The Intern: Enemies To Lovers

“So, basketball over …”

“Baseball.” He licked his lips. “Hockey over football.”

“Really? Now, that shocks me.”

“Don’t get me wrong; you won’t find me passing a football game if it’s on TV. I just prefer the ice.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you like sports?”

“Camden played lacrosse in high school, and I swam. So, those sports I love.” I winced. “But I’m kind of a big Dodgers fan.”

His head tilted to the side. “Tell me more.”

“I love going to the games and eating oniony hot dogs with extra ketchup and beer. I love baseball beer. It’s nothing like other beer. It just tastes different when you’re there.”

“All right, I can hang with that. Maybe hold the onions.”

I shook my head. “Nope. Can’t. Onions on stadium dogs are a requirement. Just like I can’t leave without getting cotton candy.”

“So, as long as it comes in the form of sugar, you’re into it?”

“No.” I took another bite, licking the glaze off the back of the fork. “The way you feel about onions, I feel about raisins.” I scrunched my nose. “I despise them. So, desserts like bread pudding are a huge no for me.”

“Fair enough.”

I got quiet as I weighed the importance of my next question. “What’s your biggest fear?”

“Losing.”Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.

He hadn’t even taken a second to think, his response so ready on his tongue.

“Losing what?” I asked. “A case?”

He set down his fork. “Anything-a person, possession, and, yes, a case. I don’t want to ever feel loss.”

I focused on his gaze, trying to read it. “Where does that come from?”

He laughed, but I could tell he didn’t find this funny. That was how Declan handled uncomfortable moments. “It took until late high school for me to grow into my body. I was a super-smart kid, but I was awkward, and I didn’t excel in athletics until my junior year, so I didn’t have that in my arsenal either.” He paused. “Kids weren’t nice.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I’d envisioned Declan as this hot and cocky teenager who could get any cheerleader he wanted.

“I remember you telling me that you grew up with boys who didn’t want to listen to you,” he said. “To make them hear, you had to be better. I think you said something about fighting and clawing to outsmart them.” His stare turned deeper. “I used my own methods, but we’re not all that different, Hannah.”

“You beat them with your words.”

“My fists weren’t strong back then like they are now.” He rubbed across his knuckles, and then he did the same to the other hand. “I was fueled by rage. I still am. It’ll never go away. I’ll never allow them-or anyone-to beat me again.” The corner of his lip lifted. “Not even a cowboy at a bar in Jackson Hole who’s trying to steal my girl.”

It was all making sense.

His demeanor.

His reactions.

The way he fought and how it never felt like it was fair.

“I get it,” I whispered.

“I knew you would.”

Alex appeared at the side of our table, dragging our attention away from each other. “I’d ask how it was, but you both cleaned your plates, so I’ll take that as a good sign.”

“That apple flavor?” Declan shook his head. “Amazing.”

“Don’t worry; there’s more apple to come.” She lifted the plates away. “For your second course, I went with something a bit more powerful-chocolate.”

“Yesss,” I moaned.

Alex laughed. “I’ll be right back with a heavy cabernet sauvignon that’s going to pair so well.”

Once we were alone again, I reached across the table, my fingers folding over his. Squeezing. “I love this. Every part of it.”

“I know.”

I took a deep breath. “I don’t know how to thank you, Declan.”

As he scanned my eyes back and forth, I felt him inside me, just like that first night in the bar.

“The way you’re looking at me right now, Hannah …” His voice trailed off. “It’s stronger than any words.”

TWENTY-ONE

DECLAN

“I

had dinner with Walter last night,” Jenner said as he stood in the doorway to my office, his shoulder leaning against the frame.

My hands froze on my keyboard as I looked up, waiting for him to continue.

Three weeks had passed since we’d returned from Wyoming. In that time, I’d learned a lot about Walter Spade. One of the more prominent things was that he was a hard-ass, like me, and I could never predict what he was going to do or the words that were going to come out of his mouth.

“Yeah?” I inquired. “And?”

“He’s pleased.”

That wasn’t what I had expected to hear.

My team had been hard at work, building his case. In return, Walter had sent daily messages, showing his plans for the Jackson Hole hotel and his team’s internal progress-all not-so-subtle hints that he expected a victory.

That wasn’t something I could ever promise, but I sure as hell was going to try.

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back in my chair. “Is that so?”

“He’s disappointed that Hannah’s internship will be ending so soon. He likes the weekly reports she’s been sending him and requested that once she’s gone, someone will still maintain those reports and email them to him.”

The reports were just filler; they were of little importance. What really mattered was that I had a sound, experienced staff who was handling Walter’s case. Walter needed to stop focusing on the insignificant details, like the eye-pleasing intern I had on my team, and focus on the fucking trial.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved there was only a week left of her internship. Her working for me wasn’t sitting right, her position preventing me from really diving into our relationship.

That didn’t stop us from hanging out. We’d been on plenty of dates since we’d been back. Numerous overnights.

But still, something inside me wasn’t meshing.

I glanced past Jenner to where Hannah was seated at her desk. With her profile aimed in my direction, I watched her tug my favorite lip. Jesus, all I could think about was that lip bobbing over my crown, sucking the cum out of me.

“Declan?”

I cleared my throat. “There isn’t a goddamn thing we can do about Hannah’s internship ending. The girl has to graduate and study for the bar. What, does he want her to put that on hold for him?”

Jenner laughed, rubbing his hand over the side of his beard. “I don’t think he’s saying that at all.”

Really, neither was I. Something far larger was eating at me, but it was much easier to channel my anger to Walter.