“Miranda can see you now,” Charla announced, her unsmiling face surely a bad omen.
She didn’t escort them into Miranda’s office. Maybe she figured they knew the protocol, or maybe she’d decided they weren’t important enough, or maybe the system had changed in the last few years, but when Charla waved them forward, Andy felt herself take a deep breath at exactly the same time Emily inhaled, and side by side, they walked as confidently as they could manage into Miranda’s office.
Thankfully, miraculously, she did not look them up and down. She didn’t look at them at all. She didn’t invite them to sit, or greet them, or in any way acknowledge their existence. Andy had to fight the urge to report some sort of progress or accomplishment, let Miranda know that her lunch had been properly scheduled or the tutor successfully wrangled. She could feel the tension emanating from Emily, too. Unsure of what to do or say, they just stood there. For what may have been the most uncomfortable forty-five seconds of silence ever experienced anywhere, by anyone, for any reason. Andy glanced at Emily, but her friend appeared frozen in terror and uncertainty. And so they stood.
Miranda sat perched on her cold metal chair, back ramrod straight, signature bob as smooth as a wig. She wore a charcoal-colored pleated skirt, made of wool or possibly cashmere, and a patterned silk blouse in stunning shades of red and orange. A delicate white rabbit-fur capelet rested elegantly on her shoulders and a single large ruby, the size of a small candy egg, hung from a chain around her neck. Her nails and lips were varnished in the same red wine color. Andy watched, mesmerized, as those thin, lacquered lips wrapped around the cardboard coffee cup, drank, released. She ran her tongue slowly, deliberately, across the top lip first and then the bottom. Like watching a cobra devour a mouse.
Finally—finally!—Miranda turned her gaze upward from her papers and toward them, although there wasn’t the least glimmer of focus or recognition. Instead, she cocked her head slightly to the side, looked from Emily to Andy and back again, and said, “Yes?”
Yes? Yes? Yes as in What can I help you with, you office intruders? Andy felt her heart begin to race even faster. Did Miranda really not comprehend that she had invited them there? Andy almost fainted in appreciation when Emily opened her mouth to speak.
“Hello, Miranda,” Emily said, her voice sounding steadier than she looked, a wide, fake smile plastered on her face. “It’s good to see you again.”
Andy reflexively proffered her own wide, fake smile and nodded enthusiastically. So much for calm, cool, and collected. To hell with remembering that this woman couldn’t hurt them now, that they didn’t need her for anything, that her hold over them had long since evaporated. Instead, the two of them stood there, grinning like chimpanzees.
Miranda peered at them without a flicker of recognition. Nor did she seem to understand that she had initiated the appointment.
Emily tried again. “We were both so pleased when you requested this meeting. Is there something we can help you with?”
Andy could hear Charla inhale sharply from the anteroom. This had the potential to go very wrong very quickly.
But Miranda merely looked puzzled. “Yes, of course, I called you here to discuss your magazine, The Plunge. Elias-Clark is interested in acquiring it. But what did you mean when you said it’s good to see me again?”
Andy whipped around to look at Emily, but her friend was staring straight at Miranda, frozen. When Andy hazarded a glance at Miranda, she saw the woman staring daggers at Emily.
Andy had no choice. “Oh, I think Emily just means that it’s been so long since we worked here together. Already almost ten years! Emily was your head assistant for two years, and I—”
“Two and a half!” Emily barked.
“And I was here for a year.”
Miranda touched a red nail to an uncomfortably moist red lip. Her eyes narrowed in concentration. After another awkward silence, she said, “I don’t recall. Of course, you can imagine how many assistants I’ve had since then.”
Emily looked like she was filled with murderous rage.
Terrified of what her friend might say, Andy powered forward. She forced a little laugh, which sounded tinny and bitter, even to her own ears. “Yes, I’m relieved you don’t recall, as my . . . uh . . . tenure here didn’t end on the best terms. I was so young, and Paris, while wonderful, was just really overwhelming . . .”
Andy could feel Emily glaring at her now, willing her to shut up, but it was Miranda who interrupted her.
“Were either of you that sorry girl who turned completely catatonic and needed to be carted off to a psychiatric hospital?”
Both girls shook their heads.
“And neither of you were that lunatic who repeatedly threatened to burn down my apartment . . .” This appeared to be more statement than question, although Miranda did glance at them to see if it elicited any reaction.
Again, they shook their heads.
Miranda’s brow furrowed. “There was that plain girl with the terribly cheap shoes who tried to have me arrested on some sort of trumped-up harassment charge, but she was a blonde.”
“Not us,” Andy said, although she could feel Miranda’s gaze burning into her booties, not offensively cheap but not designer either.
“Well then, you must not have been that interesting.”
Have you snapped up the book already? Or do you plan to after reading this part of it? How do you think Andy and Emily will respond to Elias-Clark’s offer? Get the conversation started in the comments below!
Here’s another reason to strive for that corner office with a view: People who work in offices with windows actually move more during the day and sleep better at night, according to new research presented at SLEEP 2013, the 27th annual meeting of the Associated Professional Sleep Societies LLC.
