Revenge Wears Prada: The Devil Returns. Lauren Weisberger
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want to go. And I assure you, yoga is not my thing.’
‘Thanks. It, um …’ Andy coughed, trying hard to suppress a smile. ‘It means a lot to hear you say that.’
‘I’m not saying it to make you feel good, Andy. I’m saying it because it’s all true. And Emily has given me an initial sketch of your ideas for The Plunge, which I think sound terrific, too.’
This time Andy allowed herself a wide grin. ‘You know, I have to admit I was skeptical when Emily approached me with her idea for The Plunge. The world didn’t seem to need another wedding magazine. There just didn’t seem to be any place in the market for it. But as she and I talked it through, we realized there was a serious lack of a Runway-esque wedding magazine – super high-end, glossy, with gorgeous photography and zero cheese factor. Something that featured celebrities and socialites and weddings that were financially out of reach for most readers but that still played to their daydreams and plans. A book that offered the sophisticated, savvy, style-conscious woman page after page of inspiration on which she could model her own wedding. Right now there’s a whole lot of baby’s breath and dyeable shoes and tiaras, but there isn’t anything showing a more sophisticated bride her options. I think The Plunge will fill a real niche.’
Max stared at her, a bottle of root beer clutched in his right hand.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to give you the full pitch. I just get excited talking about it.’ Andy took a sip of her Corona and wondered if it was insensitive of her to drink in front of Max.
‘I was ready to invest because the idea is solid, Emily’s very convincing, and you’re extremely attractive. I didn’t realize you can be every bit as convincing as Emily.’
‘I went overboard, didn’t I?’ Andy buried her forehead in her hands. ‘Sorry.’ She said the words, but she could think of nothing other than Max calling her extremely attractive.
‘You’re not just a good writer, Andy. We can all get together in the city and discuss the details next week, but I can tell you right now that Harrison Media Holdings would like to be a principal investor in The Plunge.’
‘I know I speak for Emily and myself when I say we would love that,’ Andy said, immediately regretting her formality.
‘We’re going to make a lot of money together,’ Max said, holding his bottle up.
Andy clinked it. ‘Cheers. To being business partners.’
Max looked at her weirdly but clinked her bottle again and took a sip.
Andy felt momentarily awkward but quickly reassured herself she’d said the right thing. After all, Max was a player. Linked to models and society stick figures. This was business, and business partners sounded good and smart.
The mood had changed, that much was clear, so Andy wasn’t surprised when Max dropped her back at Emily’s in-laws’ right after their late-afternoon steamer expedition. He kissed her on the cheek and thanked her for a great day and made no mention whatsoever of getting together again, save for a meeting in his company conference room with Emily and a full legal and accounting team.
And why would he? Andy wondered. Just because he’d flirted a little and called her attractive? Because together they’d spent a single perfect day? None of it meant a damn thing more than due diligence on Max’s part: he was scoping out his investment, being his usual charming and adorable self and having a little flirtatious fun on the side. Which was, according to Emily and everything she could find online, exactly what Max did, and did well and often. Clearly, none of it meant he was the least bit interested in her.
Emily was ecstatic to hear how successful the day had been, and the meeting in the city the following Thursday was even better. Max committed Harrison Media Holdings to a staggering six-figure number to get The Plunge up and running, more than either of them had even dreamed of, and, almost even better, Emily wasn’t able to join them for the spontaneous celebratory lunch Max proposed the three of them share.
‘If you had any idea how hard it was to get this appointment, neither of you would even suggest I skip it,’ Emily said, rushing off to some celebrity dermatologist she’d been waiting nearly five months to see. ‘She’s harder to get an audience with than the Dalai Lama, and my forehead wrinkles are getting deeper by the second.’
So once again Max and Andy went alone, and once again, two hours turned into five, until finally the maître d’ of the midtown steakhouse politely asked them to leave so he could set their table for a dinner reservation. Max held her hand as he walked her home, thirty blocks out of his way, and Andy loved the way it felt to walk alongside him. She knew they made a cute couple, and their attraction to each other elicited smiles from strangers. When they reached her building, Max gave her the most incredible kiss. It was only a few seconds, but it was soft and perfect, and she was alternately pleased and panicked that he didn’t push for more. He didn’t mention anything about their seeing each other again, and although Max most certainly went around kissing girls wherever and whenever he felt like it, something intangible told Andy she would be hearing from him again soon.
Which she did, the very next morning. They saw each other again that evening. Five days later Andy and Max had separated only grudgingly to go to work, taking turns sleeping over at each other’s apartments and choosing fun activities. Max took her to a favorite family-style mob-esque Italian place deep in Queens, where everyone knew his name. When she raised her eyebrows at him, he assured her it was only because his family had gone there at least twice a month when he was growing up. Andy took him to her favorite West Village comedy club, where they laughed so hard at the midnight show that they spit their drinks across the table; afterward, they roamed half of downtown Manhattan, enjoying the summer night, not finding their way back to Andy’s place until nearly sunrise. They rented bikes and took the Roosevelt Island Tram and tracked down no fewer than half a dozen gourmet trucks, sampling everything from artisanal ice cream to gourmet tacos to fresh lobster rolls. They had mind-blowing sex. Often. By the time Sunday rolled around, they were exhausted and satiated and, at least in Andy’s mind, very much in love. They slept until eleven and then ordered in a huge bagel spread and picnicked on Max’s living room carpet, alternating between a real estate makeover show on HGTV and the U.S. Open.
‘I think it’s time to tell Emily,’ Max said, handing her a latte he’d made with his professional espresso machine. ‘Just promise me you’re not going to believe a word she says.’
‘What, that you’re a huge player with commitment issues and a tendency to go for ever-younger girls? Why would I listen to that?’
Max swatted her hair. ‘All grossly exaggerated.’
‘Uh-huh. I’m sure.’ Andy kept her tone light, but his reputation did bother her. This felt different, granted – what playboy lies around watching HGTV? – but didn’t all the girls probably think that?
‘You’re four years younger. Doesn’t that count?’
Andy laughed. ‘I guess so. It helps knowing I’m barely thirty – a baby, for all intents and purposes – and you’re way older than that. Yes, that part’s nice.’
‘You want me to say something to Miles? I’m happy to.’
‘No, definitely not. Em’s coming over to my place tonight to order sushi and watch House reruns. I’ll tell her then.’
Andy was so caught up in wondering how Emily would react – betrayed that Andy hadn’t told her sooner? Irritated that her business partner had gone and gotten herself involved with their financier? Uncomfortable because Max and Miles were such good friends? – that she’d entirely overlooked the likelihood that Emily had suspected something all along.
‘Really? You knew?’ Andy said, stretching a sock-clad foot out on her secondhand couch.
Emily dipped a piece of salmon sashimi in soy sauce and popped it into her mouth. ‘You think I’m a fucking idiot? Or rather, a blind fucking idiot? Of course I knew.’
‘When