Big Pickle: A Secret Boss Romantic Comedy - JJ Knight Page 0,27

didn’t report her?”

“She’s my mother, Jason.” My throat tries to close. “Who’s to say I deserve the money for myself? It made sense to let her use some of it. Most of it.”

“Nova, I’m sorry—”

“No. Do not pity me. I made choices. And now I’m here. So don’t feel sorry for me. I have a decent job, and the pay is finally okay. I can help my family, and I’m doing fine.”

I fill the sifter and shake it fiercely. “If it’s okay with you, I need to focus on making this bread. I’m half an hour behind, and I need fresh loaves ready for the sandwich line by eleven o’clock.”

To his credit, Jason turns to his bowl and resumes his work.

I’m angry with myself. I don’t tell my life story to anyone. They don’t need to know.

I’m tough. And I’ve got this.

The only Nova anybody needs to know is the Strong one.

13

Jace

On Sunday morning, I decide I can’t put it off any longer. I need to head up to my deli and start going through the books to figure out what’s wrong.

As I drive my BMW through the quiet streets of downtown, Nova Strong and her tough situation are heavy on my mind.

It’s a lot. On one hand, I’m extremely sympathetic. She was right to call me out on my privilege. I never even saw a tuition bill when I was in school. I’ve never written a rent check. Audra pays my bills for me, and I’ve never questioned my ability to cover them. Well, other than a few seconds when my life flashed before my eyes as my dad told us about the profit challenge.

I’m not even sure where I am with that right now. It’s all so tangled. Nova. The deli. The crew.

But Nova was very clear in her confession that she mismanages money. She used student loans on things other than school. There’s no telling what justification she might have created in her mind for taking money from the deli. She was grossly underpaid, that’s for sure. She’s susceptible to sob stories, like her mother. And Lamonte’s gas money.

I need to assess the damage that’s been done.

And make sure it’s not still happening.

I find street parking around the corner from the front door. The late morning is chilly, and I have to peer through the low-hanging fog. I stand in front of the plate glass windows for a moment, looking up at the green-and-white-striped awning, the bold black letters that read Austin Pickle.

This is my store. My legacy. I never thought much about it in all the years since it opened, but now I do.

It doesn’t just feed people, it employs people. It keeps Lamonte in Converse and Netflix. Kate hopes to save enough to travel around Europe this summer. Arush is building a savings account to start his own little hole-in-the-wall restaurant. He spins his dreams about it while mixing my grandmother’s chicken salad.

I hope I can clear Nova of wrongdoing. I want to find big chunks of stolen money hidden in the delivery and orders that I can trace back to the old manager.

I really, really do.

I unlock the front door to breathe in the crisp, pine-scented clean of the restaurant. I turn to make sure it’s locked tight before wandering through the empty tables, chairs stacked on top. The brushed metal counter of the sandwich line shines from the muted light coming through the window.

I pause by the swinging door and look back at the expansive room. It’s in good shape, everything kept up, clean, and bright. It’s a place to be proud of.

I turn to push through the door, when I realize a light is on in the kitchen.

My muscles tense as I realize somebody’s here.

I peer through the window. The kitchen itself is empty, the cabinets clear, all the dishes put away.

But Nova’s office door is open.

Did she close and lock it before we left? I search for the memory, but I’m not sure.

Could she be here?

Foreboding washes over me. Who else would be here? And what would they be doing? Covering tracks? Stealing more?

I push on the door, wincing at the squeak. It seems to shriek in the quiet.

I peer through the window. Still no sign of anyone.

I push a little more and squeeze through.

I’m out in the open now. Not all the kitchen lights are on. The washing station is dim, and so is the cutting table. The pantry is closed up. It’s the switch by the back door that’s