A/N: Thank you for reviewing-it helps! I apologize if this took an unexpected turn...that's kind of like life, i guess. thanks for sticking with me!

Chapter 8

"Seriously, FUCK happy endings!" Andrea shouted to herself as she walked home from Miranda's. "I'm so fucking stupid!" she screamed, grateful that very few people were on the street at dawn on a Sunday morning.

As Andrea walked nearly three miles back to her apartment on the other side of town, her anger began to dissipate, hurt and loneliness taking its place. Am I wrong to think Miranda's behavior was out of line, she wondered. We never were dating or exclusive or anything, so I really didn't have any right to be upset, but god, Andrea thought, I've never felt such jealous rage in my life. I can't believe I was so stupid to try to make this more than it was. I was her toy. She takes what she wants and then moves on. I just thought that I would be different, that she could possibly love me. Andrea shook her head, but then what? Happy ever after? Never quite works that way, does it?

Her mind raced as she climbed the steps to her apartment, eager for a hot shower to rid herself of Miranda's scent. Once clean and in fresh clothes, Andrea brushed on some light makeup and decided to stop in the office. Since she was off for the past few days, she surely had an inbox full of mail and things she could prepare for tomorrow.

On the subway, she tried as hard as she could to block out any images of Miranda, and did so with moderate success. Elias-Clarke, though, was a totally different story. The lobby was swarming with people. Andrea saw that they had just installed a plaque with Miranda's face engraved on it. What did she earn, biggest bitch in the building? Andrea wondered. Gliding past security and into an elevator, she pressed 18 and closed her eyes as the elevator took her to Runway.

The office was silent, and Andrea knew that no one else would be there that early on a Sunday if there wasn't a shoot scheduled. As she approached her desk, she picked up a scent that was distinctly Miranda and it made her head swirl. Her body wanted to lounge in that scent forever, but in her mind, it only triggered painful, fresh memories of her beautiful boss.

Sitting at her desk and turning the computer on, she realized she would need to hand in her two weeks' notice. Staying here, working for Miranda, would be impossible under the given conditions. After quickly answering a few urgent emails and retrieving some items from the closet for Miranda's meeting Monday morning, Andrea opened up her word processor and began to type her resignation.

Ms. Priestly and Runway staff:

Please accept this resignation as my two weeks' notice of employment. I have learned a great deal from my time here, but after nearly two years as an assistant, I feel it is right for me to pursue my future career in journalism. I will have any necessary items transferred to Emily or whomever you wish by the 30th.

Sincerely,

Andrea Sachs

Andrea stared at the letter on her screen. What if Miranda didn't give her a recommendation to move on? What if she couldn't find a new job in two weeks? Before panic fully set in, Andrea decided to print the letter out and leave it for Miranda personally on her desk rather than emailing it. She printed a copy and placed it in one of Miranda's pressed cotton envelopes. No name needed on the envelope, she thought. It was the only item on Miranda's pristine desk, and if she recognized Andrea's handwriting, she might not open it.

Taking a deep breath, she returned to her own desk and decided to brush up her resume and scout out some openings at local publications. It was always her dream to be a chase-down-the-lead kind of journalist, but after her time at Runway, she was happy to work on the schedule of a monthly publication, like a magazine. But not this magazine, she thought.

Her resume complete, she printed several copies to keep on hand if she should have the opportunity to beg anyone for a job in the next two weeks. A quick perusal of journalism job openings in NYC showed very little hope, aside from a small paper known as the Mirror. She quickly turned her attention to some of the hottest local blogs and decided to start her own, and possibly freelance.

After Miranda heard the door shut, she curled up tightly into the couch. The realization that Andrea had just walked out the door, and likely out of her life, was too much for Miranda, and she slipped into a catatonic state. No one alive today was aware of this about Miranda, but she had a very difficult time dealing with emotions like guilt, disappointment, and failure. While she was quick to anger in the workplace, she often used anger or condescension as a coping mechanism to push out the unwanted feelings that were too real.

At work, it was possible, Miranda knew, because there was always something more important to concern herself with, so she could easily walk away from the source of her emotions.

But in her personal life, she always had more difficulty negotiating the balance. She was cautious to never speak condescendingly towards her daughters, and to never let them feel guilty or responsible for her sour moods.

Her ex-husbands and former lovers, Miranda had to admit, were treated no differently than her staff. If they upset her, she would belittle them and not let herself feel responsible for anything other than the fashion industry.

Andrea, however, was different. After that first day with Andrea in her bathroom at Runway, she felt a twinge of guilt. She knew she was responsible, and part of her did feel awful for doing this to the girl. No matter how harshly she dismissed her, or how many icy glares she gave, the girl did not fight back, but simply smiled and reminded Miranda each day of the contrast between her inner workings and the young woman's natural benevolence.

Miranda could faintly hear her telephone ringing in the distance—first her home phone and then her cell phone. Someone was trying to reach her, but Miranda was sure that if she opened her mouth to speak, no words would come out. Miranda sighed deeply, then slowly stood up and took the telephone off the hook. She walked up to her bedroom to turn her cell phone off as well. When she entered her room, the state of disarray of the bedding and the lingering scent of sex dragged her mind back to the events of last night. Andrea.

She pulled the sheets off the bed and threw them in a pile on the other side of the room, tearing them as she pulled. Tears streamed down her face. Without looking back at the pile of ruined linens, she walked into her shower and sat under the hot water for several minutes, sobs wrecking her body as she chastised herself over and over for hurting Andrea.

Why did she try to defend her actions? Why didn't she lock the door before calling James? Why did she have to tell him she loved him? Miranda began to hit her head against the granite wall of the shower as the water splashed over her face. She began to feel some physical pain, and the sensation was addictive.

Eventually, Miranda stepped out of the shower and dressed in DKNY stretch denim, Louboutin studded slipper flats, and a white Theory blouse. She left her hair to air dry in loose waves, and after looking at her face in the mirror, she decided that wearing sunglasses all day was preferable to applying the amount of makeup she would need to conceal her earlier tears.

Once dressed, she headed downstairs and grabbed the Book, but was unable to concentrate, her mind drifting back to Andrea.

"I'll be much more productive in my office," Miranda said aloud, "my office at Runway, where I can shut the door and tune out the world." Miranda gathered her things and drove herself to the office, handing her keys to the doorman as she pulled up outside Elias-Clarke.

"But—Ms Priestley—we can't—"

"Bore someone else with the details of your incompetence," Miranda huffed as she sailed past the young man and strode into the elevators. She didn't expect anyone to be at the office before noon on a Sunday, and was surprised to see a few lights turned on in the hallways and near her outer office. Mmh, Miranda thought, Emily must have come in to get a jump start on the week. As Miranda pushed through the glass doors, she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Andrea asleep at her desk.

Miranda stared at the young woman for several minutes, willing her to look up, but she decided the girl was at least sleeping peacefully. It would not be so peaceful if she were awake right now.

Miranda tiptoed into her office and silently shut the double doors separating her from her assistant before she tossed the Book and several other items on her desk. Five minutes of trying to look over the Book was enough, though. Miranda's mind was focused on Andrea, and her proximity only heightened the editor's emotions. Miranda picked up the book and tossed it back into her bag. Perhaps tonight, she thought. When she returned to her desk, she noticed an envelope buried under her belongings.

It was Miranda's Crane & Co envelope, but she didn't remember leaving anything there Friday night. Curious, she opened the envelope and her heart practically stopped as she read Andrea's words. She was leaving. Two weeks. Gone.

Miranda stood and began to pace in her office, the letter firmly grasped in her hands. She knew she was somehow to blame for Andrea's departure, but Miranda couldn't squelch the anger rising within her: how dare Andrea leave her after she was just beginning to trust the young woman!

She stopped and reread the letter, hoping she had misread or misunderstood something. But no, Andrea, who was motivated by fear of getting fired, had decided to leave of her own volition because it was the "right time"—Miranda didn't buy it.

When she opened the door to confront Andrea, the girl was gone, except for a post-it on her desk: Meet me on 23. It sent a chill through Miranda's body. What could Andrea possibly want with her up there? They still had so much to talk about.

As Miranda entered the elevator and pushed 23, her heart began racing, and she felt something she quickly recognized as fear when she thought of what Andrea might want with her up there. Oh my god, Miranda thought, if she kills me, no one would find my body here for months!

Just then, the elevator doors slid open and Miranda headed towards the corner office. She quickly realized she had never been in this position in her life—scared, unsure, desperate. She knocked on the closed door, and when she heard no response, she pushed it open.

Andrea was sitting on the desk, her legs crossed. The moment Miranda saw her, she could tell Andrea had been upset by the way her brow was furrowed, and she hated knowing she was the cause of that.

Andrea had been waiting for Miranda since she woke up at her desk and saw that Miranda had arrived at the office. She was not about to give up Miranda that easily, but she knew that each minute further she devoted to this one-sided relationship was time she was taking away from her journalism work. Andrea looked up and met Miranda's eyes, shocked to see the lack of makeup hiding the fact that the older woman had been crying all morning.

"Oh god, Miranda!" Andrea gasped, her features instantly softening as she saw the pain etched into the woman's face.

"Andrea." Miranda replied, averting her eyes.

"Are—are you okay?" Andrea asked hesitantly as she leaned forward to jump off the desk.

"No. No, I'm not."

Andrea fought her body which was screaming for her to reach out and hug Miranda. Out of instinct, she began to ask, "Can I do—"

"No." Miranda interrupted her. "Andrea, you left me. Twice. Twice today. And I've…," Miranda paused, "I've disappointed you very deeply."

Andrea's heart began to melt at Miranda's honesty.

"I thought you might have had this reaction to finding out the truth about our, um, arrangement," Miranda continued, "but you were forgiving, and you gave me a second chance. One which I was both grateful and fearful for. All you asked of me," she said, pausing and taking a deep breath, "was that I love you back, that I touch you."

"Miranda—" Andrea began, "I should never have stormed out this morning."

"No, you had every right to, Andrea. I am sorry I ever put you in that position. I hope you do believe me when I say there is nothing between me and James other than mutual fondness of our shared past, mostly for the sake of our daughters. And," she added, "I really did just want to hear their voice. I needed it for support, I guess. Everything last night was so new, and I was just so nervous and afraid you'd—just scared and—"

Andrea interrupted Miranda's rambling by moving closer and drawing her into a hug. "Ooh," Miranda sighed as she wrapped her arms around Andrea's waist, laying her head on the young girl's shoulder. The young woman held Miranda tight as she drew lazy circles on her back, trying to calm and reassure her.

"Now, Miranda, I do apologize for leaving so abruptly this morning. I honestly didn't think it would affect you this much." She smiled as she buried her head in Miranda's neck, "I'm glad it affected you, though. It proves you care."

Miranda sighed again as she wrapped her arms even tighter around Andrea.

"But," Andrea added, "I will be leaving Runway." Miranda pulled away and looked into Andrea's eyes, fear flickering across her lids. "I need this. It's the best for both of us, Miranda." Andrea reached down to grab Miranda's hands. "Then, whatever this is, it can develop in a less, uh, structured environment."

Miranda smiled and reached up her hand to Andrea's cheek. "Darling, I think I can handle that, as long as you don't go too far."

"Don't worry, I won't," Andrea said as she crushed her lips against Miranda's. She was quite aware of Miranda's brave hands just now, and imagining them over her own body was enough to send her to the edge.

Miranda pushed Andrea back towards the desk as she slid her hands from Andrea's waist up to her shoulders. "I think we need to take this a little more slowly," she said.

Andrea was confused. After the past few days, she wanted nothing more than to make love to Miranda. "But, I thought—I thought you wanted this."

"I do, believe me, I do," Miranda said, "but I'm not ready to talk of love or anything yet. And I don't want this to turn into either of us being used." Miranda paused and grabbed Andrea's hand, pulling it softly to her lips. "Please, give me time."

"Of course, Miranda," Andrea sighed. "But you have to promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"No sex without me."

Miranda's cheeks turned bright pink. "I'm so sorry, Andrea," Miranda pleaded, "I don't know how to be in a relationship. I've never had the experience of caring so deeply for someone else that I thought of that person before my work. It's all so new…"

Her voice trailed off as she moved over to the window.

Andrea walked up behind her and rested her chin on Miranda's shoulder. "I know it's new. Thank you for letting me share this with you, Miranda. I want to help you learn—learn to love yourself."

Miranda spun around to face Andrea. She didn't know whether to be touched or insulted by the young girl's words. "What do you mean?"

"Miranda, you've spent so much time and energy trying to be who people want or expect you to be. I can see that you struggle with this." Andrea reached up and cupped Miranda's cheek with her hand. "Please. Let me love you, Miranda."

Miranda pulled Andrea's hand away and kissed her palm as she wrapped the young woman's arms around her and exhaled softly into her lover's arms.

The End