Big Pickle: A Secret Boss Romantic Comedy - JJ Knight Page 0,23

rebelling at thirty.

I realize I’ve automatically added another spoonful of flour and the dough has stopped sticking.

Nova wanders back into the kitchen. “Hey, that dough looks good!”

“Yeah, I think it’s ready.” I try not to let my voice reveal how chuffed I feel.

“Looks like it’s time to knead in the final ingredient.”

“Sure. What’s that?’

“Pickles.”

Wait, what?

“Why would you add pickles to perfectly good bread?”

“It’s a specialty bread.”

Damn. I’ve owned this deli for eight years and grew up sitting on the stool at my father’s store. But I’ve never eaten any bread with pickles in it.

“Is it new?”

“All the branches are doing it.”

This is probably my brother Anthony’s doing. He’s always the innovator.

Nova lifts the bag of flour, which holds down a printout of a recipe. “You’ll need to chop two kosher dills.”

“Dill pickles in bread?”

“That’s what it says.”

“And people eat it?”

“I think it’s going to be hugely popular. But it might be the name.”

“It has a name?”

Nova spins around to stare at me. “You never eat at any of the Pickles? Specialty breads are part of the chain’s appeal.”

I shrug. It’s true I avoid our own delis. I got sick of it growing up. “There’s lots of restaurants around town.”

She shakes her head. “I think people are going to order this one just to say the name out loud.”

Now she has me curious. “So, what’s it called?”

“It’s dill pickles and bread.” She laughs. “What do you think?”

“I think I have no idea.”

She leans in. “It’s called the Dill Dough.”

She’s so close I can smell all the unique scents of her. Fresh bread. Dijon. A hint of dill. And underneath, something gently floral, her shampoo, maybe, or a body lotion.

I force my throat to swallow.

She taps the printout with her finger. “Funny, huh? The other Pickle brother is hilarious.”

“Anthony? Definitely.”

She stops at that. “How well do you know the Pickles?”

I have to take care with this answer, but her closeness has got me off balance. “I’ve been around the family all my life.”

“Huh. Jace seemed all right when I finally talked to him.”

She means Max. This is a tangled mess. I don’t want to make her too curious about us. All she has to do is Google her boss and she’ll clearly see it’s me. I never expected to be here more than a day or two, much less a week and a half.

But I’m no closer to figuring out what’s wrong with my deli.

“The brothers are cool,” I say carefully. “I’ll go get the dills from Mr. Chill.”

When I return from the fridge, Nova has moved on.

I chop up the pickles to add to the bread, feeling uncertain about why I’m here.

I can come in and review the books any time I want. But I haven’t.

And since Nova’s been manager, there hasn’t been anything weird about the register, as far as I can tell.

Is it because she thinks I’m a spy?

Or because there was never anything wrong?

With the other manager out of the picture, we should be pulling a good profit, even with her raise.

As I chop the pickle for the Dill Dough, I realize I need to ask myself the question: Why am I still here?

But the answer comes easily.

I’m not ready to leave Nova Strong.

12

Nova

I just did something really stupid.

I guess it’s not the stupidest thing. I didn’t throw myself at a married man, for example. Or wash my whites with reds and turn everything pink.

But I did tell Jason Packwood to come early so we could do the next test run on the pickle bread before the rest of the crew arrived.

And here’s the real problem.

I didn’t even need to.

The third batch he did came out great. We sliced it up and passed it around. Everyone thought it was a great bread, something that could permanently go on the menu.

Jason did it well.

When I walk up to the back entrance of the deli at seven in the morning, Jason is already there. A fine spring mist is falling, typical for Austin in mid-March.

He’s ditched the high-end jeans. And his stiff new T-shirts have gone soft from repeated washings.

He’s starting to look more Austin. More regular guy, and not fancy pants.

Not that it matters. I’m still not interested. I can’t be. I’m his boss.

Not that I have any delusions about the importance of a deli manager. And technically, he’s an unpaid intern of sorts and can leave whenever he wants.

But I do tell him what to do, and if he’s trying to impress the Pickle family, for whatever reason,