Danny Cordray wasn’t used to fluorescent lighting or clunky copy machines. His second day at Dunder Mifflin Scranton was already testing his patience. He’d been poached by Michael Scott under suspiciously desperate circumstances—something about “winning the sales war” and “finally besting Danny Cordray” by hiring him outright. Now here he was, the most overqualified man in the building, carrying a branded coffee mug and dodging Michael’s increasingly invasive attempts at friendship.

It was Halloween. No one warned him.

He’d shown up in a black blazer and sunglasses—half-heartedly telling people he was “Men in Black,” though it was mostly just what he’d worn to work. Jim had lazily tossed on a Popeye shirt to match Pam and Cece. Everyone else was going all out. Kevin was dressed as Michael Moore. Dwight was a Sith Lord. Meredith was…something animal-print and questionably legal.

Then he saw you.

And everything else faded into background noise.

You were at the reception desk, chewing on a Twizzler and answering the phone with a half-smile, completely unaware of the attention you were commanding. The lighting wasn’t doing the rest of the office any favors, but it loved you. Your costume—somewhere between a playboy bunny and a cheerleader from a college party—was all fishnet, glitter, and dangerous curves. Bunny ears, high heels, and just enough modesty to technically keep HR off your back. Barely.

Danny stopped mid-stride with a stack of marketing folders in his hand. His eyebrow arched.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath.

You looked up at him, cocking your head. “Need something?”

Your voice was bright, flirtatious without trying to be. You batted your lashes like it was a reflex, not a tactic. That kind of thing didn’t usually work on Danny Cordray. He was a seasoned flirt, a sales shark with a model’s face and a bachelor’s reputation. But there was something different about the way you looked at him. It wasn’t about the costume. You were curious. Interested.

He set the folders on your desk. “I think I just found the reason Michael convinced me to work here.”

You raised a brow, lips tugging into a smirk. “Let me guess. It’s not the copier.”

He laughed, leaning on the edge of the desk, his eyes dragging slowly up your legs to meet your gaze. “I’m Danny, by the way.”

“I know,” you said. “Michael introduced you about eight times yesterday. Once while pretending to be your long-lost twin.”

Danny shook his head, smiling. “God help me, I actually remember that.”

From the conference room, Pam was watching through the blinds, whispering something to Jim. Jim’s eyes widened, and he slowly turned to look toward the front desk.

“Oh no,” he mouthed. “Cordray’s flirting with her.”

Pam’s mouth dropped. “He’s not even trying to hide it.”

“Should we warn her?” Jim asked.

“She’s not a teenager, Jim. Let her have her fun.”

Meanwhile, back at your desk, Danny was making himself comfortable. “If I ask really nicely, will you show me where they keep the good coffee?”

You leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Only if you promise not to let Michael follow you.”

He grinned. “Deal.”

As you stood to lead him toward the kitchen, Danny’s gaze followed every step. You could feel it. There was heat in it. Interest. Not sleazy—just hungry. Intrigued. Like you were a mystery wrapped in sequins and sarcasm.

The smell of burnt popcorn and too much perfume filled the air. Dwight passed by, muttering something about the dark side. Angela gasped when she saw your costume and turned around immediately. Somewhere, Creed was passed out in a Dracula cape.