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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Tyson stretched as he stood from his desk the next day. He split his time between his home office and his space downtown.

He preferred to work at home, however.

Since doing his morning workout, he’d been on the phone trying to work out a marketing issue with his fitness equipment company.

His stomach grumbled, reminding him it was time for lunch.

Walking from his office, he passed the living room and spotted Olivia. He glanced at her, curious as to what she was up to.

Yesterday had shaken her up. He still wanted to know what was on that flyer.

But she hadn’t wanted to talk about it, and he hadn’t wanted to push. If she wanted to tell him, she would.

Instead, he nodded at the legal pad full of notes in Olivia’s lap. “Writing a book?”

She sat cross-legged on the couch, hair pulled back in a ponytail and glasses on. It was a studious side of Olivia that Tyson hadn’t seen before.

“Actually, I am. It’s called Death by Potatoes . It’s all my favorite recipes with potatoes—potato salad, fries, baked potatoes, mashed potatoes. Your diet plan has driven me to this point.”

Tyson chuckled as he leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. Her response was typical Olivia. “Sounds like quite the concept.”

She grinned. “Not only that, but I’m also developing a diet plan of my own.”

Tyson raised his eyebrows. “And does that plan include potatoes?”

“Oh, does it . . . it’s called the Junk Food Diet.”

“And?”

“And . . . you can eat any junk food you want—in limited quantities, of course—and eat nothing healthy and still lose weight. I can’t believe no one has thought of it yet.” She tilted her head his way. “I’m going to give you a run for your money.”

Tyson couldn’t stop the grin from stretching across his lips. She was clever. He’d give her credit for that.

He chuckled. “You’re something else, Olivia. You know that? No wonder so many people watching you on TV adore you.”

She shrugged. “They adore a version of me, I suppose.”

Tyson noticed her gaze stop on him, and her eyes turned serious.

“What?” He tilted his head. “Is my hair sticking up or something?”

“I was just thinking . . .” Her expression remained solemn a moment before a soft smile tugged at her lips. “I was thinking about how you’re a deserving role model for people, Tyson. I don’t say that to just anyone. I really mean it.”

Surprise washed through him. Olivia could be so teasing one moment and so sincere the next. It made it hard to know what to expect from her . . . and he liked that quality about her.

“That’s kind of you. I appreciate it, Olivia.” Tyson’s voice lowered to an almost intimate tone.

Olivia blushed and looked away, clearing her throat. “Isn’t it time to eat?”

“That’s why I came to get you.”

“Let’s go then.”

* * *

“So, what’s on the menu for today?” Olivia asked as she and Tyson walked toward the kitchen.

Tyson shrugged. “I’m actually not sure yet.”

“You’re not?” Her voice lilted in exaggerated surprise. “That’s a first.”

“Sometimes I like to wing it. What are you in the mood for?”

“Let me make something for us.” Her eyes danced. As if she could read his next thought she added, “It will fit the diet plan. I promise.”

“My diet plan . . . or yours?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” She flashed a grin.

“All right. I’m game. Go for it.”

She looked pleased with herself. Maybe even surprised.

After he showed her where he kept everything, she moved with ease around the kitchen.

Tyson settled at the breakfast bar to watch, wondering what kind of adventure she would turn this into.

She chopped up red onions and tomatoes, all with flair and confidence. Her eyes caught his as she worked, and she must have seen he was impressed.

“In full disclosure, my dad is a professional chef.” She continued dicing the tomatoes.

“Is he really?”

Olivia nodded, transferring the vegetables into a pot of chicken broth. “You may have heard of him. Drake Culpepper.”

“ Drake Culpepper is your father?” Tyson couldn’t hide the surprise from his voice. “He’s the highest rated chef on television. I watch his weekly show and even have a few of his cooking products.”

Tyson never would have suspected they were related. Their relationship seemed like something that would have been mentioned at some point while they talked.

“Don’t get too excited. He really wasn’t much of a father. He and my mother divorced when I was five. A string of girlfriends followed. As he rose to fame, he didn’t have time for me. Instead, he sent me gifts and money.”

Tyson heard the hurt in her voice. “How did that make you feel?”

“Sadly enough, it actually felt pretty normal. I didn’t know any different. When you grow up surrounded by something, even if it’s twisted, it can become a standard.”

“That’s absolutely true. But I can say your mom did a great job with you. You turned out well.”

Her gaze fluttered to his. “Thank you.”

She turned away to stir the soup she was making, adding a dash of salt and some herbs. “You mind setting the table? I guess it will be just the two of us.”

Tyson wasn’t sure why, but he liked the idea of it just being the two of them. He tried not to think about why that was as he pulled out some bowls, spoons, and napkins. He set them on the table, along with two glasses of water.

“What are Chandler and Wes up to?” Tyson asked.

“They’re interviewing Lake Blair, the singer. She’s in town for a concert tonight.” Olivia set the pot back on the stove, covered it, and turned the burner to simmer. Then she sat across from Tyson.

“How are you feeling today?” Tyson’s eyes focused on hers.

He didn’t miss how her gaze fluttered to the tabletop before she answered. “Great.”

“You just seemed a little shaken up yesterday after?—”

“It was no big deal.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Just a bad driver and a practical jokester. That’s no reason to freak out.”

Tyson suspected Olivia didn’t believe her own words. He didn’t know her well yet, but he did know the face of someone who was scared. Reading people was a skill he’d learned to utilize.

“This soup is smelling good.” Olivia returned to the stove and gave the dish a good stir.

Tyson didn’t miss the subject change. Olivia didn’t want to talk about this anymore, and he had to respect her wishes. His curiosity was piqued, however.

“So, tell me about Hobbes,” Olivia said. “I’ve never met anyone who has a butler.”

“He’s officially my assistant.”

“Okay, an assistant who seems like a butler.”

Tyson chuckled. “He’s one of a kind. Archibald ‘Hobbes’ Evans. He actually trained as a chef at Le Cordon Bleu in London before being recruited by British Airways to develop their first-class dining service.”

“Really?” She raised her eyebrows. “Tell me more.”

“From what he tells me, for more than a decade, he’d traveled the world, refining menus and training staff in more than thirty countries. His perfectionism and attention to detail became legendary among the airline’s elite clientele. When the airline downsized in 2008, Hobbes pivoted and began to do catering.”

“Interesting . . .”

“I met him when I hosted a charity dinner at my house. I was impressed by his efficiency. When I mentioned I was looking for someone to manage my newly acquired estate, Hobbes asked if I would consider him. With the recommendation of a friend, I offered him the job. A year ago, he accepted the position.”

“I love it. Where was he living before he came here?”

“He was in your neck of the woods. New York.”

Something flashed in Olivia’s gaze before quickly disappearing.

The next moment, she plastered on a smile and returned to the table with two bowls of soup. “I present to you the best vegetable soup you’ve ever eaten.”

“I hope it lives up to the hype.”

“Oh, it will.”

They said grace together, and then Tyson looked at the soup before him. It looked tasty with its vegetables and broth.

“It smells delicious.” Dipping the spoon into the liquid, he brought it to his lips. The dish, with its tangy and savory flavor, exceeded his expectations. “And it tastes delicious.”

“Thanks. I added a secret ingredient.”

“Can you share?”

She grinned. “Coffee.”

“Coffee? I wasn’t expecting that.”

“My dad says it adds a deeper, more complex flavor.”

“I’d have to agree.”

“Whatever you do, don’t tell anyone I can cook.” She winked. “They might start asking me to prep meals, and that’s the last thing I want.”

Tyson laughed and ate another spoonful.

The front door opened.

A moment later, Chandler yelled across the house, “Olivia, you’ve got a package.”

He and Wes must have just returned.

She squinted at his words, however. “What do you mean a package?”

“I mean a package. As in, a box. Has your Amazon habit started up here also? I know you’re on a first name basis with all those drivers at home.”

Olivia raised her eyebrows. “Ha ha. Very funny. But no, I haven’t ordered anything, and no one should know I’m staying here.”

“Anyone who follows social media might know,” Tyson reminded her quietly. “Remember, we’re dating?”

“Right.” She bit her lower lip and shoved her bowl away, suddenly looking uneasy.

She twisted around in her seat as Chandler entered the room carrying a standard brown box. He set it on the table in front of Olivia.

Tyson watched, expecting her unease to transform into a look of pleasure.

But instead of looking pleased Olivia’s face turned ghostly white.