Big Pickle: A Secret Boss Romantic Comedy - JJ Knight Page 0,37

them. The type’s not too bad.”

I can’t handle it. I have to set aside all pride, all manliness, all pretenses. “I would like to see them on you.”

She laughs with a shrug of her shoulders that draws my attention to the red straps again.

I’m so fucked.

“Jason, you’re strange. Do you have a librarian fantasy or something?”

Mostly a Nova fantasy, but I can’t say that. “Maybe.”

She picks them up and takes her time unfolding each arm on the frame.

Yeah, she’s on to me.

When she slides them on her face, there is no hiding my reaction. I’m full mast. All the way.

I snatch up a file folder and I drop it in my lap. My voice barely works, but I manage to squeak out, “Let’s look at numbers.”

18

Nova

Okay, I’ll confess.

I wore this outfit on purpose.

It’s not something I wear often. But back when I was in college and went on dates, I would sometimes pull this one out to have a bit of fun. Especially if the guy wasn’t Texas born and raised. Those boys harbor all these ridiculous stereotypical fantasies about Texas girls in short shorts and cowboy boots. Daisy Duke made the look famous in the 80s, and celebrities like Jessica Simpson have perpetuated it.

I did skip the stalk of hay between my teeth.

It’s not a look I’m entirely comfortable with. It’s a lot of leg. And sitting on this office chair makes me self-conscious about my thighs.

But watching Jason Packwood squirm is worth it. Every bit.

I hope he doesn’t think he’s hiding what’s going on in his pants. That file folder is not resting comfortably on his lap.

Packwood.

I have to suppress my crazy urge to giggle.

I shift the glasses on my nose. I do need them at times. I made the mistake, when I picked them out, of taking my little sister with me. Since I rarely use them, I saw no harm in indulging her in the laugh of choosing the heart-shaped ones.

They’re not real glasses, of course. Just magnifiers. You can get all sorts of crazy shapes in those.

Regardless, now that I know Jason is a normal human and not wielding the supercharged willpower of a rich boy who never thinks about slumming it, I’m ready to get to business.

My ego is assuaged.

Mission accomplished.

When I’m sure he remembers my eyes are up here, I say, “Okay, I found some stuff. It seems right before Susan left, she changed several procedures involving billing, delivery confirmations, and deposits.”

Jason visibly shakes himself, like he’s coming out of a stupor, and leans forward to look at the notes. “These are emails,” he says.

“Right. These are her requesting a change to electronic billing and paperless delivery confirmation. Not every vendor has that sort of system in place, but she changed what she could.”

Jason looks back up in my face, and his jaw tightens. I pull off the glasses. I have a feeling we’ll get more accomplished without the distraction.

“But doesn’t it make sense for her to do that if she’s going on medical leave?” Jason asks.

“Yes, except her alleged medical problem came on, and I quote, ‘suddenly and unexpectedly, requiring immediate lifestyle changes.’ But the changes were done weeks ahead of her saying that.” I push another email toward him. This one is between Susan and the owner, Jace Pickle.

Jason snatches it up to look closer. “This went directly to—” he hesitates. “To the owner. Did he ever receive it?”

I shrug. “I don’t see why he wouldn’t. But Jace has not been very involved in his business. Maybe it got buried in a deluge of unread messages.”

Jason shifts in his chair, moving the file folder from his lap to the desk. “What all did she change before she left? And which parts didn’t make sense?”

“We get a ton of desserts from the New York branch. Someone up there directly supervises the making of the cheesecakes and tortes and ships them down.”

“Grammy Alma,” Jason says.

Wait. “Your Grammy?” I ask. I distinctly remember Jason calling his bread and cheesecake making grandmother Grammy.

He shakes his head. “Sorry. Alma…” He stops again. “Alma Pickle. She’s like the grandmother of the chain.”

I’m not going to let him get away with the slip-up. “But you also call her Grammy?”

Jason revives that snake oil smile I remember from the day we met. I haven’t seen it in a while, and I immediately go on guard.

“She’s a mother figure to me. She taught me how to make a lot of things in the Pickle deli. I am a close part