Ink & Lust

Chapter 7

"Call me Amila." She instructed the man as she sat in the backseat of the sleek Jaguar XJ.

Being chauffeur to a mysterious destination wasn't quite how she thought she'd be spending her evening off but there she was; back against the buttery smooth leather seat peering out the window and taking in the canvas of trees surrounding the vehicle that stayed at a steady sixty mph moving further away from Houston city limits.

"I rather not." He said. The salt-pepper-haired man who had to be older than forty-something didn't shift his head as he wheeled the sedan down the road.

He was the same man that drove her and Dominic to the burger joint a couple of days ago and the sight of him at her front door over a half-hour ago took her by surprise. But not as surprised when he told her he'd been instructed to take her somewhere. She didn't normally get in the car with a stranger and be taken to foreign places but the text she sent Dominic that early morning didn't pertain to normal circumstances. So, there she was in the backseat of the Jaguar in yoga pants, a neon crop top with her hair in a bun, and no makeup on since Deja was at work.

He eased the car to a stop at the fresh red light and said. "Mr. James desires professionalism. He requires it."

The man's voice called Amila's eyes away from the window and the sign informing all that traveled along the road that there was a new residential development ahead. "But you're driving me and I'm not Ms. Johnson...that's my—"

Before she could finish her statement the man interjected as he applied little pressure to the gas pedal and took a right turn. "I'm not your driver and if you're going to be consuming Mr. James' personal time and partake in the circles in partakes in you should get comfortable with being referred to as Ms. Johnson."

"Yes, sir." She simply said, kind of gracious for the advice.

She had no idea of what she wasn't getting herself into and Dominic didn't give her any morsels of information to shed some light on her confusion. After she sent him the text, his very vague reply lit up her screen half a day later. I'll see you when I'm back in three days. That was it. That was all. She was expecting more words in the text or at least something a little more personal and less clinical but Deja told her not to read too much into it, he was a busy man and probably didn't have the time to type all his emotions and feelings in a couple of sentences. But a smiling emoji would've helped her feel a little less nervous and made their new relationship feel less pragmatic.

As she got lost in her thoughts, the scenery outside the window slowly shifted from the vastness of trees to an assortment of opulent homes and she sat up in the seat. Her hands gripped the seat belt strapped across her torso as crinkles of confusion formed in her eyebrows. The man whose name was also accompanied by a mister wielded the vehicle with the naturalness of something that had been to a place multiple times. He took each turn with familiarity, not needing to linger at the street signs nor was he taken off guard by the stop signs that appeared in the expansive, affluent gated community. He even slid the car into the driveway of a modern Tudor home as if it was his own home and he'd perform the task numerous times.

"I'll get your door." He informed, sliding the gear into the park.

"It's fine. I know how to open my own door." Amila said, pulling back the handle and pushing the door open against the man's pleas that she wait for him to do it. "I'm not Meghan Markle." She insisted once she met the frustrated and annoyed man by the driver's side. "And I don't need you to treat me as such."

He swallowed hard, eyeing her sternly and some of her moxie depleted prompting her shoulders to slightly slump under his fatherly glower.

"Title or not. Mr. James requires me to treat any lady he entertains in high regard."