She found herself looking at him again, and that made her a little nervous. Why did she keep doing that? She flipped over one of many memos on her desk (URGENT: Pamarama-ding-dong—the Mr. T thing should stay between you + me. so what if I didn't know he was the same guy as on a-team! big deal, right? anyway don't tell Stanley—don't want to lose his respect. Your pal + boss, Michael) and started sketching on the back of it. Sometimes her pencil moved with a mind of its own as she looked around the room; it did that now, and her gaze fell once again on Jim and his mop of hair, his boyish smile, and those eyes …
Knock it off, Pam, get a grip. You're engaged. More importantly, you've set a date. You're practically a married woman.
Her pencil continued, though, and soon he was there on her paper. She'd drawn him with his feet up on his desk as he talked on the phone to some client, one hand idly poking paperclips into a pink eraser as he did so. It was a nice picture, she decided, rough but nice, and it captured Jim's essence pretty well…if only in profile.
She looked at it fondly. Maybe I'll keep it.
"Hey, babe."
Pam jumped. Roy leaned over the desk, yawning. She certainly hadn't expected that. "Lunch already?"
He tapped his watch impatiently. "Man, you are so spacey sometimes. What're you doing, anyway?"
The picture of Jim lay on her desk, and Pam made a fumbled attempt to cover it up as she stuffed it in the top drawer. "N—nothing. Drawing."
"Ah, okay," he replied, curiosity satisfied. "Come on, let's go."
And for once, Pam was grateful for Roy's total lack of interest in her talents.