56. Tonight and Tomorrow

The day is off to an awful start. Just what I need for our first day of work since getting back from Munich. 

Lark is late. Her text message, if I’m interpreting the emojis right, says something about a costume emergency with one of the leads for an Off-off-Broadway production she’s working on. If she could draw me a map to where she finds the time, I’d go on that quest. Or if she could just be here with Miranda’s coffee in the next two minutes, that would be great, too. 

I glance down at my watch, the second hand ticking in time with my heart. I guess coffee is up to me, on top of all the other disasters I walked into this morning. 

Apparently, the world falls apart when Miranda’s not in residence. Holding my heels by the straps in one hand, and sprinting for the stairs, I’m really starting to understand Miranda’s disdain for incompetence. 

I make it to Starbucks and back in record time, but there’s no way I’m fast enough. I’m still barefoot, and I make a mental note to get my tetanus shot updated, running through the halls of Runway like I’m a scatterbrained Second Assistant again, when I slam into something. 

I pinwheel backward, my entire focus lasered in on the tray of coffees in my hand. In slow motion, a bead of scalding coffee creeps out of the little hole, and I’m praying to whoever will listen that the barista didn’t half-ass securing the lids on the cups. If not, a bad morning is about to become a nightmare with third degree burns. 

Firm hands grab my upper arms, stabilizing me. The scalding liquid falls back into the cups, and we narrowly avoid disaster. 

“Bloody hell, do you have a death wish?” 

I’d know that haughty British accent anywhere, and sure enough, it’s Emily holding my arms and looking down at me with incredulity and disgust on her face. Oddly, the look suits her. 

I don’t waste time lingering. If I’m lucky, Miranda will only be mildly perturbed with the chaos of the morning, but I don’t need to make it any worse by lollygagging. 

I start a brisk pace down the hall. Honestly, it might as well be a run. 

“Kinda busy, Em, no time to chat!” I call back over my shoulder. 

“Try not to ruin that blouse,” is all I hear from her before I turn the corner and hurry into our offices. I slid to a stop in the middle of the outer office. The open doors to Miranda’s personal domain reveal that I’m too late. 

She’s sitting at her desk, staring down at The Book. One leg is crossed over the other, making her maroon pencil skirt ride up just a tantalizing inch. A suede, ivory heel taps the air in time to the  blood red pen against her lips. The rhythm isn’t rushed or frustrated like I’m expecting, but casual. Contemplative. 

For the longest moment, all I can do is stare, unwilling to take that last step and break the bubble of dark skies and shimmering lights. 

Miranda flips a page in The Book without looking up. 

“This publication does run on coffee, you know.” 

Her words snap me out of my paralyzed daze, and I hurry into the room. She finally looks up as I stop in from of her desk. She twirls the pen lazily between her fingers, polished maroon nails catching the light. I desperately try to read her expression, to find any clues in it, but she’s wearing a carefully neutral mask. 

Holding out the coffee cup, I decide to take a risk. 

“I think three-quarters of New York is coffee operated. Starbucks already has a monopoly on our brains, the least they could do is let their employees unionize.” 

Miranda’s hand reaches out, fingers grazing mine as she takes the cup from me, though my eyes are still firmly trained on hers. Slowly, an amused grin spreads across her face, and her eyes twinkle with mischief. 

“The company refuses the unions, the employees strike, and half of New York is comatose.” She sits back and gently swivels the chair back and forth. “That’s not inconsequential bargaining power.”  

I match her grin with one of my own. A weight is lifted off of my shoulders, and I try to make my sigh of relief not too obvious. I open my mouth to respond, but a series of thumps and thuds behind me have me looking over my shoulder. 

Lark is tumbling into the office in all her chaotic glory, dozens of Michael Kors bags shoved onto her arms. Thank god. 

I take a step toward the door, intent on getting back to work and handling the endless disasters, but the sound of a nail tapping against glass has me turning back. 

“We have some things to discuss, Andrea,” Miranda says. Her eyes pierce mine. “Don’t dawdle with The Book tonight.” 

I want to dance. Or laugh. Or squeal while spinning, my arms spread wide and face soaking in the sunshine of this moment. I restrain myself to flashing another smile and nod, her meaning clear. 

Tonight, we’ll talk. About us. 

The twinkle in Miranda’s eyes and her knowing smirk and me think that maybe I haven’t quite hidden my giddiness. Her indulgent “That’s all,” has me practically skipping out of room. 

Tonight. 

I can’t freaking wait. 

***

The waiting is torture. The disaster sprung by a designer declaring he’s scrapping his collection and leaving the models nothing to wear for tomorrow’s photoshoot is actually easier to deal with. 

“Christ,” Nigel mutters as we book it down the busy street. “This is all we need, another scrapped shoot and a new, over budget concept. Her Majesty is playing with fire.”

He stops at the side of the sidewalk and gives a couple quick peeks down the street. Cars are streaking past, but he must judge it safe enough. Next thing I know, he’s pulling me through the road.

“Hey, I didn’t ask to join your suicide attempt,” I snark, tripping over my heels to avoid a taxi running into me. The taxi driver honks. Nigel flips him off. 

“Oh please, you’ve had a death wish since the day I met you. I’m doing you a favor.”

Well. He’s not entirely wrong. 

We somehow make it across the street with our lives and limbs intact and continue at a brisk pace toward the potential venue for the new shoot. 

“Do you really think it’s a big deal, Miranda going over budget?” I ask. I’m proud that I’m only barely panting. The long months of running around the city have done wonders for my cardiovascular health. “She’s done it before, and she’s always gotten away with it. Hell, even when Irv tried to oust her, she managed to turn the tables.”

Nigel snorts and doesn’t slow his pace. 

“Sure. She’ll always find a way to save herself. She always has a few knights and rooks on the board to sacrifice when the time comes.”

Not this again. 

I grab Nigel’s hand and pull him to a stop. 

“You know it’s not that black and white.” I hold his gaze, willing the words to sink in. “She tosses aside pawns, yeah, but she values competence. She wouldn’t throw an asset away just like that.” 

Nigel rolls his eyes. 

“If you really believe that, Six, you’re in for a rude awakening. I’ve known the woman and this industry for nearly two decades. Survival comes first. Self sacrifice isn’t a virtue. At the end of the day, everyone is out for themselves.” 

My face falls, and he huffs out a tired laugh, running his hand over his bald head. 

“Don’t give me those doe eyes, Six. It’s not bad, it’s just the way it works. I got a little too comfortable, is all, and I don’t want you to make the same mistake.” 

He reaches out a finger and bops my nose. 

“Gotta look out for number one, yeah?”

I give him a shaky smile. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

Nigel isn’t satisfied, and he gives me a hard look. 

“Everyone comes and goes, Andy. But that doesn’t mean you need to go with them.” 

That isn’t ominous at all. But I don’t get a chance to call him out. He grabs my forearm and resumes his near run, pulling me with him. 

“Now let’s scope this place out before Her Majesty sends the hounds sniffing for us.” 

***

Back at the office, there’s a hurricane of silk, chiffon, and people running around through it all. It’s only held in control by a steady force at the center. 

I’m standing at the side of Miranda’s desk, taking notes, while underlings run in and out, bringing things and taking them away just as quickly. Miranda walks around the room, all calm power and stillness, unbothered by the movement all around her. 

“No,” she says, flicking a finger at a baby blue belt. “This isn’t a gender reveal.” The man holding the offensive belt scurries away. His face is so pale, I’m a bit worried he’ll pass out in the middle of the hallway. 

Just as long as his unconscious body doesn’t cause a tripping hazard for the rest of us. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Miranda stops in front of a display of various accessories. I’m pretty sure the woman standing behind them is whispering a prayer, though her lips barely move. 

“I want yellow gold. Save the rose gold for spring.”

It goes on and on, and like always, it’s a completely inconvenient turn on to see the world bending to Miranda’s whim. I have to remind myself to breathe more than once. 

Things are finally starting to die down, just a bit, when I spot Emily just outside the office. Her eyes are bugging out of her head, and when she has my attention she gestures frantically. 

“What?” I mouth. 

“Come here!” She silently mouths back. 

I glance between Miranda, still organizing the chaos, and back to Emily. 

“Can it wait?” The silent exchange is starting to feel ridiculous. 

“No!” 

I peek at Miranda again. If this is an emergency, I really should try to get a handle on it before it escalates. 

I hurry over to Emily. As soon as I’m within reach, she grabs my arm and drags me into a corner. 

“What the bloody hell are these?!”

She shoves her phone in front of my face, and it takes my eyes a startling second to adjust and make out what she’s showing me. 

It’s a grainy Instagram photo of Miranda, the girls, and I at the concert. The memories come rushing back, and I can’t stop my smile. 

“It’s a photo, Em. What’s the big deal?”

She looks at me as if my head’s been chopped off and she’s just staring at the stump of my neck. 

“What’s the big deal? No, I refuse to entertain your stupidity. What were you doing in Munich, of all places? And at the Eras Tour? With her?”

All the questions come out with full incredulity, and my spine bristles. 

“It was the girls’ birthday present,” I say, trying to stay calm. “They wanted me to come, so I did. Seriously, Emily, what’s so strange about this? Some people recognized her and took some photos, so what? It happens all the time.”

“This certainly does not happen all the time,” she retorts. “This could be disastrous. It’s one thing if it’s a work event, but a Taylor Swift concert–”

“Did someone say Taylor Swift?” 

Suddenly, Lark is peering over my shoulder at Emily’s phone screen. 

“Oh my gosh! Andy, you got to go to the Eras Tour? I am so jealous! And look at your dress! I want it, but it needs more color. And maybe a feather boa. You can never go wrong with a feather boa.” 

Lark plucks the phone from Emily’s hand, leaving Emily stuttering in affronted bafflement. 

“Oooh, you and Miranda look so good together. The Mirrorball and The Man. Unexpected, but totally right. What were your surprise songs?”

Lark looks up from the phone to stare expectantly at me. I never can seem to find my balance with her. 

“Uh.” My cheeks heat at the memory of what happened between us during the surprise songs. “Fresh Out the Slammer with You Are In Love, and Ivy with Call It What You Want.”

Lark hops up and down, clutching the phone to her chest. 

“Oh my gosh, I would die! I saw them on a livestream, and I swear I screamed when she mashed Call It What You Want with Ivy. Even through a phone screen, it was just so magical and–”

Emily rips the phone from Lark’s grasp. 

“If neither of you are going to take this seriously, I’ll be going. There’s no point in lecturing a brick wall.”

Emily spins on her heel and stalks out, leaving Lark and I to shrug at each other. 

***

The sun sets, but the office is still humming with frenetic energy. It’s nearly ten when people finally start to filter out, their shoulders slumped and rubbing their eyes mid yawn. 

I’m not immune from the yawning epidemic, and a big one hits me, stretching my jaw past what’s comfortable as I type out some last emails and notes at my desk. 

Something tells me that even though it’s ‘tonight,’ Miranda and I won’t be having that talk. It’s alright. Some days just toss all our good plans out the window, and that’s just life. There will be another time to talk, and I’d rather have it be the right time than a rushed mess between meetings or appointments. 

I sign my last email, hit send, and lace my fingers together. I stretch my arms over my head, and the cracks of my knuckles are like the popping firecrackers kids throw on the street on New Year’s. My back is a little stiff, but nothing that the walk and subway ride home won’t cure. 

“Andrea.”

I nearly fall on my face in my haste to get out of my seat. Holding onto the desk for balance, I remind myself to slow down. 

I walk into the office with controlled purpose. 

“Yes, Miranda?” Is my automatic greeting. 

The corners of her eyes crinkle with her small smile, and she gestures for me to sit across from her. 

“We need to talk,” she says when I’m settled. “But it can’t be tonight.”

I smile and lift an eyebrow. “Yeah, I kind of figured that. We need to get at least a couple hours of sleep before the meeting with the lawyers tomorrow.”

Miranda’s face relaxes slightly in relief, and it’s only now that I realized she was tense. Did she think I’d be upset? I think back to the night I overheard her and Stephen arguing, and I guess it makes sense. She’s always been punished for being excellent at her job. 

“I’m glad you understand,” she says, and I can tell she means it. “Tomorrow.” She doesn’t promise, but there’s an eagerness in her eyes, and there’s no way for me to deny that she wants to get things in the open almost as much as I do. 

I smile my agreement, and stand to leave. 

“I take it you’re staying until The Book is ready?”

“Yes,” she replies, leaning back in her chair, one suede heel dangling from her toes. “I may as well finish up what I can before the girls come back.” The wistfulness in her expression is clear that they can’t come back soon enough. 

“Then I’ll leave you to it,” I say. “Goodnight, Miranda.”

“Goodnight, Andrea.”

I force myself to tear my eyes away from hers and walk out of the room. 

When I make it to the ground floor and walk out onto the street, I take a minute to look up and find the glow of her office. 

Tomorrow. 

The thought fills me with giddiness, and despite my aching back and legs, I skip down the street toward the subway. If this were a story, this would be the moment just before a pretty damn great ending.