He had just turned 30, but he looked barely older than a college student. A smallish man, about as tall as Ryan but slightly skinnier. He was tan with dark features, as if his father had been a G.I. He had on dress pants and a loose fitting, un-tucked shirt. The stranger stepped in from the doorway, smiled politely at Pam, and started to speak, but was interrupted loudly. Michael had seen him enter and come to his door. Jim turned and watched the exchange.

"Dan! Welcome to my humble little orifice!" Michael made a grand sweeping gesture of the entire room.

"Mike." The stranger, Dan, greeted Michael with a warm familiarity and a 2 handed handshake. Michael responded in a more subdued tone.

"You need to talk? Want to go somewhere?"

"Actually I have a business proposal for you."

Michael snapped back into action. "Aah! Come in sir!" Michael hurried Dan into his office and shut the door. Jim looked back down at his monitor. He didn't look like a huge customer or anything. Things went on as normal for about 10 minutes. Jim frequently glanced over at Karen, enjoying the power he felt when she inevitably smiled back. Even more, he enjoyed the satisfaction of knowing that Pam would see Karen's pretty smiles directed his way. They were both pretty, but he wondered if Pam thought that Karen was prettier than she was. He smiled to himself.

His phone rang. It was Michael calling from his office.

"Jim, could you and Karen come in here with the full-service printing and binding price lists, pronto."

Pronto.

The game had begun. "Pronto" was a signal, a code word that Michael had set up with Jim and Dwight just for moments like this. It meant he was close to making a sale, and numbers were about to be discussed. Jim's job was to come in with the "latest" price list and proceed to quote a very high price. Occasionally the customer bit, but usually he would be taken aback, at which point Michael would intervene on the customer's behalf, even going so far as to berate Jim. Then Michael quoted a new, lower number to the customer, which was usually accepted. Pronto rarely failed. For all his shortcomings as a manager, Michael Scott was as crafty and as gifted a salesman as they came. Michael had asked for Karen too. This almost certainly meant that the potential sale was very large, and he intended to take the buyer out for beers to celebrate. Karen was among the most natural shmoozers in the office, and Michael knew that.

Jim and Karen entered Michael's office. Dan stood, shook their hands before sitting back down, slouching in his chair, looking unnaturally relaxed. Michael filled Jim in and prompted him.

"Jim, Dan here wants to commission us to handle the supply, printing and binding for his company's annual shareholder report. 30000 copies. 30 pages, 12 full color 18 black and white." Whoa. This was a big order. Dunder Mifflin would supply the paper, outsource the printing, and make a lot of money in the process.

Jim commenced Operation Pronto... "Let me run that..." he paused to pretend to ruffle through the price lists. He shuffled the papers a bit, although he knew exactly what he was going to say. $460 per 100 units was his number. After all of the commotion had passed, Michael would come in and offer $380, and they would seal the deal. They could go as low as $320 and still make the deal. That was the beauty of the setup. Jim cleared his throat and began his delivery, only to be interrupted.

"Hold it." The target stiffened up in his chair and turned his gaze on Jim. He looked like a kid, but his voice hit like a sledgehammer.

"You guys can save your stupid game for someone who'll buy that crap. Here's how its going to work. You quote me one number only: your best price. If I believe you, we have a deal. If I smell bullshit, we're done. Oh, and my nose is like a fuckin radar, if you want to try me."

Michael started to speak, but Dan cut him off with a simple hand gesture. He kept his icy stare on Jim. Jim knew immediately what was happening. This little bastard had intentionally sidelined Michael and isolated him because he identified Jim as the weaker of the two. Jim met the icy gaze that was boring into him. Jesus. This fucker's great-great-great-great-great grandfather had probably been glaring at Edgar Allan Poe himself when Poe crafted his timeless line: his eyes had all the seeming, of a demon that is dreaming... Jim knew the score. The stranger had him.

"$320 per 100 units, plus applicable tax on the basic materials."

"Done." As quickly as Dan had morphed into a cold killer, he melted back into his easygoing relaxed presence.

Michael was a little annoyed, but he quickly got over it. 320 was fine. Just barely profitable, but worth it nonetheless.

"Let's go get some beers! Dan?"

"Sure, Mike."


************************


It was the longest client lunch of Jim's career. This stuff was supposed to be what he was good at. Sales. Negotiation. This guy had come into Jim's house and handed him his own butt in front of his boss and his girlfriend, and now he had to play nice. This may have been OK in the past, but now Jim was the one dispensing the pain, damn it. They got themselves a booth at Chili's. Beer was flowing. Michael turned on his easy charm and fired salvo after salvo of his finest jokes. Karen interjected with some more smalltalk, asking how Michael and Dan new each other.

She had unknowingly opened a floodgate. Michael had cleared his throat and started to change the subject but Dan answered anyway. Apparently, in his free time, Michael volunteered at an old-folks home, where he ran a weekly magic show for the retirees. When one of his regular audience members and biggest fans, Mrs. Dorthea Faulkner, had passed on, Michael had attended her funeral. In her honor, he had attempted to perform a bold exploding-hat magic trick that culminated in a live dove-release. Michael was still a little pissed that nobody remembered the three out of four doves that didn't catch fire. It had been a tough crowd.

Dan had been in the cemetery that day as well, visiting his beloved wife and even more beloved young daughter, who had been so painfully ripped form his life by a drunk driver not one month earlier. He was 29 years old, a widower who had outlived his only child, and he was dead inside. A man, Michael, had come up to him, laid his hand on his shoulder, and they had struck up a conversation. They had been friends ever since. As Dan had shared his story, Karen had slowly, almost subconsciously slid closer to him, until she found herself clutching his arm and trying to squeeze the pain from his tortured soul. Her soft green eyes were gazing at him like he was a wounded kitten. She looked like she was going to cry. And she wasn't even the nurturing type. Jesus, Karen. So the guy's a walking chick-flick. Get off it.

It had gotten worse. Turns out the fucker had gone off to Silicon Valley and made himself a couple of mil, and had come back to Scranton to bury his family, and his company was letting him vest out his remaining stock options by doing menial tasks like print the annual reports. Jim wanted to punch him. He glared at Karen, and she shrunk a bit.


**************************


Back at the office, Jim was so pissed off that he had to postpone his potato-chip gambit for a day. He was so riled up that he wouldn't even have enjoyed watching Pam squirm. That evening, he drove back to his place with Karen. She sat in the passenger seat, relaxed, joking with him easily.

"I could use some dinner. Pronto."

"Shut it, Filippelli, before I spank you. And I ought to spank you for siding up to that douche-bag today"

"Promises, promises," Karen smiled. "You know what was so funny about that douche-bag? Its ironic. All his drama has left him so emotionally unavailable, so sexually non-threatening, that he has unknowingly become the ultimate pussy-magnet. He's like that elf in Lord of the Rings..."

Karen paused to picture Legolas, that beautiful elven mass of pure 100% innocent sexual energy. She closed her eyes, started rubbing her thighs together, and let out a slightly exaggerated moan.

"Karen!" Jim interrupted her. Her eyes popped open and she continued.

"So you see it wasn't my fault. Simple physics, Halpert. I was literally pulled into him. If you had one of these, you'd know."

Karen lightly patted her crotch through her slacks. He had no idea how flattered she was that he was a little jealous.

Jim couldn't help but laugh a little bit. What a cool chick.



****************************

The next morning started nicely enough. Jim and Karen had stopped by the central library on the way into work and landed a decent sized sale. Jim had been smooth. Yesterday had been a fluke. Then, as they walked toward the main door of Dunder Mifflin, they both saw him at the same time. About 100 feet away, that little punk was standing in the parking lot, holding some paperwork. Sensing her chance for some good comedy, Karen lurched sideways at the midsection, grabbing the door handle to counteract the imaginary force that was pulling her womanhood back out into the parking lot. Jim chuckled and smacked her on the butt. He started to open the door for her when he saw it out of the corner of his eye. Pam. Talking to him. Smiling. Looking up at him with that shy smile that had so often melted his heart...

Mother...Fucker. Jim tried to contain his rage, but it burnt him in an unimaginably awful way. This couldn't be happening. Why's she smiling? What's he saying? She wasn't supposed to find someone. She just wasn't. Roy was an idiot. Inferior to Jim in every way. Every way that counted, at least. This smarmy little turd was different. The polar opposite of Roy, 1000 times more threatening. You don't deserve to smile, Beesly. Things were about to get complicated.