Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know (231 page)

Emily took a drag from her cigarette and slowly exhaled. Andy wasn't pregnant anymore. Just one wouldn't kill her. Andy motioned toward the pack.

‘You want one?' Emily asked, and Andy nodded.

The first inhalation burned her throat and tasted terrible, but it improved quickly after that. ‘My god, this is good.'

Emily leaned closer. ‘Patrick McMullan is here photographing. Supposedly Matt Damon and that cute wife of his are here, but I haven't seen them yet. There's a whole slew of Victoria's Secret models, and they're keeping the guys happy. And Agatha just got a message from Olive Chase's publicist that she and Clint may be stopping by after another event in Tribeca. I'm not exactly sure how it happened, but this is turning into the party of the year.'

Max returned, handing Andy one of the cilantro tequila drinks and holding a water for himself. ‘Sorry, Em, I didn't know what you wanted.'

She made a beeline for the bar before Andy could blink.

‘I haven't seen you smoke in years,' Max said, eyeing her cigarette.

Andy took another drag. She was enjoying it immensely now, both the cigarette and Max's look of surprise.

In a nearby couch area, Miles was talking to a few people from
The Plunge
's staff, specifically to Agatha, who was wearing a sleeveless white crepe romper, cinched at her nonexistent waist with a gold snake-shaped belt and punctuated with kick-ass gold lamé heels that on anyone else would have looked cheap and trying too hard but on Agatha just looked fierce. Andy didn't like how friendly they appeared, but before she could think too much about it, Miles spotted her and jumped to his feet.

‘I propose a toast,' he announced, holding his beer stein aloft. ‘To Andy and Emily, wherever she is. They managed to make weddings something beautiful and interesting. Something with style. And apparently, we're not the only ones who think so.'

With this everyone at the table cheered.

Miles waved his glass, clinked it first with Andy's and then with Agatha's. ‘Happy birthday to
The Plunge.
Three years never looked so good.'

Andy did her best to smile and clink her glass with the others. After a couple minutes' small talk, she excused herself to find Emily and make sure the enormous Sylvia-Weinstock-designed wedding cake Andy had ordered – her only task for the
evening
– was being prepped for its grand appearance.

She was walking past the smaller corner bar when she heard a familiar voice call her name.
It can't be,
she thought to herself, and refused to look.
He lives in London now. He's barely ever in New York. He isn't on the invite list.
It wasn't until she felt the warm hand wrap around her bare forearm that she knew for certain.

‘What? Not even a hello?' he said, pulling her close to him. As always, he was wearing a European-tailored – that is to say, tight – suit, a crisp white shirt opened one button too many, and no tie. He had a day's worth of stubble and perhaps an extra etching or two around his eyes, which did absolutely nothing to detract from his sexiness. And he was staring at her with an expression that said he knew it.

There was only one thing to do: forget about her melting blowout and lack of accessories and relocated baby weight (ass, thighs, boobs), and just
own
it. She stuck her sizable chest forward as Christian Collinsworth let his eyes run over the length of her body.

‘Christian,' she murmured. ‘What are you doing here?'

He laughed and sipped his drink, which she knew was an extra-dry gin and tonic. ‘You think I could be in New York and hear about the party of the year and not stop by? Especially when we're all here to fete my Andy's accomplishments?'

Andy tried to match his casual laugh but hers sounded more like a donkey bray – guttural, honking, and much too loud. ‘Your Andy?' She held up her left hand. ‘I'm married now, Christian. Remember the wedding you attended a year ago? We have a daughter now.'

His dimples came out in full force; the smile that caused them was amused and perhaps a bit condescending. ‘I heard as much but I wasn't sure whether to believe it or not. Congratulations, Andy.'

Wasn't sure whether to believe it or not? Why, because the idea of me as a mother is just too far-fetched for comprehension?

In an instant his hand was on her, right at the spot where her lower back and hip met, the location of some Spanx-busting back-and-love-handle-combo fat rolls that had proven stubborn beyond belief. He gave her a squeeze and she turned to him in horror.

He threw his hands into the air. ‘What? Are you Mormon now in addition to being married? Is your husband going to materialize out of thin air and punch me in the face because I touched his property?' And again, there was that smile. ‘Come on, let's get you a drink, and you can catch me up on what else has been happening.'

Somewhere far away, Andy knew she should excuse herself to help Emily, check in with the babysitter, find a bathroom, anything at all except blindly follow Christian Collinsworth to the bar, but she was incapable of leaving him. She accepted the tequila drink Christian handed her and did her best to lean against the bar in a manner that conveyed confidence, aloofness, and sexiness all at once. At this point she could only hope to remain upright and not spring a leak from her now-heavy breasts.

‘What's your daughter's name?' Christian asked. He gazed directly into Andy's eyes and yet still managed to convey that he couldn't have cared less.

‘Clementine Rose Harrison. She was born in June.'

‘Nice. And how have you been adjusting to motherhood?'

It had gone too far, and Andy was pleased to discover she'd found her voice. ‘Oh, save it, Christian. You really want to talk sleep schedules and swaddle blankets? Why don't we talk about your real favorite subject. How have
you
been since we last saw each other?'

He sipped his drink and appeared to think about this. ‘I have to say, I've been good. Did you know I'm living in London?' He didn't wait for Andy to respond. ‘And it's really been working for me. Lots of time to write, good opportunities to do some traveling in Europe, plenty of new faces. New York was just getting so … tired.'

‘Mmm.'

‘Right? I mean, aren't you at the point where you would rather be anywhere but here?'

‘Actually, I'

‘Andy, Andy, Andy.' He leaned toward her, tilting his chin down and blinking his unfairly long lashes. ‘Didn't we have such a good time together? What happened to us?'

Andy couldn't help but laugh once again. ‘What happened? You mean when we woke up one morning in your suite at the Villa d'Este and you asked if I wanted to meet your girlfriend? Who just so happened to be arriving later that day? Never mind that we'd been dating for nearly six months at that point?'

‘I wouldn't say'

‘Sorry.
Sleeping together
for nearly six months.'

‘It's never that simple. She wasn't my girlfriend per se. It was a complicated situation.'

A flash of chartreuse caught her eye.

‘Andy?' Christian pushed up even closer to her, but Andy was barely aware of him.

She could now see that the chartreuse was actually a
poncho
– a fur poncho – and it sashayed closer and closer to Andy. Before she had a second to compose herself, Nigel had wrapped his arms around her and pushed her face into his furry shoulder.

‘Darling! I was hoping I'd see you here. Quite the little soiree you girls threw here tonight. I'm very impressed.'

Christian leaned over and whispered in Andy's ear. ‘You might want to say hello.' Andy glanced at his grin and dimples and, for a split second, wanted to stick her tongue in his mouth.

Nigel didn't seem to notice Andy's shock. Instead, he thrust her backward by the shoulders, kissed both her cheeks, and said, ‘We brought the whole team tonight. No one wanted to miss out on such a delicious party!'

With this pronouncement, Andy thought she might faint. Was this the price of success? To have Miranda constantly, persistently, miserably resurfacing in her life? On her first public outing since giving birth, did she really need to deal with Miranda Priestly on top of a disappointed friend, a cheating ex-boyfriend, and soon-to-be-leaking breasts?

Thankfully, Christian stepped in and greeted Nigel. Almost instantly the two were discussing the schedule of the upcoming Fashion Week, and Andy was able to sneak a look at the
Runway
crew: Serena, Jessica, and three or four Clackers were all in various states of fabulousness, with miles of thick, shiny, blown-out hair; skimpy dresses; high heels; toned arms; flat stomachs; tanned legs; and sparkly jewelry. There wasn't a single misstep among them; individually each looked gorgeous, and together they made a cabal so attractive it just seemed wrong.

‘Miranda's not here?' Andy blurted out, completely unaware that she was interrupting Christian and Nigel.

Each turned to stare at her. Christian's look was one of sympathy, the type of expression you gave to a ranting crazy person on the subway. Nigel's was one of amusement. ‘Why no, dear. You think Miranda had nothing better to do tonight than come here? If it weren't so self-involved, it would almost be sweet …' He smiled magnanimously.

Andy stared at him in horror. ‘No, it's not that I
wanted
her to be here …'

Nigel slowly nodded and turned back to Christian, who made no attempt to smooth over her awkwardness. Max's approach and a slug from her drink saved the day.

‘Hi, baby,' Andy said, perhaps a bit unnecessarily, but she appreciated the quick flash she saw across Christian's face. ‘Max, you remember Christian Collinsworth. And of course, you've met Nigel.'

‘Good to see you,' Max and Christian said in unison as they shook hands. Andy was proud to see Max reach around and pat her ex on the back, looking confidently taller and manlier than Christian.

Nigel snagged a pink umbrella cocktail off a passing tray and held it up in Max's direction before taking a delicate sip. ‘Lovely seeing you again, Mr Harrison,' he sang.

‘Great party, isn't it?' Max asked, taking a drink from his club soda. ‘Who would ever believe a magazine that's only three years old could draw a crowd like this?'

Andy blushed, realizing that Max was trying to sell the scene to Nigel, but Nigel didn't seem to notice.

‘Every girl loves a wedding, don't they? Even this one!' he trilled, pointing to himself.

Max and Christian merely stared at Nigel, but Andy immediately understood.

‘Are you and Neil making it official?' she asked.

Nigel grinned. ‘I've already got Karl working on my outfit. Picture James Bond meets
Pretty Woman,
with a little dash of
Mary Poppins
thrown in for good measure.'

The three of them nodded enthusiastically.

Christian took that moment to excuse himself, and Andy caught Max staring after him.

‘That sounds amazing,' Andy said to Nigel, though she hadn't the faintest clue what he meant.

‘It's going to be the wedding of the year,' he said without the least bit of irony or modesty.

Andy had a flash of brilliance. It was so obviously perfect that she could barely get the words out. ‘You know, I'm ashamed to say it, but
The Plunge
has never covered a same-sex marriage. I'll have to talk to Emily first, but I'm sure we would both love it if you'd consider letting us feature your wedding. We would guarantee you the cover, of course, and do a great in-depth interview covering all aspects of how you met, started dating, got engaged, the works. I can't make any promises, but maybe we could even arrange for St Germain, or perhaps Testino, to shoot'

Something about the way Nigel smiled at her – slyly, knowingly, but also with sympathy – stopped Andy midsentence.

‘It's quite amazing, it really is,' he said, shaking his head. ‘It's like destiny!'

‘So you like the idea?' Andy asked hopefully, already imagining Emily's ecstatic reaction to the news.

‘Love it, darling. Miranda and I discussed it this morning, and we both agreed it would be cover-worthy. Although she prefers Demarchelier, I still think it would work with Mario. Regardless, it's going to be smashing. I just adore when an idea comes together!'

‘You and Miranda discussed it?' Andy asked, searching for an explanation. The disappointment set in almost immediately. ‘I didn't realize it would be the type of thing
Runway
would'

Nigel screeched. ‘You're too sweet, darling! Of course it's not right for
Runway,
but it's absolutely perfect for
The Plunge.
'

Andy looked at him in confusion. ‘So you want to talk about featuring it? Because I know we would be so excited to'

Again, Nigel's expression silenced her. ‘No need to talk about anything at all, my love. It's all been decided.'

Andy's eyes flew to Max, who was staring at the ground.

‘Oh, you must mean the proposal for Elias-Clark to acquire
The Plunge,
right?' Andy asked, truly puzzled and trying to recover a modicum of control.

No one said a word. Nigel stared at her as though she'd just offered him a test ride on her spaceship.

‘I know it's on the table, and we're very much entertaining the idea,' she lied again. ‘But nothing's been decided yet.'

Another long, excruciating period of silence ensued.

Nigel smiled patronizingly. ‘Of course, dear.'

Max cleared his throat. ‘Well, however it happens, I think we can all agree it'll make a great story. Congratulations again! Now, will you please excuse me while I steal Andy away for a moment?'

Nigel was back in the mix of the
Runway
crew before Max even had a chance to steer Andy toward the bar.