It isn’t until after she puts on the blue dress from Lily’s wedding that she realizes she can’t just leave her hair in the barrette. And when she’s finished with the curling iron and the pins, her make-up looks unfinished, and by the time she’s waiting for the second coat of nail polish to dry, Roy is gently mocking her.

“We’re just going to the warehouse,” he says. “It’s not Monte Carlo.”

“I like a chance to dress up,” she tells him, and it’s not a lie.

She knows the real pay-off won’t come until they arrive, and Michael’s unsubtle “Yowza!” as she slips off her coat draws Jim’s attention from across the room. And Kelly’s, and Ryan’s, and Kevin’s, but the blue dress isn’t for them.

This has nothing to do with how she feels about Roy; this is for her, only for her. She and Jim have an unspoken agreement: this far, but no further. A little more than flirting, but a lot less than cheating, and where’s the harm? These looks—these knowing exchanges over coffee or lunch or the reception desk—make her feel beautiful and alive. They carry her through dealing with the broken postal machine meter, and Angela’s impatience over the catering invoice, and the box of videotapes Roy refuses to touch.

“So, with this telekinesis thing…” says Kevin to Jim, at the poker table. “Can you read minds, too?”

“I don’t think so,” says Jim, his face neutral.

Kevin regards him carefully over his half-glasses. “That’s good,” he says. “Poker’s all about reading people without letting them read you. And unless you have some supernatural power,” he adds proudly, “my mind is a vault.”

“Cool,” says Jim. “But this is all just for fun, Kev.”

The large man shakes his head. “It’s never just for fun,” he says. “Even when people say it is.”

Jim’s eyebrows go up a little, but he nods. “Understood,” he says, sneaking a quizzical look at Pam.

She shrugs her shoulders in response, and slides a single card out of the deck. “Quick test,” she says. “Guess my card.” She tilts it briefly toward her. The four of diamonds.

Jim frowns in concentration, even as his eyes laugh at her. “Are you thinking of the card right now, or are you trying to block me?” he asks.

“I’m thinking of it right now,” she says. His gaze is even and searching, and she meets it levelly. The moment becomes elastic, and she wishes she had thought of this earlier; doesn’t Kevin have a regular poker night? If Jim doesn’t already go, he’d go if she asked…

“It’s a red card,” says Jim, without looking away.

“It might be,” she replies, “you don’t get to play twenty questions.”

He grins. “I’m not. You don’t have to answer. I’m telling you, I know it’s a red card.”

She tilts her head non-committally, takes a sip of her drink, and feels the familiar rush of satisfaction as his eyes flick momentarily to her lips. “Whatever you say.”

From across the room comes the sound of glasses smashing, and a smattering of good-naturedly derisive applause. Neither of them turn their heads.

“It’s not a face card,” he says.

“It isn’t?”

“No,” he says. “You know it isn’t.”

He is barely troubling to conceal the expression in his gaze tonight; the boldness of this catches her slightly off-guard, and she feels a heady wave of warmth course through her.  Though her quickened pulse is making her skin buzz, she feels deliciously in control, her breathing slow and unhurried.

“I don’t know,” says Kevin. “She’s not giving you much to go on, dude.”

“Wrong,” says Jim, “she’s making it easy.” He rests his chin on his hands and lets his eyes narrow slightly, almost sleepily. “She’s showing me her card.”

She feels the color rise a little in her face, and covers it by laughing at him. “I guess I’m an open book to you now,” she says sarcastically. “Oh, I feel so tiny and helpless.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, darkened eyes flashing at her, “you’ll get used to it.”

The flutter in her belly is new and exciting, but she pushes it aside; this is not the game. Instead, she leans a little toward him, angling a look up at him through her eyelashes. “Try to be gentle with me,” she says.

For the first time, he looks away, and a thrill of triumph goes through her as she notes the dark flush creeping above his white collar. “It’s a low card,” he says finally, still watching the table, though his voice is light and steady.

“Subjective much?” she says.

“Good point,” agrees Kevin. “Define low.”

Jim’s eyes snap back up to hers. “Less than five.” He smiles languidly, and with growing frustration she feels her cheeks begin to burn.

She shrugs and takes another sip of her drink. “I thought you said I showed you my card. You should be able to do better than that.”

“Someone’s in a rush,” says Jim. “That’s what they call a tell, isn’t it, Kev?”

“Kind of hard to say,” says Kevin, his voice thoughtful. “There isn’t any money in play. She doesn’t look nervous.”

“She doesn’t,” agrees Jim. “Despite all my incredibly cunning tactics.” Though his eyes don’t leave her face, his expression goes blank for a moment, as though he is looking at something a little beyond her. Then he taps the green felt beside her card. “It’s the three of hearts,” he says.

She is inexplicably relieved, and she wonders if it shows in the wide smile she gives him. “So close,” she says, flipping the card face-up.

“Four of diamonds! You almost had her there,” says Kevin.

Jim shakes his head. “Guess I should reconsider the move to Vegas,” he says ruefully.

“You should reconsider moving anywhere for the time being,” she says. “I’m on a roll tonight, and you are going down, my friend.” She waves down a passing waitress and exchanges her glass of melting ice for a fresh drink.

A gust of cold night air from a briefly opened door sends goosebumps prickling over her bare arms.