“This really sucks,” I say with a sigh.

“So, why don't you call her?” Nate asks.

“I can't.”

“Why not?” he asks. “Afraid it'll bruise your ego to look like you're chasing her?”

I pace around my office, stopping at the windows to stare at the view of downtown in the fading sunlight of the late afternoon. It's been a little more than two weeks since I got back to L.A. from Washington and my head has been a mess ever since. I can't stop thinking about her. Every time I close my eyes, I see Sasha's face and remember the sound of her voice and the light floral scent of her skin. And of course, I remember the way her delicious body felt pressed up against mine.

I've been so distracted that I nearly botched a couple of depositions. If Nate hadn't been there, I probably would have tanked at least a few cases. At that point, he knew it was time to figure out what was going on, so after casually suggesting a few drinks one night – probably a few too many – he got me to pour my heart out and confess my sins. Without even realizing I was doing it – which speaks to my state of mind in and of itself – I told him everything. I told him about meeting her in the airport, to the last time we were together. Thanks to a few too many top-shelf glasses of bourbons, I held absolutely nothing back.

Nate is slick like that. It's one of the things that makes him such a good lawyer – he knows exactly which buttons to push to get somebody to admit something they don't want to. He’s such a manipulative bastard. It makes him a formidable lawyer, though.

Every day since then, he spends a large portion of each day trying to convince me to pick up the phone and call Sasha. He's as relentless and idealistic as Chris has become in that regard.

“It has nothing to do with my ego,” I explain.

“That would be a first as far as you're concerned,” he laughs.

“Eat shit,” I retort.

“Okay, if it's not about ego, what is it?”

“She was pretty clear that we were a one-time thing,” I say. “She doesn't want to see me again.”

He settles back in the chair, adjusting the file he's carrying in his lap, watching me pace around my office for what feels like the millionth time this week, my hands in my pockets, my head – well – somewhere. It's clearly not focused on the job I'm supposed to be doing. I have a big case coming up – against Ray Monsol, again – and I need to get my head on straight. Both parties hoped to have this matter resolved before the courts break for Christmas, but the way I feel right now, I'm on the verge of asking for a continuance until after the holidays. I just cannot focus.

“I see,” he says. “And did she say this before or after she slept with you for the second time?”

“Before and after,” I reply. “I tried to get in touch with her before we left Seattle, but she didn't return any of my calls or texts.”

“And you're going to let something like that deter you?” he asks. “Where did the old Miles Churchill go?”

I roll my eyes. “You sound just like Chris.”

“The Miles Churchill I’ve known for over ten years has never accepted no for an answer.”

“That version of Miles had also never been turned down before,” I say.

“And you say it's not about ego,” he chuckles and glances at his watch.

“If you need to go, don't let me keep you,” I say. “I'm sure you have better things to be doing with your time other than beating your head against the wall in here.”

He shakes his head. “Actually, I'm kind of in the mood for wings and a beer,” he says. “Why don't we go grab some.”

“Shouldn't you be getting home to Mercy?”

“She knows I need some time out with my boy every now and then,” he says.

I look at him for a long moment. “She's working late, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Probably until ten or so.”

I laugh and shake my head. “I'll go, but on one condition.”

“Name it.”

“No more talking about Sasha,” I say. “Don’t even bring her up.”

“Done,” he says.

“Great, let me just return a couple of emails and we'll go.”

“I've never been to this place before,” I say.

“Me either,” Nate replies. “I've heard they have great wings though.”

We walk into what looks like a hole in the wall sports bar called Tucker's. It's off the beaten path, down one of the side streets in downtown L.A., but it's not all that far from the office. I have no idea how Nate found out about this place.

The front of the bar is decked out with Christmas decorations. Giant stockings, a blow-up Santa, and fake snow on the windows, garland and tinsel lining the door and eaves of the place. It's a bit garish and gaudy, but then again, everything about Tucker's seems to be. It seems to cater more to the typical sports bar patron than the type of people who frequent the Wheldon. There’s not anything wrong with that.

I enjoy sports, but I can't say I'm a big fan of sports bars. The Wheldon, on the other hand, has a viewing room where you can watch all the sports you want in comfort. The chairs are big and padded, the waitresses are always prompt with your drinks, and it's a lot less chaotic. Nobody screams and yells, and the fare is a lot more upscale than just wings – although those are available as well.

Yeah okay, I might be a bit of an elitist prick in that regard. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised Nate that knows about this place. He is much more a man of the people than I am – I admit that freely.

While I was in Seattle with Sasha, I was almost feeling slightly more optimistic in my approach to things. I admit that I was feeling more idealistic – to almost Nate-like levels.

Being with her helped me shed the elitist skin that I usually wear – comfortably, I might add. Maybe, I do have it in me to be a better person. On some level, I think I might actually believe some of the rhetoric I use in that client speech I've been honing for years now.

It's the one part of the story I've held back from Nate. Sasha inspired me in a lot of different ways. She encouraged me to actually care about people – or, at least, find that capacity within me. I didn't think it existed before. My sole focus has always been on bettering myself – not in a personal sense, but in a professional sense. Accomplishment was everything to me. All that mattered was reaching the pinnacle of success.

So, it came as quite the shock to me to find out that being around somebody like Sasha, a truly good person at heart, caused a reaction in me – a desire to be a better person, rather than someone who only takes joy in conquering others, not really caring about the people I have to step on to get there.

I can't say I'm perfect, or that I don't hold some opinions and positions people might find elitist, but one thing I learned about myself – that Sasha showed me about myself – is that I'm not actually as elitist or classist as I always allowed myself to be.

This might be her greatest gift to me because it will improve my game as a lawyer. Being able to relate to my clients more will transform me into a better attorney and an even better person.

When we walk into the place, it's only half-full and the atmosphere is a bit quiet and subdued. It's not Monday night, so there aren’t any football game on. A mixture of hockey and basketball games play on the various TVs mounted around the walls, giving the guys nursing their beers something to pay attention to.

We take a seat in a booth near the back of the restaurant and slide in. I look at the TV screen mounted to the wall behind Nate, watching a bit of the Boston and Tampa Bay hockey game. I look down and find Nate smiling at me.

“What?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

“Then stop staring at me,” I laugh.

He's not looking at me though, I notice. He's looking behind me. Turning in the booth, I take a look and feel my breath catch in my throat. Moving between a couple of tables is Sasha herself. She's carrying a tray loaded with a couple of empty mugs, as well as a few full ones while she laughs and jokes with her customers.

Even in her work uniform – short dark shorts, and a tight black t-shirt – she's ethereal. She's got a transcendent beauty that really stirs something inside of me. But it's who she is that stimulates me up even more.

I turn back to Nate and eye him evenly. “Yeah, I'm guessing this isn't a coincidence.”

He shrugs. “What is a coincidence, exactly?” he asks, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Is it merely the confluence of timing and preparation?”

“Yeah, that's deep and philosophical. You're like the goddamn Dalai Lama,” I say. “How did you find out where she works?”

“You know that I’m a man with many different talents and skills,” he replies.

I sit back in the booth, fighting off the urge to get up and leave. I have no idea why, but the thought of seeing Sasha again – especially after she basically told me to get lost – has my stomach churning and roiling. The idea of her rejecting me again – in front of Nate this time – has opened a yawning pit in my stomach, threatening to swallow me whole. Which is kind of what I hope happens right now.

As I look at him, the answer dawns on me. “Mark,” I say and chuckle. “You had Mark dig up the dirt on her.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny these allegations at this time,” Nate says.

“Smartass.”

Mark Golden is one of our in-house investigators. He's our best investigator and can find anything about anyone at any time. He's smooth, subtle, and misses nothing. The man is an absolute genius at doing what he does – ninety-nine percent of which I have zero understanding of.

“Hey guys, how are we toni –”

Sasha’s greeting cuts short when she sees me sitting there. She looks at Nate, who's grinning like an idiot – then back to me again. I see the nervousness in her face plain as day. I wish I could slap the hell out of Nate for bringing me in here. I'm pretty sure I'm the last person she wanted to see, and she looks downright miserable.

“Miles,” she says, a small tremor affecting her voice. “H – how are you?”

“I'm good,” I say. “How was your Thanksgiving?”

She gives me an incredulous look and I silently curse myself for asking such a stupid question. I know her Thanksgiving sucked. I know what she had to deal with at home.

“Sorry,” I say. “Stupid question.”

“You think?”

“Whatever you have on tap and a basket of your nuclear wings for me,” Nate says. “I'm going to use the restroom. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

Nate slips out of the booth and heads off to the bathroom – no doubt, part of his premediated and choreographed dance. Sasha watches him go, then turns those vivid blue eyes back onto me.

“What are you doing?” she asks. “How did you find me?”

“I didn't,” I reply honestly. “Nate wanted wings. Here we are.”

“Quite a coincidence,” she says.

I shrug. “In a place as small as L.A., it was only a matter of time before we ran into each other.”

She gives me a hard stare but can't manage to keep the corners of her mouth from curling up into a smile. God, she's a gorgeous woman. I notice though, that she looks a tired. Her eyes are a bit pinched and her skin is a paler than normal.

“You okay?” I ask.

She nods. “Yeah, I’ve just been under the weather the last couple of days,” she says. “Probably food poisoning. I think I'm through the worst of it, though.”

I laugh softly. “You're not pregnant, are you?”

She gives me an even look, even the hint of a smile dropping from her face. “Not funny,” she says. “Why do you and Rosie think that's funny? It's not funny. Like, at all.”

“Okay, okay. I apologize,” I say, putting my hands up in surrender. “Rosie is your – roommate?”

“And best friend,” she says and then her expression grows colder. “So seriously, what the heck are you doing here?”

I shrug. “Nate wanted wings and a beer,” I say. “I'm along for the ride.”

“Seems a little stalkerish, if you ask me.”

“I am totally innocent here,” I say. “Our office isn't far from here, he suggested we go out and grab a bite, and here we are.”

“I told you that things weren't going to work out between us.”

“Technically, that's not what you said,” I say. “Technically, all you said was it was a one-time thing.”

“And I meant it.”

“Before or after the second time?”

She chuffs loudly and rolls her eyes. “Miles, this isn't going to work,” she says. “You and I – it'll never work.”

She's doing her best to sound tough and resolved to her position, but behind her words, I can hear something else. A sense of longing, maybe. It's like she's hoping that repeating the mantra, “it's not going to work,” will make it suddenly true.

Yeah, well, I'm not so easily swayed by mantras or trying to force myself to believe something I don't.

“Tell me why,” I demand. “Why wouldn't we work together?”

She seems taken aback by the question.

“It just wouldn't,” she says simply, as if that answers everything.

“Sorry,” I say. “That wasn’t good enough. I'm a lawyer and we deal with facts and evidence in our profession. Try again.”

Her eyes narrow and her jaw clenches as she looks at me. “I don't need a reason not to date you, Miles,” she hisses. “Just no should be good enough for you.”

“So, everything we shared back home together means nothing to you?” I ask. “You just wanted a place to crash and a guy to help you get off?”

Her expression softens – slightly. “I didn't say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I'm saying that – what we had up there was great and it was real,” she explains with a soft sigh. “But, we're not up there anymore. We're back in the real world. And in the real world, people like you and people like me just don't work out.”

“People like you and people like me? What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

She shakes her heads. “Peas and carrots,” she says. “They just don't mix.”

“That makes absolutely no sense at all.”

“I suppose it doesn't,” she replies. “But we don't move in the same circles. Like not even close to the same circles. And trying to force anything will only lead to a lot of heartache for the both of us. So, let's do each other a favor and remember our time back in Washington fondly, and leave it at that.”

“Sasha, I don't want –”

“I need to get back to work,” she says. “It was really nice seeing you again though, Miles. Take care of yourself, k?”

She turns and walks away before I can say anything else, but I didn't miss the way her eyes shined with tears she refused to let fall. The girl is tough. Very tough. I have to give her that, at least. But knowing she wants to leave what we shared in the past causes an unfamiliar stab of pain in my heart that nearly steals my breath from me.

“Well, that doesn't look like it went well,” Nate says as he slides into the booth, conveniently back from the bathroom.

“Yeah, not really,” I say. “Could have gone a lot better.”

“In the immortal words of – somebody – we have not yet begun to fight,” Nate replies.

I chuckle. “Why are you so insistent on us being together?” I ask. “Especially when it's painfully clear that she wants nothing to do with me?”

“Because I don't think that's it,” he says. “It's not that she doesn't want to be with you, it's that she's scared to be with you.”

“Why?”

“Because you're an asshole who excels in intimidation tactics?” Nate shrugs.

I laugh and shake my head. A moment later, another waitress – not Sasha – drops our beers off at the table. Obviously, her desire to keep her distance has caused Sasha to hand off this table.

“Seriously, Miles,” he says once the waitress leaves, “I think that's what this boils down to.”

“When did you become the relationship expert, Dr. Phil?”

He shrugs. “Like I told you, I'm a man of many talents.”

I laugh. “Clearly,” I say. “But tell me, why are you so insistent on making this happen?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I just want to see you happy and in love?”

I take a drink of my beer. “Not even for a minute.”

He laughs. “Fine, it's self-serving as well. But ever since you came back from Washington, you've been different,” he says.

“How so?” I ask. “Other than being a fucking train wreck during important depositions, that is.”

“Your attitude is different,” he says. “The way you interact with our clients is different. You treat them as human beings.”

“I always treated our clients like human beings.”

He waves me off. “Not what I meant,” he says. “It's just, before, it was clear that you had an agenda. That you were willing to fight for these people, of course, but that you were also using their case as a building block in your career.”

“You know that I never let my own goals interfere with my work.”

“I know,” he replies. “You're always professional. Miles, you’re a damn good lawyer. The fact that you're so single-minded, so focused on winning, and incapable of accepting defeat makes you exceptional at your job.”

“Then what's the problem?”

He nods in Sasha's direction. “Because I think she gives you the missing piece of the puzzle,” he says. “A sense of humanity. Of empathy. I can see that you have a sense of real, genuine compassion for the people we're representing that wasn't there before. Personally, I think having that sense of humanity, along with all of your other traits, will not only make you an exceptional lawyer, but a transcendent one.”

It's my turn to wave him off. “You are every bit as good at this job as I am.”

He shakes his head. “I'm good. Damn good. I don't deny that,” he says. “But, you're miles ahead of me. And I'm okay with that.”

I turn and look and catch Sasha looking over at me from across the bar. She quickly looks away, her cheeks suddenly red with color. Everything Nate has said is something that I’ve thought about before – but couldn't quite articulate like he just did. Sasha allows me a sense of humanity I know I lacked before.

“She's good for you, Miles,” he says. “Know how I know that?”

“I have a feeling you'd tell me anyway, even if I said I didn’t want to know.”

“That's because you're a damn smart man.”

“Out with it then.”

“The fact that you haven't mentioned running for office once – not once – since you got back from Thanksgiving,” he says.

I stare at him, slightly dumbfounded for a moment before bursting into laughter. I shake my head and take a long swig of my beer. The entire time, Nate sits there, a bemused smile on his face. I set my bottle back down on the table, suddenly curious about his reasoning.

“That's it? That's your proof that she's the right one for me?” I ask. “You know that alone wouldn't hold up in court.”

“Doesn't have to,” he says. “But, as far as running for office goes, you do realize you're chasing it simply for your ego's sake, right?”

“That's not necessarily true.”

“Sure it is. For you, holding office isn't about bettering the country, or the lives of the people in it. I mean, how many times have you told me it's because you want to achieve,” Nate says. “You want to build a legacy so that after you – as you so romantically put it – ‘wife’ yourself up and have a couple of kids, you’ll have something to pass on to them. That, my friend, is all ego. It's all about you reaching the apex of success. And since you met her, you haven't mentioned it once. I'm willing to bet you haven't even thought about it.”

I open my mouth to rebut his point but realize that I have nothing to say. I can't defend myself or deny what Nate just said.

“I have a feeling that Sasha is responsible for changing your priorities in ways you haven’t even realized yet,” Nate presses his advantage. “Which is why, in so many ways, she's good for you. Don't let her go.”

I sit back and drain the last of my beer, setting the empty bottle back down on the table. The waitress shows up with Nate's wings and a couple of fresh bottles, setting them down and leaving again without saying a word. My mind is spinning, and I can't quite keep up with everything whizzing around in there right now.

I want to tell Nate he's wrong, but I can't – not if I want to hold true to my belief that I'm always honest with myself, no matter what. The truth is, I don't know.

“I don't know what else I can do,” I say. “It's not like I can keep showing up at the bar every night.”

Nate slides the folder he'd had tucked in his jacket over to me. “Call it an early Christmas gift.”

I flip it open and start scanning the pages. Just as I thought, Nate had Mike do a full background on her. I close the file and give Nate a long, even look.

“Thanks for this,” I say.

“Just doing my part to encourage and foster this new, kinder, gentler Miles Churchill,” he says. “Because I think the two of us, on the same page, using our powers for good, can change the world.”

“I guess we'll see,” I say and raise my bottle of beer to him.