Chapter Text
Andrea Sachs didn’t care about fashion at all. In fact, you could even say she hated it. She despised what she and her boyfriend Nate called “Runway girls” named after the well-known Runway magazine, run by the famous —and notoriously mean— Miranda Priestly.
That had been her whole life until she moved to New York in search of a career in journalism. To get her foot in the door, she found herself having to start at Runway, specifically as Miranda’s junior assistant.
She had already been in the position for several months, learning every day how to follow Miranda’s strict rules and carry out her complicated demands. When she first started working there, she was the office laughingstock because of her lack of style. She was starting to improve a little, but it still didn’t come easily to her. She had always caught her coworkers’ attention, because really, who would want to work at Runway if they didn’t care about fashion? Emily Charlton, the first assistant, had told her on her very first day that a million girls would kill for that job.
Emily was a complicated girl. Andrea tried to get along with her, but her coworker didn’t share that goal. She was curt and cold, and didn’t seem to care about anyone but herself and Miranda.
—
Monday, the first day of the week, Andrea arrived at the office ten minutes early with Miranda’s coffee: one no-foam skimmed latte with an extra shot, along with three Louis Vuitton bags her boss had sent her out to pick up. She walked in balancing everything, and the first thing she heard was Emily snapping at her.
“You’re late, Sachs. Miranda’s furious,” the redhead scolded.
“But… I got here ten minutes early,” she replied, surprised.
“Clearly you don’t know her. Come on, move. Leave the Louis V bags here and take her the coffee.”
Andrea obeyed and knocked on her boss’ door.
“Come in,” Miranda said.
Andy stepped inside, set the coffee down on the desk, and apologized for being late. Miranda simply stared at her for several seconds before saying her now iconic “That’s all.”
When she came back out, Emily looked almost surprised to see Andrea still alive.
“How was your weekend, Em?” the brunette asked.
“Don’t call me that,” Emily snapped. “We’re not friends. We’re coworkers. Unfortunately.”
“There’s no need to answer me like that, Emily,” Andrea replied, hurt.
“Then try not talking to me. That way I won’t have to respond in any way that might offend your sensitive little heart.”
Andrea fell silent, staring at Emily for a few seconds, puzzled by her behavior. Her coworker was usually rude, but not that rude. She turned to her computer and started drafting a couple of reports Miranda wanted by the next day. Both Emily and Andrea spent the morning answering calls for Miranda. It was what Andrea disliked the most, because people were always calling and asking her to write down things with strange names. One day she asked how to spell “Gabbana,” and Emily reacted as if Andrea had just told her she planned to sneak into her bedroom at night and slowly murder her. Then again, maybe Emily didn’t think that was such a bad idea. The sneaking into her room part, I mean. The slow murder might be a bit much.
—
“Just leave me alone, Nate! You don’t understand!”
“What don’t I understand? Tell me, Andy! That you spend more time kissing the bitch of your boss’ ass or trying to get your coworker who is a bitch, to like you?”
“Don’t talk about them like that! They haven’t done anything to you!” Andrea tried to defend them, feeling tears begin to form in her eyes.
It wasn’t the first time she had argued with her boyfriend, especially about work. In fact, the shouting in their apartment had become the couple’s daily soundtrack. Nate couldn’t understand how his girlfriend could prefer working unpaid overtime for her boss and helping her coworker, the same people she used to complain about during her first weeks on the job. But ever since Nigel gave her her first pair of Jimmy Choos, he felt she had changed, that she wasn’t the same anymore… that she had become just another Runway girl. He didn’t recognize Andy anymore, only Andrea. She had changed the way she dressed, the way she acted, the way she joked, even the way she spoke. Some words slipped out with a strange British accent, and Nate had no idea where it came from.
Andrea locked herself in the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She leaned her back against the wall and slowly slid down until she was sitting on the floor, her forehead resting against her knees. She cried until she finally felt emptied out.
When she came back out, she found that Nate wasn't home and he'd left a note sitting on the kitchen table:
“This can’t keep going like this, Andy. I’m going out for a walk to clear my mind. See you later. Love you.”
Andrea crumpled the note into a ball and threw it into the trash. She turned on her laptop and tried to work from home. Emily and she had to organize a trip for Miranda, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t focus. Her mind kept drifting back to how exhausted she was from the constant arguments with Nate and from the fact that her own boyfriend didn’t understand her.
She knew she was changing; she couldn’t deny the obvious. But swapping her cerulean sweater for a Chanel jacket wasn’t exactly that difficult to adapt to, was it?
It seemed that the only person who even remotely understood how she felt was Emily. Out of everyone in the world, really. Of course she had to feel understood by the rudest person on planet Earth...