The Intern: Enemies To Lovers

DECLAN

O

ut of the thirty students in this classroom, there was one I couldn’t take my goddamn eyes off of.

In fact, the moment I had stepped through the door of the Trial Advocacy class, I had caught eyes with her.

She was twenty-three. Twenty-four tops.

With long, wavy, dark hair and bright blue eyes. Lips that were full, plump, and covered in a shiny pink gloss. She wore a black skirted suit with the highest heels.

Heels I wanted stabbing into my back as I wrapped her legs around me.

Heels that were a solid four inches, still only bringing her up to the top of my chest.

She was small, petite.

But this girl had a fire.

A mighty personality, wrapped in a fucking delicious body.

And, fuck me, didn’t I take in that body while she stood in the center of the classroom, facing the stand, cross-examining her witness.

I’d come in to mentor this mock trial, and several students had gone before her, cross-examining the witness. The difference was, their voices lacked confidence. They hadn’t grown into their personalities, their fight didn’t demand attention, their passion didn’t match their lyrical drive.

When they’d stepped into the courtroom today-even if it was simulated-they didn’t have what it took to gain them a win.

They weren’t her.

With a posture full of assurance, she smiled at the witness before she verbally tore him apart.

It wasn’t just impressive; it was sexy as hell.

Never in the last eight years since I’d passed the bar had I ever looked at a law student the way I was staring at her.

Aside from a few football games, this was the first time I’d returned to University of Southern California, the first time I’d ever agreed to sit in on a mock trial. But when Professor Ward, who had been my favorite law professor, had said she had a classroom full of students who emulated me, it was hard to say no.

Even if I was a ruthless bastard inside and outside the courtroom, I couldn’t deny them this opportunity to learn from the best.

Ward’s group certainly needed the training and practice and feedback.

Not this one though.

This gorgeous girl had something the rest couldn’t compete with.

Of course, I wouldn’t tell her that.

I wasn’t here to stroke anyone’s ego.

I was here to do the opposite.

“Stop,” I said, cutting off her questions. I moved closer, the short distance allowing me to get a whiff of her perfume. A scent that was sweet, like vanilla and brown sugar. “Tell me your name.”

Her stare glided from the witness to the professor and finally to me, an expression on her face that told me I’d caught her off guard.

No litigator wanted that, whether it came from the opposition or the judge; it interrupted the flow, the concentration.

It allowed for a moment of weakness.

Will she weaken?

I needed to see for myself.

“Hannah,” she replied.

“Well then, Hannah, I want you to remember that in the jury’s eyes, this particular witness is going to make or break your case. You don’t want to come on too strong-you’d overwhelm the jury. You want to ease in. Gradually build up speed. Think of it like …” I knew exactly what she was thinking of. I could tell by the way she was breathing, how her lips were parted. Her eyes narrowed as she gawked at me. “Writing the next best thriller,” I continued. “Weaving tension and excitement into the chapters of the most suspenseful, harrowing tale, getting closer to the end that will tie everything together. As the author, what can you do to make the reader continue to the last chapter, to ensure they won’t set down the book before then and never return to it?”

I didn’t know if she was a reader, like myself. I knew nothing about this woman. But part of being a litigator was being intuitive, and I could see right through her.

The way she was dissecting me.

The way she was turned on by my charm.

My appeal.

If she were as experienced as me, she would know I felt the same way about her.

That, in my mind, I was already making her wet.

With my fucking tongue.

“You should end each chapter on a cliff-hanger,” she replied. “Making them desperate to continue flipping the pages.”

“Yes.” I nodded toward the witness, but not before I glanced down her chest. The way it lifted as she breathed. I wondered how it would look if it was covered in sweat. How it would taste. What she would sound like if she was panting my name. “Now, build up that jury. Feed them crumb after crumb after crumb. And when you walk back to your seat, leave them clinging to your final word.”

“I can do that.”

“Show me.”

I didn’t return to the side of the classroom where I’d previously stood.

I wanted her to feel the intimidation of my presence like she was in a real courtroom and I was on the opposite counsel.

I wanted the pressure to pulse through her.

She set the folder she’d been holding onto the desk behind her, her arms falling to her sides, her posture now having a visual edge. “Is it true that on-”

“Hannah …” I crossed my arms over my chest, the back of my suit jacket pulling as my shoulders flexed. I waited until her eyes met mine. “The witness is important, but the jury is who matters. They’re the ones you need on your side. Don’t forget to look at them. Engage them. Direct each point at them.”

“The jury. Right.”

“Start again.”

She walked over to where the stand-in jury was sitting, her body pressed against the wooden half-wall of the jury box, and that was where she began to question her witness.

And in that moment was when Hannah really started to shine. Where she courted the jury, dangling each carrot so methodically that they were fucking chomping for more.

Who is this girl?

And how the hell is she this good?Copyright by Nôv/elDrama.Org.

Already?

The moment she finished with her witness, she locked eyes with me the entire way back to her seat.

She didn’t smile.

She didn’t need to.

I saw it in her gaze, the satisfaction in each of her steps.

I couldn’t look away.