Revenge Wears Prada: The Devil Returns. Lauren WeisbergerЧитать онлайн книгу.
the two of you couldn’t stop staring at each other – why do you think I didn’t come to lunch? Or the fact that you’ve completely vanished this past week and didn’t return phone calls or texts and have been shadier about where you’ve been hiding out than a high school kid trying to duck her parents? I mean seriously, Andy.’
‘For the record, we definitely did not sleep together that day in the Hamptons. We didn’t even—’
Emily held her hand up. ‘Spare me the details, please. Besides, you don’t owe me any explanations. I’m happy for you both – Max is a great guy.’
Andy looked at her warily. ‘You’ve told me a hundred times what a womanizer he is.’
‘Well, he is. But maybe that’s in his past. People change, you know. Not my husband, that’s for sure – did I tell you I found text messages with some chick named Rae? Nothing solid, but definitely requiring further investigation. Anyway, just because Miles has a roving eye doesn’t mean Max can’t settle down. You might be just what he’s looking for.’
‘Or I may be his flavor of the week …’
‘No way to tell but time. And I say that from experience.’
‘Fair enough,’ Andy said, mostly because she didn’t know what else to say. Miles had the exact same reputation as Max, but without any of the soft side. He was affable enough, certainly social, and he and Emily seemed to have a lot in common, like a mutual love of parties, luxury vacations, and expensive clothes. For all the years they’d been together, though, Andy still felt like she didn’t really know her best friend’s husband. Emily made frequent, casual comments about Miles and his ‘roving eye,’ as she called it, but she shut down whenever Andy tried to delve deeper. As far as Andy knew there had never been any concrete proof of infidelity – at least nothing public, that much was certain – but that didn’t mean much. Miles was savvy and discreet, and his job as a television producer took him away from New York often enough that anything was possible. It was likely he cheated. It was likely Emily knew he cheated. But did she care? Did it drive her crazy with worry and jealousy, or was she one of those women who looked the other way so long as she was never publicly embarrassed? Andy always wondered, but it was the single subject they had come to some unspoken agreement never to discuss.
Emily shook her head. ‘I still can’t really believe it. You and Max Harrison. In a million years, I never would’ve thought of setting you guys up, and now look … it’s wild.’
‘We’re not getting married, Em. We’re just hanging out,’ Andy said, although she’d already fantasized about what it would be like to marry Max Harrison. A crazy thought to be sure – they’d known each other under two weeks – but already things felt different than they had with everyone she’d ever dated, with the possible exception of Alex all those years earlier. It had been so long since she was this excited about someone. He was sexy, smart, charming, and, okay, pedigreed. Andy had never imagined herself marrying someone like Max, but nothing about it sounded terrible.
‘Look, I get it. Enjoy. Have fun. Keep me in the loop, okay? And if you do get married, I want full credit.’
Emily was Andy’s first call when, a week later, Max asked her to be his date to a book party Max’s company was throwing in honor of one of its magazine editors, Gloria, who’d just published a memoir about growing up as the daughter of two famous musicians.
‘What do I wear?’ Andy asked in a panic.
‘Well, you’re officially cohosting, so it better be something fabulous. That eliminates pretty much your entire “classic” wardrobe. You want to borrow something of mine or go shopping?’
‘Cohosting?’ Andy all but whispered the word.
‘Well if Max is the host and you’re his date …’
‘Oh, god. I can’t handle this. He said there are going to be a ton of people there because it’s Fashion Week. I’m not prepared for that.’
‘You’ll just have to channel the old Runway days. She’ll probably be there too, you know. Miranda and Gloria definitely know each other.’
‘I can’t do this …’
The night of the party, Andy showed up to the Carlyle Hotel an hour early to help Max oversee the setup, and his expression alone when she stepped into the room, wearing one of Emily’s Céline dresses accessorized with chunky gold jewelry and gorgeous high heels, made it all worthwhile. She knew she looked great, and she was proud of herself.
Max had taken her into his arms and whispered how stunning she looked in her ear. That night, as he introduced her to everyone – his colleagues and employees, various editors and writers and photographers and advertisers and PR execs – as his girlfriend, Andy swelled with happiness. She chatted easily with all his work people and tried her best to charm them, and, she had to admit, had a wonderful time doing it. It wasn’t until Max’s mother showed up and homed in on Andy like a shark circling its prey that Andy felt herself get nervous.
‘I simply had to meet the girl Max can’t stop talking about,’ Mrs Harrison said in some kind of crusty, not-quite-British, probably-just-too-many-years-on-Park-Avenue accent. ‘You must be Andrea.’
Andy glanced quickly around for Max, who hadn’t even hinted his mother might be in attendance, before turning her full attention back to the toweringly tall woman in the tweed Chanel skirt suit. ‘Mrs Harrison? What a pleasure to meet you,’ she said, willing her voice to stay calm.
There was no ‘Please, call me Barbara’ or ‘Don’t you look lovely, dear,’ or even ‘It’s so nice to meet you.’ Max’s mother brazenly appraised Andy and pronounced, ‘You’re thinner than I thought you’d be.’
Pardon? According to Max’s description? Or her own reconnaissance? Andy wondered.
Andy coughed. She wanted to run and hide, but Barbara rattled on. ‘My, my, I remember being your age, when the weight would just fall off. I wish it was like that for my Elizabeth – have you met Max’s sister yet? She should be here soon – but the girl has her father’s body type. Bearish. Athletic. Not overweight, I suppose, but perhaps not quite feminine.’
Was that really how this woman talked about her own daughter? Andy instantly felt sorry for Max’s sister, wherever she was. She looked Barbara Harrison in the eye. ‘I haven’t met her yet, but I’ve seen a picture of Elizabeth and she’s just beautiful!’
‘Mmm,’ Barbara murmured, looking unconvinced. Her dry, slightly leathery hand wrapped around Andy’s bare wrist a bit more tightly than was comfortable and pulled – hard. ‘Come, let’s sit and get to know each other a bit.’
Andy tried her best to impress Max’s mother, convince Barbara that she was worthy of her son. Granted, Mrs Harrison had wrinkled her nose when Andy described her work at The Plunge, and she’d made some vaguely disparaging comment about Andy’s hometown not being anywhere near Litchfield County, where the Harrisons kept an old horse farm, but Andy didn’t leave the conversation thinking it was a disaster. She’d asked interested, appropriate questions of Barbara, told a funny anecdote about Max, and explained how they’d met in the Hamptons, a detail Barbara seemed to like. Finally, out of desperation, she mentioned her stint at Runway, working under Miranda Priestly. Mrs Harrison sat up a little straighter and leaned in for further questioning. Did Andy enjoy her time at Runway? Was working for Ms Priestly simply the best learning experience she could have imagined? Barbara made a point of mentioning that all the girls Max grew up with would have killed to work there, that they’d all idolized Miranda and dreamed of one day being featured in her pages. If Andy’s little ‘start-up project’ didn’t work, might her future plans include a return to Runway? Barbara had become downright animated, and Andy did her best to smile and nod as enthusiastically as she could manage.
‘I’m sure she loved you, Andy,’ Max said as they sat in a twenty-four-hour diner on the Upper East Side, still both amped up from the party.
‘I