Chapter 4

ZAINAB

~That man!~

Reagan was always so chill. Huxley is like this towering force who can silence me with a look. I’m usually not so easily put in her place.

I give myself a few minutes to calm down and let Huxley take his things to his new room. Once I’ve composed myself, I step back into the foyer and show him the place.

“There’s only one bathroom, I’m afraid. But I don’t like baths, and my showers are quite quick, so it shouldn’t be much of a problem.”

I hesitate before leading him through to the kitchen diner. This place was bought and paid for by my father, who insisted I have only the best quality. Once again, I find myself feeling embarrassed by the flashiness of it all.

~What must Huxley think of me?~

“And through here is the living room. I rarely watch TV. Reagan used this space more than I do, so if I haven’t got anyone over, feel free to see this room as your own.”

He nods, not saying anything as he quietly takes it in.

~Does he like it? Is he judging me? Does he think I’m spoiled?~

“Lastly, this is my office. I’m an assistant book editor, so I spend a lot of time in this office reading and making notes,” I tell him, hoping it explains the multitude of books stuffed on every available surface, including the shelves that line the walls.

“You have a desk in your room, but if you ever need a better workspace and I’m at work, you can use my office.”

He presses his lips together and nods again.

I throw my hands up in a half shrug.

“So, that concludes the tour.”

Silence.

I can’t help it; I press him. “What do you think?”

His eyes narrow just the slightest bit.

“It’s nice.”

~Ladies and gentlemen, we have a wordsmith.~

“Tomorrow, we should discuss your timetable and any boundaries you want to set.”

“Boundaries,” I repeat, nodding. “That sounds good. I’ll be up about…” I look at the time on the clock in my office. It’s midnight. “Eight?”

“So will I.”

“Great. Should we have coffee together at eight? We can go through everything.”

He nods. “Okay. Good night, Miss Qadir.”

***

True to his word, Huxley is up at eight.

Actually, he’s up at seven-thirty a.m. I hear the shower turn on, and I roll over in bed. I pick up my phone and turn off my alarm, knowing I won’t go back to sleep now.

When I hear him leave the bathroom, I get up and sneak across the corridor in my vest-and-shorts pajamas.

Huxley has unpacked his things near the sink on the right, the one I never use.

There is a selection of products on the countertop, and I feel a little cheeky as I look over them.

A bottle of cologne grabs my attention. I pick it up and sniff the top. It smells incredible, like him.

Too curious to resist, I turn the bottle around and read the description.

I was right about violets; the cologne contains African violets, birch leaves, and lemongrass.

That’s why I was getting a hint of citrus.

Two minutes before the hour, I leave my bedroom and walk into the kitchen wearing a hoodie, workout leggings, and ankle socks that have tiny koalas lifting weights on them.

Huxley is standing at one of the full-length windows, his enormous, broad back to me as he stares out at the city.

We’re on the fifteenth floor, which gives a good view of the surrounding buildings and the park.

He turns around and surveys me from head to toe, his eyes lingering in confusion on my socks.

I point my toes.

“Morning! Cute, aren’t they? I love koalas.”

He looks at me like I’m an alien before replacing his stoic expression and nodding.

“Good morning.”

“Would you like a coffee? It’s the good stuff. I know Americans tend to like their coffee strong.”

“Coffee would be good, thanks. I’ll have anything.”

I place two mugs under the machine and press a couple of buttons. I fetch a pint of milk from my fridge and hold it up, remembering that Americans call it something different.

“Creamer?”

For the first time, I see a real reaction. His mouth quirks up at one end in a half smile. It only lasts for a second, but I catch it.

“I’d like some milk in mine, yeah. Thanks.”

I pour milk in our coffees and stir them.

He thanks me again as I hand him the mug. Our fingertips brush, and I pretend that it doesn’t send my heart into overdrive.

Walking over to the dining table, I take a seat and gesture for him to join me. He sits down on the opposite side of the table.

It feels like we’re in a board meeting; it’s very formal.

I pull out my phone and open my calendar app.

“I think it would be easiest for me to share my calendar,” I tell him. “Can you put your email in? Then I’ll get you to share your contact information.”

I slide my phone across the table. He types in his email and then sends me his contact details.

I save him as “Huxley Bodyguard.”

“Do you know what your work schedule is? Are you a week on, a week off?”

He frowns and shakes his head.

“I work daily. I only need one day’s notice before taking time off.”

My mouth drops open before I can check myself.

“You’re not alternating with another guard?”

He shakes his head.

“No. I don’t have any family or friends here. Your brother told me that you go to the gym most days, and I can work out at the same time. I figured I’d work every day here until I decided I needed time off.”

“But…” I flounder for words, thrown off completely by his answer. “Don’t you want any downtime? To do hobbies or something?”

“My hobbies are the gym and reading. Both of which I can fit into your timetable.”

“But what about London? Don’t you want to see it? Be a tourist?”

His eyes harden, and I feel like I’ve said something stupid.

“I came to London when I was twenty-five. I’ve done the sights.”

I hold my tongue, deciding not to push.

If the man wants to work every day, I’ll let him. He’ll burn out eventually; perhaps after only a week he will realize that it’s not a good idea.

“Okay…so if you take a look at my calendar, there’s nothing that jumps out to you as being a problem?”

He looks down at his phone and frowns. I try not to think about how sexy he looks when he’s focused like this.

~Not appropriate to be crushing on your bodyguard, Zai.~

“It says you’re at work Monday and Wednesday. Can you send me the address of your office?”

“Of course. I’ll do that now.”

“And what would you like me to do during your work hours? Do you prefer I remain on hand in the building? Should I wait in the car?”

“Reagan was free to do anything he liked from nine to five. Just make sure that wherever you go, you can come back within fifteen minutes. It’s okay if you can’t. One time he booked a dentist appointment so he was gone for two hours and couldn’t get back quickly. Stuff like that isn’t a problem; just let me know in advance.”

I can sense I’m rambling, so I wrap it up.

“Most of the time, nothing happens at work, so I don’t leave the building all day. Just make sure you’re back by five to take me home, please.”

“Not a problem.”

Silence falls between us. I try again with the London thing.

“You could look around London while I’m working? You have over seven hours at your disposal, and it’s only a ten-minute tube ride to Bank.”

He nods stiffly, his face impassive.

~Come on, give me something. A smile. A smirk. Anything.~

“Is there anything else you want to cover?” I ask him.

“Boundaries,” he says.

“Oh, yeah! In what sense? You can put anything you like in the cupboards or the fridge. I can make sure there’s shelves cleared for you. I don’t mind you putting things around the flat either. I haven’t really decorated since I moved in three years ago.”

“Thank you,” he replies and then looks slightly uncomfortable. “What about dating?”

I blink at him in surprise.

“Dating?” I repeat slowly.

“Yes. If you want to bring a date back, what should I do?”

My cheeks heat up. As embarrassing as it sounds, I’ve never had a guy back to my flat. It’s my sacred space, my haven, and I don’t want to tarnish it with a one-night stand.

I also haven’t dated anyone who has made a big enough impression for me to want to bring them home. In the last three years, all ~entanglements~, rare as they are, have taken place at the guy’s place.

“That won’t be a problem.”

Huxley raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“I, uh, don’t date a lot,” I admit bashfully. “If the situation arises, I’ll talk to you about it beforehand, but I don’t see that being a problem.”

He looks intrigued for the first time. I think he’s satisfied with my answer.

“What about you?” I blurt.

“Me?” he asks.

“If you want to bring a date back here…”

He shifts in the chair, making it creak with his weight.

“I won’t be dating, Miss Qadir.”

“How long do you intend on keeping this job?” I ask and then wince. “Sorry, that’s a bit personal.”

“It’s all right. Your father requires Reagan for three months. I imagine when he returns we will move to the alternate week schedule that you are used to.”

“So, you intend to give up your life to three months of continuous work?” I ask gently, recognizing that I’m being nosy and a little rude in my wording.

He shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

“I guess the pay helps.”

His face darkens, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing.

I give him an apologetic smile and trace the rim of my mug awkwardly with my finger.

“Sorry, I have a habit of being blunt sometimes,” I confess.

He surprises me by giving me a small smile.

“Don’t apologize. I respect it. Makes my life easier. I would rather have you be upfront with me, Miss Qadir.”

“Ah, that’s another thing. Please call me Zainab. I hate being called Miss Qadir.”

I see him hesitate, so I continue, “The other guards call me Zainab. Reagan did too.”

He doesn’t look one hundred percent happy about it, but he relents and nods. “Very well.”

I get to my feet and down the last of my coffee.

“I’ll be ready to leave for the gym in ten minutes.”

I go to my bedroom and spread out on my soft rug. I like to stretch before the gym, and I don’t like doing it in public because there are a lot of pervy guys who just lap up the sight of a woman in Lycra.

I’m bent over, my hands flat against the floor as I stretch out my calves, when Huxley knocks on my door.

“Come in,” I mumble without thinking.

I hear the door open, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s being greeted with my back and my ass. I straighten up and spin around to find him looking at me with wide eyes. He swallows thickly, his throat moving.

My eyes land on a pair of silver stilettos hanging from his finger.

“You left these in my room.”

His voice is huskier than usual, and it makes me flush. I open my mouth to thank him, but he is already shutting the door.