Yes, you do, Pam thought. She set her teapot at her desk, and wrapped her shredded cardigan around it in the hope that the tea might still be warm when she emerged again. For now, her hands were tied.

"Wait, wait, wait. What happened to Kevin?"

"Kevin?"

"Yeah, you said he fell out of his chair, and Michael went over-"

"I did?"

She peers at him, concerned. "Are you having a hot flash, Grandpa?"

"A what?"

"Grandma says she gets hot flashes sometimes and it makes her forget things."

He rolls his eyes. "No, I'm not having a hot flash, and remind me to talk to your grandmother about appropriate conversation topics. If I can get a word in edgewise."

"So what happened to Kevin?"

"We don't really have to go into that."

"Grandpa."

"Granddaughter."

"Why won't you tell me?"

"Because it isn't... well... okay. Kevin got some pictures. In his email."

"What kind of pictures?"

"Um... chicks. Chicks and bunnies."

"Oh, I love bunnies! Their tails are soooo cute!"

"Kevin thought so, too."

"Is that why he fell out of his chair?"

"Yes, exactly."

"He must have really liked bunnies."

"He really did."

"Hm. Okay. You can keep going now."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Pam found Michael pacing in front of his computer. "You need help?"

"Yeah, look at this IM."

Pam looked at his screen and read this:

DPRoberts: Fine. Here's your riddle: A guy at an office party drinks some punch as soon as it's made, then gets bored and leaves. The next day, everyone who drank punch after him is dead by poisoning. The guy put nothing in the punch, and nothing was put in it after he left. What happened?

Pam frowned. "What is this?" As she scrolled up to see how the exchange began, Michael jumped forward.

"Wait! Don't-"

But Pam was already reading.

DPRoberts: I know what you're doing.

MGScott: Whatever do you mean, good sir?

DPRoberts: You're helping Packer win the date auction. And Schrute and Malone are in on it, too.

MGScott: I don't know what you're talking about.

DPRoberts: Schrute gave you up.

MGScott: OK, so what if I am?

"What?!" Pam whipped around to glare at Michael.

Michael's mouth was moving, but nothing was coming out.

"And what does he mean about Dwight and Kevin?"

Michael found he could talk again. "Well, they weren't any help. Dwight got beaten by this DPRoberts guy in an online swordfight... I know: dorkfest... so he's totally demoralized, and Kevin... Kevin's just useless. This guy's good, whoever he is. That's why I have to win this bet."

"What bet?" Pam turned back to the screen.

DPRoberts: How much is he giving you?

MGScott: It's more of a gentlemen's agreement.

"Yeah, right," muttered Pam.

DPRoberts: Yeah, right. Tell me, are you a betting man?

MGScott: Lady Luck has my private extension. That's what he said!

DPRoberts: Is that a yes?

MGScott: Yes.

DPRoberts: Fine. Here's what I propose: I give you a riddle.

DPRoberts: You have three chances to answer it.

DPRoberts: If you answer correctly, you continue helping Packer.

DPRoberts: If you answer incorrectly three times, you step away and you take your cronies with you.

DPRoberts: Agreed?

MGScott: Agreed. Bring it!

DPRoberts: Fine. Here's your riddle:...

Pam turned and stared at Michael, who tried smiling. She crossed her arms. "You're on your own, Michael." And she went back to reception.

"But..." Michael watched her stalk out, then turned back to his computer.

A few minutes later, Michael began howling and beating on his desk. When Dwight ran in to see what was wrong, this is what he saw:

MGScott: That's so easy.

DPRoberts: Then answer it. Three chances.

MGScott: What was in this punch?

DPRoberts: Orange juice, rum, ice.

MGScott: Lame party.

DPRoberts: ...

MGScott: I've got it: everyone else at the party was allergic to orange juice.

DPRoberts: No

MGScott: Allergic to rum!

DPRoberts: No. You've wasted two answers. Only one chance left.

MGScott: I know, I was just testing you.

DPRoberts: Really.

MGScott: Sure, everyone knows this one.

DPRoberts: And?

MGScott: I can't believe you picked such an easy riddle.

DPRoberts: You're stalling. What's your answer?

MGScott: Fine! Just as the guy took his drink, the host's evil pet monkey peed in the punchbowl.

Dwight scoffed. "Monkey pee isn't lethal. The poison was in the ice."

Michael threw his hands up. "Now you're helpful. Go away. And tell Kevin the mission's off. Packman's on his own."

Good, thought Dwight as he left.

Pam was wondering what had happened when her IM alert beeped. She had a new message.

DPRoberts: Hello.

So she answered.

PBeesly: Hello. Who are you?

DPRoberts: It's not important.

Pam decided she'd had about enough.

PBeesly: So you think you can outbid Todd Packer? Good luck.

DPRoberts: You think your boyfriend will save you?

PBeesly: I never said he was my boyfriend. Ew. Disgusting.

DPRoberts: You don't like him?

PBeesly: No, and he knows I don't.

DPRoberts: Can't, you mean.

PBeesly: Excuse me?

DPRoberts: Are you saying you have liked someone? Another winner like Packer, maybe?

PBeesly: No. He was nothing like Todd Packer.

PBeesly: He was gentle and kind and funny. And he loved me.

DPRoberts: Nice eyes?

PBeesly: Beautiful eyes.

DPRoberts: So what happened?

PBeesly: I said no. He transferred to Stamford.

DPRoberts: Stamford, eh? I interviewed a guy for Stamford. What's his name?

PBeesly: Jim. Jim Halpert.

DPRoberts: Yeah, Halpert. I wasn't sure he was qualified for the job.

DPRoberts: But he said, Please, I need this transfer.

DPRoberts: When I asked why, he told me about a woman.

DPRoberts: Told me she was the most intelligent, talented, beautiful woman he'd ever known.

DPRoberts: I can only assume he meant you.

DPRoberts: You should be glad he can't see you now.

PBeesly: And what does that mean?

DPRoberts: He was your best friend and he loved you.

DPRoberts: Did you volunteer for this win-a-date thing right away, or wait a whole five minutes to think it over?

PBeesly: How dare you?

PBeesly: I'd give anything to have him back.

PBeesly: And don't bother bidding any more.

PBeesly: I'd quit before I went out with you.

PBeesly: This conversation is over.

Pam was about to exit her IM when one more line popped up.

DPRoberts: As you wish.

Pam gasped. "Jim."

She fumbled with her corporate directory, then with her phone, stabbing the numbers for the Stamford branch and his extension.

"Jim Halp-"

"Jim! Why didn't you tell me it was you?!" Pam tried to keep her voice to an urgent whisper.

"Why did you agree to the auction?"

"I didn't. Michael tricked me."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"I hadn't heard from you in so long... I thought you'd hang up on me."

"I told you I'd always be there for you."

"I know."

"Don't you believe me, Beesly?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything."

"Don't. We can talk about that later. Listen, don't give up. I have an idea. It's not gonna be easy, but I think we can pull it off. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay. I have to go now, but I'll call you again soon. And Pam? I'm sorry about the stuff I said in the IM. The bad stuff. I didn't mean it."

"I know."

"I meant the good stuff."

She laughed. "I know."

"Okay, I'll talk to you soon."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye."

Pam's heart was racing as she hung up her phone.

This time it wasn't the panic of seeing TPacker next to the first bid, or the fear of losing a body part in the shredder, or the anger at discovering Michael's mission.

This time she could feel it in her whole body, the thudding in her chest echoed by a pulsing in the tips of her nose, fingers, and toes, and it made her smile.

She clapped her hands over her mouth, sure that everyone could hear it.

But no one had noticed. Not yet.