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THE LOOK ON MICHAEL'S FACE MADE EVELYN REGRET EVERY DECISION LEADING UP TO THIS MOMENT. Why did she move to Pennsylvania? Why did she apply for a customer service job at a paper company? Why did she accept said customer service job? And why did she wear this stupid costume?
"Do a twirl!" Michael exclaimed, spinning his finger toward the brunette. Evelyn shook her head at her boss with a pained smile. "I don't think so," she replied. "The bloomers..." She waved off her reasoning with a forced laugh. Michael, though disappointed, turned toward Angela. "Hazel, what's the score?" he asked, his hands on his hips.
Angela exhaled, clearly unenthused about the nickname. "You're ahead," she replied in a bored tone. Michael suddenly shouted, thrusting his arms into the air. "Yeah, baby!" he hollered. "Here we go!" He rejoined the team, jogging to the opposite end of the court. Jim was carrying the ball down.
"Jim. Jim. Right here," he called out toward the handler. Suddenly, Michael exclaimed in pain. He moved away from his guard, hand pressed to his nose. "Foul! Foul!" he shouted, his voice strained from the pinch of his nose. The guard was apologizing profusely. He was asking him if he was alright, but Michael was ignoring him.
"I'm sorry, I didn't—"
"What's your problem, man?" Michael asked. "God. Just clocking me for no reason." Evelyn glanced toward Jim. He watched the scene with an annoyed expression. When he didn't meet her eyes, she looked to Ryan. He seemed to have already been looking at her. Their eyes met, and a small smile crawled across the raven haired man's face. His shoulders lifted into a halfhearted shrug.
"Take your shot, man," Roger told him. Michael shook his head. "No, no, no, no. That was a flagrant personal intentional foul," he argued. His guard tried to argue. He tried to explain that it was an accident. It was actually a little sad. "You know what, I'm just being fair," Michael stated matter-of-factly.
An argument then ensued. Michael and his guard began to shout at one another. Embarrassed, his ego bruised, Michael began to wave his arms around. "Game over! Game over! Game over!" Everyone in the warehouse watched on in confusion. "That is it! I'm sorry, you know?" He wiped the sweat from his face. "I hate to do it this way, but, you know, that's just– We were having a friendly game. It's a shame. This is a damn shame.
"But, you know, we're like a family here and that's just– that won't fly." Angela stood up, having retrieved a cold pack from the first aid kit. She offered it to the man, only for Dwight to snatch it away. "Here, give me that," he grumbled.
