A/N: Thanks so much for the feedback on the first chapter!

-x-

He's counting on the 45-minute cardio session in the gym to perk him up - endorphins and all that bullshit - but when he makes it up to his office, he's still as cranky as when he got out of bed. It almost makes him hope that he runs into Alan because his patience is worn so thin that it wouldn't take much for him to haul off and slug the bastard right in the face.

Instead of a fist fight for breakfast, though, he has a double shot of espresso and a protein bar, courtesy of his assistant Claire, who seems to sense the mood that he's in and gives him a wide berth. He has an afternoon court appearance for one of his cases, but until then, his schedule is pretty much wide open. Usually, he relishes that kind of down time, but today, it only seems like a rabbit hole that he'll fall down, with too much opportunity to think and think and then think some more.

Last night should have helped to clear his head; fantastic sex with a beautiful woman has a tendency to do that for a guy. But even something about that has him feeling out of sorts, off his game, in a way that he almost never feels in that particular area of his life.

So he's hating the world at large pretty enthusiastically when Mark strolls into his office, bypassing Claire completely, with a grin that's a little too cat-that-ate-the-canary for Jeff's taste. (Mark may be one of the few people he almost considers a friend -almost trusts - at the firm, but it feels like there's a distance there, a certain gap, since Mark made senior partner almost a year ago. Maybe it's all in his own head, but some days, Mark is nothing but a glaring reminder that Jeff hasn't quite made it yet.) He isn't really in the mood for a visit at the moment, but Mark's got a stack of file folders under his arm, so maybe he just needs to drop off some case files. That's Jeff's best hope right now.

"Tango, Tango, Tango," Mark drawls smugly. "Do you ever just drop to your knees and thank God that you know me? Do you ever do that?"

Jeff rolls his eyes in frustration. "What the fuck do you want?"

Mark's smile doesn't falter in the slightest as he takes a seat in front of the desk. "I've got good news and more good news… and then a little more good news." He sighs dramatically. "Which would you like to hear first?"

"How about the good news?"

"Okay, so you know how you were so desperate to get the McAllister case? Like bending-over-backwards, tying-yourself-in-knots desperate? Even though everyone here knows that the Rutherford case is where it's at, where everything's at… but we were all so sure that Ted would handle that one himself, right?"

"This is a really roundabout way to get to good news," Jeff mutters. He spins around in his chair, taking in his not-so-impressive view of the parking garage. "And that fucker Alan already stole the McAllister case out from under me, so why are we even talking about this?"

"Tango. Look at at me, buddy." Begrudgingly, Jeff turns back around. Mark grins, baring all his teeth in a way that's kind of scary. "We're talking about this," he says slowly, "because Alan's going to piss his pants like a little girl when he finds out you've got the Rutherford case and he's got the measly second prize."

"Wha-aat?" Jeff sputters, convinced he must have heard wrong. "How… what… why isn't Ted handling Rutherford?"

"Ted's going to be out of the office for a few medical procedures over the next several months," Mark explains. "Between you and me, I don't know if he's getting his stomach stapled or his face lifted, but it doesn't really matter. Because you're on deck, Tango."

Jeff shakes his head, trying to process the information in a way that makes sense. He's always considered himself a fairly lucky guy, but this whole scenario involves so many dominoes falling his way that it almost defies logic. It's almost too damn good to be true.

"What about the other partners?" he asks. "John and Larry and Doug? They don't want in on this?"

"Well, actually, they're all otherwise indisposed and kind of wanting to fly under the radar at the moment. Let's see…" Mark holds a hand up, counting them off on his fingers. "Rehab, nasty divorce, and pregnant teenage mistress, respectively. Bet you've never been so happy to work at such a shit show."

Jeff cocks his head, studying his friend carefully. "What about you? Why aren't you jumping all over this?"

"That's the other good news." Mark leans back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. "I'm going to be cruising around Tahiti with Monica. You know, that boat-show model with the belly-button ring I met last month? I won't be back until January. Besides, I've already made senior partner - I can share a little of the wealth."

It's almost mind-blowing. Here he was, cursing the universe and everyone in it for the shitty state of affairs in his life, and in the span of a few minutes, it's all turned on a dime. But then, Jeff almost wonders why he ever worried in the first place. Things always have a way of working out for him - that's just what happens when you're as charming, brilliant, and charismatic as he is.

It's a simple law of nature.

"The Rutherford case," he says, shaking his head. "Those are federal charges. It's going to get national coverage… it's going to be huge."

Mark nods, his grin almost comical, and Jeff gets out from behind his desk to bend and give him a one-armed hug.

"You're a true friend, Cash. I don't care what anyone says. But… didn't you say there was more good news?"

He's probably being a little greedy now, but he can't help it. Mark laughs, tossing the files in his lap onto Jeff's desk. "The new first-year associates started today," he says. "I've already seen a blonde, a redhead and oh, a brunette in the HR office that could bring a blind man to his knees. Insane talent, Winger. Insane."

Jeff grins. "Good to know."

"And I snagged their HR files." Mark points to the pile of folders. "So you get first dibs."

"I appreciate that, but it's probably not their CV's that I'll want to check out."

"That's not what I meant, you dog." Mark shoves at his shoulder playfully. "You're gonna need someone to work with you on the Rutherford case. I'm not gonna be around and God knows you can't trust anyone else in this pit of vipers. I figure you can find a really ambitious, really eager-to-impress first year who'll do anything you say in the hopes of advancing their career. Someone who'll be loyal to you because you're their best chance to get ahead."

"And you're a genius too," Jeff says, with a laugh. "How am I going to get by without you for the next few months?"

"You're going to be lost, Tango. That's a given." He nods toward the pile of folders. "But maybe you can get one of those first-year hotties to keep you company."

When Mark heads out to an appointment with a client for a liquid lunch, even though it's not quite 11, Jeff decides not to waste any time. He dives into the first years' files, flipping through the folders to try to find that one special candidate that stands out. He's kind of tempted to go down to the second floor, stroll by their offices, and check out some of the talent that Mark's so excited about - but that would just be a waste of time. He might have a fling with one of them at some point, but he isn't as stupid as the other guys around here - he doesn't need some hot woman with a nice rack to dress up his office. He needs someone who's competent enough to do the work that needs to be done and driven enough to see him as a meal ticket to something bigger and better at the firm to do whatever he needs.

Which is why one file in particular catches his eye.

Anne Edison, the resume says across the top, in bold, black print, and that seems like a good, serious name. He notices that she spent two years at Greendale Community College back in the day too, and that's a pretty big sign all by itself. Some of the guys at the firm would probably hold that against her, considering its reputation, but Greendale is the same place that bailed him out once upon a time. That means they've already got something in common, and it'll probably be easier to get her on his side.

Of course, the rest of her resume doesn't hurt either.

She finished up her undergrad career at UC Denver with a 4.0 and then graduated with honors from Stanford Law, which was ranked first or second in US News & World Report the last time he checked. She was editor of the Law Review, had summer internships at a couple of prestigious firms in San Francisco, and still managed to fit in volunteer work for a student-mentoring program at an elementary school and free legal clinics at Stanford. She seems like a classic overachiever, the kind of associate that he could lean on heavily for the next few months without worrying about her collapsing under the strain of a heavily publicized, seriously important case.

It does occur to him to wonder what she's doing back in Greendale. She'd made it out, and gotten all the way to California, which seems like a prison break to him. A sane person wouldn't willingly lock herself up again, would she? He's never made it out of state himself, and more and more, it's starting to seem like he never will because he's just too comfortable. But if he had, he's certain that he would have bolted and never looked back. And even if Colorado's home for this woman and she just had to come back, she could have gone to Denver, made a name for herself there.

Maybe, like him, she understands that there are benefits to being a big fish in a small pond - like lucking into a case that has the potential to put you on the fucking map, career-wise.

But whatever her reasons, he's going to take full advantage of Anne Edison's decision to make Hamish, Hamish, Hamlin, & Hawthorne her calls down to Craig, the head of HR and Recruiting, who's always willing to bend over backwards to accommodate Jeff, and requests that Ms. Edison be assigned to his case and that she meet him in conference room F just after lunch so they can get started as soon as possible.

He also decides it's a good move to call Ted and thank him for the amazing opportunity that he's been gifted with. It's a little bit of ass kissing that he figures can't really hurt - and it works like a charm.

"I should really be thanking you, Jeff," Ted says. "I mean, I'd be really worried about this case if we didn't have you to handle it. And I don't need the stress of that when I'm dealing with these health issues. Besides, Rutherford is the biggest case we've had in a few years and you're the best we've got, Winger. Everybody knows that."

"I really appreciate that, Ted," he says. "Could I ask a favor, though? Could we keep the fact that I'm lead counsel on this case hush-hush for a bit? I'd really like the opportunity to break it to the rest of the guys myself. You know, just in case there are any hard feelings."

Ted chuckles, like he's already imagining the collective meltdown. "Sure. Whatever you think is best, Jeff. It's your news to spread."

Jeff grins as he hangs up the phone because he's already picturing the look on that dick Alan Connor's face when he hears that Jeff is representing Simon Rutherford in the firm's biggest case in recent history. Even better, Jeff will get to be the one to tell him, will get all the joy of delivering the blow in person - and honestly, that's almost as good as having the case in the first place.

-x-

This is what she gets for trying to reinvent herself - a big, old karmic slap in the face.

She can't think of any other way to explain how she slept through even her second alarm so that she had to rush through her morning routine to get ready (never mind that she sets her alarms earlier than any sane person would, because if she's not at least 15 minutes early, she's late; it's the principle of the matter), got stuck in a traffic jam so the last three minutes of her drive took nearly 20, and wound up having to spend a good chunk of the morning in the HR office, straightening out an error with the direct deposit form for her paycheck, instead of with the other first-year associates getting a tour of the building.

Her first day has been an unqualified disaster, and it's not even 11 o'clock yet.

Part of her can't help thinking that it all started last night, when she made the uncharacteristically impulsive decision to go home with a stranger. She didn't get back to Troy and Abed's apartment until almost 3:30, so she got less than three hours of sleep even with the ignored alarms. The entire reason that she'd gone to the bar in the first place was to ensure that she'd be relaxed enough for a good night's sleep, a solid seven or eight hours before her big day. Picking up some hot guy was definitely not part of the plan, and now it's like her entire life has shifted off-center because of that one crazy decision.

She tries to keep pace with Quendra from HR, who's hurriedly trying to show her everything that she missed when she was dealing with those stupid banking forms.

"We have a pretty nice gym in the basement," Quendra says. "You know, if you want to fit in a workout on your lunch break or whenever. And our cafe is on the first floor… we've got the most amazing salad bar!"

Annie nods, but she really doesn't care much about those types of amenities. "Where's the library?"

"Oh, um… that's on the second floor," Quendra says. "I think. I'm pretty sure anyway. And that's super convenient because that's where your office is."

Annie follows her into the elevator, watching as she presses the button for the second floor. The elevator somehow seems bigger and nicer than the cramped apartment that Annie shared with Vaughn in Palo Alto. She tells herself that's a sign of how much her life has changed, how much better off she is now - even if her first day isn't exactly going according to plan.

"All first-years have to share an office," Quendra tells her, just as they reach their floor. "But don't worry - in a few years, you'll have your own. Well, if the partners like you anyway. And I mean, at least you're not a paralegal. They just get these tiny cubicles."

Annie nods again, though she doesn't particularly care about her office either - as long as it's a quiet space with adequate lighting where she can get her work done, it's fine. Her officemate is a quiet girl named Vicki, whom she chatted with about tort reform at the orientation session yesterday, so she thinks that they'll get along just fine. Annie sets her messenger bag on her desk and takes a deep breath. She reminds herself that she is in a smart gray suit and her hair is pulled up in a neat twist, so even if she feels like she's falling apart inside, she probably looks like she has everything under control - and "fake it till you make it" has always been her mantra.

Quendra rattles the blinds on the lone window in the room. "Oooh, you guys got a window!" she says gleefully, like they've won some kind of lottery. "Most of the offices on this floor don't."

Annie smiles politely, refraining from pointing out that all the window provides is a view of the parking garage. Quendra gets ready to leave, dropping a business card on Annie's desk, but before she makes it to the hallway, her cell phone vibrates in her pocket and she stops to check her messages.

"Oh, Annie," she says, a little shrilly. "It is totally your lucky day!"

Across the room, Vicki looks up from her computer with obvious interest, but Annie just shrugs. "What does that mean?"

"We've already got a case lined up for you," Quendra tells her. "And you'll be working with Jeff Winger. He's one of the junior partners… the best of the bunch, really. He's kind of the golden boy around here. His acquittal rate is off the charts. And he actually requested you! Saw your resume and was seriously impressed or something."

Vicki nods sagely. "I've heard about him. That's a really big break."

Annie manages a tight smile - honestly, though, she could kick herself. Instead of going out and picking up a stranger in a bar, she should have been home, devouring the firm's website, reading up on all the senior and junior partners, memorizing their bios and familiarizing herself with their past cases. That's the kind of homework that she always does, the bare minimum of preparation that seems naturally, the first time that she's a little lax, she pays for it.

Quendra grins, leaning across her desk in some attempt to be discreet. "But there's more," she nearly whispers, though it's loud enough that Vicki hears and rolls her chair over a couple of feet to absorb whatever piece of office gossip is about to be imparted. "He's such a hottie! So I mean, working late with him probably won't suck. If you know what I mean."

Quendra gives her a cheesy wink and Vicki giggles, but Annie just frowns, not even wanting to acknowledge the possibility of getting distracted by something so stupid and superficial.

"That really doesn't matter," she says. "I'm here to work. Just work."

Quendra nods, patting her on the arm in a surprisingly condescending way. "That's what you say now, Annie… but you haven't seen him yet."

She says the last bit in an annoying sing-songy tone, and somehow Annie manages another smile, biting at her lip a little to keep from saying something she shouldn't. Because she shouldn't let frustration get the best of her when her day is finally starting to look up. She has an actual case to work -unlike Vicki, who appears stuck spending the next few hours surfing the net -and apparently she's going to have the opportunity to learn from one of the firm's best lawyers.

That is a pretty fantastic first day on the job by any standards, but especially considering how it started.

Of course, it's not all smooth sailing.

She can't log onto her computer, so an IT guy has to spend nearly an hour crawling around under her desk and restarting the damn thing a dozen times - and even then, it's still stupidly slow. He promises that he'll have it fixed by the time she gets back from lunch, so she goes to the cafe with Vicki and manages maybe four bites of her salad, mostly just pushing the spinach around aimlessly. She may be confident in her abilities, in her intelligence and work ethic, but she's still a little nervous about her meeting with Mr. Winger. This is a prime opportunity to make her mark at the firm -and so much more quickly than she was hoping! She is terrified of blowing the chance, of not being able to hack it with the big boys, and the knot in her stomach makes eating unappealing at the moment.

So even though their meeting isn't until one o'clock, she says goodbye to Vicki and heads to conference room F nearly a half hour early. She sets her notepad on the table, with her lucky pen positioned carefully beside it, and tries to figure out the most confidence-inspiring pose with which to greet her new boss. She tries leaning back in the cushy chair with her legs crossed, but that seems too casual. She pulls the chair all the way up to the table, sitting ramrod straight with her elbows resting on the surface, but that seems too stilted. Finally, she angles the chair slightly, so she's facing away from the door and toward the head of the table and has one elbow resting on the surface, figuring it's a good compromise.

She still has a few minutes before Mr. Winger (she deliberates over what to call him for a while - does using the "Mr." make her seem like too much of a kiss-ass?) is due to arrive, so she fishes her cellphone out of her pocket and starts to pull up the firm's website. She can probably get in a few minutes of research on this guy that might help her get a better feel for how to handle him.

But the page still hasn't fully loaded when she hears a voice in the hallway just outside the conference room, and she immediately thumbs off her phone, sitting up straight and trying for an attentive expression.

"Britta, for the last time, I'm not watching your cats," she hears the voice say, and there is something strangely familiar about it, though she can't quite place her finger on what. "Even if it's only for the night. I can lend you money to board them somewhere, understanding full well that you will never pay me back, but that's my best offer."

Annie keeps her eyes trained straight ahead, on the bare wall in front of her, so it doesn't seem like she's eavesdropping. She hears him step into the room, closing the door behind him.

"No… I just… I don't have time for this, okay? I've got an appointment to get to."

He sighs as he disconnects the call, sounding supremely annoyed, and Annie would seriously like to throttle whomever it was on the other end of the phone for sending him into this meeting in such a rotten mood.

"Sorry about that," he says distractedly. "Anne Edison, right?"

She pushes her chair away from the table to stand, ready with her most polite smile and firmest handshake. "Yes, Mr. Winger, it's pleasure to…"

When she turns, though, the words die on her lips, because there, standing right in front of her, gaze still firmly fixed on his cellphone, is the guy from last night, with the ridiculous blue eyes and that trick with his tongue that had her practically seeing God.

He's clean-shaven now, so he looks younger, a little more polished and put together, but she'd recognize that beautiful face anywhere.

"Please," he says, still typing away on his phone. "Call me Jeff."

He finally looks up, and as soon as he sees that it's her, he's shooting her the same disarming grin that made her throw all caution to the wind last night. She feels weak again, but this time, it's from horror and shock.

"Oh my God," she groans.

Jeff Winger just laughs, like this is all more amusement than he can handle - and she feels karma smacking her right in the face yet again.