The break room was empty, and so was the coffee pot. He busied himself making a new pot, then sat down, waiting. He could be patient if he had to be. He’d only been waiting four years.

The pot was still brewing when she came in and rinsed out her tea cup. Pam touched the back of the seat next to him, hesitated, and sat down across from him instead. “It was horrible. He was nice enough, I guess,” she shrugged, “but Kelly and Ryan had an argument and left us alone for awhile. We had nothing in common. He watches Big Brother.” Her hands fluttered over her mug nervously, drumming her fingers against its side.

“That good, eh? So, are you going to see him again?” he asked, not teasing her even though it killed him.

“No, absolutely not.” There was an uncomfortable silence. Too many things left unsaid. “Look, Jim, the music, it’s not a big deal. Really.”

That was clearly a load of bullshit. He raised an eyebrow and eyed her skeptically. He could tell from her sudden blush that he didn’t need to say anything.

Pam rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine, it was important to me. I was alone a lot, and it … helped.” She smiled and leaned toward him slightly.

She must have no idea how beautiful she looked right now. Even under these terrible fluorescent lights. Jim reached out and squeezed her hand.

“Just do me a favor, okay?” she asked.

“Name it.” She had no clue, the things he’d do for her. And to her, but that was not something to think about here at 9:30 in the morning.

“Skip to the end. The last song.” She looked back over her shoulder into the office, avoiding his eyes. “Oh, Michael’s back.” Pam jumped up, her hand slipping from his, and hurried back to her desk.

Jim could barely pour his coffee. He glanced at his watch. 9:37. Twenty-three minutes was plenty of time to listen to one song. He walked back to his desk, nearly sloshing hot coffee all over his hand, and set down his cup. Dwight was glaring at him suspiciously. This was not at all complicated. Whatever this was.

“Jimbo, hey, can I see you in my office? Pronto.” Michael stood in the doorway of his office, looking a bit panicked. He’d probably said something stupid to Jan again.

Jim set down his coffee and followed Michael in. He very deliberately did not sit down. He’d spent way too much time in Michael’s office lately, listening to Michael dissect every little thing Jan said. “What’s up?”

“Corporate is making me take Andy back.” Michael gestured wildly. “I can’t! That guy is nuts!”

“Because he sucked up to you?” Jim asked, unable to hide a grin.

Michael rolled his eyes. “No, because he punched a wall. And lied to me. Did you know he broke into Dwight’s car?”

“Are you sure? Dwight is very paranoid,” Jim pointed out.

Michael shrugged in acknowledgment. “He found Andy’s fingerprints in his car.”

“How did he get Andy’s fingerprints?”

Michael did not seem to have considered that. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.” For once, Michael was not going to be distracted. “Jan’s making me take him back. She said he could sue us or something, and I can’t tell her no after I cheated on her,” Michael babbled, his voice dropping low on the last few words.

“When did you cheat on her?” The camera in the corner was trained on Jim, who tried to sound sincere, but he couldn’t think of anyone Michael could have been with lately. Besides, sometimes it was hard to keep up with Michael. Half the time Jim wasn’t actually sure they were having the same conversation.

“With the stripper,” he hissed.

“Really? When?” Now this was interesting. Time-consuming, but interesting.

Michael nervously touched all the toys on his desk. “You were there.” Again, that little boy voice he used when he was afraid.

Jim racked his brain, trying to think of anything Michael had done with the stripper. “You mean when she sat in your lap?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

Michael nodded vehemently.

“Let’s just get through this staff meeting, and we can talk about it later, okay?” Jim knew he could count on Michael to get distracted and forget his promise in about five minutes.

Michael’s expression of relief almost hurt. As annoying as he could be, on the inside, Michael was about 9 years old.

Jim punched his shoulder gently, smiled reassuringly, and quickly exited Michael’s office before Michael could say anything else. This job had become much easier when he realized that corporate just wanted someone to keep Michael focused on what he did best—sales. While Assistant Regional Manager sounded (and paid) better than babysitting Toby’s daughter, it was essentially the same job.

Since the camera crew was setting up for the meeting, Jim had no trouble grabbing his iPod and slipping out of the office. Pam shot him a questioning look as he left, so he winked at her as the door swung shut behind him.