"You didn't want to go to Super Dad's?"

He scoffs. "No." He throws his lunch bag on the table and walks to the soda machine.

"I don't know, Jim, I hear a lot of strippers are moms: ‘soccer moms, NASCAR moms'..."

"Exotic dancer, Beesly, not stripper. Show a little respect."

She giggles. "Right. Sorry."

He returns with his drink. "What're you doing?"

"Oh. Nothing. Well, my nails. But I shouldn't do it here."

"Why not?"

"The smell of the polish. It bothers some people."

He gestures vaguely out the door. "Well, almost everyone left to avoid Packer and his birthday outing, so... I don't think it'll be a problem. Were you invited, too?"

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah." Packer's exact words as he'd leered over her desk had been, ‘You could take dick-tation. Get it?' She shuddered. "Ew."

Jim nods. "Yeah, I gave him a buck. I'm pretty sure it's gonna buy him a slap across the face."

She waves crossed fingers in the air.

He pulls out his sandwich and waves at her manicure supplies. "So, how do we so this?"

"We?"

"Yeah, you know." He shrugs. "I want to look my best for Dwight." He leans forward conspiratorially. "He's wearing my favorite tie today. Grrr."

She laughs. "Okay, tiger, let's see what you have to work with." She takes his hands, surprising him, and inspects his nails. They're trimmed closely, as she knew they would be. She points to one. "See these little ridges? You can buff those out with this." She holds up the soft buffing stick. "Like this." She holds his thumb in one hand and buffs his nail. After a moment, she wipes the dust from it with her own thumb. "See?"

"Huh." He compares it to his other thumb, trying to figure out how to get her to hold his hands again.

"Here. You use the buffer. I need to do my cuticles, then I'll trade you." She takes out a tool with what looks to him like a small metal spoon on one end, and begins pushing back the skin at the top of each of her nails.

"What does that do?"

"It just makes everything look neater. See?" She shows him two fingers side by side for comparison.

"Wow, who's going to notice that?"

"Well, Dwight, for one," she says pointedly.

He sits back and sighs. "Right. Damn. The price of true love." He finishes buffing his nails, then trades for the cuticle tool. He uses it quickly, before she can buff her second hand. "Can I try?" He motions to the nail buffer.

She looks up, surprised. "Sure."

He takes her hand gently in his, and twirls the buffer between his fingers before starting on her thumb nail. He holds her thumb between his thumb and forefinger, tilting it side to side as he buffs deliberately. His hands are warm, but comfortable. Comforting. He jokes as he works, waving the buffer around to emphasize his words. She relaxes and enjoys his touch. When he finishes her pinky nail, she compares one hand to the other. "I'm impressed. You're very thorough."

"Thank you."

"Now you can do this for... Dwight." She had nearly said Katy. She wonders why she bit it back.

His eyes widen as he smiles. "Won't he be surprised?!"

She nods, smiling, and picks up a small bottle. "All that's left is the polish." She opens it and carefully applies a clear coat to a nail.

"May I?" he asks.

She smiles and hands him the tiny brush, laughing to see it dwarfed in his fingers. She spreads her own fingers flat on the table, but he quietly slips a hand under hers to support it while he works. It makes her tummy flutter a little.

He brushes each nail carefully. His eyes are hidden by his hair, so she watches his fingers as he uses the brush. They hold it lightly but confidently. Suddenly she wonders how many women he's done this for. The thought makes the flutter twist a bit. "Do you do this for Katy?" And she's sorry as soon as she says it, but he just shakes his head.

"No." He tilts his head to the side and wrinkles his nose. "She wears this color that reminds me of Pepto-Bismol. This is much better. More natural." He lifts her hand and blows gently on her nails, and she forgets Katy.

She bites her lip as he begins her second hand, anticipating his breath on her again. This time, though, he blows on each nail as he finishes it. When he does it the first time and she remembers she has four more nails, she realizes she's holding her breath. Her lungs ache a little as she tries to exhale normally. As each nail is finished, his breath flows around her fingertip, warm and cool at once, and his lips look full in their pucker, and the flutter is back. Once, he peeks up at her as he's blowing and winks. Before she can react, his eyes are downcast again so that she wonders if she imagined it.

When he finishes, they admire his work.

"Shiny."

She laughs. "Yes. Shiny." She points to his hands, her eyebrow cocked. "Dare you to let me do yours."

And he's torn.

He weighs having her hold his fingers against having to explain polished nails to Dwight (who will definitely notice that), and decides he doesn't care.

He leans back in his chair casually and plants a hand in front of her. "Dare accepted. Do your worst, Beesly. Except do your best. I have a certain style to keep up."

She snorts sarcastically. "Right."

"What does that mean?"

She shrugs. "No tie tack, no cuff links, top button undone. I'm just sayin'." She takes one of his hands and begins applying polish.

He's inordinately pleased that she had to look at his throat for the button observation. He loosens his tie with his free hand, then doesn't know what to do with it. Eventually it settles on his stomach, fingers drumming.

Her fingers on his are cool, her nails smooth. Then unbidden thoughts of her nails - pressing , digging, maybe scratching a little - cause his legs to cross, his fingers to drum faster. When she raises his hand and her mouth forms a little O, he has to close his eyes. But what shows up on his eyelids is even more tantalizing so he quickly opens his eyes again. He needs a joke.

"We should open a spa."

"Yes!" She laughs.

"We could offer manicures... pedicures... waxing. I don't know... maybe green-tea-something-or-other, people are really into -"

"Jesus Christ, Halpert. Queer much?"

They both jump at Todd Packer's voice. He's leaning on the doorframe, his head lolling to one side. His eyes are slightly unfocused, but he sees what he sees.

Jim slowly draws his hands back to himself. Carefully, hoping to distract Packer, "You're back early."

Packer waves a hand in front of himself, causing him to sway a bit. "Bitch said I touched her. Apparently she's too good for that. Gave me a love pat, though." He points to one cheek, which is pinker than the other. "Dirty girl."

Jim looks furtively at Pam, who's closing the polish bottle.

"But lookee what I almost missed here! Salespussy of the Year!" He snorts at his own joke, his mouth hanging open stupidly. "Maybe you can get her to give you a bikini wax." He looks Pam up and down. "Hey, doll. When you decide you want a real man," he points to his crotch, "come to Packer. I'll squeeze you in."

Jim clenches his fists, only to have the fresh polish stick against his palms.

She wants to tell Packer that it was a dare, and that Jim is more man than he could ever hope to be, and that never-in-a-million-years, but what comes out is, "I'm engaged."

Jim's head drops.

"Oh, yeah, yeah, the warehouse guy, right? Troy?" He looks at Jim. "He could kick your ass sitting on his feet." He nods. "You'd better stick with the fag shit."

Jim stands. "That's enough."

Packer points to Pam. "Maybe you can do something with her hair. Frizz pit."

Jim takes a step and says quietly, "Get out."

Packer laughs in his face. "What're you gonna do, flounce on me? Jesus." He waves dismissively at them and turns out the door. "Women."

Jim stands stiffly watching the door. He looks down when he feels Pam move, and realizes his hand is resting on her hair. Her head is down. He kneels beside her. "Hey," he says softly.

She looks at her hands, which are clenched, then raises teary eyes to his. "He's such a jerk."

"He's drunk." Jim caresses her hair, soft under his hand. He nods. "And a jerk."

She shakes her head. "I feel so stupid. If I hadn't dared you..."

"Oh, I don't care about that." He squeezes her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

She sighs and nods.

He gives her a second squeeze, then chuckles. "I don't suppose you have any nail polish remover?"

She laughs and shakes her head sadly. "Sorry. It's at home." She perks up. "Maybe Kelly has some."

"Do me a favor. Find out. I hadn't planned on impressing Dwight this much." He gazes at the eight nails that are polished beautifully. "And check your email in about fifteen minutes."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I think Packer needs a little payback. You in?"

"Am I ever."

"Excellent." He stands and walks toward the door. He stops there and turns. "And Pam?"

She looks up. "Mm?"

"You don't need to do anything with your hair. It's perfect the way it is." He smiles and leaves.

She looks back down at her nails and grins.