Michael looked quite pleased with himself as he took a seat before David's desk.

"You know, I have lots of other vending food ideas too: sushi, mozzarella balls, fish sticks, soft tacos, the sky's the limit."

David nodded dismissively. "I've got to be honest with you, Michael. I never told Alan your idea. I called you up here for something else."

Michael huffed. "Do you have a better idea than fresh fried vending snacks?"

"No..." David replied, exasperated. "I'll get right to the point: it's come to my attention that you know about Robin's pregnancy."

Michael's face turned serious. "Oh, that's unfortunate. And, if I may add, rather irresponsible."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I don't mean to tell you how to live your life, David, but there's really no excuse not to get her sterilized, you know?"

Redness began creeping up from David's collar. "Did you seriously just say that to me?"

"It's an easy enough procedure, from what I hear," Michael went on. "You just drive her to the clinic, they do a clip here and a snip there, and they're finished in an hour, tops."

"Michael Scott, of all the outrageous, inappropriate things you have ever said…"

"I don't understand why you're getting so upset. Hasn't anyone ever explained this to you before?"

David was livid. "First of all, it is absolutely none of your business! And second, we are very Catholic."

"Wait… you're telling me the Catholic Church forbids you to spay or neuter your pets?" Michael sounded incredulous.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Robin, your dog!"

"Michael," David gripped the edge of his desk, "Robin is my wife of almost twenty years. Don't you remember meeting her at our cocktail party last year?"

"Umm, vaguely," shrugged Michael. "So she's not your dog?"

"No."

"Didn't you used to have a dog named Robin?"

"No…"

"Or, maybe it was two dogs? Batman and Robin?"

David's patience was wearing thin. "We once had a dog named Batman. My son picked the name when he was four."

"No sidekick dog, though? No Robin?"

"No, Michael. Look, if you'll just let me talk – "

"Gee, that's kind of sad for Batman. Dogs need a companion, especially if they're left alone all day at home."

"It – it doesn't matter, he died a few years ago!" David raised his voice. "LISTEN to me, Michael! I need you to LISTEN and not speak for a minute." Inhaling deeply, he started over. "Robin told me you saw her in the stairwell earlier. Normally it wouldn't be an issue, just awkward, but… things are a little complicated right now."

"Ah, I understand. Embarrassed by having a baby at your age?"

"Not… entirely, no."

"I'll tell you what, I'd be hiding in a cave if I ended up having a baby that old!"

"We're the same age, Michael," David reminded him.

"Hmm," Michael pursed his lips, unconvinced. "So what's the problem? The baby's not yours?"

"NO, that's not it! As you know, Alan Brand is planning to retire at the end of the year. What you may not know if that he intends to have me replace him as CEO."

"Wow, look at you! An old age baby and a CEO corner office! That's great."

David's face relaxed somewhat. "It will be, but only if we keep that 'old age baby' a secret from Alan. Basically, until the day he retires."

"Alan hates babies?"

"He hates the distraction they pose for someone in that position."

"Aah," Michael leaned back in his chair, realization spreading across his features. "I think I see where this is going."

"You do? Then realize what I'm going to ask of you?"

"I believe so, David. A little bit of blackmail, a bit of squid-pro-quo, I assume."

"Right…" David grimaced. "I need you to keep this an absolute secret for the next four months. And, I can't believe I'm saying this, but – I am prepared to offer you something in return."

Michael lit up. "A bonus?"

"Well, no. I can't offer you any money or tangible gifts. I'd get fired if they ever found out I bribed you financially. But if you can think of something else, something with no paper trail, we can strike a deal."

"Hmm… so many options…" Michael ruminated, gazing into the distance. "How about an hour-long massage at your place once a week?"

"With a massage therapist?"

"No, with you."

"Umm, Michael, I don't think…"

Stretching his arms, Michael arched his back and started rising from the chair. "Well, I suppose if you won't do it, I'll need someone else to rub their hands all over me… and you know how much I love gossiping with my massage therapist."

David sighed deeply in defeat. "Fine. But can we do once a month instead of weekly?"

"I'll consider it. Depends on what else we arrange."

"I was thinking more along the lines of corporate event invitations. Like the annual softball tournament next month," David suggested.

"Can I be the pitcher?"

"Have you ever pitched before?"

"Have you ever been CEO before?" retorted Michael.

"Fine, you're the pitcher. Is that enough to do the massages monthly?"

"Not quite… what about the annual square-dancing contest?"

"There is no annual square-dancing contest, Michael."

"Hula-Hooping for Hoboes annual fundraiser?"

"That doesn't exist either."

"Don't you all attend the Smoky Mountain Bigfoot Conference in Tennessee?"

"No, never."

"Geez David, do you pink collar shirts have any fun, ever?"

"We have a silent auction for the Special Olympics each spring."

"Yawn. If I wanted to see wheelchair basketball, I'd go squat on the bleachers at my uncle's retirement home," Michael sneered. "No, I want something with flair, something where I can take a selfie and not cringe at the people in the background. Something like…"

"…the Christmas gala?" David reluctantly offered.

"Yes! Oh my gosh, yes David. That is… wow. Yes. YES. We have a deal."

David to camera crew:
"I hated having to play the Christmas gala card, but I was really worried what he might try to get next. Anyone else would've made a play for my soon-to-be-vacant CFO position. But not Michael."