"You look pretty," said Jim.

"Thank you," said Pam. As usual, she sat at her receptionist's desk, which was decorated with holly and a dish of red and green M&Ms. But she was wearing a dark blue cocktail dress, into which she'd just changed in the women's room.

"Pam, you look totally hot," said Kelly. She turned to Jim, who was wearing his trademark white shirt, dark tie, and trousers. "You look like a bum."

Pam smiled at Jim. "He's going to change before we drive up. Don’t worry. We'll make him presentable."

"Beesly, are you saying that I am not properly attired for the ESPN Zone?"

"Maybe," said Pam. "But not for the corporate Christmas party."

"Why are they having the Christmas party at the ESPN Zone?" asked Kelly. The tone of her voice said, ewwww.

"Two words," interjected Michael, as he walked over to Pam's desk. "David Wallace. Ryan put a deposit on some place in Soho. But David hates stuffy, corporate things. And he likes basketball. So he canceled it. And he made Ryan eat the deposit. At least that's what Jan said."

"Good for him," said Kelly.

Michael looked at Pam. "Pam, you look nice."

"Thank you, Michael."

"Wait for it," muttered Jim.

"But a little cleavage wouldn’t hurt. You should really let the girls out. Give them some air. Put your best face forward."

Pam frowned. "Did you need something?" she asked.

'"Yes. I just wanted to make absolutely sure that you and Jim do not need a ride into the city."

"Thank you, " said Pam. "But we need to go up on our own."

"Ooh-kay. Be that way. But Jim, you're not going to ditch Pam, come back, and sleep with Kelly, are you?"

"Michael!" said Pam.

"Wow. That is ... rude," said Jim.

For the first time in her whole life, Kelly was speechless.

Michael reached over Pam's desk for a pen and piece of paper. "Let me give you my cell number, just in case ..."

* * *

Corporate invited all of the branch managers and their assistants. It had escaped neither Jim nor Pam that the Utica branch manager would be among the invited.

It hadn’t escaped Michael, who razzed them about it for weeks.

"Rrrowww!" he would say while walking past Pam's desk, holding his hands out like claws as Angela rolled her eyes.

On another occasion, he said, holding out his belly: "Jim! How long's it been? Eight months? Better hope she's not pregnant!"

All of this was nearly enough to keep Jim from going altogether. But Pam talked him into it. She thought it would be good for him to have some face time with David Wallace.

As they drove toward the city, she said, hopefully: "She might not even be there."

"Karen? Miss a party at Corporate?"

"Okay. You have a point. But you'll be fine. If you see her, you'll just - "

"Go someplace else."

"Coward."

* * *

Jim could not help but realize that he was driving the same car on the same route he had taken eight months before - with a different woman in the passenger's seat.

He had told Pam the basics of what happened on that trip. That he realized he wasn't in love with Karen and didn't want the job. That he took himself out of the running, broke up with Karen, and came back home.

But he had been purposefully vague about the details. It was clear from the start that Pam felt responsible for much, if not all, of the unhappiness that came after he had moved to Stamford - hers, Jim's, Roy's, even Karen's.

For this reason, he had been careful to present the breakup and return as decisions he made for his own reasons - not just because of Pam. About the job, he told her the same thing he told everyone else, which was that he had asked to be removed from consideration.

None of those things was totally untrue.

As they approached the tunnel into the city, he squeezed her hand.

* * *

They left their car at the Plaza Hotel - a big step up from the beet farm, Jim thought. They checked in and dropped off their bags. They decided to walk down Fifth Avenue before catching a cab to Times Square for the party.

They held hands as they walked past the stores. While Pam eyed the display windows, Jim's eyes were on her.

There was nothing like New York at Christmas time. The snow fell in large flakes that turned into slush when hitting the ground. The sidewalks glowed from the light of the store windows. Through a speaker outside one of the stores, Frank Sinatra sang Mel Torme's "The Christmas Waltz."

But Jim saw and heard none of that. His attention was totally fixed on the woman in the pink coat next to him … who was now looking at bridal gowns in one of the shop windows.

"What do you think of that one?" she asked, pointing at a strapless white dress with a hint of color.

"That looks pretty."

She gazed closely at the dress. "I like the ones that aren't completely white, that have a little bit of pink in them."

Jim couldn't believe this was happening to him. It was everything he dreamed of that day when she fell asleep on his shoulder. That night on the roof. At the Rite Aid, and at the skating rink ...

"You should go in and try it on."

Pam blushed. "I can't do that! Not with you here. Then I couldn't use it!"

The Sinatra was still playing over the loudspeaker. All Jim could hear was the voice in his head. It had come out of nowhere. He hadn't expected it. And it was saying, louder and louder - DO IT NOW.

He reached into his pocket.

The voice in Jim's head said, DO IT NOW.

He reached into his pocket - and found his room key.

Panic surged through his whole body.

"Are you alright?"

His mind reeled. Did it fall onto the floor of the car while he was driving? Did he lose it while they were walking from the hotel? Suddenly, he remembered: you changed clothes before you left. The panic stopped. But he knew he wouldn't be completely at ease until he was back in Scranton and looking through the pockets of the pants that were sprawled across his bed.

"Oh. Uh, yeah. I'm fine. I just remembered something I forgot to do back home. I'm sorry."

Her expression went from worried to sad. His throat fell into his stomach. The voice in his head got stuck in an endless loop: idiot, idiot, idiot ...

Stupid, stupid, stupid, she said to herself, as they walked to the corner to hail a cab.

* * *

Jim and Pam were all awkwardness as they entered the ESPN Zone.

"Hey!" Ryan yelled, arms outstretched. He hugged Pam a little too long. Behind him was Michael, who leaned in for his hug, only for Pam to give him the Heisman.

"Isn't this cool?" Ryan enthused, gesturing at the room around him. "What a great idea for a party! This is cutting edge!"

"So who invited the whole Scranton branch?"

There was David Wallace. He slapped Jim on the back and asked, "How are you doing?" Pam thought she detected concern in his voice. She looked at Jim curiously.

"I'm doing great. Thanks for asking. Pam Beesly, meet David Wallace."

"So this is the famous Pam! The hardest working woman in show business."

"Michael keeps us all busy," she replied modestly.

David gestured toward a younger man behind him. "Michael, this is our intern, Luke. I told him I'd get him some face time with a legendary salesman. Somebody who can show him how the world really works. Would you spare him a few minutes? It would be a real favor to me."

Michael bowed his head. In his best Darth Vader impression, he said, "As you wish." In a voice that was more Grover than Yoda, he warbled: "Begin we will, your Jedi training." He led the intern toward the bar.

"Nice," marveled Ryan. "Way to get rid of Michael AND the intern."

David shrugged. Jim grinned. "You were a temp once too, you know." He turned toward David. "Did Ryan ever tell you about the time he left the pita pocket in the - "

Pam shot Jim a warning look: what are you doing? Then she interrupted him: "Excuse me. "I'm going to get something to eat and see if I can find Grace. It was nice meeting you, David."

Ryan checked her out as she walked off. "You and Pam seem a little tense tonight. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. We're fine," said Jim.

Ryan was still eyeing her. "I always liked Pam. She had a crush on me once. So everything's good between you two?"

What the hell? thought Jim.

"It's going great."

"Just checking."

"So, Jim," said David, "Tell me what Scranton thinks of the new web site."

Jim was grateful for the change of subject. "Dwight thinks it's man against machine. Like John Henry. He challenged it to a duel and outsold it on launch day."

"What do you think?"

"I think it'll be cheaper to sell to customers online. But I think it'll be harder to keep them. A salesman builds a relationship that you can draw on. You can build loyalty. Pitch new products. Increase demand."

"You do that through email," protested Ryan. "It's called viral marketing."

"Really?" said Jim. "I thought it was called spam." He immediately regretted the crack. Then he remembered how Ryan looked at Pam, and decided he didn't anymore.

"If you're selling online, then it becomes all about price. They'll just buy from Staples. It's all the same to them."

Ryan was now glowering. "They WILL buy from Staples unless we start working smarter. And harder." He emphasized the last two words.

David seemed to ignore Ryan. "So what do we do about that?"

"I'd take a close look at the numbers. Track sales through the site and through the branches. Compare the repeat customer rates. That'll tell you if you have a problem."

Ryan folded his arms. "That's great, Jim. We appreciate the advice. Now, where'd you go to business school?"

* * *

Pam stood at the buffet line. What the heck, she thought. It's Christmas. It's the company's money. And I'm hungry. She put back the carrots, pita bread and cheese she had just taken. She replaced it with a small pile of chicken tenders and a good dollop of ranch dressing.

She was debating whether to take one more piece of chicken when she saw Karen Filippelli standing next to her.

"Karen!"

Pam almost dropped her plate.

Karen was drop-dead gorgeous. She was wearing the littlest little black dress Pam had ever seen. Her arms and legs were perfectly toned.

She smiled thinly at Pam, who blurted out the very first words that came into her head:

"We miss you in Scranton!"

"No, you don't," said Karen, the thin smile still on her face. She turned abruptly and walked away, leaving Pam behind with her plate of chicken.

* * *

At the bar, Michael leaned in toward the intern.

"9 1/2 Weeks is totally unrealistic. Totally unrealistic," he said. "First off, Mickey Rourke? With Kim Basinger? Not a chance. Second" -- he lowered his voice -- "in my personal experience, women do not like bondage. Or stripping. Or food. Not that way, anyhow."

"Now, Two Moon Junction is a much more intelligent film. Much more realistic ..."

* * *

Pam wandered around in a daze. She had no interest anymore in finding Grace, the receptionist at corporate. She had no interest in talking to anybody anymore.

Eventually she found herself in front of a bank of televisions, each showing a different sports channel. She stared at the screens but watched none of them.

After awhile, she realized that David Wallace was standing next to her.

"Are you a sports fan?" he asked.

"I'm afraid not," she confessed. "I was just trying to get away from the crowd a bit."

"Me too."

They both looked at the bank of televisions. "You have a good branch," David said. "A little weird, sometimes." Pam smiled. "But a really good bunch of people."

"Thank you." She could tell why Jim liked him so much. He was putting her at ease.

"You all are really lucky to have Jim there. You know, we offered him a job up here. But he turned us down. Maybe someday we'll get another chance."

Pam's face hardened into that blank expression which a stranger wouldn't have found unusual, but which her friends would have known as a sign of fear and painful shyness.

Neither of them noticed Ryan, who was standing nearby, and who had heard everything David just said.

* * *

More than a half-hour later, a worried Jim found Pam in the game room. She was sitting forlornly next to a basketball hoop.

"I've been looking all over for you! Where have you been?"

She stared at the floor.

"Pam, what's wrong?"

"Just go away."

"Pam? Was it Karen?"

She looked up at him. She was crying. "It wasn't Karen, Jim! It was David Wallace!"

Jim was totally confused.

"You told me you took yourself out of the running. You never told me he offered you the job! And you turned it down! How could you do that? You threw it all away. For nothing!"

She sobbed. "What were you thinking?"

* * *

David Wallace leaned back in his chair.

"So ... long haul. Where do you see yourself in ten years?"

Jim was lost in his own world. Finally, he answered:

"Married. With a family. And a good job. You know. The important things."

David nodded. "Okay."

They talked briefly about the company, and how they might work with the branches. Then David leaned forward.

"Jim, you're my last interview. But I pretty much knew what I wanted to do from the start. I want you to come to New York."

"I don't know what to say."

David smiled. "You can say yes."

Jim looked stunned. Then he said:

"I ... can't."

David's smile vanished.

"You know, David, I'm really sorry. This is a good opportunity. And I would really like to take it. I don't want to get into it too much. But I have a personal matter back in Scranton that probably - honestly - keeps me from being able to do this. A family matter. I hadn't thought about it that way until just now. But I really can't move up here right now."

David was perturbed, but he was trying to understand. "Well, I guess that's part of what interviews are for - to surface problems like this before it's too late."

He stood up. "You know, Jim, I wish we could hold the position open while you work things out. But that's really not possible." He gestured out toward reception, where Jan had made her grand exit a little bit before. "You can see why."

Jim nodded.

David extended his hand. "Thanks for coming in, though. Good luck."

* * *

"Why didn't you tell me?" asked Pam, tears in her eyes.

Jim considered his words very carefully.

"I wanted us to have a fresh start. I didn't want you to worry that I'd made another big job decision because of you. I didn't want you to have to carry that burden."

"But you need to know this."

His jaw clenched.

"I didn't throw away ANYTHING."

Pam looked up at him.

"When David asked me where I saw myself in ten years, I knew exactly where I wanted to be. I wanted to be with you. I didn't care where I was. I didn't care what I did. I just wanted to be with you."

She was listening.

"If he'd asked me where I saw myself in fifty years, I would have thought the exact same thing."

Her eyes were still red, but they were starting to shine.

"And when I drove back to Scranton, and you said you'd go out with me, I swear, Pam, I was on top of the world. I felt like I could do anything."

He picked up a basketball.

"I felt like - this."

He shot.

It hit the back of the rim and bounced off.

Pam looked up in amazement. And then she started to giggle.

"Well, not exactly like that."

Now she was laughing.

"Laugh it up, Beesly. You think you can do better?"

She was laughing even harder. He grabbed her hands, picked her up, drew her close and hugged her. For a moment, she forgot where she was and didn't worry about who might see them.

When she finally collected herself, he asked: "Have you ever played Pig?"

"What?"

"Pig." He held up the basketball. "The way it works is this. You take a shot. If you make it, then I have to make a basket from the same place. If I miss it, then I get a 'P.' The first player to get P-I-G loses."

"I know how to play Pig, you dork! Give me that!" She took the ball and shot. It hit the backboard and fell in.

Jim took a shot. This time, it bounced off the front of the rim.

"You did that on purpose!" she said accusingly.

"Don't get cocky," he smiled. "Enjoy it while it lasts!"

She dribbled the ball once, shot, and swished it. There was nothing but net.