hearts, Ruelle

Chapter 2 / When It Rains It Pours

Knock. Knock.

"Go away" Andy muttered, pulling the covers over her head as she buried her head into the pillow, hoping to lull herself back to sleep. Clearly she had forgotten where she was, and even worse, who it could have been at the door.

It was probably Nigel – or worse, someone with yet another overly extravagant gift for Miranda.

"Andrea" Miranda's voice floated through the door, the noise causing Andy to bolt up straight, the covers landing in a heap on the floor beside the bed.

Miranda couldn't see her like this.

"Coming Miranda" Andy called, stumbling out of bed before bending down to dig around her suitcase in search of her silk robe, moving to throw it over her shoulders before standing up. Catching a glance of her reflection, she momentarily rolled her eyes. Her hair never could cooperate in the morning. Grabbing a hair tie from the bedside table, she threw her hair into a messy bun at the top of her head. It was nowhere near as sleek and groomed as it would be if she was heading into the Runway Office.

When she opened the door, Andy was greeted by a certainly wide-awake Miranda Priestly. Only Miranda could look put together, hair and makeup sitting perfectly, this early in the morning. Granted, Andy doubted that there was any time in the day when Miranda didn't look as though she was about to attend an event to the calibre of the MET gala.

"Did you have anything to do with this?" Miranda demanded, dropping the morning newspapers at the feet of the other woman as she placed her now free hands firmly on her hips. If looks could kill, Andy had no doubt that she would be six feet under.

Well, good morning to you to Miranda.

"Miranda, I don't have a clue what you…" Andy began, her words trailing off as her eyes caught sight of the photo splashed across the front cover of the French newspaper. Although her French vocabulary skills exceeded no further than her AP French classes, she could loosely translate the bold title. 'Priestly's Lovers' Tiff at Fashion Week'

Andy's lips formed a perfect 'O' shape as she struggled to find words to articulate her feelings, before settling on "Oh".

"Oh" Miranda repeated mockingly, shaking her head as she took in the dumbfound appearance of her second assistant. Only Andy could respond to a situation of this significance with a childlike response.

Miranda watched closely as Andy bent down in front of her to pick the discarded newspaper up off the floor. If the startled look of shock and surprise was anything to go by, then Andy had been just as blindsided by this as she was. "Well, at least now I know you didn't have anything to do with this" Miranda concluded, breathing a sigh of relief as she shook her head. She shouldn't have jumped to conclusions; with the exception of yesterday, Andy was the most dedicated of the dozens of assistants who had passed through Miranda's office over the years.

She should have known better than to think Andy had any part in this.

"You couldn't have honestly thought this was my idea!" Andy protested, her rude awakening clearly giving her some form of 'dutch courage' as her manicured nails pierced into the thin paper. How Miranda thought that she of all people would betray her was beyond Andy's realm of thought. She was dedicated to her, devoted some would say, like a priestess to a fire breathing goddess of yester years.

The glare of Miranda's eyes lessened as she lowered her hands, breathing deeply as she regained her composure. "Let's just pray this hasn't hit the East Coast yet" Miranda insisted, turning on her heel as she left to allow Andrea to dress for the day.

Andy didn't want to be the one to break it to her that the gossip blogs would be all over this like an Upper East Side schoolgirl at a Kate Spade sample sale. When it came to spilling the tea, Miranda was more often than not, the favourite target of such gossip gurus. There was a part of her, the part that made sure such articles failed to cross Miranda's desk or enter her line of sight, that wished she could help brush this all under the carpet.

If there was one thing she knew for sure – the press loves a scandal and a fall from grace, especially if they could usurp a Queen from her throne.

"Six!" Nigel called, knocking on the door impatiently, recalling that Miranda should be at a breakfast with Valentino. If the Editor in Chief found him banging on the door of her Presidential Suite, then heads would roll. Hearing the lock turn from the other side, he leaned against the doorframe, a smirk playing on his lips as he thought of the best way to torment his friend over her feelings for their silver haired boss.

"Nigel! Lower your voice, this isn't a hideous skirt convention" Miranda exclaimed, shaking her head as she moved back through the suite, collecting the portfolio from the dresser before sitting herself down on the chaise lounge.

Cautiously, Nigel stepped into the suite, the morning newspapers huddled under his arm as he slipped into the smaller bedroom that belonged to the second assistant. Shutting the door behind him, Nigel was tempted to lock and bolt the door. Though not even a lock would stop Miranda from getting in if she so wished.

"Isn't she meant to be having breakfast with Valentino?" Nigel asked, unceremoniously dumping the newspapers down onto Andy's vanity table before sitting himself down onto of the comforter on her bed, recovering from his brush with 'Satan' herself.

Andy groaned as she buried her head into her hands, "Oh god, she must have forgotten" She mumbled, shaking her head as she picked up her moleskin notebook to jot down the fact she would have to call Valentino's people and apologise on behalf of Miranda.

As Nigel tapped on the vanity, drawing Andy's attention towards the newspaper which caused her face to curl up into a grim expression of annoyance. It took every ounce of her self-control to stop her from curling back under the covers and blocking out the rest of the world. "How do they come up with this crap?" Andy asked, folding her arms as she glared down at the feeble excuse for journalism that made her skin crawl. Had they never heard of fact checking and multiple sources?

The photos alone with damning, even more so in the context that the journalist had placed them in. The photographer had caught a lucky break and managed to snap a photo of the moment Andy had abandoned her phone in the fountain, while another had an array of snapshots of Miranda's signature faux smile slipping from her face as Andy's absence became clear, before a look of panic set in as she searched the crowd for a familiar pair of hazel eyes.

The jilted lover.

"Well, I mean…I always did suspect that there was something" Nigel confessed honestly, knowing that he was not the only one who had noticed the way that the women looked at each other. In fact, he noticed a change in Miranda before he saw one in Andy. No one else received the same attention and time as Andy – not even Stephen. No other assistant got to ride in the elevator with Miranda, or has such a close connection to the twins. "I could see how the situation could be misinterpreted" He concluded, sympathising with whatever poor journalist was no doubt topping Miranda's ever growing kill list.

There was the annual gala where Andy had saved Miranda from public humiliation at the hands of Stephen when he had intentionally stumbled in drunk, insulting Irv along the way and almost destroying the already delicate working relationship between Irv and Miranda. Andy had jumped in to Miranda's rescue, an act that no other assistant would have dared to try. Miranda Priestly didn't need help – that was, until Andy came along.

Sure, the girl even had her own order now on the Starbucks run.

"Be real, Nigel" Andrea rebuked, shaking her head as she contemplated the idea of ever acting on the feelings she had for Miranda. After all, Miranda saw her as nothing more than her second assistant. Andy herself didn't even know what these feelings were, only that there was something – a delicate string holding them together – that had stopped Andy from escaping, from running away and turning her back on the woman.

"Andrea" Miranda's sing-song voice floated through the suite, causing Andy to lift her head as she tried to put on a straight face. "Pray for me" Andy muttered, stepping back into her rockstud pumps before heading towards the lounge, leaving Nigel to collect his newspapers and see himself out.

By the time that Andy had reached the lounge, Miranda was already listing off her daily tasks while packing her essentials back into her Lady Dior. "Call Valentino and apologise for my absence at breakfast. Let Marc Jacob's people know that I want to see the sketches for the collection as soon as we get back to New York on Sunday evening. Book us a table for afternoon tea at Laduree, I promised the girls I would bring them each home some new keychains or ornaments or something. Oh, and Andrea, do make sure that Karl…" Miranda lectured, her eyes fixed on the task at hand as she kept her back to the younger woman, continuing to dictate her lists of task until Andy's voice broke her trail of thought.

"Us?" Andy questioned with an arched eyebrow, Miranda never refused to herself with the 'us' pronoun, always exclusively 'I' or occasionally 'we' when discussing outings with the twins – or once in a blue moon – with Stephen. She could hardly mean the two of them, yet who else would she have accompany her to afternoon tea? Nigel was simultaneously the most and least likely candidate.

"Yes Andrea, us" Miranda repeated, emphasising the pronoun as she slipped her hands into a pair of black leather Mulberry gloves, finally turning to face the younger woman in front of her.

The journey through the hotel had been a silent one, with the exception of the scribbling of Andy's Mont Blanc pen, an unwanted gift that Miranda had passed on to her, and the clicking of keys on Miranda's blackberry.

Four fashion shows later, and Andy had never been so thankful to see a hotel in her life. The press had spent more time focusing on Miranda and herself than they had on the actual clothes. For each of the shows, the security had been forced to take them out of the back exits to avoid the waiting press. Questions had been thrown left and right.

'Ms. Priestly, can you confirm your relationship?'

'Does Mr. Priestly know?"

"Have you reconciled your differences?"

Andy had hardly time to set down her bag and stepped out of her heels before Nigel stepped into her bedroom, clearly having used one of the spare keys to get into the suite. "How's 'hurricane Priestley affair' going?" Nigel questioned as stepped into Andy's bedroom, glad that Miranda had taken that moment to engage in her once-a-fashion-week conversation with Anna Wintour in the hotel lobby, so he could slip away and visit the second assistant. "We're just not going to comment, clearly" Andy sighed, silently thankful that she had abandoned her phone in the foundation the evening beforehand. At least that way she could put off talking to her parents and her friends – oh god, and Nate – until she got back to New York.

Emily would kill her.

In fact, Andy was surprised the brit hadn't tried to coax Nigel into doing the deed for her.

The press was even worse than before. Security had even been called to help keep the press away along enough for the Mercedes to be able to get onto the main road.

After all it's not every day that a feared and esteemed Editor in Chief and Queen of Fashion is reported to be in a relationship with her second assistant.

Andrea groaned as she buried her head into her hands. The press had no idea about the divorce. This – whatever this was – had been reported by the media as being a scandalous affair.

If anything was sure to drive Stephen back to his precious Jack Daniels and bourbon, then this would do the trick.

Other than accusing her of being the source behind the article, Miranda had yet to mention the scandal. In fact, she appeared to be ignoring it all together; with the exception of the phone call Andy had overheard while they were waiting on the car to be brought around after the last fashion show of the morning.

"Roy, take a security guard with you when you're driving the twins to and from Dalton. The press is going to be all over this" Miranda ordered, looking down to glance at her crimson red manicure, as though she was simply commenting on the weather, and not the biggest 'scandal' of the year,

Nothing mattered to Miranda more than the twins, and it was only natural that her first thought in this fiasco would be the girls.

They didn't deserve any of this.

Why had she walked away from Miranda?

If she had of recomposed herself and breathed, instead of storming off like a jilted lover, then they wouldn't be in this situation.

No doubt someone at Elias-Clark had called Leslie to get a start on damage control.

If nothing else, at least the publicity would be free PR for the magazine.

Stephen was going to skin her alive. After all, she hadn't exactly been his favourite. That night on the stairs, when she had stumbled upon their argument, she was sure that he had looked her up and down with elevator eyes like a lion sniffing the blood of his prey.

Before Andy could think of anymore scenarios that could possibly end up with her head on a silver platter or stuffed next to Miranda's faux fur coats, the voice of the Editor in Chief once again floated into her ear range.

"Mommy will talk to you first thing in the evening, Cassidy" Miranda promised, her blackberry held against her ear as she pressed her lips together, having just reapplied her signature Tom Ford lipstick.

Lifting her head out of her hands, Andy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she stood up from her seat and headed to the lounge– always cautious of the standard of etiquette that Miranda expected of those who remained in her inner circle. It seemed the sound of Miranda's voice had been enough to send Nigel running off – for now at least.

There was a pregnant pause, and it took the second assistant a minute to catch on to the fact that Miranda was examining her with an even closer eye than usual. In the same manner as she had done after her makeover, when Miranda had returned from her four-day business trip to L.A. and found a transformed brunette waiting on her.

"Your Chanel boots" Miranda commented, and in that moment, Andy could have sworn that she had saw a smile grace the features of the silver haired woman. It wasn't the sort of smile that she had imagined the infamous 2001 Tom Ford smile was like, but a genuine and heartfelt smile that made Andy's breath catch in the back of her throat.

It was no lie that the Chanel boots were Andy's favourite of all her acquisitions from the closet at Runway. "They're still no match for your Louboutins" Andy replied, internally rolling her eyes as she wondered what on earth had made her speak. There was something about those spiked patent leather Louboutins that unnerved her; always had and always would. "They always did look good on you" Andy confessed, her hand finding its way to her neck as she glanced away nervously.

Was she trying to flirt?

Wishing that the floor would open up and swallow her whole, Andy almost missed the gentle hum that left the lips of her companion. Almost.

"You need something with a bit more of a statement in the jewellery department" Miranda mused aloud, stepping forward to take in the appearance of the dainty silver chain that laid flat against Andy's chest. "I know just the thing" She declared, her hand brushing Andy's chest before she turned around to head through the suite to the lounge that had become the hub for the samples, gifts and trinkets that Miranda had acquired over the trip.

Andy stood frozen on the spot, listening to the click clacking of Miranda's heels, which gave her a minute to focus on the situation at hand, before the silver haired woman returned.

In Miranda's hand lay a red box, the unmistakable gold lining making it obvious that it was a Cartier box before the name fell into Andy's line of sight. Whatever it was – it would probably cost more than four months' rent.

"Miranda, I couldn't possibly…" Andy started, though she was silenced by the unmissable glaring of her companion's eyes. As the lid was lifted, the brooch came into Andy's line of sight.

Make that eight months' rent.

It was in the shape of an orchid, white gold surrounding the platinum and a six carat ruby catching the light against the dozens of smaller diamonds. Lifting it from velvet cushion, Miranda reached forward to pierce the pin through the material of Andy's blazer, securing it before stepping back slightly to examine her handy work.

"Now, freshen up Andrea – we need to leave in fifteen minutes for Laduree, then we have the meeting at the Chanel on Rue de Cambon, then the gala at the Louvre" Miranda ordered, her fingers once more outlining the extravagant gift that she had pinned to Andy's 'Ralph Lauren' blazer, before she stepped back and headed towards her master bedroom to change into her second outfit of the day.

When it rained, it poured.