The Intern (The Dalton Family #4)(66)

Ford



Jenner’s right. Walter’s not the kind of guy to give a single word of praise. That means you killed it. Proud of you.





Do I dare ask how things are going with Declan?





Me



Ugh. One minute I think he loves-ish me, and the next, I think he wants to murder me. Like tonight, when I was talking to a cowboy at the bar.





Ford



Trying to make him jealous?





Me



LOL.





Maaaybe.





Ford



The love-hate thing is called a relationship, by the way.





Me



If he heard you say that, he’d probably die.





Ford



Then, change his opinion … if you want to, that is.





Me



I do. I just don’t know how.





Ford



By being you—the girl Declan is wild about.





Me



You don’t know that. Besides, the more time I spend with him, the more lost I become. I don’t speak man language—you guys are beyond confusing—and he’s giving me whiplash.





Ford



Hannah, you speak Declan.





Me



Ugh, I’m going to bed. Maybe some of this will make sense in the morning.





I set the phone on the nightstand and climbed into bed, trying to find the energy to text Oaklyn, knowing we’d have the same conversation I’d just had with Ford, except it would be far more detailed. But with each second that passed, I sank farther into the bed, my head buried in the fluffy pillows, losing my motivation.

Today had been a long day, starting with the early morning flight that caused nothing but tension between Declan and me, followed by meetings and food and lots of drinks.

I just wanted sleep.

I wanted to be able to shut off my brain and not see him every time I closed my eyes. Not hear his voice. Not question his uncertainty.

But I had a continuous loop in my mind, thinking about what had gone wrong, replaying so many conversations, contemplating our future, analyzing his reactions. It was exhausting.

I needed a Declan manual.

I needed him to help me make sense of this.

Of … us.

But he wasn’t here.

He wanted time.

He wanted to figure out if I was worth the risk.

That thought made me feel sick.

I pulled the blanket up to my neck, and as I reached for my phone, there was a knock at the door. I had no idea who it could be. I hadn’t called housekeeping or ordered room service. I didn’t think Walter or Jenner would stop by, unannounced.

Unless the knocker had mistakenly gone to the wrong room, that left only one other person.

Oh God.

I climbed out of bed and stopped by the closet, putting on a bathrobe to hide the tank top and panties I had on, and when I got to the door, I looked through the peephole.

Declan was on the other side.

He was still in his suit, hands flat against the door. With his arms extended, his head fell between them, facing the ground, like he was having a hard time holding himself up.

Was he … drunk?

Was he fighting with himself over being here?

The same way I had fought with myself to open the door?

Whenever we spoke, nothing got resolved.

My emotions would just explode, and I’d get angrier, more confused.

And then I’d find myself falling deeper.

“Declan … go to bed.” I rested my forehead on the door, my hand clutching the thick gold chain that kept the room locked, my other palm pressed against the wood in the same place as his but on the opposite side.

“I need to talk to you.”

My eyes squinted together, a knot as big as a boulder moving into my throat. “You can wait until the morning.”

“I can’t. Hannah … let me in. Please.”

There was something about the tone of his voice, the rawness of each word, the way his plea wrapped around my chest that caused me to unlock the chain, lift my face off the door, and open it.

His hands didn’t drop; they just moved to the frame, his body now leaning through the doorway. “You told me there’s something more important than learning from the best. You said that’s protecting your heart.”

It took a second for his words to register. “Yes, I did.”

“Because you think I’m going to break it.”

I couldn’t tell where he was going with this. If I needed to put up a shield or unzip my skin, allowing him to see right inside.

But I squeezed both sides of the robe together and replied, “I have to protect myself, Declan.”

“What if I want to be the one who protects you?”

I stared into his eyes, my hands shaking, the mountain in my throat now pressing against the back of my tongue. “What are you saying?”

His hand dropped from the frame, and he reached forward. I was about to move away, but his fingers caught me. At first, they grazed my cheek so softly, his touch like a whisper, and then he cupped the same spot, ensuring I didn’t move.