Pam was surprised to discover that she was actually more frustrated with Roy when she woke up than she had been when she went to bed. At first she’d just sort of chalked up the evening before to typical Roy: a bit thoughtless, a bit self-centered, but basically still the man she had been with for her entire adult life and planned to spend the rest of it with as well. Sure, he’d gone out with the boys and left her, but he’d come back for her, hadn’t he? And that meant he hadn’t gone back out without her, and even though she hadn’t really enjoyed the night at Poor Richard’s, it was better than sitting at home waiting for him to come back.

But when she woke up she found herself remembering the details, not the large strokes. How he’d taken it upon himself to hang up on that nice new coworker of hers, and how he’d acted like nothing was wrong or different about that. Not that it was actually that different, now that she thought about it, he’d definitely done that before, but not at work—only when she was on the phone with her mom, or Izzy, or Penny, and they’d just call back.

Actually why was it that Jim hadn’t called back? Or had he? Roy had hustled her out of the office pretty quickly, so it was quite possible he had. Maybe there’d be a voicemail on the machine? She wasn’t sure why she hoped that was true so very much, but there it was. She was definitely looking forward to checking, and even if there wasn’t, well, he was supposed to be at work with her today, wasn’t he? All her thoughts from the day before returned full force—maybe he’d actually be a nice person! He’d certainly seemed like on one the phone, and she was just dying for some actual conversation during the day.

Of course, they got into work fifteen minutes late, because Roy still hadn’t learned that drinking on a weeknight meant that you still had to get up the next morning even if you had a hangover, and he was still her ride. Oh, she could drive the truck, but if she drove it without him what would he do? Besides, she didn’t actually like driving it. Her feet barely reached the pedals, and the stupid mirror wouldn’t adjust off of Roy’s eye level so she never knew what was coming behind her. So she’d let him drive, which meant waiting for him to run the shower until he could think again before he drank three cups of coffee and they piled into the pickup for work.

Fifteen minutes late meant that she didn’t really get a chance to check for that voicemail, because when she walked in, already cringing from the dressing down that she was expecting from Dwight for being late for the second time in four days, and fifth time this month, she was confronted with an extremely foreign scene. Instead of Dwight staring her down and tapping his watch as she pushed through the door, she saw a pair of wide shoulders, stretching out the back of a white, lightly patterned button-down that seemed made for a slightly larger man. Her eyes involuntarily slid down to the pair of brown slacks that encased what she could not deny was a very attractive butt. Her cheeks burned and she moved her eyes rapidly up (and up—this guy was tall) to the lightly curling hair at the back of his neck where his slightly-too-long haircut met the collar on his shirt. She had always liked men’s hair a little long—Roy had always kept his cut short, ever since he’d needed to stuff it inside a football helmet every day, and one of their few out and out fights had come when she’d tried to convince him that now that he wasn’t a high schooler  he could, you know, maybe, possibly, grow it out? Just a bit?—and she found herself wanting to run her fingers through this, settling that little excess curl on the outside of the collar, where right now a little bit of it dipped down inside onto his neck.

“Pam!” Dwight’s insistent voice cut through her reverie, and she jerked alert at the realization that she’d just been ogling the back of a man she didn’t even know. “Finally! Tell our new colleague” he almost spat the word, “to keep his hands to himself.”

Normally, Pam Beesly was not the sort of woman who looked for innuendo in someone else’s words, least of all Dwight’s—working for Michael Scott had cured her of that if she’d ever had the inclination—but now she found her cheeks burning for the second time that day.

“Pam?” The lanky stranger turned around, revealing a wide grin and thrusting forward a very large hand that she stared at for a moment like it was a python, involuntarily imagining it very much not being kept to itself. “Jim Halpert.” When she didn’t take his hand immediately he pulled it back in a first and coughed into it. “We, uh, talked on the phone?”

“Oh!” She fluttered. She never fluttered. What was wrong with her? “Right. Yes. Hi. Pam.” She stuck out her hand and he took it into his and she stared at the way her hand disappeared into his. “I am Pam.” Good god what was wrong with her. I am Pam? What was she, Groot? “Pam Beesly.” Great, now she sounded like James Bond instead.

“Pam?” Dwight was glaring, she wasn’t sure if it was at her or Jim or just at the world. “You know this man?”

“Now, now Dwight.” Jim half-turned, not releasing her hand. “We’re all colleagues here, after all.” He winked at Pam and lowered his voice. “You were right, by the way.”

“About what?” Dwight sounded suspicious, but then again, Dwight always sounded suspicious.

“Oh, Beesly here was just telling me how much of an impression you were going to make on me, Dwight.” Jim squeezed her hand and released it before turning to Dwight with a smirk. “And she was right.”

“Is that why you stole my stapler?”

“I didn’t steal it, Dwight.” He rolled his eyes. “You told me I needed to staple my HR forms before I brought them into the back, and…”

“And you stole my stapler.”

“And I assumed that since there was only one stapler in sight when you were telling me to staple my papers, I should use it.”

“You assumed incorrectly.”

“Yes, I see that now.” Jim turned back to her and rolled his eyes before grinning. “So, Beesly, do you know where I can find a stapler without being informed that I was violated three local statutes?”

“Four.” She found her voice and grinned up at him. This was Jim? This was the cool guy from the phone last night? This guy was going to be sitting across from her every day? “The last time I tried to borrow Dwight’s stapler he told me there were four relevant statutes.”

“My apologies. Four.” He mock-bowed to her and she giggled before skipping—yes, skipping, what had gotten into her?—behind her desk and pulling out the stapler she had kept there ever since Dwight had last threatened her about “office supply malfeasance.”

“You can use this one.”