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Chapter 1
Miranda glared after Jacqueline’s retreating back, trying not to gag as the woman’s freesia-scented perfume lingered. She turned back to the Chairman of Elias-Clarke and resisted the urge to throttle him. "Have you gotten my note?"
"Yes, I did. We'll discuss it on Wednesday." Irv’s self-satisfied smirk could have lit up the whole room.
Miranda’s smile grew frostier, and her eyes flashed fire. It was only years of practice that allowed her to control her voice. "Yes, I agree. No business tonight." She resisted the urge to throttle the insufferable man. Really, the nerve of him! He didn’t have the grace to sound slightly repentant.
Irv returned the smile, a cruel gleam of amusement in his eye.
Miranda gritted her teeth. He was taking far too much delight in watching her squirm. If he wasn’t her boss, she would have cut him down in an instant. But she couldn’t afford to alienate Irv now. She needed just a little bit more time to make sure everything turned out the way she planned...
"Excuse me, Mr. Ravitz?" a female voice interrupted them.
Miranda turned towards the new arrival, ready to chew out whoever had the courage to interrupt them.
The young woman fixed her gaze on the short, balding man with an innocent smile. "I could not help but overhear this little interaction. Just to be clear, Miranda sent you a memo with a request that Jacqueline arrive after her exit and you still, for some juvenile reason, brought her as your date?"
Miranda felt her lips twitch and a bubble of amusement well up inside her. It wasn’t often that she got to watch someone be quite so insolent to Irv Ravitz. It was a pity that the girl would find herself banned from all Elias-Clarke events after this little stunt. Unless she had a powerful ‘protector’. With a critical eye, she examined the figure in the black dress from Yves Saint Laurence and the matching Manolo Blahniks. She was attractive, Miranda supposed, but not a typical beauty and a little too fat. And her clothes were a conservative style, she decided, with an equally conservative price tag. Definitely no ‘protector’.
"How da-" Irv sputtered.
The young woman continued like he hadn't even spoken. "I had thought that the chairman of Elias-Clarke was a suave businessman who did not need useless power plays in lieu of Viagra. But you know what they say about assumptions." She gave him a sickeningly-sweet smile.
By now, Irv’s face had flushed bright red. He was visibly shaking, almost frothing at the mouth. Miranda experienced a brief pang of concern. It wouldn’t be good for Runway’s image if its Chairman suffered a heart-attack at the gala tonight.
"Who the hell do you think you are?!" Irv growled
With a shark smile that almost rivaled Miranda's the young woman replied, "I'm Andrea Clarke, your new boss."
Miranda felt like a sledge hammer had just hit her over the head as the gears in her brain scrambled to shift directions. ‘Your new boss’? She hadn’t heard of any hostile take-over attempts that would warrant such boldness, and Irv had made it clear time and time again that he had no boss. But the look in the girl’s eyes said she wasn’t bluffing. And the name. Andrea Clarke...it was vaguely familiar. She shot a glance at Emily, standing just behind her.
The assistant stared blankly back at her, eyes wide with desperation.
Miranda pursed her lips. “If you can’t be of any use, go away,” she hissed under her breath. She heard Emily’s squeak and ignored it, turning away. The girl was getting worse and worse at her job these days. Maybe it was time to find a new first assistant.
A glance at Irv told her that she was missing something. He had clearly recognized Andrea’s name, and his mouth had dropped open, moving soundlessly. He was paler than a pastry chef’s hat.
“There you are, my dear,” a familiar voice said. Arthur Clarke appeared at Andrea’s shoulder and pressed a champagne glass into her hand. “I wondered where you ran off to. Hello, Irv. Miranda, you’re as beautiful as always.”
“Thank you, Arthur,” Miranda greeted the founder and former co-owner of Elias-Clarke with air kisses. “And you look very dashing tonight.” And he did, for a seventy-three year old. He was still relatively slim and looked good in a tuxedo.
“Have you met my daughter-in-law?” Arthur beamed, oblivious to the undercurrents. “This is Andrea, Gregory’s wife. Andy, this is Irv Ravitz, the Chairman of Elias-Clarke. And Miranda Priestly, the Editor-In-Chief of American Runway.”
Miranda struggling not to let her own jaw drop open. This was Gregory Clarke’s elusive wife? The one for whom he’d insulted half of polite society by having a private wedding of twenty people instead of a five hundred guest extravaganza, and then refusing to discuss his marriage or his wife. She vaguely remembered hearing about their wedding, and noting at the time that she’d seemed very young and very ‘Plain Jane’ in all the pictures that the paparazzi had published. But the three (or was it four?) years since then had matured her, and she looked radically different. Although still quite young, she’d at least lost her baby fat and had morphed into something semi-attractive.
Andrea’s lips curved in that predatory smile. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Irv.” She held out her hand, the white-gold engagement and wedding bands sparkling in the light.
Irv looked like he’d swallowed a lemon as he shook her hand and quickly let go. “Charmed,” he said through gritted teeth. Even he couldn’t afford to insult the Clarkes, who still owned nearly forty percent of the Elias-Clarke shares. Not quite enough for a controlling majority, but still enough to make them nearly untouchable. And once their friends and close allies were factored in, the Clarkes probably did control over fifty percent of the shares.
Miranda leaned forward to exchange air kisses with the young woman. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Clarke.” And she honestly meant it. Watching Irv squirm more than made up for any embarrassment she herself had suffered.
Andrea laughed, her voice tinkling like a fairy bell. “The honor is mine, Ms. Priestly. I have heard so much about you.”
“I’m sure you have,” Irv remarked dryly. “On page six, no doubt.”
It was Miranda’s turn to grit her teeth at the not so subtle dig. A sharp glance towards him revealed his smirk firmly back in place.
“No, no,” Andrea waved a hand casually. “Gregory hasn’t stopped singing Miranda’s praises since I met him. And after reading Runway, I’d have to agree. The articles are fabulous, and the photo-shoots are simply stunning.” Her eyes narrowed. “Besides, we all know that Page 6 can’t be trusted, can it? There’s all sorts of vile and vicious innuendos. Why, just last week I thought I saw something about you there. Who was it...that new actress...Katherine something, wasn’t it?.”
Andrea Clarke had guts, Miranda had to admit. Guts and a quick tongue. But there was something else about her too, something that Miranda would recognize anywhere because she saw it every day when she looked in the mirror. It was the confidence of power earned rather than handed to her on a silver platter. She was nothing like any of the other child-brides that she’d watched the rich and famous parade through here.
Irv swallowed and conceded the battle, lowering his eyes. “It’s been lovely meeting you Mrs. Clarke, but I should mingle.”
“Of course.” A gracious smile touched Andrea’s lips, but her brown eyes shone in triumph.
Irv seemed about to say something, then thought better of it and turned away.
“Give my regards to your wife,” Andrea called after him. He visibly flinched.
The moment he was out of ear shot, Arthur turned inquisitive eyes on the young woman. “Dare I ask what that was about?”
Andrea rolled her eyes. “He was rude to me earlier, when he thought I was one of the staff here. I didn’t appreciate being told to hang up his coat and get him a martini. I haven’t had to do that since I was twenty-two and working for Alan.” Her smile, warmer now, turned wicked. “Besides, after all I’ve heard from you and what I’ve heard tonight, I thought he deserved taking down a peg or two.” She turned to Miranda with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry for involving you, Ms. Priestly, but that was too good an opportunity to give up.”
“It’s quite all right,” Miranda returned, a little awkwardly. It wasn’t like she could say anything else, particularly with Arthur Clarke hovering over her like an over-protective mother hen.
“Gregory is looking for you, my dear,” Arthur told his daughter-in-law. “He wants to introduce you to some of the other members of the Board.”
Distaste flickered across her face for a moment before smoothing into a polite expression again. “I guess I’d better head over there then.”
“Try not to insult too many more of them,” Arthur warned her with an indulgent expression.
“I’ll be an angel,” Andrea promised with a laugh. She turned back to Miranda. “It was a pleasure, Ms. Priestly. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other.” She kissed Arthur’s cheek, and then weaved her way through the crowd, leaving Miranda staring after her.
“I love the girl dearly,” Arthur said abruptly, drawing Miranda’s attention back to himself. “But I’m afraid she has no fashion sense. As you would appreciate.”
Miranda lifted an eyebrow. Certainly, the young woman was conservative and a little boring, but the outfit wasn’t completely devoid of style. Very little by Yves ever was, even at the low-end range which she was wearing.
Arthur laughed. “It took us two hours and a lot of cajoling to convince her to wear even that outfit. If she had her way, I think she’d have worn something from Gap.” His voice dropped to a confidential whisper, “Gregory is near to pulling out his hair in frustration. She just doesn’t understand how important her appearance is.”
Miranda eyed him, smelling a trap. He had to have a reason for telling her this. He was far too experienced a diplomat and a businessman not to realize that it was inappropriate. “Really?”
“Yes,” Arthur sighed. “She desperately needs someone to show her the New York fashions.”
So that was his game. Miranda stiffened and her lips pressed together till they turned white. “Oh?”
Arthur smiled winningly. “I would take it as a personal favor if you could find someone who could help her out. After all, fashion is your forte, and now that Andrea is back here, she needs to dress in the height of fashion.”
“Very well,” Miranda agreed, somewhat ungraciously. She knew when she was beaten. But she wasn’t immune to the compliment either, and smoothed a hand down the side of her elegant Valentino black dress. Perhaps Nigel would know who they could send.
“Wonderful! Gregory will be overjoyed.” Arthur beamed, once more jovial.
Miranda smiled tightly. Her attention was caught by Emily’s panicked expression on the other side of the room. Miranda seized the opportunity. “Please forgive me, but my assistant needs my attention on something over there.”
“Naturally,” the old man inclined his head, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “I’m sure I’ll see you again before the night is over.”
“I’m counting on it,” Miranda returned the pleasantry with a syrupy smile, before heading towards her assistant. Maybe she wouldn’t need to replace Emily after all.
Just over an hour later, Miranda found herself standing with Irv and a group of guests, bored out of her skull. Her smile, perfected over decades of practice, felt like it was painted on. She couldn’t even let her mind wander, just in case Irv decided to take some of his foul mood out on her. He’d been in a snit the entire evening, since Andrea Clarke had very openly slapped his wrists.
“Eh!
Miranda looked up and felt her heart plummet. Stephan was hurrying towards her, noticeably off balance. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been a permanent fixture by the bar.
“When do we eat?” Stephan even sounded drunk as he weaved his way towards her.
Miranda glanced at Irv beside her, taking in his amused smirk. Damn it, Stephan! “Darling,” she exhaled. “There you are.” Quick steps took her across the floor to her wayward husband’s side. She touched his front, hoping the physical contact would remind him to behave himself and he’d shut up before he said anything to embarrass her.
“Yes. It’s been a bad evening.” Stephan said bitterly, “three people didn’t recognize me, one called me ‘Mr. Priestly’ and now the damn bartender won’t even serve me.” His voice was rising in volume, and around them, people were starting to turn and stare.
Miranda looked away from him, praying her face wasn’t reflecting the embarrassment she felt. Why had he picked tonight to drink? She could smell the alcohol on his breath and its stench nearly made her gag. Clearly he’d been drinking before he even arrived. She knew he hated these affairs, but did he have to go and get himself this stoned?
“Why don’t you get me another drink?”
Miranda’s head snapped around, her eyes widening in horror.
Stephan was looking directly at Irv. “He’d have to listen to you, wouldn’t he. L’il guy.”
Miranda closed her eyes as her husband’s words echoed through the silence of the group. She didn’t have to see to know that Irv’s anger was visible on his face. She gripped Stephan’s arm tighter, hoping that Irv would let the comment pass but knowing it was unlikely. Even if the chairman didn’t make a scene tonight, she was going to have a lot of buttering up to do tomorrow at work.
“Um, excuse me, Irv?” a smooth voice broke the tense silence, distracting everyone’s attention.
Miranda froze, recognizing Andrea Clarke’s voice.
“Yes?” Irv sounded reluctant to give her his attention.
“Oh, I have just been dying to ask you if it’s true that John Cheever used to ghost write the editors page of Manhattan magazine in the 50s?”
“Yes it is. It’s a very little known fact...” Irv let himself be distracted and seemed happy enough to respond.
The tense atmosphere relaxed as crisis was averted. Miranda tugged Stephan a few steps away and wrapped his arm around her waist, ignoring the feeling of revulsion that swept over her from his proximity. As they started to move, Miranda was thankful that Stephan was a good dancer even when drunk. The last straw on this already pathetically horrible night would be if he stood on her toes. Miranda let her eyes drift over his shoulder, to where Andrea stood chatting to Irv and was startled to find the young woman looking back. The look of compassion and sympathy in her eyes was disturbing. Miranda couldn’t remember the last time anyone but her children had looked at her with anything but barely concealed hate or fear. Miranda hesitated a moment, and then mouthed ‘Thank you’. Andrea smiled faintly and inclined her head slightly, before turning back towards the still talking Irv.
As she slowly revolved in Stephan’s arms, she let her thoughts drift to this latest enigma. This was the second time in one night that Andrea Clarke had rescued her from Irv. She had nothing to gain from either episode, except perhaps an opportunity to take a dig at Irv. Yet she hadn’t hesitated to involve herself. In a world where it was every woman for herself, Miranda decided, Mrs. Clarke was an oddity. She dismissed the woman from her thoughts as easily as she would an irritating employee and turned her thoughts to the latest color scheme for this month’s edition of Runway.
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