Pam glanced surreptitiously at her watch, then let out a barely audible sigh; it was six minutes later than it had been the last time she'd checked.

Still the woman standing at the front of the conference room droned on, having moved from elucidating just why everyone in the office should smile when answering the phone to now discussing what she called "Stealthy Customer Service." When she'd burst out with that little gem of a title, she had actually paused, beaming as she looked around the room in anticipation of chuckles or applause.

Clearly she had no idea who she was dealing with.

They were all there, wedged in too tightly, where they had been ever since nine thirty that morning. Amazingly, Michael wasn't to blame for this one; it had been a mandate straight from corporate. In the interest of strengthening and maintaining their customer base, the higher ups had poured god only knew how much money into hiring this woman - Peggy Philpot-Phillips - to come and spend a day with each branch. The focus of the seminar was how best to serve the customer through exemplary service and, as Peggy had said with the huge grin Pam soon came to loathe, "Just plain old good manners!"

Pam wondered dully if anybody else thought she bore a striking resemblence to Condoleeza Rice.

It had also been corporate-ordered that everyone participate, from the sales team to accounting to the receptionist, as they all ostensibly dealt with the public in some form or another. As she sat listening to Peggy Philpot-Phillips, she found herself suddenly understanding why the company was struggling so much.

"So, whenever you find yourself on the elevator with a new face, simply ask, 'What floor are you going to?' Then when he or she answers, you press the floor number requested - and voila! You've left a positive impression of Dunder Mifflin."

Pam blinked, her eyelids growing heavy as she thought, I cannot believe corporate thinks this is necessary. I just can't believe it. Surely she's somebody's cousin or something.

A cursory glance across the room revealed that most of her co-workers seemed to agree. There appeared to be three general reactions to Ms. Philpot-Phillips' pearls of wisdom: There were those who made no effort whatsoever to even appear as though they were listening (Stanley with his crossword puzzle; Creed having nodded off with his chin on his chest); there were those who had the glazed over expression borne of dutifully trying to affect a mien of interest (Toby, Karen, Angela).

And then there was Jim.

She'd glanced over just in time to catch his eye; as soon as their eyes met, he glanced furtively in Peggy Philpot-Phillips' direction to be sure she wasn't looking at him - then made a motion to Pam as if he were hanging himself. She stifled a giggle, prompting a wide grin to spread across his face.

The look Karen shot in his direction immediately sobered him. And Pam.

------------------

By the third hour, his right leg had begun to jiggle, as if of its own accord. He'd never had an anxiety attack before, but he was pretty sure that this must be how they start - with that building sensation that if you don't get some air immediately, you're going to start screaming or flailing or...something.

The thought made him smile.

Karen glanced over, catching the smile and giving him one in return. There was a palpable warmth behind her eyes, one that he'd grown to appreciate when it appeared - because it wasn't constant; it was fleeting, coming and going in a way that frustrated him to no end.

Because he kept waiting for it to stay so that maybe he could start really breathing again.

They'd made love the night before, slowly and languidly; it was still new enough to be exciting, but they were comfortable enough with each other that they could take their time. He loved the feel of her smooth skin beneath his own, loved the momentary intimacy that came along with the act itself. It was impossible not to feel close to her when he was moving inside her, feeling like he could just drown in her flesh; he'd grown to love the way she gave in to him so completely, arching toward him, whispering his name frantically in a way that made him never want to stop.

In heady moments like those, he could almost believe.

He'd learned that the inevitable emptiness that came afterward would eventually fade into a lingering warmth that may not have been all-consuming or entirely satisfying, but it was always sweet.

When he turned away from Karen, he found himself glancing over at Pam again, only to find her staring at him, the expression on her face so intense that for a second he couldn't look away.

But then he forced himself to turn away, trying to concentrate on what that tedious woman at the front of the room was saying. Something, anything to keep himself from falling into analyzing that stare, searching for the meaning behind it...out of habit grasping for any shred of hope that might lay beneath it.