Karen is only halfway through her second week at Dunder Mifflin (and about three-quarters of the way through her lifelong Andy-tolerance, she estimates) when Josh perches on the corner of her desk one morning and taps her monitor with a sheet of rolled-up paper. “Hey, Karen.”

At the sound of Josh's voice, Andy spins his chair around to face Karen’s desk. “Well whaddya know, it's Lance Armstrong, ladies and gents!”

Josh glances over his shoulder. “Hi, Andy. Listen, Karen—”

“Where's the yellow jersey, Lance?”

Despite her every attempt to keep her expressions neutral and professional when dealing with her new coworkers, Karen has already learned that this is a particular challenge where Andy is concerned. She shares an understanding smile with Josh. “Listen,” he starts again. “Karen. You've been doing a great job with the calls to our former customers— ”

“Hey, Josh, remember my first week? I got four customers to come back. Branch record.” Andy leans back in his chair, bites his lower lip and raises a challenging eyebrow at Karen, stabbing the air with his pen. “Unnnn-breakable.”

Karen narrows her eyes at him. Josh must spot the look on her face because he hops off her desk and is quick to stand where he can obstruct their views of each other. “Save the trash talk for team-building, Andy. When it comes to sales, we're all on the same team. I need the two of you to go over to the Shippan Point Marina today at noon to handle this sales call together.” He hands Karen the rolled-up paper, which turns out to be an optimistically filled-out term sheet with all the details the sales force has collected on the potential client. She's discovered in her short time at the company that Josh is big into positive thinking.

Her first sales call and it's with the office suck-up. Great. “Sounds great!” she says with enthusiasm. She smiles so brightly that the apples of her cheeks appear in her peripheral vision, but it hurts the muscles in her face so she quickly looks down at the term sheet Josh handed her. “I'll generate a price list based on the Townsend's Harbor account before we head over.”

Josh's smile is genuine this time. “Good idea. Andy, you get online and see what specifics you can dig up about this business, okay?”

“Sure thing, Boss. Daddy Warbucks. Colonal Klink.” Andy gives a mock salute and spins back around to his computer, whistling. It takes a few seconds for her to recognize the notes of the theme song to Hogan's Heroes.

She’s brainstorming ways she might get Andy to shut up without having to engage him in conversation when he shouts, “Jawohl, mein Kommandant!”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath and decides that she won’t fight this particular battle. Ogling her ass when she’s standing next to him, bent over his desk studying sales reports together, yes. Shouting random German phrases and whistling television theme songs, no. This job is going to be good for her perspective-building skills.

A few minutes after Josh leaves, Andy spins around once more and waits patiently for Karen to look away from her monitor at him, which she only does once she gets that prickly, uncomfortable feeling from knowing he’s watching her. “What?”

“It would bring me the utmost pleasure to escort you to the marina today, milady,” he says, bowing at the waist and making a circular gesture in front of his midsection, like a waiter.

She feels dazed and only slightly aware that her mouth has dropped open and that she’s blinking slowly at him. She manages to collect herself and says sternly, “This is not a date, Andy. It’s a sales call.”

He rights himself in his chair and rolls his eyes. “Well, duh,” he says, turning to face forward again. “Just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.”

___________________________

At quarter to twelve, Andy hovers in front of Karen's desk. She's jotting down the type and quantity of the paper that the marina on the other side of the harbor uses for its invoices, so she doesn't look up right away. “Ready in a sec,” she says.

He picks up her nameplate. “Fill-i-pell-eeeee.”

“Yeah, I'm just... “

“Ka-ren Fill-i-pell-eeeee.”

She ignores him.

“Beautiful stranger,” he croons, sounding alarmingly like Madonna.

Oh my God. “Okay, okay.” She stands, shrugs her suit jacket on and gathers her pages of notes into her portfolio.

“You wanna get warmed up first?” he asks, pointing with his thumb toward the break room. “We can get Tony to quiz us. The guy you replaced, George, made it into a drinking game every—"

“No, Andy, I do not want to be quizzed on the qualities and prices of various paper products before we go on our sales call.”

His face reddens. “Well. You would have lost anyway. I have it all memorized.” He taps his temple with his index finger. “Which is lucky for you, in case the customer has any questions that need answering right there. On the spot, as it were.”

“Lucky. Exactly what I was thinking,” she says, following him out of the office.

In the elevator they agree to take Andy's car, and she tries not to snicker when they reach the parking garage and he presses a button on his key chain, making the tail lights of a red Volkswagon Cabriolet convertible flash. But he notices her trying to hide her smirk and pauses as he's opening his door to scowl at her and ask, exasperated, “Why does everyone think it's funny that I drive this car? This is a great car! And it's a convertible!”

“Yeah, it's cute.”

“You know, chicks really dig this car.”

“I believe it.”

“You're — no, you're not getting it. A lot of chicks. Dig the car. Have dug this car, actually.” He gives her a meaningful look over the top of his sunglasses.

“Really.” She tries, but can’t keep her chin from tilting up challengingly. “Like how many, would you say?”

“At least ten. No, no. Fifteen.”

She appraises him over the fabric roof of the car. That number is way too high. She estimates two, and not necessarily in this car. But she appeases him for the sake of harmony, saying, “Hmm, that is a lot.”

He nods emphatically, as if he's sure she’s convinced, and ducks into the car. “Sorry ‘bout the mess, wasn't expecting to be squiring a lovely lady such as yourself around town today,” he says as he tosses a Starbucks cup and an unfolded map into the back seat.

“This is not a date, Andy,” she repeats as she settles herself in the car.

As soon as he turns on the ignition, the stereo blares and she jumps in her seat. “Sorry!” he yells over Dido’s White Flag. He fastens his seat belt before reaching out to turn the volume down. Karen rubs her suddenly throbbing temples.

Turns out that Andy's a careful driver, and she's not sure whether to be surprised by that. He's not rushing through the streets, or jiggling his leg nervously in anticipation of the sales call. He drives toward Shippan Point without consulting the directions she'd printed out from Google Maps as if he's been driving there his entire life. Maybe he has. She takes advantage of the unexpected calm by rehearsing her script in her head as she gazes out the window. The scenery is picturesque; the road they're on follows the Long Island Sound, and she gazes at the handful of colorful sailboats and buoys bobbing in the greenish-blue water.

After a few minutes, Andy breaks their comfortable silence. “So, tell me something about yourself. Something meaningful.” He turns toward her and gives her a winsome smile before returning his eyes to the road.

She rubs her palms on her pants. “Um. Like what?”

He purses his lips as if he's considering what he most wants to know about her. “What side of the whole determinism debate does Karen Fillipelli fall on? Do humans really have free will, or are all future events necessitated by past events combined with the natural laws of the universe?”

She stares at him, flabbergasted.

“Okay, so you're undecided about the big things in life,” he says, as if he's trying to make her feel better about herself. “Tell me something else. Liiiiiike... what kind of music are you into?”

She sighs, relieved that he hadn't gone straight to the uncomfortable “what's-your-number” question as a result of her complete lapse in judgment by asking him his. Music is a safe topic. “Anything, really,” she says, shrugging. “Mostly classical.”

Andy makes a face.

“What's wrong with classical?” she asks, defensive.

“What’s — ?” He looks at her, stunned. “No words.”

She already knows the answer, but she makes the comment anyway: “So. You must like to sing.”

“Are you — are you kidding? I live to sing! I’m the whole singer-slash-songwriter package. Plus I play the banjo. Let me tell you, I always get a reaction from the ladies on karaoke night when I pull out my instrument.”

She smiles, amused at his wording, and shifts so she’s facing the passenger window and can hide her expression. He continues, clearly aiming for an air of casualness and understatement that belies his words, “You know, at Cornell I sang in a popular a capella group, Here Comes Treble. I’m a baritone. Had a ton of solos. Second-most in the group.”

She doubts that any a capella group would be considered “popular” on a college campus, but what does she know? She went to Central Connecticut. Maybe all kids at Cornell are dorky tools like this guy.

“Oooh! I have just the thing!” he exclaims, startling her. She turns away from window and watches him flip down his visor and pull a CD out of a black sleeve, then jab at the eject button on his stereo. “Come on, come on,” he mutters. “Ah, okay, here we go.”

The strains of an overplayed ten-year-old song that Karen unfortunately recognizes on the second note blast out of the speakers. She stifles a groan and turns back to look out the window again. In the middle distance there's a peninsula extending out into the Sound where tall wooden pilings provide contrast to the otherwise unobstructed horizon. The midday sun slips out from behind a blanket of clouds, brightening the white fiberglass of a dozen motorboats docked at the marina before disappearing, sliding a grayish filter over the light. She tries to focus on the peacefulness of the scene and tune out Andy, who’s tapping on the steering wheel and grooving to 4 Non Blondes. “And so I cry sometimes when I’m lying in bed, just to get it all out, what’s in my head....”

She's beginning to wonder if it was a good move, career-wise, to take a job at a paper company. In her interview, Josh had made it sound as rewarding as a job in sales could be, and he’d touted the excellent staff as one of the company’s advantages. They were all professionals, he'd said, and the reason they had this open position was the promotion of a salesperson to the corporate office in New York. Corporate had an excellent relationship with the people in this branch, and most of the coveted openings in the last five years had been filled by someone from Stamford. He'd described a supportive, collegial workplace where only friendly competition existed. They even played video games as a team-building exercise; she's pretty sure that her ex-boyfriend’s constant desire to ignore her in favor of Call of Duty, and her resultant ability to talk game strategy as if she herself played the game, had secured the job offer for her.

So far her co-workers seem okay, but Andy is.... Well, difficult is the only word she can come up with. It's been less than two weeks and already she’s weary of his transparent attempts to get her to go out to lunch with him by convincing her that other salespeople are waiting for them at the sandwich place across the street, and how he tries to impress her with “logic” by engaging her in those silly brain-teaser fact patterns about a death occurring in a locked room, or a hot air balloon crashing in a desert.

Meeting Andy has reaffirmed what she's learned in the six years or so since college graduation — she has to let go of her fairy-tale fantasy of showing up to work one day and finding a cute, down-to-earth guy who makes her laugh and isn’t put off by her intensity and confidence. Someone that special is not going to magically appear at the tiny Stamford branch of the Dunder Mifflin paper company. The therapist she saw for a few months after her latest breakup had encouraged her to open herself up to the possibility that she could find love where she least expected it, but had also warned her that she needed to do her part as well by getting out there and looking for it.

So she sneaks a wondering glance at Andy, who’s adopted a falsetto for the song’s refrain. “And I said hey hey hey he-ey, hey hey hey. I said hey. What’s going on?”

No.

Just... no.

She really needs to get back out there and start looking.

________________________________

“If it's all the same to you, Andy, I'd like to act as point on this call.”

He pauses just outside the door to the marina and tilts his head as if he's considering it. “Hm. Don't you think it would behoove you to sit back and watch how we do things at Dunder Mifflin? I mean, I think there'd be some value -- quite a lot of value, actually -- in observing one of the branch’s top three salesmen in his element. Plus --” he grimaces -- "we don't want to scare away the customer before we even get the chance to stress our customer service."

He finds her intimidating? Well, she's certainly not too shy to push him on this; the cold calling has been boring the crap out of her. But she'll have to strive for subtlety. “I'm sure there’s a lot that... someone with your experience could teach me,” she says, tamping down the flash of pride she feels in avoiding the use of the word “you” in relation to the phrase “learning something useful,” since she knows it would be disastrous to give him the impression that she looks up to him as a mentor. “But I really think I'm ready to do this.”

He shrugs. “Okay, I guess. Go get 'em, tiger! Rrrrowr.” He makes a pawing motion with his hand before resting it on the door handle. “Now. Who’s the sucker that’s gonna buy a truckload of paper from Dunder Mifflin today?”

“Matt....” She consults the term sheet peeking out from her black leather portfolio. “Rosencrantz. Matt Rosencrantz.”

He doesn't say anything right away, so she looks up at him. He's wearing a look of horror. “Rosencrantz...? Matt Rosencrantz? Seriously?”

“Yeah.” She pulls the term sheet out so he can look at it himself, and he grabs it from her and crumples it up in his fist without even looking at it.

“Eeeuuuuugh!” he groans, slapping his fist into the palm of his other hand as if he were punching it. “Fuckin' Rosencrantz! Fuck!” He bites his lip and lets his head fall back dramatically, like this is the worst possible occurrence, a plague on his house or something.

What the...? She watches in concern as he stares up at the sky. “Andy, how do you know that this Matt Rosencrantz is fu— I mean, are you sure you know this guy?”

“How many people do you think there are in the world with the name ‘Matt Rosencrantz’?” He rolls his eyes at her like she’s a moron.

“Okay, so what’s the big deal?”

“We... went to college... together,” he says slowly, struggling to get the words out. “We were Alpha Delts.” At her blank look, he clarifies, ”He was in my fraternity.”

“Oh.” She's not sure why this is such a bad thing.

She must have sounded overly casual, because he shakes his head at her. “Matt Rosencrantz... was my arch-nemesis, for lack of a better word. He made my junior year living in the frat house utterly miserable.” He pauses to gauge her reaction and hastens to add, “You know, when I wasn't making his life even more miserable.”

She nods, going along with him. “Ah. Okay.”

“Okay.” He inhales deeply, squares his shoulders, and thrusts his chin out. “Let's do this,” he says fiercely, opening the door for her and standing aside so she can enter first.

A bell hanging over the door rings merrily as she steps inside the open, airplane hangar-like space. Four massive, sparkling fiberglass motorboats are spread out on the floor like cars in a dealer showroom, propped up on galvanized steel trailers. Against the wall to the left, boats are stacked in rows from floor to ceiling on what looks like a giant, industrial shoe rack. Directly opposite the entrance runs a long glass counter stocked with sophisticated electronics.

Karen moves confidently toward the counter, behind which a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark brown hair and stylish glasses is flipping through a stack of paperwork. He’s around thirty, she guesses, and looks quite distinguished in a black crew-neck sweater and flat-front, charcoal gray trousers.

He glances up as she approaches. “Mr. Rosencrantz?”

“That’s me. Hi.” Their eyes meet, and her pulse skips when he smiles warmly at her. “You must be from Dunder Mifflin. Please, call me Matt.” He extends his hand and she shakes it firmly, noticing that his eyes stay completely focused on hers.

“Hi. Karen Fillipelli. Pleased to meet you.” She’s barely aware that she’s smiling widely back at him because she's too busy wondering how someone can give off a 'rugged sailor' vibe and a 'distinguished young professional' vibe simultaneously. He finally releases her hand after a longer-than-appropriate handshake, and she shifts so Andy can greet him with a handshake as well. “This is my colleague, Andy Bernard.”

She notices Matt freeze at the name, his hand suspended in mid-air. Andy steps forward and conspicuously shoves his hands in his pockets. “Well well, if it isn’t Matt Rosencrantz. We meet again.”

“Hey, Andy Bernard. Bernie. How the hell’ve you been, bro?” Matt moves to clap Andy on the shoulder, but Andy ducks away from his hand as if expecting it to burn him.

"Fine, fine. Just fine and dandy." He shrugs his shoulders awkwardly, given his hands are still in his pockets. "Haven't seen you since the reunion a few years ago. Whatcha been up to?"

Matt crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Oh, not much, just bought a house over in Darien. It's got two slips and a great view of the water." He doesn't invite Andy over to see it, and Andy doesn't ask.

"You still seeing that chick?" Andy asks, and Karen winces. "That one who couldn't make it to reunion because she had some kind of court date or something?"

"Photo shoot. And no. We just broke up, actually. She had to move to Milan for work, and they just doubled the number of marinas I manage, so it wasn't good timing for me to pack up and move to Europe with my supermodel girlfriend."

Karen's annoyed at the sharp turn that her first sales call has taken and the way the two men are regarding each other like this is a Mexican standoff. "Well, why don't we find a place to sit down and discuss how Dunder Mifflin can become a valued member of your business team?"

Matt manages to tear his eyes away from Andy, but Andy is still giving him a hostile look. "Why don't we head over to the yacht club for lunch?" Andy suggests, still not breaking his gaze. "It's just a block down the road, and as regional director in charge of sales of Dunder Mifflin Stamford, I have a corporate card."

"Okay," Karen says on a heavy exhale. "Matt, do you have time to join us?"

"Sure," says Matt, offering Karen a smile. "I never say no to beautiful women." He steps out from behind the counter and steps up to Karen.

Andy's already on his way to the door. "I bet beautiful women say no to you all the time," he mutters.

"Sorry?" Matt asks, but his expression looks like he'd heard exactly what Andy had said.

"What? Oh, nothing," Andy replies airily. He allows Karen and Matt to exit first. "So, Rosen, been back home on the Island lately?"

"Yeah, I'm helping out at the East Hampton club, getting their boats out of storage for the upcoming season. I might coach their racing team this summer, if my schedule allows. How 'bout you? Been over to your home away from home lately?"

Karen watches Andy, waiting for his answer. She doesn't know much about his background, other than his college experiences, of course. In fact, she kinda wishes she didn't know so much about college-aged Andy. "Good ol' Sag Harbor," he sighs. "Yeah, they asked me to coach their team, but I turned them down. Not enough cash to make it worth my while with all the summer traffic, know what I'm saying?"

"I would have thought you'd take them up on it, just for the opportunity to finally beat East Hampton in the Labor Day Regatta after all these years," Matt says a bit snarkily.

"Well, uh, check your facts, dude. 'Cause we did beat you. 1990. But you guys refused to acknowledge it."

"You guys were disqualified because -- who was the captain? Oh, yeah, it was you -- your deckhand fell overboard and you didn't turn about to rescue him."

"Well, we crossed the finish line first."

"But not legally."

Andy snorts. "Legally. Oh what, under the law of the sea? Please. You know as well as I do that governs international waters only. And we were in New York."

"I don't know anyone other than you who actually gets any mileage out of that international law course at Cornell. Even when they're making it all up."

"Well, maybe that's because you got a much lower grade in that class than I did."

"I don't believe I did."

"Well, I know you did."

"How could you possibly know something like that? I never told you any of my grades."

"I know because I'm smart. I use things like logic and deductive reasoning." Andy glances over at Karen as if he's going to appeal to her in this matter.

Matt notices. "Don't be fooled, Karen. Andy here is old hat at trying to impress women with 'reasoning.' You still using philosophy-based pick-up lines, Bernie?"

At Karen's surprised look and Andy's telling flush, Matt laughs. "Ah, Bernie. I've missed you, man."


________________________________


By the time they're seated in front of a bay window overlooking the docks at the yacht club, she realizes that the nerves she's feeling in the pit of her stomach have nothing to do with the fact that she's on a sales call, or that she's lunching in a posh club with an intriguing, charming man. No, she's dreading what Andy is going to say or do next.

"So how long have you been with Dunder Mifflin, Karen?" Matt asks, handing his menu back to the waiter who's taken their order.

"Only a couple of weeks. It's going pretty well so far, and my boss is great. He lets us play--"

"Karen's gotten off to a pret-ty fast start," Andy interrupts, and she looks over at him, startled. "But honestly, she's got a lot of work to do to catch me in terms of sales. I'm kind of a natural."

Karen's eyes meet Matt's and slide away quickly.

"Yep. Found my niche," Andy continues. "Paper. Always gonna be plenty of it, always gonna need it, so.... The job security is like nothing else."

Um. "Actually, we are going through a period of slight expansion," says Karen, trying to steer the conversation toward business. "And our customer service department--"

"The folks in our customer service department..." Andy jumps in, and Karen's pleased that he appears to be following her lead. "Well, let's just say that they couldn't play a hand of poker to save their lives. I kick their asses every single time we play. They're always like, 'Andy, Andy, you in? You want us to deal you in?' But I just can't keep on taking their money week after week, you know what I mean?"

She tries glaring at him, but she must be too subtle because he leans back in his chair and says, "Yeah, but Foxwoods, that's another story. Last weekend I won five... hundred... bucks."

"Five-card stud? Texas hold 'em? Blackjack?" Matt asks.

"Slots," Andy supplies, and Karen's had enough of worrying about her table manners. She puts her elbow on the edge of the table and rests her chin on her hand.

Matt glances at her, amused and sympathetic. "What do you like to do outside the office?" he asks. "Do you sail at all?"

"No. I mean, I grew up in Rye, so some of my friends had motorboats and I used to go out on the water with them sometimes. But I never learned how to sail. I'm definitely motor-reliant."

"Well, you'll have to come back to the marina sometime soon, when it gets a little warmer, and I'll take you out and teach you. It's amazing how peaceful and quiet it is out on the water without that outboard motor noise."

She smiles at him. "That would be fun. Thanks."

Andy glowers at Matt. "You know, Karen, if Matt here is ever too busy with his so-called 'management' job, I can take you out."

Her smile tightens. "Thanks, Andy."

"So you must be a runner, then?" says Matt.

Karen perks up immediately. "Yeah, how did you guess?"

"You look like a runner." Matt shrugs. "And I'm in training right now, so I guess I have running on the brain."

"What are you training for?" she asks, genuinely interested.

"Boston," he says simply. "It's my first time, so I'm really pumped up for the race."

"You know, Rosen, they say steroids can diminish the size of your, uh, package, so...." He looks at Karen to check her reaction.

Karen ignores him. "Wow, Boston! That's amazing. Congrats on qualifying."

"I recently ran the Stamford Corporate Challenge," Andy interjects. "Three point five miles. Finished in under an hour. Best time of anyone at my company."

"Couldn't Josh make it?" she asks.

He does a poor job of hiding his annoyance with her, but recovers quickly. "I'm really more into lifting right now, anyway." He tries to subtly flex his pectoral muscles under his shirt, but ends up looking like he's simply jerking his shoulders spastically.

"Well, if you're looking for a running partner, I do my long runs on Saturday mornings," Matt offers. "Although I could be persuaded to move some things around on my schedule if that time doesn't work for you."

"Great, thanks, I'll let you know." They smile at each other, and and she has to remind herself to stay cool and collected. This is a sales call.

Andy chooses that moment to lean toward her in his seat. "Karen, has anyone ever told you that you... have... beautiful teeth? They are perfectly proportioned for your mouth."

She blushes, embarrassed for him. Her teeth are proportionate? That's almost as bad as a guy complimenting you on your... eyebrows or elbows or some other random and unsexy body part while you're in bed together.

He takes her blush as pleasure at his compliment because he shoots a cocky, that's-how-it's-done smile at Matt and drapes his arm across the back of Karen's chair, sliding a hand onto the back of her neck.

"What are you doing?" she hisses.

He retracts his hand quickly. "Yeah, okay. Not here. Sure thing, Flips."

She stares at him like he's deranged. "Who are you, Margot Kidder in a bush?"

Matt seems amused by the tableau. "Flips?" he asks.

"It's my pet name for her," Andy clarifies.

"Pet. Name?" she asks through clenched teeth.

Andy tries to play it off. "A smart, sassy gal like you needs a smart, sassy nickname." He looks to Matt almost as if he's asking him to back him up. "Am I right, or am I right?"

Matt snickers. "Well, you've always been the kind of guy who attracts more nicknames than makes them stick on others, actually. So there's hope for you yet, Karen, if you're not fond of 'Flips.' It's not likely to catch on if this one's leading the charge."

"What were some of Andy's nicknames in college?" she asks, no longer caring if she embarrasses him.

“Well, 'Bernie' is kind of a multi-purpose nickname -- it's a play on a couple things: burn and Barney. You know, that annoying purple dinosaur who’s always singing, right? This one time, Bernie dared one of our Alpha Delt brothers to do something or other and like always, Bernie lost. So they made him dress up in drag and do his hair and makeup for this pledge party during rush week, and answer to ‘Bernadette’ all night. Well, Bernadette here burned his forehead with a curling iron and his skin was purple for two weeks.”

Andy is touching his forehead gingerly and staring Matt down from between his fingers. “Yeah, well, my hair was too short to curl, but did any of you warn me about that? Nooooooo. I was a victim of your cruel indifference.”

“But you looked simply gohr-geous in that lipstick and sexy red dress. Totally doable," he says, smirking. "I know I have some pictures from that night somewhere on my hard drive.”

Andy's apparently had it, because he stands up, throws his napkin down, and points menacingly at Matt. "All right. That's it. I have had enough of dealing with you since I was ten years old, and now I'm thirty and I don't want to have to deal with you any more! We're going to settle this thing between you and me once and for all."

"What 'thing'? I think it's all in your head, Bern."

"Arrrrrrgh! Stop calling me that! You know, it wasn't cool when the first thing you did when you became Protocol Chairman was to try to get me excommunicated from Alpha Delt --"

"That was a joke! It wasn't an expulsion hearing! I've told you that!"

"--and it wasn't cool when you incited my angry teammates to carry me off and drop me in the bay after the '90 Regatta! It's not. Cool. Anymore, man!"

Karen surreptitiously reaches out to pull on the cuff of Andy's suit jacket. "Andy, come on," she says softly.

"You need to get over yourself, Bernard," Matt says.

"Oh, I'm fine. I'm fine. It's you who's not going to be fine!"

"What do you possibly think you can do to me?"

Andy's fuming, red in the face, and Karen notices that the vein in the side of his neck is throbbing. "We're going to race," he says. And when I win -- and I will -- you're going to sign a three-year supply contract with Dunder Mifflin and I'm never going to have to see you again. And at the next reunion, you're going to steer clear from me, and you're going to tell all the brothers that I crushed you sailing."

"Oh really? You think you can beat me sailing? How many years of getting smacked around by me out on the water has it been? 'Cause I'm more than willing to give you some more."

Karen stands up. "This is not a good idea."

Andy turns on her. "It's a great idea. It's the best idea I've had since I was ten and I first met this... this loser."

"It's all right, Karen," says Matt. "I'd be more than happy to sign a contract with the company if he actually crosses the finish line before me."

"It's on!" Andy shouts, and storms out of the dining room.

Karen hesitates. She's so mortified she can't bring herself to meet Matt's eyes. She finally turns and follows Andy out of the room.

________________________________

"You're being completely ridiculous, Andy."

Andy straightens up from his position on the dock where he's kneeling and untying a catamaran he'd arranged to rent for an hour from the yacht club. "I'm being -- I'm being completely ridiculous?"

"I hope you're not suggesting that I am."

"No, it's him. Fuckin' Rosen. You know he's been fucking with me my whole life, making me look bad in front of my family --"

"Let's find some perspective here, Andy, okay? I know you call them brothers, but the guys from your stupid fraternity are not your family."

"No, not the Alpha Delts --" he starts, climbing into the boat. But he stops himself and looks up to find her standing on the dock with her arms crossed, scowling at him. "Well, yes, the Alpha Delts, but still. This rivalry has been going on faaarrrr too long. I just want to wipe that goddamned smirk off his face. It'll take half an hour. And we're getting a big sale outta this, so chill out."

"Chill out? Chill out?" She hates that her voice has taken on a shrieky quality. She's supposed to be a professional salesperson, not some fishmonger's wife. "This was supposed to be a sales call, not some -- some testosterone-fueled ax-grinding expedition."

"Look, just can you do this for me? Just this one thing. I need to just be done with all this baggage."

"What is 'this'? I'm not doing anything."

"Hey! You guys ready?"

They both turn toward the bay. Matt is gliding up to their dock in a single-hull boat, the pristine white sail flapping wildly in the early April wind. "Down to the red number 12 buoy and back, right?"

"Right!" Andy shouts back. "Okay, let's go," he says to Karen, reaching his hand up to her from the boat.

"Oh no. Uh-uh. This is your deal, not mine." She takes a step backwards and holds out her hands in a "stop" position.

"Come on, we gotta get out there so he doesn't get a better starting point and block our wind."

"You coming or not, Bernard?" Matt shouts again.

"In a minute!" Andy lowers his voice so he won't be shouting at her any more. "Karen. Please," he says calmly. "I need someone out on the water to tell if he cheats."

"Hop in, Karen!" Matt shouts. "Don't worry, if he crashes into a sandbar, I'll come and get you!"

She tightens her jaw and clenches her fists. Glaring at him, she extends her hand, and he grasps it to help her down into the boat. "I swear to God, Andy --"

"No need," he cuts her off. "I have this totally. Under. Control."

Once in the boat, she hovers uncertainly. "Where do I sit?"

"About halfway up toward the bow," he instructs her, untying the rope holding them to the dock. "And all you have to do is follow my orders."

She grinds her teeth. All I have to do, huh? "If you win, I get the sale."

He nods once, pushing away from the dock. "We'll sort that out later."


________________________________

Andy has one hand on the rudder and the other holding the jib, and he's swinging his head every three seconds from left to right, checking both on Matt's progress and the direction they're headed in, like he's a spectator at a tennis match. "We have to make sure we don't lose time on the turn!" He has to yell in order to be heard over the wind, even though she's just a few feet away from him on the boat.

Karen is shivering and has her arms wrapped around herself, trying to preserve any ounce of warmth that she can, and she wants to curl up in the fetal position and pretend that this day never happened.

"Okay, so hand me the rigging, right?"

"The what?"

"That rope you're half-sitting on!"

She unwraps one hand to toss it to him and tucks her head into her chest. She can't see very well because her hair is whipping wildly around her head. The water is choppy from the wind and she's glad they never actually got around to eating lunch because she thinks it would have revisited her by now.

“Ready about!” Andy yells to her.

“About what?” she shouts back.

The boat jerks under her, and she wipes a hand across her face in order to move the hair out of her eyes, just in time to see the boom rushing toward her. She only has a second to cover her head with her arms before it strikes her at the shoulder, hard and heavy, knocking her overboard into the Stamford harbor.

The water is freezing and she would scream with the shock of it if she weren't holding her breath and trying desperately to find the surface. She tries to relax her body and let it find its equilibrium so she can float upwards. She feels heavy and weighed down by her suitjacket, so she kicks her legs hard and rises to the surface. When she breaks through, she finally allows herself to feel the rage that has been building all afternoon. She looks up, searching for Andy.

But the boat is about thirty feet away, capsized, and Andy is nowhere to be found. The rage suddenly transforms into terror, and she's desperately treading water and screaming his name when he breaks the surface, sputtering. "Karen!" he yells before he's even opened his eyes.

"Andy!" she starts to swim toward him, but she can't easily manage the choppiness of the harbor and she ends up with a mouthful of salt water.

"Stay there!" He's pushing up on one side of the catamaran to try to right it. But it's too heavy, with the wind and the current and the waterlogged material of the sail, and he releases a frustrated shout.

Matt's boat approaches them. "Need a hand?" he asks.


________________________________

She's going to kill him.

That's all she can think as she squeezes the water out of her hair, still shivering but at least wearing a dry, comfortable sweatshirt from the yacht club gift shop.

She's going to kill him.

Her shoes are missing, so she pads barefoot out of the ladies' locker room of the yacht club in her now-only-damp pants. If she gets any mysterious rashes or needs any shots, she thinks, she's going to kill him.

Karen tries to remain calm as she heads down the hallway toward the club's foyer where she'd left Andy negotiating a settlement with the club manager for the capsized boat. She's tired and cranky and just wants to go home. She's willing to postpone the severe punishment she has planned until tomorrow if he can get her home in twenty minutes.

She spots him, still soaking wet, sitting on a folding chair, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He's the picture of misery.

Well, good, she thinks. He deserves it.

Before she reaches the foyer, she sees Matt approach Andy. She can't hear what Matt says, but Andy's head snaps up and he stands, pushing the folding chair out a few feet behind him.

The men stand close together, and Andy's got his arms crossed and looks defensive. Karen inches closer until she can hear most of what they're saying.

"--Not as bad as Ninety, though, right?" Matt is saying patronizingly. "I mean, at least this time it wasn't your Dad."

"God, just shut up already," Andy says. "Okay? You win, I lose, whatever."

"I heard your family had to quit the club after the ugly scene you two made, once your Dad got back to shore."

Andy doesn't respond, so Matt continues, "Or were you actually kicked out by the club? I mean, some of those things your Dad said to you, I wouldn't blame them. Gotta keep it decent for the kiddies. Good family fun for all."

"You know what, Matt?" Andy starts in a surprisingly calm tone of voice. "I hope it's all worth it to you. You made my life a living hell for two years at school. Everyone either thought I had some STD, or that I had some kind of incontinence problem, or that I was sleeping with the crazy old Russian professor. And my father still hates me and acts like I'm the biggest disappointment in the world. So what, you can't just pat yourself on the back and say, 'Job well done' and leave me the fuck alone?"

"Hey, you started it, bro. Don't play if you can't pay."

"I do just fine, thanks," Andy says.

"Well, it looks like you're the same old Bernadette to me," Matt says, "and you sure react the same way when people are just joking around with you. I get such a kick out of it. Don't ever change, okay?"

"Just -- just-- fuck off, man," Andy says and stalks off down the hallway on the opposite side of the foyer leading to the men's locker room.

Karen's anger diffuses as she watches Andy retreat down the hallway. God, what a mess.

Suddenly Matt steps into her field of vision. "Hey there. You doing okay?" he asks.

She nods. "Yeah, I could really use a hot shower, though."

He smiles. "I won't keep you, then. You sure you don't need a ride home?"

She'd considered it when he'd initially asked, but now she thinks it might be a small act of kindness if she lets Andy take her home. Maybe Andy needed a few more acts of kindness in his life. Maybe they would help him heal, at least a little bit, whatever wounds that make him act the way he does.

So she shakes her head. "Thanks, though."

"So I guess this was a pretty unique sales call, huh?"

She chuckles. "You could say that. I don't suppose you want to buy any paper after all this?"

He smiles at her. "Absolutely I do. But you get the sale, not Andy."

"Deal."

"You know, I feel like I need to apologize to you. I mean, I'm usually never like this, but there's something about Andy, I can't explain it.... it's just a knee-jerk reaction. I promise that if you'll allow me to take you to dinner Friday, I'll be on my best behavior."

She lowers her eyes. "The thing is, Matt —" she stops abruptly, spotting a tiny movement in the hallway behind Matt.

She hesitates, her eyes focused on the spot where she glimpsed dark khaki pants, and makes a snap decision. “The thing is, Andy and I really are kind of... um....”

“Say no more.”

“...We're what you might — ”

“No, really, say no more,” he says. “Please. I don't even want to be able to imagine it.” He smiles wryly. “I understand what you're saying.”

She smiles softly in return. “Sorry.”

“No problem,” he says casually. He extends his hand to her, and she shakes it with a firm, professional grasp. “I guess I'll be talking with you about our order, then.”

She nods once. "I'll give you a call tomorrow to discuss initial quantities and forecasts.”

“It was nice to meet you, Karen.”

“You too, Matt,” she says, and lets her eyes follow him as he slips out the front door and strides with long, purposeful steps in the direction of the marina.

She waits patiently in the foyer for Andy to step out of the hallway.

When he does, he approaches her uncertainly. “I heard what you said—"

“Don't mention it,” she interrupts, eager to dismiss it.

He's staring at her with such intensity that she can't bear to look at him, so she stares over his shoulder.

“Did you -- maybe -- do you think....” His voice sounds high and strangled with hope, and when she finally meets his gaze, he's looking at her with a question in his eyes.

She stands there in front of him, shifting her weight. She doesn't say anything, just looks up at him.

After a long moment passes and she still doesn't speak, his brow furrows in confusion and hurt. He's standing stiff and perfectly still, looking at her intensely, willing her to give him a response.

Very slowly, she leans into him and brings her fingers up to graze his cheek, allowing her eyes to flutter shut as her mouth brushes his. His lips are wet, wetter than she prefers, and he tastes a little salty. But the kiss is soft and his mouth is warm and she’s actually a little turned on by his quiet whimper in response to way she lets the tip of her tongue brush his bottom lip as she pulls away.

She lets out a shaky breath, and when she can finally meet his eyes, he’s still staring at her. She watches his throat muscles constrict as he swallows hard. “Um. So. Would you like to... go out to dinner tonight?” he asks in a husky, low voice, and it’s the most sincere he’s sounded in the ten days she’s known him.

“I think....” She pauses, clears her throat. “I think that’s probably not a good idea,” she says gently. His face falls immediately and she's surprised at how acutely she feels the pang of guilt coursing through her, forcing her to look away. She picks a spot on the paneled wall over his shoulder to focus on as she continues, “You know, because we work together and everything....”

“Yeah. Yeah, totally. Got it.” He slouches a bit, lowering his gaze to the floor and waving his hand as if he’s dismissing the whole thing. “Bad idea.”

She tells herself that she shouldn’t feel guilty about letting Andy down. Still, her chest feels like someone’s pressing down on it so hard that she can’t take a full breath. She sounds slightly winded when she adds, “You know, how like on Cheers after Sam and Diane got together, it pretty much sucked the funny out of their relationship. And it happened way too early in the series. Like, the end of the first season.”

He looks up at her and she holds his gaze, willing him to understand what she’s trying to communicate in an admittedly vague manner. She notices a tiny glimmer of hope in his eyes and she hesitates, unsure as to how explicit she really needs to be in turning him down. But like her therapist said, it’s not likely her Prince Charming will just show up one day at Dunder Mifflin Stamford, so.... She decides that it’ll be safe enough if she leaves things as they are.

So she says nothing, and lets the corners of her mouth turn reassuringly upward.

“Sam and Diane. Yeah,” he says.