Big Pickle: A Secret Boss Romantic Comedy - JJ Knight Page 0,28

been flipped.

And Nova’s office. Light spills from the cocked door.

Whoever’s here can answer to me. But I would like to know, preferably before they see me.

I think I’m about to catch a thief.

I’m glad for my sneakers as I creep across the floor toward Nova’s office. Now that I’m close, I can hear papers shuffling, and the occasional click of the keyboard.

I can’t see the desk from this angle, so I slowly advance through the kitchen until I’m almost at the door.

Then I hear a long sigh of frustration.

I’d know that sound anywhere.

It’s Nova.

I halt, listening.

“Why would she do that?” Nova’s voice is laced with annoyance. “Who do I call to fix this?”

She’s upset. I can only assume she’s referring to Susan, the former manager. And I do recall Nova saying she had been picking through Susan’s decisions to figure out why deliveries had been changed, and why we were overstocked on some things and short on others.

I don’t step forward enough to see her, because she might turn and spot me, but I do listen a moment more.

Nova thinks out loud. “All right, here’s the dessert order. I can get that stopped. She increased it before she left. But I don’t remember selling that many back then. I need to find the files from the register. Did we use the software then? When did we switch over? God, this is a mess.”

She’s figuring it out.

I lean against the wall. I shouldn’t have doubted her. She wants my deli to do well. She’s not going to do anything to put it in peril. She’s solving the mystery, just like I am.

I need to back away. Get home. Think. Should I tell her who I am so we can work together on this?

Am I sure enough to do that?

I take a slow, easy step toward the swinging door, but my sneaker slips on a well-waxed bit of tile. The squeak breaks the silence like a dog toy in the night.

A rolling sound probably means Nova heard and has pushed away from her desk.

I quickly dash around the corner that frames her office so she can’t spot me easily.

“Is someone out there?” she calls.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I race through scenarios of what I can say. The Pickles gave me a key. I want to practice the bread one more time before Monday.

Maybe I can confess I’m snooping again. Say I’m sorry. That I’ll leave.

But I discard those ideas. If I’m caught again, I have to fess up. Tell her I’m Jace.

She’ll hate me then.

Shit.

Nova calls out again. “Anyone there?”

A sound like springs squeaking comes from her direction, and I’m guessing she’s stood up.

Thank goodness for her heavy boots. I can hear two distinct steps, then silence.

I breathe long and slow, and as silently as possible. If I can get out of here, I can stay Jason. Stay working at Austin Pickle. But if she catches me, we’re through. The way she blew up the last time she caught Jason snooping, and with her newfound power as manager and connection with Max, who she thinks is me, she’ll feel empowered to throw Jason out.

I can almost hear the conversation: “I gave it a shot. He was good at making the bread. I think he’s gotten a decent feel for what it’s like to be among the crew. You guys need to take it from here.”

And Max won’t argue. He’ll tell her to kick me out, and then call and insist I end the ruse.

Damn it.

It’s about to be over. All of it. The ability to work for her. Making bread. Seeing her with flour on her nose.

I realize none of those thoughts involve the accounting problem with my deli.

It’s her.

Damn it.

I want to be with her.

Nova does not appear in the kitchen. I don’t know how long she stays looking out her door, but eventually the footsteps recede inside the office, and the spring in her chair squeaks again.

When the wheels roll and paper rustles, I know I’m safe.

Nothing has to change.

I have to get out of here. At the first tap of her keyboard, I move quickly toward the swinging door. I slide through it silently and make sure it doesn’t move when I’m past. Then I race to the front door, open the lock, push through, turn to lock it again, and sprint away from the glass windows.

Only when I’ve turned the corner and am out of sight of the front door, do I pause to take a breath.

And decide it’s

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