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"Make yourself at home

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"Make yourself at home." Elijah dropped his keys with a 'clink' into the small ceramic bowl on the table beside his door. I followed his broad shoulders from the entrance into his living area.

It's strange seeing the way Elijah jumped to be my bodyguard. Maybe he thinks it will compromise our deal. A stalker digging dirt on me and possibly our relationship could expose the whole mission.

Or maybe he's just like any other man, jumping at the opportunity to save a damsel in distress. He better not think I'm going to suck his dick 'thank you'.

I've blocked out a long list of men that have betrayed me, but I'm trying not to add Elijah to that labelled box. I'm hoping he's the rare exception.

I'm glad he's here. I called him for a reason. While he will make fun of me for being a fragile little girl in need, he also would drop everything to come and protect me. Like a big overbearing brother. A lifelong best friend.

It's also hard to forget the way he looked at me when he found me in the corner of that shop. The way his hands held my face and pulled me into his chest. It reminds me of the way he was when we were little - him kissing my bruises better, or placing a plaster on my scratched knees.

"I'm just going to grab my stuff, help yourself to anything in the kitchen." His hand brushed my upper arm gently before leaving for his bedroom.

"Thanks."

I nosily strolled around his home. It looks bigger in the day light. His fake plants scattered in front of windows left shadows on the walls. I wandered down halls, peeking in rooms. I quietly turned the handle of a wooden door, sticking my head into what I soon realised was an office.

He has a home office. Yet he spends all his days in FP. I stepped in, looking at the walls and walls of books. Has he read all of these? Are these books he's published? What caught my eye instantly was the window seat between the shelves.

"Oh my god." I smiled, imagining the big stern man curling up with a blanket, hot drink and a book in his little cubbyhole. I sat gently on the cushioned seat, smelling his aftershave all around me.

I've found Elijah's favourite spot.
I gazed out the window, seeing building after building across the street and beyond. I bet it looks beautiful all lit up at night. With the light pollution in this city it's probably enough to still read in the dark.

I glanced down at the round coffee table beside the seat. A small black coaster, a pen and a notebook. How mundane of him. I've been in his home, his office, his bedroom, but this secret spot was the most 'Elijah' thing I have ever seen.

I see the appeal. I'd never leave this seat if I had one. It's a book lover's dream.

I glanced down at the notebook, tempted to take a peak. Is it a diary? Notes on stories? His own story?

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