Chapter Text
During the week, the more she thought about it, the more absurd the idea seemed.
In Nigel's mind, the situation was evidently very simple. Emily knew the environment, Andrea wanted to get in shape, and spending time together would theoretically reduce tensions according to a perfectly linear and reasonable logic, at least when viewed from a safe distance.
The problem was that Nigel was overlooking one crucial detail: Emily Charlton. Andrea had the distinct feeling that Nigel was dramatically underestimating the threat that woman represented when she was operating in her natural habitat. And if there was one thing Emily considered her natural habitat almost as much as Runway, it was undoubtedly fitness and nutrition. The more Andrea imagined the situation, the more horrifying it became. She couldn't stop picturing herself trying to use some unfamiliar piece of equipment under Emily's judgmental stare, or listening to her explain that she was running incorrectly on a treadmill, or something equally unbearable.
Toward the end of that new day, Miranda had suddenly decided she needed several materials collected from a showroom and, through a combination of circumstances that Andrea considered profoundly unfair, she had been assigned the errand together with Nigel. That afternoon, as soon as they stepped out of the building and found themselves immersed in the noise and traffic of Manhattan, Andrea realized this was probably her only chance to intervene before the gym plan became reality.
They walked along the sidewalk at a brisk but not particularly hurried pace. Around them, the city moved with its usual inexhaustible energy. Yellow taxis crossed intersections accompanied by an almost continuous symphony of honking horns, groups of tourists occupied unreasonable amounts of public space, and an astonishing number of people seemed to be simultaneously heading toward appointments of absolute importance.
Nigel, as always, appeared completely at ease amid the chaos. Andrea, meanwhile, was developing a strategy. Eventually, she decided to take the direct approach. “Listen, Nigel...”
“Mm?” The man didn't even slow down.
“About this whole gym situation with Emily...”
Nigel let out a deep, resigned sigh, even though he had clearly anticipated this conversation. “I'm not changing my mind.”
Andrea immediately felt her frustration grow, because Nigel seemed genuinely convinced that his plan was a good one. “No, Nigel, you don't understand.”
“I understand perfectly, Andi,” Nigel replied.
They crossed an intersection along with dozens of other pedestrians, and Andrea waited a few seconds before continuing. She was trying to organize her arguments rationally, but the truth was that most of her objections could be summarized in a single word. Emily.
“You've suggested that I voluntarily spend time with Emily Charlton in a place where she's competent and I'm not. She'll have every possible advantage.” Nigel burst out laughing. “She'll torture me physically and psychologically.”
“That's very likely.”
“Please find another solution.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“Anything else.”
“No.”
Andrea let out an exasperated groan. Nigel seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. Andrea remained silent for a few moments after Nigel's final answer, continuing to walk beside him along the sidewalk while desperately searching for an alternative solution.
The problem was that Nigel appeared to have reached that level of stubbornness Andrea normally associated with Miranda. Once he became convinced of something, moving him from his position was almost impossible. And yet Andrea refused to believe that the only available option was really spending time with Emily in an environment where Emily possessed such an overwhelming advantage. For several seconds she remained lost in thought as they crossed another intersection with a crowd of commuters. The sun was beginning to sink slowly between the skyscrapers, and the late-afternoon light reflected off the glass facades of the buildings, painting some streets in shades of gold. Around them, the city continued moving with the same relentless speed that never seemed to slow down. Andrea absentmindedly watched a group of people sitting at the outdoor tables of a café. And that was what gave her an idea.
“What about a simple night out with coworkers instead?” she suggested. “Something where you're there too, along with other people I actually know.”
“Define night out.”
“A bar. A lounge. Something like that.” Andrea made a vague gesture with one hand. “A normal environment.”
Nigel chuckled. “You just described a situation involving you and Emily in the same space for several consecutive hours as normal.”
“It's not that absurd.”
“Andi, listen. I already told you days ago. When I go out, it's to relax, have a drink, and enjoy myself. I have absolutely no intention of spending an entire evening making sure the two of you don't kill each other in front of witnesses.”
“But we wouldn't kill each other.”
“You argued about an elevator.”
“That was her fault.”
“I've seen the two of you argue about a brand of bottled water. If I'm having a drink after work, I don't want to spend the evening acting as a referee.” Andrea let out a long sigh. “If the two of you want to go to a bar together, you're perfectly free to organize it yourselves,” Nigel added after a few seconds.
Andrea considered the idea briefly. “On second thought, maybe going out alone together isn't such a good idea. Emily would somehow turn the menu into a social critique.”
“And then you'd start making fun of her,” Nigel continued. “She'd get offended, and within forty minutes some poor bartender would be forced to intervene.” Andrea let out a laugh.
___
If someone had told Andrea Sachs, even just a month earlier, that she would voluntarily spend part of her free time walking into a gym with Emily Charlton, she probably would have laughed. And yet, as she stood on the sidewalk a few yards from the entrance to Nigel's private gym, a sports bag she hadn't used in ages slung over one shoulder and the unpleasant feeling that she was walking into something potentially traumatic settling in her stomach, Andrea was forced to admit that life possessed an almost offensive talent for turning the improbable into reality.
The most frustrating part was that it hadn't been an impulsive decision. In fact, if it had been impulsive, she could at least have blamed it on a moment of weakness, a particularly stressful day, or a temporary lapse in judgment. Instead, no. This choice was the result of days spent thinking, postponing, searching for alternatives, and unsuccessfully trying to convince Nigel to propose literally anything else. Andrea had tried practically everything. She had suggested group dinners, after-work drinks, cultural activities, organized outings, and even the idea—which now seemed almost brilliant by comparison—of simply ignoring the problem and hoping it would disappear on its own. Every suggestion had been met by Nigel with exactly the same expression. That patient, amused expression normally reserved for children trying to avoid something they would inevitably have to do sooner or later.
As the days passed, it became increasingly obvious that Nigel had embraced his role with an almost unsettling seriousness. What Andrea had initially assumed was a joke had turned out to be a genuine personal mission. It didn't even seem like he was doing it for them. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that Nigel was acting entirely for the sake of his own mental well-being. After months of enduring their arguments, sarcastic remarks, and endless attempts to provoke one another, he had probably simply reached the limit of his patience. Miranda had been the one to say the problem out loud, but Andrea suspected that a large portion of the office secretly shared the same opinion. Nigel, however, was the only one crazy enough to do something about it. And so, one proposal after another, every possible alternative had been slowly eliminated. Some because they were impractical. Others because, according to Nigel, they would inevitably produce even worse results.
The truth was that Andrea herself couldn't imagine a realistic scenario in which she would willingly invite Emily out alone. First of all, because she already knew what response she would receive. Emily would probably react as though she had been asked to burn every designer item in her wardrobe. Second, because even in the highly unlikely event of a positive answer, Andrea wasn't remotely convinced that being alone with Emily in a social setting was a good idea.
At least the gym offered some form of structure. There were activities to focus on, unspoken rules, schedules to follow and Nigel would, at least theoretically, be somewhere nearby.
Now she was here and somewhere inside that building was Emily Charlton. The same one Charlton who spent a significant portion of her day criticizing humanity, correcting other people's mistakes, and making every conversation feel like a psychological endurance test. Andrea remained standing outside the entrance for several seconds longer than necessary. She wasn't really scared. She had faced Miranda Priestly, she had survived months at Runway. By now, she possessed a fairly impressive ability to adapt to uncomfortable situations. And yet, as she stared at the doors of Nigel's private gym, she couldn't shake the strange feeling of unease settling somewhere in the back of her mind. A feeling that stubbornly refused to go away.
Then, she let out a long breath and knocked. The door opened almost immediately. Nigel appeared on the other side with irritating ease, as if he had been standing there waiting for her.
“Well, look at that,” he said. “I thought you'd cancel with some excuse.”
Andrea stepped inside without much enthusiasm. “I thought about it.”
“I figured.” Nigel smiled in amusement and motioned for her to follow him inside.
Nigel stepped aside to let her in, and Andrea crossed the entrance with a hesitation she unsuccessfully tried to hide. The truth was that part of her discomfort had nothing to do with Emily. Or at least not entirely. Gyms had always managed to make her feel slightly uncomfortable. Not because she disliked them, she had simply never felt as though she truly belonged in that world. Whenever she imagined a gym, her mind immediately produced the same image: people who were perfectly fit, perfectly confident, and perfectly aware of what they were doing. People who knew the name of every exercise, the purpose of every machine, and who probably considered the concept of free time a character flaw.
As she followed Nigel down the entrance corridor, she found herself wondering how many people like that she would find inside. Probably too many, and the thought did nothing to reassure her. The first thing that struck her when she entered the gym itself was that the place looked exactly like something Nigel would choose. It had none of the aggressive, noisy atmosphere Andrea normally associated with fitness centers. There were no flashy colors. The music was present but low. There were no huge motivational posters hanging on the walls encouraging people to push their limits or suffer for results. The environment was surprisingly elegant. Spacious, bright, dominated by neutral tones, dark surfaces, brushed steel, and large windows that allowed in soft, natural light. The entire space gave the impression of having been designed by someone convinced that even physical exercise should possess a certain elegance.
She was so busy taking in her surroundings that she initially paid no attention to the figure on the other side of the room. The movement only caught her eye a few seconds later.
A woman was doing pull-ups. Andrea stopped almost involuntarily.
The movements were controlled and precise. She was wearing a black sports top and matching workout pants. A minimalist outfit that would have looked unremarkable on almost anyone else but somehow seemed to emphasize her quiet, confident presence. Her posture spoke of discipline and years spent understanding her own body and its limits. That particular combination of strength and elegance rarely went unnoticed by Andrea.
There was something deeply unconscious about the way she moved, as if the rest of the world had temporarily disappeared and the only thing that existed was the steady rhythm of her workout. The black top followed the lines of her body without being flashy and left part of her back exposed, while the fabric moved with her muscles with an almost hypnotic naturalness. The woman's back was remarkably graceful. The lines of her shoulders moved beneath her skin with a fluidity that almost resembled choreography, while every gesture seemed to belong to someone perfectly aware of her physical capabilities.
For a moment, Andrea found herself watching the way her body responded to the effort, the precision of her movements, the natural elegance with which her strength revealed itself without ever becoming aggressive. It was the kind of detail that would probably go unnoticed by most people. Andrea, however, kept looking longer than she intended.
Maybe because she was beautiful and captivating. Maybe because she seemed to possess that rare ability to fill a space without doing absolutely anything to claim it. When she completed the final repetition and released the bar with a controlled movement, landing on the floor with surprising lightness for someone who had just been supporting her own body weight, Andrea realized she was genuinely curious. Andrea didn't even notice how long she had been standing there watching the figure on the other side of the room. It was Nigel's voice, coming from much closer than she expected, that abruptly broke her train of thought.
“Stop acting like a tourist and go get changed.”
Nigel had already started heading toward a side corridor and, with some reluctance, Andrea followed him.
The locker room was just as elegant as the rest of the facility, naturally. Nigel would never set foot in a place that failed to meet certain aesthetic standards. Here too, dark surfaces, clean lines, and refined minimalism dominated the space, making everything look incredibly expensive without the need to show it off. Andrea set her bag down on a bench and let out a long breath. Now that she was finally alone, all the confidence she had pretended to have during the trip seemed to disappear. She was really here, and she was really about to work out with Emily, which still struck her as a terrible idea.
She put on a white cropped T-shirt and a pair of loose workout pants that she had rescued from the back of her closet after years of neglect. Then she tied her hair back and prepared the water bottle she had brought with her. She was already tired, and she was already thirsty. The simple accumulation of stress from the past few days and the journey to the gym seemed enough to convince her body that it had already completed a considerable workout.
When she stepped out of the locker room holding the bottle in her hands, she felt slightly more prepared.
“I'm ready.”
“We'll see.”
Nigel turned and started walking toward the main training area. Andrea followed him and, almost immediately, her eyes searched for that figure again. It was an automatic reaction, and she spotted her almost instantly. The woman was still in the same area of the gym, but now she was working on a different exercise, and the confidence with which she moved continued to draw attention inevitably. There was something incredibly fascinating about the way she seemed completely at ease within that space. As though every machine, every weight, and every movement belonged to a language she spoke fluently.
Andrea brought the bottle to her lips. She took one sip, then another, and without even realizing it, she kept staring.
“She’s good, isn’t she?” Nigel’s voice came from beside her.
Andrea didn’t immediately look away. “Yeah,” she admitted. Then she added, genuinely curious, “Who is she?” She continued drinking as she asked the question.
“What do you mean who is she?” Andrea frowned. She turned toward him, the neck of the bottle still pressed against her lips. Nigel looked genuinely shocked. “That’s Emily.”
For a moment, Andrea’s brain refused to process the information. Her eyes immediately darted back to the woman on the other side of the gym and then back to Nigel, and just as her mind desperately tried to reconcile her mental image of Emily Charlton with the elegant, athletic figure she had been watching for the last several minutes, the water she was still drinking suddenly went down the wrong way. Andrea started coughing violently.
For several moments after nearly choking on her own water, Andrea remained completely still, one hand pressed against her chest as she tried to recover a normal breathing rhythm and, more importantly, find a rational explanation for what she had just heard. The problem was that no rational explanation seemed to exist. She continued staring at the woman on the other side of the gym, and her brain stubbornly refused to overlay that image with the one she had built of Emily Charlton over the past several months. It wasn’t even a question of physical appearance. Emily was objectively a very attractive woman, and Andrea had never denied that fact, not even to herself.
Meanwhile, Nigel had the good sense to give her a few seconds to process the situation, although the faint amusement lingering on his face suggested he was enjoying the spectacle immensely. Andrea knew him well enough to understand that this moment would become material for teasing her for at least the next six months. An immediate wave of embarrassment washed over her, not because anyone had seen her. The real problem was that she knew perfectly well what she had been thinking while watching that figure across the room, and she had absolutely no intention of examining the subject any further, even in her own mind.
It was only when Nigel made a slow gesture with his hand toward the entire gym that Andrea began to notice a much more important detail. Up until that moment, she had entered the gym carrying a set of assumptions so deeply ingrained that she had never felt the need to question them. She had imagined all sorts of people: trainers, clients, regular members, fitness professionals, and every other category of person normally associated with a gym. Now, however, as she finally took the time to really look at what surrounded her, she began to realize that most of those people existed only in her imagination. The space was enormous, elegantly designed, and impeccably maintained. But it was also surprisingly quiet. No one occupied the treadmills, no one was using the machines. no one was walking through the corridors.
It dawned on her gradually, which somehow made it much worse. Andrea kept looking around the gym as an unsettling feeling slowly began to take shape in her mind. Every new glance confirmed the same conclusion. Every new detail eliminated another possible escape route. Eventually, she turned toward Nigel with the growing awareness of someone who had just discovered she had been dragged into something without fully understanding its implications. It was then that she started remembering all the times he had referred to this place as a private gym. A phrase she had heard several times without really paying attention to it, because her brain had automatically assigned it a less literal meaning.
It meant there was no crowd to disappear into, no distractions, and no outside elements capable of softening the awkwardness of the situation. Andrea felt a slow unease growing inside her, one that had nothing to do with working out. Because she suddenly realized that Nigel had not arranged a simple gym session. He had deliberately created a situation in which she and Emily would have no choice but to interact.
The awareness that she had been deliberately trapped in this situation continued to occupy a good portion of Andrea's thoughts as Nigel changed direction and headed toward the weight area. That was when she saw her again. Emily was standing in front of one of the mirrored walls, performing an exercise with the absolute concentration of someone who had no tolerance for distractions. Her head was slightly lowered, her eyes fixed on her reflection, and the control she maintained over every movement seemed almost obsessive in its precision. Even from a distance, she projected that particular combination of discipline and stubbornness that Andrea had come to recognize very well at Runway. The difference was that here, stripped of ringing phones, urgent emails, and the constant tension of the magazine, that same stubbornness took on a different form.
It was Nigel who broke the silence.
“Emily.”
The woman lifted her head slightly in distraction, and then her eyes landed on Andrea. A second later came a sigh that Andrea recognized immediately. It was probably the most familiar sound of her professional life.
“I was hoping you'd back out.”
Andrea opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The problem was that her brain was still trying to reorganize all the information it had received over the last ten minutes and, even more annoyingly, it continued to remind her with painful clarity exactly what she had been thinking before discovering the identity of the woman she had been watching from across the room.
Meanwhile, Emily seemed to interpret the silence as a form of temporary surrender and released the dumbbell she had been using. The weight touched the floor with a controlled, familiar sound, a clear sign that this was far from the first time she had performed that exercise. Then she straightened completely and turned toward them.
That was the moment Andrea realized that seeing her up close made the situation considerably more complicated. Not because Emily had suddenly become a different person. She was still the same sarcastic, competitive and incredibly irritating woman. And yet, removed from the Runway environment, she inevitably seemed different.
Her hair was tied back without any particular concern for aesthetics, simply pulled up to keep it away from her face. There was no trace of the impeccable makeup Andrea was used to seeing every day at the office. There were no designer clothes, impossible heels, or carefully selected accessories. There was only an extremely authentic version of Emily, a version that seemed far less connected to the fashion world and far more connected to herself. The light sheen of sweat on her skin revealed the effort of her workout without taking away any of the composure that seemed to follow her wherever she went. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, her breathing just a little faster, but even so she retained that particular confidence that Andrea had always found impossible to ignore. She was the kind of presence that never tried to attract attention and therefore often ended up attracting it anyway.
Andrea immediately hated herself for that entire train of thought.
Because it wasn't the first time she had looked at Emily and objectively recognized that she was a very attractive woman. Denying it would have been simply ridiculous. The problem was that, until now, that realization had always remained theoretical, buried beneath layers of irritation, sarcasm, and constant bickering. Now, however, her brain seemed to have suddenly decided to recover every observation it had ignored over the previous months.
Andrea should have been paying attention to the conversation. She was perfectly aware of that.
Somewhere to her right, Nigel was saying something and Emily was probably responding with one of her dry, slightly irritated remarks, but the problem was that Andrea's brain seemed to have decided to operate completely independently. After spending months knowing Emily exclusively through the artificial environment of Runway, she suddenly found herself confronted with a version of her colleague she had never really had the chance to observe and, no matter how hard she tried to maintain a rational perspective, curiosity kept winning.
Her gaze drifted involuntarily down Emily's figure while she spoke with Nigel. It wasn't an obvious stare. Or at least Andrea desperately hoped it wasn't. It was more like that particular kind of attention that emerges when something keeps contradicting expectations built over time. For months she had associated Emily with immaculate suits, expensive coats, impossible shoes, and a level of professionalism that sometimes seemed almost inaccessible. Seeing her there, in simple workout clothes, without makeup, and with her hair tied back in a practical way, created a strange sense of dissonance.
The most irritating part was that she couldn't decide which version was more attractive.
Probably both, and that conclusion wasn't helping at all.
While Emily continued speaking, Andrea found herself noticing how her body still carried the signs of the workout she had just finished. Her arms looked strong and toned, then her gaze drifted lower toward her defined abs, and Andrea immediately hated herself for how easily she was losing control of the situation.
Her brain had completely forgotten that this was the same person who managed to irritate her almost every single day. Andrea was starting to genuinely suspect that she had become stupid.
The realization was so sudden that she almost failed to notice the exact moment when the conversation stopped, and it was only when the silence stretched on for several seconds that she realized something had changed.
She looked up. Nigel and Emily were both staring at her, and the expression on Emily's face was enough to make her understand that she had noticed she was being watched, with a level of attention decidedly greater than what was normally required for a professional conversation.
“What?”
“I asked whether the two of you are capable of being left alone for a few hours without blowing up my gym.”
Andrea blinked. “What?”
“I have some errands to run,” he continued. “So I'm leaving you two alone.”
For a moment, Andrea was convinced she had misunderstood. Then she looked at both of them and realized no one was joking.
The discomfort she had felt upon entering the gym immediately returned, amplified by a new realization. Until that moment, at least subconsciously, she had always considered Nigel a kind of safety net. An adult and relatively responsible presence capable of intervening if the situation got out of hand. Knowing that he intended to leave completely changed the situation.
Andrea continued staring at Nigel for several seconds after the announcement, as if looking at him intensely enough might convince him to reconsider. Unfortunately, she already knew the answer. He had the expression of a man who believed he had just performed a great service for humanity and expected to be thanked for it. Andrea, on the other hand, was seriously considering reporting him for failing to prevent her imminent murder.
It was Emily who interrupted her train of thought. “The sooner we start, the sooner we finish.”
The sentence came with the same practicality Andrea had learned to associate with her. Nigel seemed to approve immediately. “Excellent,” he said, clapping his hands together once. “Then I'd say my work here is done.” Then Nigel took a step backward. “See you later.” He delivered the phrase with the lighthearted tone of someone leaving behind two people perfectly capable of handling the situation.
For several seconds, Andrea kept watching Nigel as he crossed the gym and headed toward the exit. Part of her still hoped he would turn around at the last moment and announce that the whole thing had been a joke. A social experiment. An elaborate punishment. Anything.
Instead, she watched him disappear down the corridor and, a few moments later, the sound of the door officially marked the end of any possibility of rescue. The gym fell into a different kind of silence. The soft hum of the ventilation system continued to drift through the room, accompanied by the low volume of the music. And yet everything seemed more noticeable, harder to ignore.
Andrea continued staring in the direction Nigel had disappeared with almost touching dedication. Not because she was particularly interested in the door. More simply, she had not yet found the courage to turn around. Because turning around meant facing the problem.
“Where do you want to start?”
Emily was still standing in front of the mirrors, her arms crossed and that air of limited patience that seemed to have accompanied her since birth. The question caught Andrea completely off guard and forced her to look at her.
“I have no idea. I know nothing about gyms.” As she spoke, she suddenly became aware of just how ridiculous the situation was. It was a feeling that tended to appear whenever she was forced to admit her limitations in front of Emily. “I can recognize a treadmill,” she added. “More or less.” Emily continued looking at her. “And I think I know what weights are for.” A pause. “I think.”
The corner of Emily's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. Not enough to qualify as a smile, but enough to be suspicious.
“Don't look at me like that.”
Emily tilted her head slightly. “Like what?”
“Like I'm a humanitarian project.”
This time the movement at the corners of her mouth was even more noticeable. Andrea held her gaze with as much dignity as possible, even though the situation wasn't giving her much to work with. For some reason, admitting that she knew nothing about gyms in front of Emily felt far more humiliating than admitting it to anyone else. Probably because Emily belonged to that particular category of people who seemed competent at anything they decided to do, automatically making the rest of the world look slightly less prepared by comparison.
Eventually, Emily let out a small sigh and ran a hand over the back of her neck, gathering a few strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. For a moment, her gaze drifted across the different areas of the gym as if she were mentally evaluating a series of options, dismissing them one by one.
“Are you completely out of shape?” The question was asked with an almost professional matter-of-factness. Andrea immediately felt judged, and Emily noticed it. “It's just a question.”
“Yes.” she finally admitted.
Emily nodded slowly. She didn't seem surprised. “Then we'll start with a warm-up.”
For a moment, Andrea had the strange feeling of being back in high school gym class. Without adding anything else, Emily moved toward the open space in front of the mirrors, and Andrea followed her. The room was immersed in the almost unreal calm that characterized Nigel's private gym.
Emily stopped and crossed her arms. “I'll show you how to do the exercises, and you copy me.” Andrea nodded. Probably with more enthusiasm than she should have.
Emily started with simple movements. Shoulder rotations, neck mobility exercises, controlled stretches for the arms and back. There was nothing particularly impressive about the exercises, and yet Andrea noticed almost immediately how difficult it was to look away.
It wasn't so much what Emily was doing. It was the way she was doing it. Andrea realized she was staring again and forced herself to focus on the exercises. Or at least she tried to.
“Now you try.” Andrea copied the movement. Badly. Very badly. Emily watched her for a few seconds. “You have the balance of a newborn.”
Andrea swallowed an unkind comment and tried again. This time it went slightly better. Emily moved on to the next exercise, and Andrea copied her again. Then the next one. And the one after that. A few minutes later, she could already feel her body protesting. They weren't even doing anything difficult, and yet muscles Andrea hadn't even known existed had already decided to voice their objections.
Emily, naturally, seemed perfectly comfortable. As she performed a series of movements to loosen her shoulders and torso, the faint layer of sweat left over from her previous workout continued to catch the light streaming through the windows. Her tied-back hair left the line of her neck exposed, while her breathing had already returned to normal. Andrea immediately looked away. Because she had started having those thoughts again, and it was becoming increasingly necessary to stop.
“Andrea.” Emily's voice instantly pulled her back to reality.
“Mm?”
“I was saying that we're moving on to the next exercises now. That's enough warm-up for the moment.”
Andrea blinked. “Right.” Emily sighed, looking very much like a woman who was beginning to understand why Nigel had considered this situation a personal challenge.
After several minutes spent on the most basic exercises, Emily finally seemed to reach the conclusion that Andrea was not going to snap in half during the workout. It wasn't exactly a thrilling vote of confidence, but Andrea decided to consider it progress anyway.
“Now we'll move on to something slightly more useful,” Emily said as she headed toward a rack of weights. Andrea followed without much enthusiasm. The phrase slightly more useful promised nothing good.
The weight area occupied an elegant section of the gym, organized with the same obsessive care that characterized the rest of the facility. The equipment was arranged with almost geometric precision, and the metallic surfaces reflected the light streaming through the large windows. Andrea glanced distractedly at the neatly lined-up dumbbells and realized that some of them appeared to be completely incompatible with the very concept of being lifted by a human being.
Emily, naturally, headed straight for the larger ones. Andrea was not remotely surprised. Without any apparent effort, Emily picked up one of the dumbbells and lifted it off the floor with a natural ease that was almost offensive. The movement was so effortless that it gave the impression the weight didn't exist at all. She rotated it slightly in her hand as if assessing its balance, then held it out to Andrea.
“Here.”
Andrea reached for it and immediately made a serious miscalculation. For a fraction of a second, she genuinely believed she could take it without any problem. The following fraction of a second proved just how optimistic she had been. The moment the weight transferred fully into her hands, she felt her arm drop sharply toward the floor. The dumbbell suddenly seemed to acquire the density of a collapsed star, and Andrea instantly lost control of the situation.
Before she could even process what was happening, she felt a hand close firmly around her arm. With almost automatic reflexes, Emily intercepted the movement, prevented her from losing her balance, and took the weight back from her with the same ease she might have used to pick up a folder that had fallen off a desk.
“Too heavy,” she said simply. For some reason, Andrea remained motionless for a moment.
Emily had helped her. The realization felt almost absurd. Andrea had watched Emily criticize her, correct her, frustrate her, and generally make her professional life considerably more difficult. And yet Emily had helped her instinctively and without taking advantage of the situation. Without even taking the time to comment on how ridiculous she had looked. Andrea wasn't entirely sure how she was supposed to react. Because, if she was being honest with herself, part of her would have bet without hesitation that the Emily she knew at Runway would have found her defeat at the hands of a dumbbell extremely amusing. The Emily standing in this gym, however, had simply prevented her from getting hurt. The distinction was surprisingly unsettling.
Emily, apparently unaware of what she had just caused, put the weight back in its place and picked up a significantly lighter one, then handed it to Andrea.
“Let's try this one.” Andrea took it. This time without risking hospitalization. “Better,” Emily commented. Then she returned to her starting position and picked up her own weight. The difference between the two dumbbells was offensive, but Andrea decided not to point it out. “Watch,” Emily said. And she began demonstrating the exercise.
Andrea really should have focused on the explanation. It was a thought that crossed her mind several times over the next few minutes. As Emily slowly demonstrated the movement, her muscles worked smoothly beneath the effort, turning an apparently simple gesture into something extremely difficult to ignore. Andrea tried to focus on the technical aspects.
She tried. Which, Andrea concluded with growing frustration toward herself, was rapidly becoming a problem. Emily had just finished the demonstration and was now watching her with her arms crossed, waiting for her to repeat the movement. The problem was that Andrea wasn't entirely sure she had actually absorbed the explanation. A considerable portion of her attention had decided to focus on something else, and now she was paying the price.
She tried anyway. She picked up the weight and repeated the movement the way she thought was correct.
“No,” Emily said simply.
Andrea stopped. “No what?”
“Pretty much everything.” Emily took a step forward. “Your shoulders.” Andrea adjusted her shoulders. “Not like that.” Andrea tried again. “Worse.” Emily let out another sigh and ran a hand across her forehead. For some reason, she seemed genuinely committed to helping her, which continued to be strangely unsettling. “Start over.”
Andrea obeyed. This time she tried to focus exclusively on the instructions. She adjusted her feet. Gripped the weight. Tried to remember the posture Emily had shown her just moments earlier.
“No.”
“But I'm doing exactly what you told me.”
“Absolutely not.”
Andrea resisted the urge to say something impolite and tried again, and again. Emily, meanwhile, seemed to be losing patience progressively. Eventually she released a long breath and shook her head slightly. “Stop.”
Andrea froze. For a few seconds Emily simply watched her, then stepped closer and, before Andrea could prepare herself, reached out and directly corrected her posture.
Her hands settled on Andrea's shoulders and arm, adjusting the angle of the movement slightly, then moved to her hips, guiding her into the correct position. Andi's brain chose that exact moment to stop cooperating. She even forgot why she was there.
It was a ridiculous, absurd, and completely inappropriate reaction, and yet she couldn't stop it.
Emily's sudden proximity, the unexpected physical contact, and the awareness of her presence so close created a mental short circuit that Andrea immediately tried to suppress. She clenched her jaw slightly and focused all her energy on maintaining a normal expression.
“Like this,” Emily said. Her voice came from very close by. Emily stepped away, completely unaware of the psychological battle taking place on the other side.
__
Andrea couldn't have said exactly how much time had gone by. The gym was so quiet and isolated from the rest of the world that any normal perception of time became difficult. The only constant was Emily, who continued guiding her from one exercise to another with a level of patience that was surprisingly greater than Andrea would have thought possible. The most absurd thing was exactly that: Emily was genuinely trying to help her. She didn't always do it gently or with particular delicacy. She still corrected her, sighed whenever she did something wrong, and looked at her as if she were a personal challenge sent by the universe for the sole purpose of testing her mental endurance. And yet she was genuinely helping her.
The more the afternoon went on, the more Andrea realized how different this version of Emily was from the one she knew at Runway. Not completely different. The same perfectionism, the same competitiveness, and the same inability to tolerate mistakes were all still there. However, removed from the environment of the magazine, those qualities seemed to take on a less aggressive form. Emily wasn't fighting ringing phones, impossible requests, or ridiculous deadlines. She wasn't trying to survive Miranda. She was in a place she knew, doing something she loved, and the result was a person who was surprisingly more relaxed.
Andrea was genuinely starting to wish the workout would end. Not because she was tired, although several muscles were already protesting vigorously. Not because Emily was being particularly unbearable, which, in reality, was happening far less than Andrea had expected that afternoon. She wanted to leave because she needed distance, a shower, anything that would allow her to remind herself that she was a fully grown adult perfectly capable of managing her own emotions. For the sake of her sanity.
The situation reached its breaking point during an exercise that required particularly precise posture. Emily demonstrated it once, then a second time, and finally a third, because Andrea kept doing it slightly wrong.
“No,” Emily said for what felt like the hundredth time. “You're compensating with your torso.”
Andrea tried to correct herself. “I'm starting to think you're making up the rules.”
“You're the one who isn't listening properly. You've been distracted since we started.”
Normally, a comment like that would have started an argument. Instead, Andrea thought she was right. Having reached the limits of her patience, Emily decided to intervene directly once again. “Stop.”
Andrea froze again. With the natural ease of someone simply correcting a technical mistake, Emily stepped closer and began adjusting her position. One hand briefly settled on her shoulder to realign it. Then on the upper part of her arm. Then on her back.
Emily was touching her everywhere to correct her posture, and they were perfectly normal, rational, professional gestures. The problem was that Andrea had not felt particularly rational for at least an hour. Emily shifted slightly to get a better view of her overall posture and, while correcting the alignment of her legs, indicated the proper position with one hand.
The gesture was quick. Emily placed her hand on Andrea's inner thigh. It was the moment when Andrea's already precarious self-control finally decided to abandon her. Andi made a sound with her mouth. An involuntary reaction that escaped before she could even stop it.
The silence that followed was immediate. Emily froze, and her hand pulled away instantly. For the first time since the workout had begun, the expression on her face completely lost its usual confidence. Her eyes widened just enough for Andrea to understand that she had realized. For several endless seconds, neither of them said a word. Andrea wanted to sink into the floor or voluntarily throw herself through one of the gym's glass windows. Emily's expression gradually changed. Andrea knew that look well. It was the same look Emily wore at Runway whenever she realized a situation was more complicated than it had initially appeared.
Andrea looked down embarassed, and then, unexpectedly, Emily placed her hand on her inner thigh again and the other on her hip. Andrea looked up at Emily again and felt a pang of desperation run through her stomach, clearly visible in her brown eyes.
"Emily..." Her name came out almost like a cry for help. Hearing her name come out of Andrea Sachs's mouth in such a tone, Emily gripped her colleague's thigh and hip tightly, which made Andi moan again, but louder, and she felt her balance slip for a moment. Instinctively, she reached for support, and her hands landed on Emily's shoulders.
Andrea immediately noticed how solid Emily's posture was. She didn't seem the least bit disturbed by the weight suddenly placed on her. She remained perfectly stable, as if holding Andrea up required no special effort. That realization made matters worse, because Andrea began to delicately run her fingers over Emily's sturdy shoulders. She slowly moved two fingers of her right hand down toward Emily's bicep, alternating her gaze from her eyes to her arm, and then squeezed the muscle in her hand to test its size. Emily found herself unconsciously flexing her arm, as if wanting Andi to see her strength, as if she wanted Andi to say...
“You’re so strong and muscular…” Andi used the most sensual and captivating tone she could muster, and Emily thought she was going crazy with the effect she was having on her. Andrea had noticed that her thoughts at that moment were shared by her beautiful eyes. She realized for the first time how incredibly expressive they were when she stopped using them as a weapon. In the Runway offices, they were almost always hidden behind impatience, stress, or sarcasm. Now, however, they had the light of someone who wanted to devour her alive, and Andi was waiting for nothing else.
Emily released her tight grip on Andi's thigh and began to slowly and delicately caress the area, and it affected her more than she'd like to admit, because suddenly it was difficult for her to reconcile that person with the image she'd built up over the previous months, and her whole body felt a burning sensation from that touch. Emily began to slowly move her hand up to her intimate area, and despite the fabric of her pants, she could feel how wet Andrea Sachs was for her.
"Fuck..." Emily's reaction was instantaneous, and after that expression, Andi closed her eyes and pursed her lips from the flood of emotions she was experiencing at that moment. She had never been so horny in her life and was ready to lose all dignity under those icy eyes.
Emily was running a finger along the length of her pussy, savoring the knowledge that Andi was in this state for her, only for her. They were both painfully aware and curious of each other's presence.
But the sudden sound of clapping hands echoed through the nearly empty gym with a force disproportionate to the gesture that had produced it. Both women jumped, and Emily stepped away as if someone had caught her committing a federal crime. Andrea stepped back at the same speed, and within a second they were at a decidedly more professional distance.
Without saying a word, Emily turned around and headed toward a nearby rack of weights, grabbing one with an indifference so obviously forced. Within seconds, she was pretending to be deeply interested in an exercise she had probably already completed three times that day. Andrea, meanwhile, was still trying to compose herself when she spotted Nigel crossing the gym from the opposite side with the calmness of a man completely unaware of the small disaster he had just interrupted.
“Nigel!” she exclaimed with enthusiasm. “What are you doing here?”
Nigel slowed down. “It's... my gym?”
Andrea froze with a smile stuck on her face because she had absolutely no idea how to act normal.
Nigel looked mildly confused by the stupid question. “Anyway, you've been in here for two hours.”
Andrea felt something tighten in her stomach. Two hours. It had felt like much less.
“You're finished, I hope?”
Andrea's muscles were exhausted, and her sanity was hanging by a thread. And yet, some deeply uncooperative part of her brain didn't want it to end.
“Yes.” Emily's voice came immediately.
She was still standing beside the weights she had picked up a few moments earlier. She looked perfectly composed. Perfectly normal. Perfectly in control of herself.
“Look at you two! I was afraid I'd have to call a rescue team. Instead, you actually worked out. Right?” Andrea nodded far too enthusiastically. Despite Andrea's strange behavior, Nigel didn't seem to suspect anything thanks to Emily's composure. “Perfect! If you survived this, I can't wait to see the progress during the next workouts.”
“Next workouts?” Andrea and Emily asked in perfect unison, equally horrified.
Nigel sighed. “I'm having déjà vu.”