Night: Creed

Creed sidled up to Dwight Schrute at his desk. "I heard your Sheila can’t sleep at night."

"That's right."

"I’d usually recommend medicinal help, but I noticed a bun in the oven. Yours?"

"Of course!"

Creed looked at Angela appreciatively. "Good job, Ace. That's one fine señorita."

"Señora," corrected Dwight, uncomfortable with the conversation.

"For now. Anyway, I made a CD to help her sleep. I used to be in a band. Don't say it's from me."

"I won't."

"Here's my number when she wants more."

Dwight ripped up the number as Creed walked away, but he kept the tape.