Devil wears Prada pt2 where Nicky or Matt or Alison or smth give Neil a makeover and Andrew is Too Gay For This Shit
mmMMmmmMMMmMmM
*
“He hates me,” Neil insisted, leaning his hip against Kevin’s focus board. The man was busy sorting out different approaches to the spring release, of which Nicky had been nagging on about all week.
Kevin hummed, ignoring Neil completely.
“I don’t want his validation,” Neil continued. “I just - we all work hard here. Harder than he does! And he gets all the credit?”
“You’re being melodramatic.”
Neil just huffed. “Well, what do I do?”
Kevin shrugged. “Andrew chooses who he listens to. You need to prove that your ideas are worth his time.” The man glanced up, giving Neil’s outfit a derogatory once-over. “And you’re going to get nowhere, looking like that.”
Neil looked down at himself. “I look fine.”
“You’re the secretary for the forerunner of the most lucrative fashion editorial that’s ever graced the planet, wearing Goodwill jeans and shoes that have superglue seeping out from the soles. Fix it.”
Neil just flipped him off, storming out of Kevin’s office. The man went back to his concept arrangements with little more than a roll of his eyes.
*
Before Neil could reach his desk the next morning, a hand wrapped around his wrist and tugged him sideways.
A blonde woman stood head and shoulders taller than him, grinning fiendishly. “Hello, Neil.”
“Hello,” Neil allowed, taking a step back. “Do I know you?”
She flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Kevin gave me full reign over the sample closets with an order to teach you how to look less...like that.”
“You just gestured to all of me?”
“Well, yeah.” She pinched his cheek. “My name’s Allison. Model, entrepreneur, fabulous bitch and your saviour. Now, shall we?”
“Minyard will be arriving soon -” Neli argued as she towed him down the corridor.
“Kevin excused you for the morning,” she winked. “Appreciate it, I think. Now, where do we start? Underwear, presumably. Wait! Let’s tackle that mop of hair on your head.”
Neil just gulped.
*
Andrew was mildly pissed off. Kevin had excused the haggerty brat of a secretary from work for the morning and refused to disclose why: even Nicky had kept his mouth shut, typing away quietly at his desk. It meant Andrrew’s coffee was late and his scheduling wasn’t printed out in the format that he liked. He hadn’t even realised that Josten had picked up on that detail, which only served to piss him off even more. He was deathly busy: he had no time to be thinking about the likes of Neil Josten, his train-wreck of a secretary.
“I expect you to catch up on all this,” Andrew heard Kevin say.
“Do you take me for an amateur? I’ve already sorted out everything on this list,” Neil Josten retorted, shoving the clipboard back into Kevin’s chest. Kevin stayed by Nicky’s desk as Neil waltzed through into Andrew’s office without knocking.
Andrew couldn’t help but stare.
“I know you would’ve suffered through one of those bitter, watery espresso shots this morning,” his assistant said, placing down Andrew’s favourite coffee order on a coaster than Aaron had bought him. He then dropped down two books. “Here’s the manuscripts that you ordered for your niece and nephew, the most recent copy of the Palmetto edition unedited, and your correspondences. I’ll have you know that a Kengo Moriyama has asked you to an event, so I retorted with a scathingly professional rebuke. I’ve printed out the response for you to peruse, since I know you actually think it’s amusing -”
“Who dressed you?” Andrew demanded.
Neil looked down at himself. He was wearing black slacks that clung to his legs and glossy Dolce dress shoes. A midnight-blue velvet blazer was kept open over a white blouse that had a lace overlay, tucked into his trousers and extenuating an incredibly slim waist.
His hair was clipped and artfully curled. Worst of all were the smudges of eyeliner at the corners of his eyes, the blue irises outshining every Cerulean jewel.
“Allison toyed with me slightly,” he admitted.
Of course. Allison.
Andrew hummed, ignoring the poignant thrashing of his heart against his ribcage. “Out.”
Neil, inexplicably, grinned. With a two fingered salute, he left Andrew’s office, shutting the glass doors behind him.
Andrew tugged his cigarettes out from the bottom drawer of his desk, staring out at the landscape of New York City as the hour chugged by, ignoring every call and knock on his door.
Fucking dammit.
