Work had taken over his life, and he hadn’t realized it until he couldn’t find enough minutes in his days to spend with her. He was overloaded, no doubt about it. Sarge’s Investment Group—all the businesses and buildings Mako had willed them—required restoration, leasing, selling, managing.

And he had his own businesses. Thankfully, his Bull’s Moose brewery in Anchorage and his restaurants in Anchorage and Homer had managers. But he needed help with the roadhouse here. Ordering napkins and silverware, scheduling staff, the day-to-day organizing? Nothing he enjoyed.

Bartending, though, was enjoyable—and owning a business meant he should get to do the fun stuff.

Working all hours needed to stop. He needed time to hang out with his brothers, to teach Regan to cook, and to be with Frankie for more than sparring and sex.

Although…the sparring and sex were unrivaled. He grinned. Good times.

The crunching sound of tires on gravel came through the open window, and Frankie parked her car beside his pickup.

Opening the office’s rear door, he motioned for Frankie to come in. As she walked in, he started to bend down to kiss her. No. They’d agreed to keep business and relationships separate.

Guess that meant no sex on the office desk, dammit, which was a shame because she smelled like she’d just gotten out of the shower. Her soap that made him think of dark forests and full moons—and making love outside.

Concentrate.

“Thanks for coming in today.” He gestured her toward the conference area. “I wanted this discussion in a more formal location.”

Her brows drew together. “Is there a problem? Is this the Alaska version of a pink slip?”

“No, not even close.” At her worried expression, he barely kept from hugging her.

After she sat at the table, he took a seat. “The only problem I have with you is that you’re far too qualified to be a server. Since the week you started, you’ve taken on more and more responsibility—coming up with innovative ideas, working on the décor, teaching the new waitstaff. You’re performing as a manager, and I’d like you to have the title and salary.”

She stared at him. “You what?”

“This can’t come as a surprise. Not with what I’ve been having you do.”

She’d gone pale. “I thought you were just short-handed. Wanted me to help out.”

“I am short-handed. I lack a manager. I want you to do it.”

She shook her head. “I…I can’t. I have a job back in New York. I can’t stay here.”

Dammit. “Can’t—or won’t? Why are you here, anyway?”