The Intern: Enemies To Lovers

Didn’t I tell him to wait for me?

Right here?

And not to move?

Or did I dream that?

Did I dream this whole thing?

I went to the front of the building and scanned the entrance and the sidewalk, searching for his handsome face, but there was only a bouncer and a few girls standing out here. The girls were holding each other up-a sign that they wouldn’t be the most reliable source-so I walked over to the bouncer.

“Have you seen a guy in a suit with a red tie?” I asked him. “Dark hair, built, about”-I held my hand at least a foot above my head-“this tall.”

“You’re kidding, right?” He laughed.

I should have figured he was going to be no help.

As I went back into the bar, I ordered a car from the ride-share app and weaved around the small and large tables, looking at everyone sitting at them along with the people hovering at the center bar.

He wasn’t in here.

He had to be in the restroom.

I went to the hallway where we had first kissed, my body all tingly as I recalled the way he had caged me in, how his mouth had devoured mine, how he had grabbed my hand and led me into the alley because he couldn’t wait another second to have me.

Oh God.

I opened the men’s restroom door just a crack. “Declan?” I waited, listened. “Declan, are you in there?”

When I got no response, I retraced my steps, glancing at faces in here, hoping I would see the familiar one I was looking for.

But I didn’t.

Did he leave?

Would he really do that?

He was Declan Shaw after all, one of the biggest playboys in the industry, sharing the same reputation as my cousins before they got in serious relationships.

I had known that about Declan before my lips ever touched his.

Hell, anyone who was part of the LA scene knew that about him.

But I also knew the way he had made me feel before we kissed. And how badly he’d wanted to take me home, even while he was still inside me. And how he had wanted me to rush my phone call, so we could leave together.

Had I really read the situation that poorly?

Not realizing that he would just up and leave the second I left his sight?

A text came across my screen, telling me the ride-share had arrived and was out front.

I didn’t know what to do, but I couldn’t stay here, circling the bar, looking for someone who clearly wasn’t here.

The disappointment caused my muscles to feel heavy and sluggish as I headed for the backseat of the car. I confirmed my address with the driver and slumped into the corner, resting my head against the window.

I couldn’t stop racking my brain, trying to figure out what had gone wrong.

Things had seemed so perfect.

What would have caused him to leave?

Why wouldn’t he have waited since being together for the rest of the night had been his idea?

Maybe I was looking at this all wrong. Maybe an emergency had come up and he had to run, the same way I’d had to immediately call Oaklyn.

There was only one way to find out.

One way that I knew of to get ahold of him.

At least it would show I was making an effort, but it would also reveal my last name. A detail I’d have to give him sooner rather than later if tonight ever led to something more. I just didn’t love that this was the way he was going to find out I was a Dalton.

Since I saw no other option, I opened Instagram and found his profile, clicking on Message.

We weren’t friends, so my note would appear in his Requests folder.

A folder I hoped he checked.

Hey, it’s Hannah. I’m not sure what happened or where you went, but I’m on my way home. If you want to meet up later tonight or sometime soon, call me. I had a really great time tonight …

I reread the message a few times, satisfied with what I’d written, and left my phone number at the bottom before I sent it.

I then exited the app and checked the texts that had come in since I’d gone to the bar. The most recent one was from Ford, my cousin, asking if I could watch his daughter tomorrow night.

Everly, his four-year-old, was my partner in crime. I would do absolutely anything for that little girl, which meant I was juggling classes and prepping for the bar and babysitting, all at the same time. It was far too much. Ford needed a nanny, and I could no longer fill that role as often as I was-a conversation I needed to have with him. Still, with how much studying I needed to get done this week, knowing I could do it after Eve went to sleep, I sent him a reply and agreed to tomorrow night.

I checked the rest of my messages, getting caught up on my email and social media, and texted Oaklyn a heads-up when I was about ten minutes away.

The moment I arrived outside our apartment building, I thanked the driver and went into the lobby, up the elevator, and down the hallway to our door. The second I unlocked it, I heard the music.

The kind you played when you hated men-or more specifically, the man who had stomped all over your heart.

Lana Del Rey.

My poor Oaklyn.Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

She was definitely going through it.

I took off my jacket, draping it over a stool at the bar, slid out of my heels, and joined my babe on the couch. There was an open bottle of wine on the coffee table, the smell of brownies coming from the kitchen, and every candle in the apartment was flickering.

“Hi,” she cried as soon as we caught eyes.

“He sucks.” I wrapped my arm around her, hugging her against me. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Bunches of soggy tissues littered the table, and her face was soaked. She’d cried off most of her makeup. Only tiny specks of black mascara were left, and those were clinging to her eyelids.

“But I-I thought he was d-different.”

“That’s what we always think when something new and fresh and exciting starts. But the dickhead showed what he was really about, and we hate him for it.” I twisted a chunk of her long brown hair around my fingers. “If there’s a silver lining, it’s that he showed his dickish side six months in rather than a year. Could you imagine how much we’d have hated him then?”

She looked at me, all doe-eyed. “I don’t hate him any less.”

“Of course you don’t, but it’s my job to find a positive in this situation, and that’s the only one I can find.” I cupped her cheek, wiping away the mascara. “Other than the fact that your future son won’t have that dreaded dimple, like Trevor’s.”