She came into his office that morning with a stack of files that she gingerly placed on the desk. "Happy Birthday," she told him sweetly, a grin on her face.

"Thank you very much Miss Beesly." He smiled back.

She pulled a small, carefully wrapped package from her handbag and put it on top of his typewriter.  He looked at her a moment before picking it up, she looked especially, painfully beautiful today.  He didn't let himself think she had done it for him.

He pulled back the paper, careful not to tear her handiwork.  Inside he found a small silver cigarette case, the letters ‘JH' beautifully inscribed on the front.  He ran his fingers over the details, unable to find the words to thank her for everything she had done since she'd started working for him.  It wasn't just the beautiful birthday present, it was her smiles every morning, the way she always did her job without a single complaint-going out of her way to be helpful.

He pulled the crinkled box of Chesterfields out of his pocket.  "Thank you Pam.  Really, this is wonderful."

She blushed, her smile turning shy, "I was afraid you wouldn't like it."

He began to carefully line his cigarettes in the bottom of the case.  "It is the most fabulous gift I have ever received." It seemed cheesy coming out, but he really meant every single word.

She reached for the empty box, "I didn't know you smoked Chesterfields," she said quietly, "James Dean smokes Chesterfields."

"Really?" he asked, placing a cigarette from his shiny new case between his lips.

"It's very silly that I know that." She smiled, "I guess I sort of have a crush on James Dean. It's my biggest secret...and I just told you."

He tried not to laugh as he struck a match. 

"He's just very handsome," she told him, "Hey, you're both named James." She smiled, but quickly realized that she may have been making implications with that last part.  She stammered a moment, trying to find words to explain herself.  "I should get to my work now.  Happy Birthday, Sir."

She left the office as quickly and quietly as she came.

While she sat at her typewriter she thought about what she'd let slip a few moments before.  It could have been much worse, she could have said what she had been thinking: I have a crush on two men named James.

He appeared in the doorway and she jumped. He waved his hand, his cigarette leaving a trail of smoke in its path, "Pam, take a letter."

She quickly retrieved her notepad from the top drawer, and searched her desk for a pencil. "Go ahead, Sir," she told him, excited to practice her shorthand.

He took a long drag, pacing in front of her desk, "Dear Miss Beesly," he began.

She looked up from the pad.  "I'm sorry sir. I think you said my name by accident."

"Pamela," he scolded, "I thought you were better at this.  You write whatever I say.  This is how it works.  Now please, Dear Miss Beesly," he repeated.

She wanted to argue with him, but he seemed very determined.

"Words can not express how grateful I am for your gift.  It was incredibly generous, albeit unnecessary.  I greatly appreciate all of your hard work," he paused a moment, "and your friendship." He smiled at her as she scribbled on the pad.  "Signed, James Dean Halpert." He smiled taking one last puff of his cigarette.

She laughed aloud, "That is not your middle name."

"You don't know that." He argued like a child.

"It's Matthew," she said quickly, without realizing.

"How do you know?" he laughed, putting the cigarette out in the ashtray on the side table.

"I don't remember." She lied. She went to put the pad away in the drawer.

"Hold on there.  You have to type that up."

"It's all right Mr. Halpert.  I heard you," she assured him, "and you're welcome."

"Pamela, I asked you to take a letter.  Please type it up and place it on my desk when you're finished.  I would like to hand deliver it."

She shook her head and grinned.

He waved his hand. "Come along, I don't have all day."

She challenged him with her eyes as she set a piece of paper in the typewriter.  "Yes sir.  Right away."

He went back to his office as soon as he heard her fingers clacking on the keys.

At his desk, he turned the case over and over in his hands, and for just a moment, he considered buying a leather jacket.