"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."

Amila's interest was piqued by those words and she asked. "How many ladies does Dominic entertain?"

"I only discuss those matters with one person and that's Mr. James and only Mr. James." He then gestured behind her. "The door is unlocked. Mr. James is waiting for you....by the pool."

Amila's mouth twisted to the side as she tried to think of a way to get him to spill a little bit of information but the six-foot-one man stood before her like a pillar of porcelain displaying no areas for her to get past his armor of reservation. So, she thanked him for the safe ride and headed for the steps leading to the beautiful house. The door was unlocked just like he informed and her mouth fell open at the sight before her. The soles of her dirty hightop Converse seemed unfitting to touch the illustrious herringbone-patterned white oak light tan stained floor. Her bare feet faintly brushed against the surface because even they felt undeserving of the elegance of the house.

The year she spent away from the regal upbringing had really done a number on her. She was the child of the Chief of Surgery who grew up in private schools, had a couple of etiquette classes on the weekends to be able to know which fork was for what during the posh dinner parties her mom hosted any day of the month just because it tickled her fancy and gave her something to do when being a wife, mother, and matron of the estate didn't utilize all ever nook of her analytical mind but after losing both of them and the wealth that came with her parents she felt undeserving of such grandeur.

She quickly made her way through the house and to the backyard before her self-esteem and pride took any more shots and she lost all of her nerves to follow through on her decision to accept Dominic's proposition. Once the evening sun became reacquainted with her skin she let her footfalls pause at the top of the steps.

She held her hand over her eyes and let her gaze drink him in stretched out on the lounge chair by the pool. A faint smile etched up her face removing some of the doubt that was beginning to grow in her.

"Mr. James!" She called out.

His head turned to her and once his eyes fully opened, a smile slowly rose up his lips. He quickly stood up and met her at wide stairs, reaching for her hand as she stepped off the last step.

"Dominic." He said, lifting her hand to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on the back. His eyes locked with her in the warmest, intimate way. "Maybe Dom or Nic but never call me Mr. James. I'm not a mister with you...just Dominic."

Her smile deepened. "Okay."

"Good." He took a step back, letting his eyes slide over her. "You look beautiful."

"Uh...no." She shook her head, looking down at herself then tried to lay down her edges that were frizzy. "Maybe 'girl next door' pretty but far from beautiful."

"To me you're beautiful." He trained his eyes back on her and his features told her he meant every word. "Granted when you're in red and gold, heels and jewels you're a goddess." He dropped his hand to her waist. "Girl next door pretty, everyday beautiful, or goddess level; I want you in every form."

She let out a heady breath, "You really know how to charm a girl."

"I want to do more than charm you." He smirked, his eyes momentarily dropped to her lips and she took in another breath. "But first we need to talk about some things."

"Things like what?" Her eyebrows knitted as she followed him to where he led.

"Logistics." He tossed the word over his shoulder and did nothing to quell the worry that started to form within her.

What did logistics mean? Why were they at this house? And what was she getting herself into?

What do you think Dominic means by 'logistics'?

Why do you think they are at this house in a gated community?

Why do you think Dominic insists that Amila doesn't call him 'Mister'?

How many ladies have Dominic entertained and do you think his driver slipped when he said those words? Should Amila worry about it?

Should Amila feel out of place and unworthy to be in a house of that caliber?