Big Pickle: A Secret Boss Romantic Comedy - JJ Knight Page 0,8

before Nova called. I head to the counter.

Nova pushes a couple of sheets of paper my way. “Most of this is just a formality. Job application, even though you’ve already got the job. And the tax paperwork.”

“Oh, I don’t need to fill any of that out,” I say.

Nova’s smile goes forced. “I’m afraid you do. Jace Pickle’s instructions from his assistant specifically said you were to fill out the forms, and she’d get back to me on the pay scale. And also, no special treatment.”

She seems to relish saying it. My suspicions about her rise another notch. Is she trying to get me out of here? Does she have something to hide, and she’s afraid I’ll find it?

“Fine,” I say, turning the paper around.

I scratch out the information, using my Manhattan address, which isn’t connected to any of the other Pickles, and the iPad phone number.

Then I drop my pen. “Done. Should I head to the back? Scrub up?”

“In a sec.” Nova Strong examines my job application like a calculus teacher needing someone to flunk. “What do you know about deli work?” Her voice is practically a bark. The woman must have been a drill sergeant in a former life. Or maybe this one, judging by the camo pants and Army boots.

Still, the soft black tank top hugs her curves, softening the effect of the bottom half of her outfit. She’s a pistol, no doubt about it.

“I’ve made a sandwich or two,” I say.

She sighs, blowing a puff of hair off her forehead. She’s as gorgeous as she is fierce. It’s a combination that’s increasingly setting me off balance, even though I suspect she’s up to no good.

I attempt a grateful expression, which, admittedly, is not my forte. “I appreciate the opportunity.”

She stabs the application. “I’m going to need some ID to prove this really is your name.”

My jaw tightens. Dad insisted we all live publicly as Pickles to support the franchise name. But in reality, we jumped at the chance. Because in our business, our birth name is incredibly, most horribly worse.

I pull out my wallet to hand her my ID. Thankfully it lists the matching address.

Nova can’t fight back her grin. “How do you pronounce that, Jason?”

I sigh. “Just like it’s spelled.”

“I want to be sure I’m getting it right.”

I glance around the room. The other employees are listening in, even though they act like they’re working.

I lean in.

“It’s Packwood.”

Giggles erupt from the college students. I glance at Lamonte, who is working hard to keep his face straight. Elda has her back to us.

Nova’s expression is poker serious. “Packwood. I haven’t heard that name before.”

“It’s not that rare. And you have my ID right there.”

She shakes her head. “I guess I wouldn’t know how to spot a fake ID from New York.”

What? She doesn’t believe me?

“Immigrants were named by what they did.”

“And your people pack wood?”

Now Lamonte has lost it. He’s bent over, mouth covered. Kate has dashed to the back, lost in giggles. Elda still faces away, but her shoulders are shaking.

I try to find my inner Zen.

Nova’s expression is stern, but her eyes sparkle with mischief. “It’s a great name. I can’t wait to put it on an employee pin.”

Her curvy little tank—and I admit I linger on it longer than I should—doesn’t sport a pin.

“Where’s yours?”

“Oh, we haven’t had them made in a while,” she says. “Turnover was so high it didn’t make sense.”

“But now…”

“Oh yes. I think we definitely need to bring them back.” She clips the pages together. “I’ll put these away. There are aprons in the back. We’ll get you started on the cutting board.”

She calls out, “Lamonte, can you show Jason where the knives are? And make sure he can handle himself. We don’t want his blood in the potato salad.” She glares at me. “You can head on back.”

I find Lamonte by a long stainless-steel table in the center of the room and accept the apron he hands me. Hopefully, I can focus on the work and not that difficult woman.

I’m trying to have a sense of humor about this, but my deli is proving to have too little pickle, and too much brine.

4

Nova

Jason Packwood strikes me as a pain in the ass, but at least he seems to have a work ethic. I check in on him and Lamonte chopping vegetables in the kitchen before prepping the line to serve.

Elda has the drink station all set up. Kate is getting the tables in order. I make sure the hot