i've nowhere (nowhere to hide)
How unprofessional. How disorganized. How utterly gauche.
These critical judgements applied equally well to both Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth, in the current moment: the former, for being just so scatterbrained and un-put-together; the latter, for being what the tabloids might gracelessly, wantonly describe as taken with, smitten by, and overall enamoured with such a man.
Edgeworth knew he couldn't let himself broil over it forever. That would be a terrible disservice to the proper handling of everything else (what, work?) in his life. But, still. He certainly couldn't do anything about it.
So, he was stuck. Flummoxed. Bamboozled. Forseeably.