Chapter Text
The layout is all wrong. At least they had paid some attention to the colour scheme. Blues and greens may be predictable for springtime but when chosen with care and precision, they could come together quite elegantly. However, that elegance is dashed by a layout that looked like it had been done by a scissor-wielding toddler.
Andrea must have crept in and dropped off the mail. I vaguely remember her breezing in with her usual glinting smile and persistent cheer about mid-morning, it must have been about 10 or 10.30 because I had a meeting at 11 with Donatella.
I haven’t had chance to read it until now and it is so late that the book has been delivered directly into my hand by a shaking intern. Andrea has done her usual, as she should, and already opened and screened it all, which makes the piece of paper in my hands even more confusing.
I stare down at it again, trying to decipher the words. It is in English, but I wonder for a second if I have suddenly become unable to speak my mother tongue.
“February, the month of lust and love. I find myself finally bold enough to tell you some of my musings even if it is without revealing myself. Maybe by the time Valentine’s comes along I’ll be brave enough to tell you face to face. For now I’ll say that I love your hair. I bet it is so very soft despite sitting so perfectly. I wonder if you like it played with? Do you enjoy fingers running through it? It being gently pulled while being kissed breathless? I bet it looks phenomenal mussed. I imagine making it like that, holding you by it while I lick into your mouth, I nip and kiss, let my hands slide from your hair down…”
Fortunately, she is the only one still here with me, sat diligently at her desk, waiting for me to dismiss her for the day.
I take it with me and storm though to the assistants’ desks, “Where did this come from?” I bark.
Andrea looks up immediately, a harsh jerk of the neck until her eyes meet mine and she smiles, her eyes glinting despite their darkness. How do they do that, how does so much light come from such dulcet tones of chocolate? I wave the note again, demanding an answer. “Oh, it arrived this morning.”
“Where is the envelope?”
“Shredded with all the others like usual,” she answers, a small frown on her features.
I considering for one mad moment requesting she retrieve the bits from the machine and piece it back together, but contrary to popular belief I am not totally unreasonable. “Did you read it?”
“Only as much to realise it was personal and intended only for you,” she answers, so clearly I would have thought her words rehearsed. Maybe they are, maybe having read it she was expecting this conversation and had thought of a suitable response.
I hum, slightly unconvinced and her cheeks redden slightly confirming my theory. Andrea knows the entire contents of the note. I can’t blame her, had I come across something so salacious I would also have been tempted to continue reading. It doesn’t matter, Andrea knows better than to do anything with the information and more importantly, I trust her not to. “If a similar one comes in tomorrow, I want the envelope put aside for me to inspect, understand?”
“Yes Miranda.”
I doubt whoever’s boldness will reoccur on a second day, it rarely does, but just in case, I know Andrea will do as I ask.
She has become rather good at it.