The American Bodyguard ✔️

chapter four

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Zainab's POV.

"There is 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 show him the spacious bathroom, complete with claw-foot tub and walk-in shower. Thankfully, there are two sinks. The decorator intended for a couple to live in this apartment.

"This sink can be yours. Across the hall is my bedroom, then this is the kitchen-diner."

The kitchen is kind of my pride and joy of the apartment. It's the biggest room in the flat, joined with an eight-seater dining table on the right. The countertops are white marble, the fridge is two-door and American. I have a very expensive coffee machine set up on the island in the middle, where there is also a five-ring hob.

"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 in my place. I can't tell what he is thinking, I don't know if I want to know.

Does he like it? Is he judging me? Does he think I'm a spoilt rich bitch?

"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 on the manuscript my editor gives me," I tell him, hoping it explains the multitude of books stuffed on every available surface in the room, including the bookcases that line the walls. "You have a desk in your room, but if you ever need a better workspace, you can use my office if I'm at work."

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?"

He looks irritated that I've asked, his eyes narrow just the slightest bit.

"It's nice."

Ladies and gentleman, we have a wordsmith.

My sarcastic thought is cut off by him talking again.

"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. Goodnight, Miss Qadir."

I open my mouth to correct him and ask him to call me Zainab, but he's already disappearing into his room. Sighing heavily, I go into the bathroom to get ready for bed. I rush through my night-time routine to free up the room quickly for him.

When I'm finally in bed, I stare at the ceiling, wondering how this day became so pear-shaped. This is a giant brute of a man sleeping in my guest room and I have no idea how long he's going to be in there. In one evening, I have gained a roommate.

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True to his word, Huxley is up at eight. Actually, he's up at seven-thirty. I hear the shower turn on and roll over in bed. I pick up my phone and turn off my alarm, knowing I won't go back to sleep now.