10 Hotel Rooms

Chapter 1: Room 620

Jim

The annual Northeast Mid-Market Office Supply Convention was in full swing in Philadelphia that September, and Jim Halpert settled in for the last afternoon workshop of the first day, entitled: Effective Sales in Office Supplies: You Don’t Have to Reinvent the Paper Clip. He wondered who had come up with that lame title. All he knew was that his boss, Josh Porter, had told him to make sure to sit in on this one because a fellow Dunder Mifflin employee was conducting the workshop: Michael Scott, Regional Manager for Dunder Mifflin Scranton. Jim had never met him personally, but he’d almost interviewed with him before he’d gotten his job based out of the Stamford branch the year before, and he’d heard some pretty unbelievable stories about what went on in Scranton.

He sighed and looked down at the workshop’s agenda that promised ninety minutes of sales insight and inspiration by “Dunder Mifflin’s top salesman for three years in a row,” or so said Michael Scott’s bio. He figured he would use the time to have a little snooze, since he’d been up since four a.m. to make it to Philly on time for the opening assembly. It was a welcome rest after he’d been on his feet, schmoozing new distributer prospects down in the convention half the day. He yawned and covered his mouth politely, shifting in the uncomfortable chair.

It was almost time for the workshop to begin, and he glanced to his left to see the arrival of a young woman, about his age, taking an empty chair, two seats away.

“Is this seat taken,” she asked, in a soft, tentative voice.

“Uh, no,” he replied absently, though when the light scent of roses wafted his way, he turned to look more closely.

She was pretty, in an understated way. Her hair was strawberry blonde and curly, partly pulled back in a barrette to reveal a fresh-faced girl-next-door in a knee length black skirt, sensible pumps, and a pale pink sweater set covering full, sweet curves.

Her sigh echoed his from moments before and she crossed attractive legs encased in sheer hose, then settled a steno pad on her knee, obviously prepared to take some serious notes. She must have felt his eyes on her, for she turned her head slightly to look his way. For some reason, he felt compelled to offer her his best smile, and she blinked her pale green eyes once, her cheeks going rosy, before she smiled shyly back.

Jim’s heart gave a sudden leap, like it had been shocked back to life, and he felt suddenly breathless. He had no reason to feel that way either, he tried to reason logically. It wasn’t like she was a knockout in the traditional sense of the word—although he certainly felt knocked out by her simple beauty—but there was something about her that made him think dangerously of wedding bells and white picket fences. And lust. Lots and lots of lust. He cleared his throat, trying to get his mind working again and his body under control.

“Are you in sales?” he asked, wanting to hear her speak again.

She laughed under her breath. “No. My boss just wants me to take notes over this workshop for him.”

“Oh. Well, maybe you could share them with me later, so I can take a nap.”

She grinned, her eyes sparkling at his dry humor. She looked like she was about to reply, but at that moment, a man came up to the podium on stage and began to introduce Michael Scott.

The man of the hour (or hour and a half) was of medium height with dark, slicked back hair and a cheap suit.  His appearance and wide smile just screamed salesman, and Jim shuddered inwardly at the stereotype of his current profession. 

“Good afternoon, everyone! I always like to start out these things with a joke, just to break the ice. So, here goes. What’s the difference between a man salesman and a woman salesman?”

A movement next to him caught his eye, and he saw in amusement the woman put a hand over her eyes in embarrassment, as if she knew what was coming.

“Boobs,” said Michael Scott. There was a smattering of uncomfortable laughter, but apparently it was a huge success with a tall guy in a brown suit near the front of the room, judging by his boisterous reaction.

“Oh my God,” she said softly. She glanced at Jim from beneath her hand, and he comically widened his eyes in disbelief. She smiled that heart-stopping smile.

The rest of the workshop was much like that, though sprinkled with Scott’s occasional nuggets of actual good advice for improving sales techniques. Jim and his neighbor fell into meeting each other’s eyes with equal parts amusement and incredulity, and it was like they were sharing the same thoughts without ever saying a word. He’d never felt such an immediate connection before, and whatever it was, he craved more of it, more of her.

He never did get that nap, and he noticed the woman’s notes became more and more halfhearted as time passed, and she was doing more doodling than shorthand. At one point, something Scott said was just so outrageous, that Jim and the woman couldn’t hold back their amazed bursts of involuntary laughter, and were embarrassed to see all eyes upon them, along with a disapproving frown from Michael Scott. They both averted their eyes, and the woman sank down in her seat self-consciously, but they couldn’t stop the smiles that lingered on their lips long after, the looks they shared. Nor could Jim seem to stop sneaking peeks at her when she wasn’t looking, memorizing her pretty profile and cute smattering of pale freckles.

The time just seemed to fly, and when Scott finished with some final words of off-kilter wisdom, Jim was actually sad to have it end. He was about to ask his partner in crime out for a drink, but when he looked up from gathering his things, she’d already left, her diminutive figure lost in the exiting crowd.

“Damn,” he muttered, and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

Jim spent another hour down in the convention hall, taking his turn at manning the Dunder Mifflin booth. He happened to meet Michael Scott in the flesh, shaking the man’s hand and offering compliments about his workshop. Michael was actually a very nice man, though a little awkward and overly earnest. He seemed genuine, however, and Jim decided to like him.  He also met Dwight Schrute, however, top salesman at Scranton, who immediately challenged him with his sales numbers. Jim appraised the geeky salesman as arrogant without foundation, a strutting bantam rooster who’d challenge anyone to a fight. But despite this, he remined Jim a lot of the kids from high school who spent most of their evenings playing Dungeons and Dragons and writing Star Trek fanfiction.

“What was your top sales year?” Dwight demanded.

“Well…this is my first year with the company, so I’d have to say, now,” replied Jim, with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. He quoted a figure that made Dwight’s eyes go round beneath his heavy, metal-rimmed glasses.

“No way,” he exclaimed in disbelief.

Jim shrugged. “I’m a traveler, so I go where the money is.”

“Aw,” intervened Michael Scott. “A traveling salesman, a true relic of our fine profession. Like the cowboys in the Old West. Just like our guy, Todd Packer. You ever come across him in your travels?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Jim, trying very hard not to shudder with contempt. Now that guy was a total asshole, and tried to steal his clients every time their paths crossed.

 Thankfully, Josh wandered by to give Jim the word that they were closing shop for the evening, saving him from further discomfort. Michael offered to buy everyone drinks at the hotel bar, and Josh reluctantly agreed, especially when Michael mentioned that Jan Levinson-Gould from Corporate wanted to meet with them to discuss the day’s progress and to go over the next day’s strategies. Jim’s dream of going back to his room and relaxing with a room service burger and a basketball game was dashed, and he resigned himself to at least another hour business.

He drank his first beer of the evening, listening as Michael, Josh and Jan bickered about strategy. He was small talking with his other fellow Stamford colleagues, Andy Bernard and Karen Fillipelli, when Jim caught sight of a familiar pink cardigan and a mass of curly hair. The girl from the workshop was sitting at the bar, drinking a frozen margarita through a straw.

“Anyone want anything else?” he asked the group. Everyone declined, so Jim took his half-empty bottle with him and made his way to the bar. As luck would have it, the seat next to her was empty.

“This seat taken?” he asked with a smile, remembering how she’d asked him the same question earlier.

She turned to look at him, recognizing him and her own words at once, that smile lighting up her face and hitting Jim squarely in the gut once more.

So, it wasn’t just a fluke, he thought happily.

“Only if you promise not to talk shop,” she said.

“Deal,” he said, infusing the word with exaggerated relief. He sat down and took a fortifying sip of his beer, his heart gently pounding.  “So, you come here often?”

She grinned. “Nope. This is my first time here.”

“Mine too.”

“Oh, and to save you the trouble, my sign is Pisces, and no, it didn’t hurt when I fell from heaven.”

He tried to look offended. “You think I would use such tired old lines on a sophisticated woman like you? You wound me.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

“I mean, I only came over here because I thought we had a real connection earlier.”

“Maybe,” she said neutrally, but he caught the quirk of her enticing lips.

He took out his phone, flipped it open, touched a few buttons and frowned.  “Hey, there’s something wrong with my phone. It doesn’t have your number in it.”

She laughed. “Smooth,” she said.

“But hey, aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?”

Despite his teasing, she blushed furiously. “No work talk, remember?  And I’m still sitting here, so you can probably stop with the pickup lines now.”

“Oh, but I got a million of ‘em.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. But they’re totally wasted on me.”

“Because I have no chance with you, or because they’ve already worked so well?”

She gave a Mona Lisa smile. “The jury’s still out on that one, sale boy.”

Of course, Jim took that as a personal challenge. He held out his hand, dying for an excuse to touch her. “I’m Jim, by the way.”

She hesitated slightly before she put her small, cool hand in his. It was like he’d plugged himself into an electrical outlet.

“Morgan,” she replied.

Her hesitation intrigued him. Was she lying about her name, or was she reluctant to share it with him? Either way, he couldn’t wait to solve the mystery. He held her hand longer than politeness dictated, staring into her eyes, memorizing the hazel and gold flecks swimming within the green. She blushed prettily and gently tugged at his hold. He reluctantly let go, her soft hand gliding from his fingers, tantalizing his nerve endings.

She turned back to her drink, her lips pursed, sucking on the straw until he felt it acutely in his groin. Was it too soon to ask if she wanted to get out of here?

There was laughter in the vicinity of the Dunder Mifflin table, and Morgan cringed, then looked back at him.

“At the risk of possibly stealing one of your lines, you want to get out of here? I hear there’s another lounge on the top floor, where it’s quieter, if you don’t count the live music.”

His grin was so wide it hurt his cheeks. “You won’t believe this, but I was thinking the exact same thing. Let’s go.”

She reached into her purse and tossed a few bills on the bar before Jim could be the gentleman and pay for her drink. Oh well, he thought, he’d get the next one upstairs. He barely spared a glance at his boss, who didn’t seem to even notice he was gone. As they walked out of the bar, his hand naturally found its way to her lower back, her sweater as soft as he’d imagined beneath his hand.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jazz was a throwback to another time. A torch singer sang old Sinatra ballads on stage, accompanied by a pianist and a single trumpet. A few couples swayed on the small dancefloor surrounded by artfully arranged tables with white cloths. A bar with lots of glass and burnished gold was off to one side, and the room was mainly lit by candles at each table. A mirrored ball hung over the dancefloor, sparkling softly in the low light. Jim recognized a few of the conventioneers, but this wasn’t the place to be loud and boisterous like the bar downstairs. No, the mood here was definitely more laidback, even romantic, with quiet conversations that didn’t drown out the singer.

“This is much nicer,” said Morgan as they snagged a table near the front.

“Yeah,” agreed Jim. “What can I get you from the bar?”

“Another margarita,” she said with a grin.

“Coming right up.”

He returned to find her listening intently to “All the Way,” munching absently on pretzels from a bowl on the table. He was sure her eyes lit up when she saw him, or maybe it was just the sight of her drink that he set before her with a flourish. Jim sat right next to her, sipped on his gin and tonic as he watched in fascination as Morgan’s pink tongue flicked out to lick the salt off her glass’s rim before taking a drink from her straw. She closed her eyes a moment, savoring it, as the alcohol flushed her cheeks. God, she’s beautiful, he thought for the hundredth time that day.

She opened her eyes and caught him staring, but neither of them looked away.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked, amidst the applause as the singer finished one song and began another old standard. She began singing the Tony Bennet version of “For Once in My Life.” Jim stood, and held out his hand, and Morgan didn’t hesitate to accept it. They didn’t speak as they danced, her right hand in Jim’s, her left on his shoulder. He was nearly a foot taller than her, even in her heels, and it must have strained her neck to look up at him, for she fell silent and laid her head against his chest. He wondered if she could hear his fluttering heart.

Her body felt amazing in his arms, and she seemed to fit there perfectly, despite their height difference. Her scent surrounded him, making him feel hot and shivery all at once. He rested his chin lightly on top of her head as they swayed to the music, their feet barely moving.  They did this for two more songs, standing closer together as one slow dance melted into the next. Jim knew she had to feel how much he wanted her, but she wasn’t shying away or stepping back in revulsion. Indeed, she seemed to be enjoying their closeness as much as he was. She brought their clasped hands to rest between them, and he could feel the strain of her breasts against his fingers.

When the singer announced she was taking a break, Jim walked Morgan back to their table as piped in instrumental jazz took the place of the live performers.

“She was amazing,” said Morgan, drinking more of her melting margarita.

“Yeah,” said Jim, feeling shaky and jittery inside, affected more than he’d imagined he would be by their closeness, by that deep connection he’d been feeling with her all evening.  “They don’t write songs like that anymore.” The observation sounded trite in his own ears, but he wasn’t thinking straight enough to say anything clever.

“I’m feeling a little tipsy,” she said, sucking in the last of her drink.

“Wow, was that only your second drink? Lightweight.”

She chuckled, her eyes shining. “I’d probably better get to bed. Maybe order something from room service. I haven’t eaten since breakfast—probably why two drinks are about knocking me on my ass.”

He smiled. “We could go to the hotel restaurant for a snack. They’re probably still open.” Anything to extend this time with her.

“No. This has been nice, but I’m gonna eat in my room.” She stifled a yawn. “Sorry. Nothing personal.”

“Mind if I share an elevator,” he asked, as they both rose to leave. “Carpooling saves energy.”

She grinned. “Wow, aren’t you the environmentalist.”

“That’s me,” he said dryly. “I even push the recycled paper on my customers.”

His body was still humming from the dance, from the gin, from the warmth and smell of her.  He didn’t want to let her go.

They rode down in the elevator alone and silent, standing close but not touching, the sexual tension heavy between them. He wondered what she’d do if he suddenly pulled her into his arms and kissed her, his hands sliding into her hair as he pushed her against the wall. When the door dinged open on the sixth floor, she wordlessly grabbed his hand and pulled him out into the hall. Jim’s room was on the fourth floor.

Speechless, he allowed himself to be led to Room 620, his heartbeat loud in his ears, his legs shaky as water.

She dug her key card out of her purse and tried two times to get it to work before Jim took it from her hand and turned it the other way, his chest against her back, his nose in her perfumed hair. He felt rather than heard her gasp of awareness. There was a click and the little green light came on on the door.

Green means go, he thought crazily.

She’d left the bedside lamp on and he followed her into her room.  In the soft glow, she turned to look nervously up at him, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.

“I’ve never done this before,” she said, her voice breathless, her eyes dark and seeking.

“I’ll be gentle with you,” he quipped, before he dipped his head and captured her mouth.

Like everything else since they’d met, even their moans were in sync, tongues colliding, consuming each other as their hands wandered mindlessly into hair and down to waists, caressing stomachs, backs and buttocks.  Her mouth was tangy with lime and her scent took him to a summer garden. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her hot mouth, feeling drunk despite having had two drinks. His head was spinning and he was impossibly hard.

She was the first to take the next step, sliding his suitcoat off his shoulders and onto the floor behind him, reaching to unbutton his shirt, her hands shaking as she took on the task of releasing each button from each small hole. While she was busy with that, he took that opportunity to slip his fingers beneath her sweater, the heated skin there further inflaming him, as he cupped her lace-clad breasts, full and inviting in his hands. She gasped into his mouth when he brushed his thumbs over her nipples, tweaked them experimentally. Her hands dropped from his shirt to grip his biceps for balance. He smiled against her lips.

He found the zip at the back of her skirt, and, drawing away from the temptation of her mouth, he only need look into her glazed eyes to get her permission. Words between them by this point were superfluous, just like in Michael Scott’s workshop.  It was like he already knew her every desire, as she knew his.

Her skirt dropped to the floor and she stepped out of it, before kicking off her low heels, to stand before him in thigh-high stockings and a pink thong.  He was pleasantly surprised. Her librarian façade had given no hint of the naughtiness waiting beneath. She was his fantasy come to life.

He helped her pull his shirt from his slacks, and while she was tackling his belt buckle, he slid his shirt off to join her skirt on the floor. Her sweater set was next, and he gently pulled the cashmere shell over her head before bending to kiss the scented valley between her breasts. She was gloriously beautiful, every inch of her a woman, petite, but with mouthwatering curves, and when he kissed his way up to her delicate clavicle, then her neck, his trembling fingers found the clip in her hair, releasing the wild curls. As he’d imagined in the elevator, he plunged both hands into its lushness, feeling slightly out of his mind with passion as he kissed her lips over and over, her tongue equally hot and frantic in his mouth.

His shoes and pants now gone--he had no memory of when or how he’d landed on the bed--but he found himself sitting on the edge of the queen size mattress, Morgan kneeling between his legs. He raised his hips to allow her to pull off his briefs, and then that amazing mouth was sliding over his hard length. He moaned aloud, his hands resting on her soft hair, though letting her set the pace.  He couldn’t remember ever experiencing anything as erotic in his life as when she looked up to meet his eyes, taking obvious pleasure from his pleasure. She was really, really good at this—so good, in fact, that he was in grave danger of putting and early end to this fantasy.

“Come here,” he said hoarsely, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. He reached behind her and released her full breasts from the pink lace, nearly overcome with how beautiful they were. He cupped them again, then leaned forward and took a rosy nipple into his mouth. He suckled hard, and she moaned, her fingers raking through his hair, holding him closer. He lavished attention on the other breast, while his hand slipped lower to tease her outside the front of her thong.

“Please,” she begged, and he obliged them both by moving her skimpy panties aside to caress her aching flesh. She was gratifyingly wet, and he circled and pressed on her hard little bud until she began to whimper for release. She moved one leg to rest on his hairy thigh, opening herself wider to his touch. Two fingers slipped inside her, curling against her inner wall, his thumb continuing to circle the sensitive apex, while his mouth still worked each nipple. Her legs began to shake and she cried out in ecstasy. He lifted his head to watch her as she came, wondering if he’d ever been so turned on by a woman’s pleasure.

Before she’d had time to fully come down, he was pulling her on top of him, her legs straddling him as he guided himself into her still quivering heat. He closed his eyes and let out a long, grateful moan as he filled her completely. She drew in a harsh breath, her hands going to his shoulders for support. He opened his eyes to find her lips on his, her tongue in his mouth. He kissed her back, swallowing her cry as he thrust upward inside of her.

His tried to be slow and deliberate in his movements, but he couldn’t maintain such a pace for long, not when he wanted her so much that he felt himself losing control, lost in her body, in the ecstasy quickly building within him. His hands moved to her hips, guiding her up and down, praying he wouldn’t leave bruises in his desperation to get her as close as humanly possible. He was almost embarrassed at how fast it took him to spill himself into her, how every nerve ending felt set on fire, his body suffused in sweat, trembling like a leaf in a storm.

She shivered against him, her forehead resting on his shoulder. Had she come again too? He’d been so caught up in his own reaction that his mind had gone blank.

“Oh my God,” she whispered breathlessly against his skin.

He swallowed hard. “Are--are you okay?”

He felt her weak nod. “Yes. Maybe.” And she smiled ruefully.

His pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her small frame. They remained sitting on her bed, still joined, both at a loss for anything but the residual frissons of sated desire.

As their bodies began to cool, Jim came back to himself. Sensing this, she moved off of him as delicately as she could manage.  Her eyes averted, she disappeared into the bathroom. He lay back heavily on the bed, feeling like he’d run a marathon. In a moment of sudden clarity, he realized that he hadn’t used protection, even though he had a condom in his wallet.  Stunned at his unforgivable lapse in judgment, he sat up, his eyes straying nervously toward the bathroom door as he heard the toilet flush and the water running.

He stood on weak legs and pulled on his discarded underwear, feeling sick inside, the shear happiness of a few moments before melting into panic. He stood waiting for her, running shaking fingers through his sweaty hair.

What the hell have I done? God, what a fuckin’ idiot.

She came out a torturous few minutes later, wrapped in a white hotel robe, while he’d busied himself by finishing dressing, just for something to do with his hands.  She smiled shyly at him.

“You’re still here.”

“Uh, yeah. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, more than. Couldn’t you tell?” she asked, blushing.

“I’m sorry,” he said in an agitated rush. “I—we—didn’t use a condom.”

Her smile faltered, and she looked mortified. Apparently, she hadn’t thought of that either. “I’m on the pill. And I’ve only been with one other guy, uh, recently. Do you have any…problems?”

He shook his head. “No. I mean. I don’t think so. I’ve always used condoms before, without fail. Until now, I guess. I know that might sound unbelievable at the moment. I’ll get tested if you want. God, I can’t believe I did that.”

She walked over to him, took his sweating hands in hers. “Hey, it’s okay. I was there too, remember? I’m just not used to having to think of protection. I believe you; I’m going to try not to worry.”

“Can I have your number, just in case?” he asked, knowing how that must sound.

But there was that hesitation again before she calmly said: “Okay.”

He found his phone in his pocket and opened it to enter a new contact. She gave him a number, and he plugged it in carefully, trying to work with his fuzzy brain. It was a Pennsylvania area code.

“You should probably go,” she said, when he’d pocketed his phone again.

He nodded. Despite her neutral expression, he figured she must really be anxious for him to leave. He couldn’t blame her; he was still pissed off at his own stupidity.

He risked leaning down to kiss her softly on the lips, the momentary crisis passing, leaving him to realize that he might have lost her, that this might be the last time he ever saw her again.

“Thank you,” he said. “This was…” his voice trailed off, knowing that any words he might use to describe how incredible she’d made him feel would sound lame, inadequate.  “I’d like to see you again,” he ventured bravely.

“Maybe.  Good night, Jim. And thank you for tonight, for earlier too. I—I had fun.”

He smiled. Maybe she wasn’t too mad after all. “Me too.”

She walked him to the door, and tiptoed up to kiss his cheek. Once again, he felt her touch throughout his entire body.

“Good night,” echoed Jim.

Leaving her was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

He’d hoped to see her at breakfast in the hotel restaurant, but he didn’t. He didn’t see her in the convention hall either.

“You look totally wrecked,” commented Josh as Jim once again manned the Dunder Mifflin booth.  “Where’d you disappear to last night? We scored a pretty big client yesterday…we all went out for steak to celebrate.  You didn’t answer your phone.”

“Sorry. I was tired. I went to bed early.”

Josh raised an eyebrow, but thankfully, his boss wasn’t one to pry into what he did after work hours, so he let it go.

This was the last day of the convention, and there was one more workshop to attend, then a closing assembly. Before the workshop, Jim took a few minutes to go up to Morgan’s room. A maid was cleaning it, and his most charming smile got her to confide that the lady had already checked out.  When he didn’t see Morgan at the workshop, he broke down and called her.

He got a recording. The number he’d reached was out of service. She’d given him a fake number, he realized, staring at his phone in disbelief.  He’d been played. What the fuck?

He didn’t see her the rest of the day, either, and as he loaded his garment bag into the back of Josh’s Lexus, he accepted that she hadn’t wanted to see him again. He was embarrassed to find himself feeling used, though that was ridiculous; men did this to women all the time—not that he’d ever given out a fake number, himself. He’d always been honest with his rare one-night stands.

Jim was feeling genuinely hurt. It hadn’t been just sex for him this time. She was the kind of girl he’d been looking for all his life—he could feel it in his heart, in his soul. He’d always been a romantic, had nearly majored in English Lit, for God’s sake, and the truth was, he believed in such things as love at first sight and soulmates. Morgan seemed like she could be the one. He found it utterly tragic that she didn’t seem to feel the same way.

The worst part was, he had no way to ever find closure in this. He hadn’t gotten her last name or even the company she worked for. He didn’t know what state she lived in, let alone her home town. He had serious doubts she’d given her correct first name. He wondered if she was married, or seeing someone. Maybe she’d just been looking to hook up with a stranger, though her lack of concern with protection made him doubt this was a regular thing with her.

“Hey, Halpert,” said Karen, whom he’d nearly forgotten was sitting beside him in the back seat.  “You’re awfully quiet.” She glanced at Josh, who was busy navigating Philadelphia rush hour, and lowered her voice.  “Did something go wrong with that girl you left with last night?”

Jim turned to look at her in some surprise. Karen was a nice person—beautiful, funny--and he’d even considered asking her out, but his traveling salesman gig left little time for serious dating, and Karen seemed the type that wouldn’t take a man that could only devote half his time and attention to her.

“Uh, turns out she wasn’t interested.”

“Aw, too bad. Her loss.”

“Thanks.”

They drove the rest of the way to Stamford in relative silence, Jim finally succumbing to blessed sleep.