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            She had never made much of an effort to make this office feel like home, so when it comes time to clean out her desk, the job is easier than she expects. She spends a few minutes staring at the rows of pens in her top drawer, trying to remember which ones were hers and which ones belonged to Dunder Mifflin. Then she scooped them all up and put them in the cardboard box at her feet. This damn company owed her that much, at least.

 

            She spends a few minutes cleaning up her computer’s desktop—getting rid of Snood, resetting the stats on Free Cell and Spider Solitaire so that it looked like no one had played them (although she does have a 17-game winning streak on Free Cell that she hates to see erased), clearing out the history on her internet browser, and deleting the three emails from Jim that she had saved. She wishes they had been real letters so that she could rip them up in front of him and stuff them in his mailbox. Stupid technology.

 

            At lunchtime, she leaves the office and sits alone in the coffee shop, drinking a latte and wondering if Pam and Jim were taking advantage of the time without her to make out in front of the entire office. They had a willing enough audience. Michael would probably lead a standing ovation.

 

            A few people stop by her desk that afternoon to say goodbye. Phyllis hands her an oven mitt (“I made it myself,” Phyllis says; Karen nods and adds it to the box of stuff that she’s taking away from this place), Toby hands her a business card and tells her to call if she needed to talk (about what, Karen has no idea), Meredith hands her a half-full bottle of something brown and says, “Cheers” (Karen throws this in the trash when no one is looking).

 

            Jim glances over, and she can tell he’s trying to decide whether or not he should just say something to her. She gives him the iciest look she can manage without bursting into tears, and he clearly decides to stay at his desk.

 

            Pam hasn’t even had the courage to look in her direction all week, so Karen doesn’t bother redirecting the icy glance that way.

 

            Karen had decided that morning that she would be the last one out of the office. It’s Friday—most people are gone by 4:45 anyway. She just didn’t want to have anyone make a big scene out of it. She had already had to talk Michael out of throwing her a goodbye party, and she had only managed to do that by telling him that she would sue him for sexual harassment if he made one more joke about seeing her from behind.

 

            So everyone drifts out around her. Jim and Pam leave at the same time, but she’s trying really hard not to care about that. Andy gives her a hug, which makes her more uncomfortable than she can express. And then, finally, it seems like she’s alone.

 

            She puts her purse on top of the pile of crap in the cardboard box—the proof that she had come to Scranton and worked in this crazy place with these off-puttingly abnormal people for seven months and one week. Part of her felt like she should stick it out and work the rest of her two-week’s notice, but as she stands up with the box feeling depressingly light in her hands, she knows that she just doesn’t have the energy. Really, she just needs a drink, and some sleep, and those are two things that she can get without spending another second in this place.

 

            She is standing at the elevator when she hears the office door open and close behind her. Turning around, she finds herself face to face with Ryan. She sighs and turns back towards the elevator. Of all the people in the office, he was probably the person she hated the least at the moment. But she was feeling too exhausted to be much more generous than that.

 

            “Hey,” he says, standing a little too close to her. “Long day?”

 

            “You might say that, yeah.” She holds the box of her belongings in front of her, feeling awkward. And then she does something potentially stupid: “Do you want to get a drink?”

 

            “With you?”

 

            She raises an eyebrow. “Yeah. With me.”

 

            “Um, Karen—I just think… you know, I think it’s a little soon for me—”

 

            “You’re right. We’re both on the rebound. Nevermind.”

 

            “No, it’s not that. It’s not like I’m going to have to get over Kelly.” He laughs a little—his unkind, unfriendly laugh. “I just don’t think I’ll have much, you know, hiring and firing responsibility right at first. Like, I don’t think I can get you a job in corporate. At least, not right away.”

 

            She stares at him, but she used up the last of her icy glances on Jim and can only manage to look tired. “That’s not what I meant.”

 

            “Oh.” He doesn’t even have the good grace to look sheepish. Instead, he says, “Well, it might not have been the worst idea.”

 

            “Really, Ryan? You think it would be smart of me to sleep my way up that corporate ladder?” In her mind, she plays through a scene of herself dropping the box on his foot and then pummeling him with ballpoint pens. She smiles a little.

 

            “Not necessarily, you know, sleeping.” He grins, but she doesn’t respond. “Okay. That was…. Anyway. But I just think, I mean, it’s never a bad idea to make friends with powerful people.”

 

            “Powerful?” She snorts. “No offense, but you’re basically a wannabe paper salesman who’s never actually managed to sell any paper. All you have is that damn MBA, and that won’t get you as far as you think.”

 

            “It’s done all right for me so far,” he says with a shrug. “I knew I didn’t want to get stuck here. Why put in any effort trying to fit in and be good at this fucking job when I knew I was on my way up?”

 

            The elevator door opens and Ryan steps in, then holds his hand out to keep the doors from closing on her. She glares at him a little, to let him know that if she weren’t so tired and she weren’t carrying this stupid box, and if he weren’t basically a miniature person that she felt confident she could break in half if she needed to, she would have just taken the stairs rather than get into an enclosed space with him.

 

            The doors close and they ride for a few seconds in silence. Then he says, “People get way too invested in this place.”

 

            She nods a little and knows that he’s right about that one thing, if nothing else.

 

            “You ask me, you’re lucky to get out now, before you get sucked in too much farther.”

 

            “Lucky isn’t exactly the word I’d use.”

 

            The doors open and she gets off on the ground floor, the sound of her heels on the floor echoing across the lobby. Ryan shuffles along behind her, then speeds up so that he gets to the door in time to open it for her.

 

            She takes a deep breath and leaves the building. Ryan stands next to her on the sidewalk and she lets him.

 

            “Maybe—” he begins, then stops. She stares at him. “Maybe we could get a drink sometime. When you get to New York.”

 

            “I don’t know if I’m going to New York.” She actually has no idea where she’ll be three weeks from now—what city, what job, what life. But she tries not to let that show on her face.

 

            “No, I think you’ll end up there. I mean, I guess, don’t be surprised if you get a call from corporate before long.” He starts walking to his car, then turns and stands in the middle of the parking lot. “Just think of this place as a speed bump. Things will work out, I think. You’re on your way.”

 

            And he lets himself into his Civic and drives away, and Karen knows that by the time he gets to New York, that car will have been replaced with something a little less generic and a little more expensive, and he’ll have a couple of suits that make him look less like a high school kid borrowing his dad’s sports coat, and he’ll have forgotten that he ever suggested that she sleep her way to the top because he’ll be too busy schmoozing his way up the ranks.

 

            And she gets into her own car and thinks about what he said. She’s on her way—she just doesn’t know where she’s going. She’s on her way out, she knows that much. Maybe, maybe, maybe Ryan’s right. Maybe she could be on her way to the top.

Chapter End Notes:

I think Ryan has it in him to be a genuinely nice person. But mostly he's just a giant skeezeball.

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Pseudonym is the author of 8 other stories.



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