Hi everyone! *waves* For those of you who hate to read in-progress works, I am really sorry, but this will be posted over the course of the next four months. (Yes, four.) I do promise that I will finish it, so long as you stick with me. Also, there's a tiny bit of Stephen and Nate in here because the plot demands it, but I've tried to keep it somewhat tasteful and euphemistic...and the least-graphic depiction that I could possibly write.

The story is based partially on a plot I had in my head and partially on a prompt that I'll disclose at the end.

Thank you, in advance, for reading and reviewing along the way!

== INFIDELITY ==

"You will both come to the benefit tonight," Miranda said, standing there between her two assistants.

Andrea sighed and typed a quick text message to Nate: hey, sorry, but i have to go to the benefit w/ M tonight. i'll make it up to you, i promise. wait up for me. happy birthday! :-*

Miranda cleared her throat and the girl quickly flipped her phone over, realizing the editor had probably seen the text she just sent to Nate.

The phone buzzed on the desk, but Andrea ignored it.

Miranda looked at Andrea, raising an eyebrow, but the girl didn't take the bait. "Will you just answer your pathetic boyfriend already?" the editor said.

Andrea folded her arms across her chest. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, moving to stand between the editor and the phone.

Miranda rolled her eyes and stormed back into her office. "Have Nigel do your hair and makeup, will you? I can't have a Raggedy Ann following me around all night."

Andrea sighed. "Yes, Miranda," she said, snatching her phone and heading back towards the Closet.

Miranda took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. Why had she insisted the young woman attend tonight? Yes, Emily was under the weather, but she was still perfectly capable, she thought. Miranda picked up the phone and dialed the Art Director's extension.

"Yes, Miranda?" he answered.

"Put her in the Valentino, the cap-sleeve. With a red lip," she said, hanging up the phone before he could respond.

She wanted nothing more than for the night to be over. Jacqueline showed up early. Stephen showed up drunk. And it had been a mistake to bring Andrea; she couldn't think clearly with the brunette so close. Maybe had she actually been dressed like Raggedy Ann, she wouldn't have been such a…distraction.

"Hey—what does it take to get a drink around here!?"

Miranda took a deep breath and sprung into action, taking her husband's arm and leading him away from the group. "Stephen, honey, please," she said, softly placing her hand on his chest.

"What about you?" he slurred, pointing to Elias-Clarke Chairman Irv Ravitz. "They'd have to listen to you, little man!"

Miranda firmly grasped his shirt and turned him around. "Dance with me," she said. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and sighed when he finally stopped shouting.

Looking up, she met eyes with the brunette, who was casually talking to her boss. Thank you, she mouthed.

Andrea winked.

She winked.

Miranda closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to her husband's chest, desperately trying to rid her mind of images of the young woman and her come-hither wink. "Ohh!" she gasped, feeling Stephen pull her tightly against the straining bulge in his pants.

"I want to fuck you right here, Mira," he whispered into her ear.

"Oh god," she groaned and pulled back.

"Hey—" he shouted again.

She saw heads turning in their direction, so she quickly kissed him on the cheek and whispered to him, "I want you to take me…in the backseat of the car."

His eyes lit up and he led her towards the exit. Andrea must have been watching them, because she met them at the door with Miranda's wrap.

"Will there be anything else this evening?" she asked. Her concern was written all over her face.

"No," she said. "Wait—actually, call me immediately if that contract with Pierre comes in," she added, looking pointedly at the young woman.

After a few seconds, Andrea's features softened. "Will do. Have a good evening," she said.

Miranda followed her husband. While she was typically grateful to escape the spotlight, tonight she entered the car with apprehension. She knew she could only delay the inevitable so long, and she prayed that she could at least hold him off until they reached the privacy of their home.

"M'randa," he slurred, pulling her onto his lap.

"Stephen, darling—please," she said. Unable to wriggle out of his grip, she reached her hand down and cupped his bulge, softly raking her nails across the taut fabric of his pants. "Stephen, let go," she said, squeezing him gently.

And on command, he did.

Thankfully, it was a short ride from the Met to the townhouse. Once they were inside and the door was locked, Miranda was much more comfortable. Knowing her daughters were at their father's for the weekend, she playfully led her husband upstairs and into the bedroom, pausing only to carefully step out of her designer gown.

Afterwards, she lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. He was no longer enough for her. Had he ever really been enough? She knew the answer to that. The sound of her ringing cell phone broke her train of thought.

"Let it go," he groaned, reaching his arm across his wife's body.

"I can't," she said, crawling out of bed and slipping into her silk robe. "I have an empire to run. Yes?" she answered.

"Hi, Miranda. I'm so sorry to bother you, but, um…"

"Is there a point to this phone call?"

"Sorry. Yes, that contract with Pierre—" the young woman said, pausing. "It came through, but it's a mess. I can't make heads or tails of it. I know you wanted to be notified," she said.

"Yes, well, I see. That is unfortunate. And there's no way this can be handled over the phone? I have to see it in person?"

"Uhh, um… I mean… I don't know?"

Miranda rolled her eyes. "Fine. Bring it by in ten minutes." She ended the call and looked over at her husband. "I'm sorry, but—"

"I know. Your empire calls," he said. "Go on."

Miranda made her way downstairs, picking up the items of clothing they had previously discarded. She made herself a cup of hot tea and was walking back into the foyer when she heard the door open.

Andrea was still in her couture, her lips as red and as plump as ever. She clutched the folder to her chest as if her life depended on it—and who knew, maybe it did.

Miranda took the folder and opened it, flipping through the pages of their standard form contract with photographers. About halfway through, there was a post-it with a note that caught her attention: Is everything okay? Are you hurt? Tell me to call Nigel if you want the police involved. Ask for Emily if you need me to stay.

Her eyes darted up and met the girl's. She glanced up at the staircase before speaking.

"I am fine," she said quietly. "Your midwestern values are rather charming, Andrea."

"I don't understand. I thought you wanted—"

"To see you?"

"—me to—wait, what?"

"I will not repeat myself." Miranda folded her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall. "You look stunning tonight, you know."

"Really?" Her voice squeaked.

Miranda smiled and nodded. "I couldn't say anything before," she added, gently brushing the woman's arm. "You need to leave."

"Oh, uh, alright," she said, picking up the folder from the table. "I will see you Monday, unless there's anything else?"

"Tell Pierre I need to see a revised draft by tomorrow night—that's all," she said, turning around and heading back up the stairs.

Once the front door closed, she felt a crippling sense of panic wash over her. What on earth was she doing, toying with her assistant like that? That smart, fat girl was liable to sue her for harassment.

"Nate, how many times do I have to explain? I don't have an hourly job. There's no being 'off' work. I'm always on," she said. "Look, I had to stop at Runway to get something for Miranda. I will be home soon," she added, ending the call.

She climbed the steps of the townhouse and fished out her key, opening the door and silently walking into the foyer. There was no sign of Miranda, but before she left, she sent a quick text message: I brought the revision from Pierre. -AS

The editor replied immediately. Where are you?

Your foyer.

In thirty seconds, Miranda emerged from the top of the staircase, just as Andrea was removing her camel trench coat. She gasped and froze, gripping the banister tightly with her hand.

"Hi, Miranda," the young woman smiled. "I brought the revisions from Pierre."

Miranda couldn't focus on whatever else was coming from her mouth. The only thing she could think about was how badly she wanted to put her mouth on the girl's nipples. That she had the audacity to wear such a sheer dress with no undergarments whatsoever was beyond surprising. "Andrea, are you—"

"Wearing the de la Renta? Yes," she said, smiling.

Miranda didn't think it was possible, but the girl's nipples seemed to harden under her gaze. She was spilling out of the dress. It was two sizes too small in the bust, but while Miranda would never put this on the pages of her magazine, she couldn't deny that it was incredibly sexy to see the woman's smooth, creamy white skin, so full against the offending fabric.

"Helloo?" the girl said, waving her hand in front of the editor's eyes. "Did you still want to see this?"

Miranda snatched the folder from her hands and flipped through the pages. She tried to seem disinterested, but the trained eye could probably tell she was looking for another note from the young woman. And sure enough, on the last page, she found another post-it: Does this dress look okay?

Miranda felt her throat go dry. It was an involuntary response, licking her lips like that, but it didn't matter because it definitely answered the young woman's question.

She stepped closer and reached across for the folder. Miranda's hand twitched at her side as she forced it still. How did that saying go? Look, but don't touch? That is what she would have to do.

.

.

.

TBC

Thank you for reading. Kindly leave a note of encouragement if you liked (or didn't)!