Page 52 of Bound to Him
“Can I ask you something?” Tucker’s grin widened. “How did you meet the boss? I never knew he was dating someone, but then I find out he’s engaged. It came by surprise.”
I put on my best poker face and practiced the lies Alton and I had talked about last night. Tucker ate it up, and I decided I wasn’t completely horrible at selling a story. Again, Dad was the reason for that.
Tucker was nice, though, and he told me what it was like growing up in New York City to a maid mother and taxi-driver father. “We didn’t have much, lived in a one-bedroom apartment. My sister and I shared the same room as our parents. I decided I needed to get out of there and make something of myself. So, I did cooking classes in school and applied for a culinary program.”
“You did good,” I said awkwardly. I’d grown up with money, so I couldn’t imagine his struggle. I knew how lucky I’d been, even if my parents and I didn’t see eye to eye. “When did you know you liked cooking?”
He laughed. “I always loved watching those shows on TV. Right now my favorite is that YouTube chef, Elijah Cook. You heard of him?”
I shook my head. “Can’t say I have. I don’t watch much YouTube.”
“You should check him out. He’s hot.” Tucker ducked his head and chuckled nervously.
“Do you have a crush?” I teased.
He was busy stretching out the dough, otherwise I imagined he would have slapped his hands over his eyes to hide from me. As it was, he hid his face in his shoulder and chuckled some more. “Anyway, I used to watch cooking shows when I was in my teens. Knew I wanted to do that. Add in my multicultural upbringing and a love for every type of cuisine, and you have me—Tucker Pershing.”
I cocked my head. “I loved your pasta last night. Are you Italian? It tasted likerealItalian food.”
He smirked before he turned his back and dropped one of the stretched pieces of dough into the boiling oil. I couldn’t see what he was doing now, but he kept talking. “You got that right. My great-grandma was Italian, from my mother’s side. My other great-grandma is Columbian. My great-great-grandfather was German, and my great-great-grandma was Spanish. We have an eclectic family recipe collection.”
I whistled. “You’re definitely a bit of everything.”
“I credit my love of all foods to that.” He sent a wink over his shoulder.
We talked some more while he finished making the lángos. He brushed the fried dough with olive oil and added sour cream, garlic, salami, and shredded cheese. The first bite gave me a foodgasm.
“Fuck.” I moaned around the delicious, fatty goodness and took three more bites.
He laughed, watching me with eager eyes. “Good?”
“So good. I’m going to get fat while living here.”
He slapped the counter as his laughter doubled. “You’ve got a private gym, you can work it off.”
I’d only discovered that this morning. Nodding, I finished off the lángos as Tucker got back to work. I continued to draw him until the rough sketch was done. It took a couple of hours, but it went fast, and I enjoyed talking to him. He was knowledgeable and smart and I liked him a lot.
“Done,” I announced, turning the sketchbook for him to see the portrait I’d drawn. He stopped kneading dough and focused on the sketch, eyes widening and mouth dropping open.
“Holy shit. You’re talented.” He leaned in closer, gaze flicking across the page as though assessing every line of the drawing. “Can I have it? My sister wants to get into art, and I can show her.”
I grinned. “You should give her my number, I’d love to talk to her about it.” I dropped the sketchbook back onto the counter. “I usually keep the original, though. I could copy it for you. Do we have a copier in this big ol’ mansion?”
He nodded eagerly, curls flopping. Tucker reminded me of an excited golden retriever, or maybe a basset hound. “In the boss’s office. I had to have Antoine show me once so I could copy a recipe to keep here.”
I chuckled and stood from the barstool, sketchbook in hand. “I’ll be back.”
He waved me off with a wink, and I left the kitchen, heading in the direction of Alton’s office. I passed Alice again and she stopped to pinch my cheeks and tell me how adorable I am, and I let her because she seemed nice. When she was done, I left her in the upstairs hallway near the split staircase and went straight to the office. The room was quiet and being in here alone felt strange, and as soon as I entered I stood still for a moment to stare around the space. Everything in this office looked fit for a king—forAlton—and I’d never really had the opportunity to stop and appreciate it the other times I’d been in here.
The wide mahogany desk was big enough he could fit a computer on it, with enough leftover space to lie down longways, assuming he started napping on the furniture. His office chair was black and masculine, and like the rest of the furniture, exuded power. The room was awash in whites, blacks, and rich, dark cherrywood colors that gave it that regal vibe. The couch he had across from his desk, against the wall, was white, while the two armchairs on either side were black leather. Behind the office chair were built-in bookshelves, but they weren’t filled with much, only a few lonely books scattered here and there.
Frowning, I made my way over, picking up one of the first books I came across, and the title had me chuckling.King, Warrior, Magician, Lover: Rediscovering the Archetypes of the Mature Masculineby Robert Moore and Douglas Gillette. I should have figured this was the type of literature Alton read.
I moved on to the other books, unable to resist looking at each shelf. I traced my fingers over the spines, reading the titles in a quiet voice. The more time I spent in here, the more I began to understand Alton. He’d grown up on a farm in Texas, the small-town boy who went to the big city and made bank. Everyone loved a good story like that. Yet, he still respected his mom. That was admirable.
I turned to his desk and slid my fingers around the smooth edge of the wood. Pristine condition and expensive, nothing less for Alton Bouchard. I stopped when I reached the part of the desk above three drawers, my gaze dropping to stare at them. My interest was piqued. I wanted to know more about the man I’d married, and Dad always said you never got to know a man better than by what was in his desk.
I glanced toward the door, but only silence answered. I knew better than to snoop, but I couldn’t stop myself, either.Fuck, if I got caught....
