Well, here it is, kids. Chapter 2. Kind of a filler, but don't worry. Next chapter we'll be on the road, haha. Anyway, I'd just like to thank everyone who reviewed—you guys rock! Bobbleheads for all! LOL, just kidding. Enjoy!

Chapter 2: Tunes For The Road

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"Roy, it's a business trip. Business. I have to go. Michael asked me to." Pam hissed through her teeth, fully aware that the cameras were still trained on them through the window, even though they were in the break room and the blinds were shut. She felt like she was dealing with a child who was throwing a tantrum in a public place.

"You and Halpert? Come on. Everyone knows he has a thing for you. Really. What does he need a receptionist for on a business trip, anyway?"

"I don't know, Roy. Maybe he enjoys my company, unlike someone I could name. Jim and I are friends, which I don't have to justify to you. God! And I already told you—Michael asked me to go, not Jim! So if you want to blame someone, blame him. This is not my fault."

"You were the one who said yes, Pam."

"I didn't think it was that big of a deal."

"Of course it's a big deal. You're staying at a hotel with another guy, and besides that, you didn't even ask me first!"

The room went silent. The camera zoomed in, through the blinds, on Pam's face, her now-steely eyes.

"Well, now you know how it feels, then."

With that, she left the break room, brushing past the cameraman, who trained his lens on Roy's dumbstruck face.

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"Roy just makes me angry sometimes. I mean, we shouldn't have been fighting in the office, but it really isn't that big of a thing. It's just a one-day, one-night business trip to Cleveland. Jim just needs moral support. It's not a big deal. …Right?"

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"God, of course it's not a big deal. Of course. Jeez. Business trip. Strictly business. Just, ah, me and Pam on a business trip. To the City of Light, apparently. Roy, um…Roy has nothing to worry about."

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Things were going slow, so Jim got up from his desk and automatically went to the reception desk, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Hey," he greeted Pam, who was carefully giving herself a French manicure with white-out. "Love the nails."

She smiled widely. "Thanks. What's up?"

"Oh, not much. I was just wondering…" the camera zoomed in. His eyes were soft and Pam's were shining in return.

"Yeah?" she asked, putting down her white-out.

"I was just wondering, um, what kind of tunes you want for the ride. I mean, I don't want to bust out the Jimmy Buffet when you're, I don't know, feeling 50 Cent or something." He gave her a lopsided grin, and she giggled prettily.

"Oh, right, right. You wouldn't want to do that, considering what a huge hip-hop aficionado I am." His grin widened, and he leaned in as she smiled up at him. A comfortable silence settled for just a moment, then—

"Did someone say hip-hop? 50 Cent? Did I hear that? Fiddy! Fiddy Cent-ah!"

Both Pam's and Jim's faces fell as they both turned to look at their boss, who was currently flashing the camera his fingers, which were twisted into the shape of a 'W'.

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"Well, the W stands for the Scranton West Side, which is where I'm from, of course. Shout out to all my pimps and hos from the West Sa-eeed!"

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"I wonder if he knows that there are no pimps and hos anywhere in Scranton, let alone on the west side. I wonder if he knows that this building, in fact, is on the west side. Something to think about."

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"Hey," Pam leaned against Jim's desk, interrupting his game of Spider Solitaire.

"Hey, what's up?" He swiveled a little in his chair, his smile growing a little bigger. She grinned back at him and brandished a CD from behind her back.

"I solved our little music problem." He gave her a questioning look, and she waved the CD in his face. "I just burned it. It's a mix."

"Oh! Oh, that's awesome. Nice work, Pam. Nice work. So what's on it?" He made a move to grab the disc, but she quickly moved out of the way.

"Guess you'll have to play it tomorrow to find out," she grinned cheekily, and fairly sauntered back to her desk. Jim looked positively delighted at the prospect.

"Guess I will," he muttered to himself, a smile still curving on his mouth. "Guess I will."

The camera shifted focus from Jim to Angela, who made a note on a blue notepad and sat back down at her desk.

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"The purple notepad is for how many times Jim goes to reception to talk to Pam, and the blue one is for how many times Pam goes to talk to Jim. Pam Pong works both ways, you know. Today, the scores are as follows: purple, 37, and blue, 22."

Angela cast a severe glance into the camera.

"And it's not even time for lunch yet."