'Sales Call' Pt.1 •Andy x Reader• Imagine
You sat at your desk tapping your pen to the beat of the quiet music playing from Andy's worn-out computer speakers. You, Andy, and Michael were preparing for a vital sales call. It was a very high profile company, and Michael wanted two employees from sales.
The drive there was quite eventful, with Andy having to stop the Prius in order to let Michael vomit numerous times. And of course when someone else vomits, Andy has to follow suit. Considering all of this, it took you 45 minutes to get to a building that was only 20 minutes from the Dunder Mifflin Scranton branch.
Michael had seemed to calm himself down after the adventurous car ride, but Andy was obviously still nervous. You felt bad for him. He made it clear that he wasn't confident in himself as a salesman.
“Hey, you're gonna do fine. Sure, it would be great to gain this client, but if we don't, we won't gain anything but we won't lose anything. It's not a big deal, okay?” You said consolingly. “Thanks. But don't you think it would be cool to say 'Andy Bernard and Y/N Y/LN recruited Dunder Mifflin's biggest client in decades!’?” Andy said, forgetting Michael was part of the pitch as well.
“Yeah, but it's not worth barfing over.” You earned a small, appreciative laugh from Andy as you walked into the sleek, intimidating double doors of what could be the turnaround of your an Andy's sales reputation. Before you opened one of those doors, Andy grabbed your cold hand into his warm one without making eye contact, just like a small child instinctively grabs their blanket when they are scared.
It wasn't a totally foreign gesture, but it wasn't something he did often, judging you were only friends. He had only grabbed your hand once before at the 2009 Dunder Mifflin Company Picnic.
It was after Scranton painfully lost a well-played game of volleyball. Michael had invited members of the Buffalo branch (ones that were willing) over to a campfire that he had poorly built, in an attempt to apologize for revealing their shutdown in such an inconsiderate way.
As various employees from Buffalo made their way over, Andy immediately looked nervous. He was sitting right next to you,and you could have swore he was shaking, but you blamed the cold Pennsylvania air. Before you knew it, Andy had swiftly grabbed your hand and interlocked your fingers. No eye contact and no explanation of his action to follow.
He quietly whispered in your ear, while nonchalantly holding your hand, “You see that big, tall, guy in the cargo shorts over there? At last year's picnic, when I was with Stamford, I accidentally hit him in the face playing tennis. I got carried away and ‘woosh!’ the tennis ball hit him right in the left eye. He told me that next year, he'd make sure he paid me back.”
You were relieved to hear there wasn't an extreme reason why he was nervous, but you still weren't sure why he interlocked your fingers as a coping mechanism. Sure, you guys were great friends. You may even go as far to say that Andy is your best friend in the entire office. You guys have so much fun together and you care for each other very much. But why did he have this thing where he wanted to hold your hand. Andy could have held Phyllis’ hand if he was that nervous.
You sat in the lobby reading an outdated magazine and practicing in your head what you were going to say at the pitch. Andy was stuck in a stupor, staring at a distant wall, looking like a deer in the headlights. He still hadn’t let go of your hand. You weren't complaining though, it was actually helping you stay calm.
“Mr. Scott, Mr. O'Connor is ready to see you and your employees now. Third door to the right,” the woman said.
You an Andy walked hand-in-hand down the hallway following behind Michael. You were thankful for this position, for if Michael were to see your hands, he would make a big deal out of nothing.
As you sat in the intimidating office of Mr. O'Connor, a possible future client, Andy reluctantly removed his hand from yours as he sat on the other side of Michael.
Michael was in the middle of the three chairs, while Andy sat to the left and you sat to the right.
The sales call went surprisingly smooth, with Michael doing most of the talking while you and Andy elaborated on what he said.
As the meeting came to an end, Mr. O'Connor wanted a moment alone. The three of you stepped out of the office in a quiet, single file line.
“Oh my God. I think I might have actually been successful!” Michael exclaimed quietly, ignoring the fact that you an Andy had contributed. You brushed it off and continued the nervous action of rubbing the heel of your boat-shoe against the thin carpeting.
“Hey guys, you can come back in now,” Mr. O'Connor said. You returned to your seat and awaited the final decision.
“Well, I have decided to go with Dunder Mifflin for all of my paper needs. Mr. Scott, you and your employees have done an exquisite job explaining to me why I should purchase paper from your company and I thank you.”
“No, thank you! We will be in touch with you shortly Mr. O'Connor.” Michael explained.
You left the building managing to contain yourselves, but once you made it back to the parking lot, it was time to celebrate! Michael started throwing high-fives in the air, almost killing the mood when he accidentally hit Andy in the eye. Despite having a new black eye, Andy was ecstatic and you couldn't be more happy for him. Michael had returned to the back seat of the Prius, in order to call his mom, hoping that she would congratulate him. This left you and Andy alone in the parking lot to bask in the excitement. In one quick motion, Andy picked you up and hugged you just a little too tight while spinning in a circle, but you didn't care.
“We did it!” Andy exclaimed.
“Totally worth barfing over.” You laughed at his reference to what you had said just a little over an hour ago.
Andy, always being a gentleman, opened the car door for you. Before you sat down, you gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.
“I'm really proud of you Andy,” you told him with a sincere smile.
“Thank you,” he responded appreciatively.
“Poor Richard's?” Michael suggested.
“Andy, I need you stop me at a gas station. I gotta use the restroom.”
“Why can't you go at the bar? We'll have to go the opposite direction to get to the nearest gas station,” you questioned.
“Because...I don't wanna go in that contaminated shit hole,” Michael answered.
“I'll stop, it's okay. Not a big deal.” Andy interjected.
