The Intern: Enemies To Lovers

“I was hanging out with my best friend and my brother. He’s only been here for a couple of days, and he’s spent more time with you than he has with me.”

I probably shouldn’t have said that.

But the wine was making my lips a little looser than normal.

“Am I supposed to feel bad for you?” His brows rose. “Welcome to the life of a lawyer, Hannah. This is what happens when you’re successful. Things come up at all hours, and you have to make yourself available.”

I cleared my throat, holding the doorway, wishing I hadn’t barked back at him. “What do you need me for?”

He pointed at one of the chairs. “Sit.”

I set the bag on my lap as I settled in the seat.

He placed his arms on the desk, his teeth piercing his bottom lip as he looked at me. “We have a problem.”

God, I wished he weren’t so good-looking.

His hair was a tad messy on the top, his tie loosened.

His scruff was even thicker than it had been this morning.

Those were the only problems I could see.

There was a folder in front of him that he pushed toward me. “Read.”

I lifted it into my hands and opened the top, scanning the first few lines. “What is this?”

“Evidence.”

There were only three sheets of paper in the stack, each showing several different email exchanges between Kennedy and the plaintiff. I scanned the contents of the emails. They didn’t exactly prove that Kennedy had known he was breaching his contract, but they certainly didn’t help his case.

“How did you find these?”

“You’re not asking the right question, Hannah.”

I thought for a moment. “Is this evidence they’re going to use against us?”

He took several breaths, and every exhale sent me his delicious, spicy scent. “Still the wrong question.”Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

This was going to throw a massive wrench in our defense.

It was going to change everything.

We needed to kill this evidence before the judge and jury saw it.

“How do we make this go away?”

“Again,” he snapped, “wrong question.”

I glanced back at the papers, taking my time to read each word, seeing if there was something I had missed. “We find a way around it?”

He got up and went over to the bar he’d had built in his office. A glass company had installed the shelves this afternoon, and his assistant had fully stocked both levels with glasses and multiple bottles of liquor. He poured what looked to be scotch into a tumbler and returned to his desk. “How?”

I closed my eyes, my brain flipping through the evidence and research that we’d put together for the upcoming trial. “We prove that Kennedy didn’t send those emails.”

“And how do we do that?”

I shrugged. “I … have no idea.”

“Well, you’d better figure it out, and you’re not leaving this building until you do.” He brought the glass up to his mouth. “It’s going to be a long night. Get to work.”

ELEVEN

DECLAN

H

annah had set up shop in the conference room, needing the large space to spread out all the files and evidence, a whiteboard to track her notes, and-unlike my office-an area that wasn’t filled with distractions.

Thank fucking God for that.

The last thing I needed was that perfect ass parading around my desk, bent over and taunting me.

Women thought they were doing themselves a favor by wearing yoga pants for comfort.

Really, they were doing men the favor, allowing us to see every curve and dip of their gorgeous bodies.

My dick had hardened the moment I saw Hannah this evening.

The gap between her thighs.

Her toned legs.

That heart-shaped ass, her sweatshirt not long enough to cover it. She wore the sweatshirt unzipped, and when she had first walked into my office, it had fallen to either side, her tank top underneath showing her small, rock-hard nipples.

I was doing everything in my power not to go into the restroom and jerk off, just so this aching, throbbing intensity would lighten.

I checked the time on my watch. She’d been in the conference room for an hour.

I wanted to go in there and bark every reason why she should have found the loophole already. But dragging her in here tonight was an invaluable lesson. She needed to feel the weight of the pressure; she needed to connect all the evidence as though this were her case.

True, successful litigators shone during times like this.

Some would allow this type of evidence to defeat them, their client never standing a chance in the courtroom.

Some would use it as fuel to create fucking magic before they walked in for the trial.

I knew what I wanted for Hannah.

Now, I wanted to see how badly she wanted this.

As I sat at my desk, draining several glasses of scotch, my stomach wouldn’t stop growling. It had been hours since my last meal, the booze intensifying the hunger. I got up from my desk, and as I was about to head toward the kitchen, I smelled something interesting in the hallway.

Chocolate?

The only place that could be coming from at this hour was the conference room.

Now clutching my drink, I headed in that direction, stopping in the doorway. Hannah stood at the head of the long oval table, the space in front of her littered with books and papers, folders and highlighters.

“What is that smell?” I eventually asked.

She jumped from the sound of my voice, her hand going straight to her chest, and she gasped, “Oh my God, you just scared the life out of me.”

I had known she didn’t notice me.

That was why I’d taken a few extra seconds to admire her before I spoke.

As she turned around, grabbing something off the chair behind her, she gave me a view of that fucking ass again.

Goddamn it.

“When you heat up my homemade brownies, they turn extra gooey. That’s what you smell.” She nodded toward the other side of the room, where there was a kitchenette. “I used the microwave.” She set the container she’d taken from the chair onto the table and pushed it toward me. “Here, have one.” She licked a chunk of something off her thumb that must have accidentally dipped into the dessert. “Before you say it, I wasn’t getting distracted by my stomach or paying more attention to my hunger instead of this case. Chocolate actually helps me focus.”

That fucking mouth.