Read Online Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know by Lauren Weisberger - Free Book Online Page A

I didn’t. ‘No, actually, I don’t. Is she famous?’
    The stare I received in response was part disbelief, part disgust. ‘Um,
yeah
,’ Emily said, emphasizing the ‘yeah’ and squinting her eyes as if to say,
You total fucking idiot
. ‘That is Jessica Duchamps.’ She waited. I waited. Nothing. ‘You do know who that is, right?’ Again, I ran lists through my mind, trying to connect something with this new information, but I was quite sure I’d never, ever heard of her. Besides, this game was getting old.
    â€˜Emily, I’ve never seen her before, and her name doesn’t sound familiar. Would you please tell me who she is?’ I asked, struggling to remain calm. The ironic part was that I didn’t even care who she was, but Emily was clearly not going to give this up until she’d made me look like a complete and total loser.
    Her smile this time was patronizing. ‘Of course. You just had to say so. Jessica Duchamps is, well, a Duchamps! You know, as in the most successful French restaurant in the city! Her parents own it – isn’t that crazy? They are so unbelievably rich.’
    â€˜Oh, really?’ I said, feigning enthusiasm for the fact that this super-pretty girl was worth knowing because her parents were restaurateurs. ‘That’s great.’
    I answered a few phone calls with the requisite ‘Miranda Priestly’s office,’ although both Emily and I were worried that Miranda herself would call and I wouldn’t know what to do. Panic set in during a call when an unidentified woman barked something incoherent in a strong British accent, and I threw the phone to Emily without thinking to put it on hold first.
    â€˜It’s her,’ I whispered urgently. ‘Take it.’
    Emily gave me my first viewing of her specialty look. Never one to mince emotions, she could raise her eyebrows and drop her chin in a way that clearly conveyed equal parts disgust and pity.
    â€˜Miranda? It’s Emily,’ she said, a bright smile lighting up her face as if Miranda might be able to seep through the phone and see her. Silence. A frown. ‘Oh, Mimi, so sorry! The new girl thought you were Miranda! I know, how funny. I guess we have to work on
not thinking every British accent is necessarily our boss!’
She looked at me pointedly, her overtweezed eyebrows arching even higher.
    She chatted a bit longer while I continued to answer the phone and take messages for Emily, who would then call the people back – with nonstop narration on their order of importance, if any, in Miranda’s life. About noon, just as the first hunger pangs were beginning, I picked up a call and heard a British accent on the other end.
    â€˜Hello? Allison, is that you?’ asked the icy-sounding but regal voice. ‘I’ll be needing a skirt.’
    I cupped my hand over the receiver and felt my eyes open wide. ‘Emily, it’s her, it’s definitely her,’ I hissed, waving the receiver to get her attention. ‘She wants a skirt!’
    Emily turned to see my panic-stricken face and promptly hung up the phone without so much as ‘I’ll call you later’ or even ‘good-bye.’ She pressed the button to switch Miranda to her line, and plastered on another wide grin.
    â€˜Miranda? It’s Emily. What can I do?’ She put her pen to her pad and began writing furiously, forehead furrowing intently. ‘Yes, of course. Naturally.’ And as fast as it happened, it was over. I looked at her expectantly. She rolled her eyes at me for appearing so eager.
    â€˜Well, it looks like you have your first job. Miranda needs a skirt for tomorrow, among other things, so we’ll need to get it on a plane by tonight, at the latest.’
    â€˜OK, well, what kind does she need?’ I asked, still reeling from the shock that a skirt would be traveling to St Barth’s simply because she’d