V. Megan

Megan, a seemingly no-nonsense producer of television documentaries, read romance novels. She didn't ever tell anyone about this. Guys she'd been dating for a while sometimes found them on her nightstand, but she never voluntarily offered up the information. She had loved fairy tales as a kid, and these were just fairy tales with sex, right? That was what she told herself (but never anyone else).

Maybe that's why she did it. Maybe that's why, after months and months of dispassionately watching their story unfold, she had done something so unprofessional. It was so out of character for her, but she'd done it anyway. She'd been standing in the hallway across from the pretty receptionist. Pam was lying to the camera that no, she hadn't noticed anything wrong with either Jim or Karen, but the strain was evident around her eyes. Megan had been watching it play out all week. Karen was forcing herself to be falsely friendly, and Jim had returned to the wary, distant demeanor he'd had when he first come back from Stamford. Megan saw that Pam had easily guessed that Karen now knew about Jim's history with Pam. However, since Pam herself didn't know that the cameras had caught the whole story, she was not giving anything away.

As though it were someone else speaking, Megan heard herself start to talk. "Karen asked Jim if he still has feelings for you, and he said yes, Pam. She's trying to decide if she should quit. She said she'll stay if he is willing to make a serious commitment. He doesn't know how you feel, Pam. You have to say something." Pam's eyes had grown wide and she'd walked away without a word (unless, "Wha-? Oh," counts as a word).

After she saw Jim and Pam locked in a passionate kiss in the parking lot that evening, Megan had gone home, poured herself a glass of wine, and read something with Fabio on the cover.