Page 794 of One More Kiss

Mark

A fistof fucking titanium hits me square in the chest. “Ow.” My tone is pure what the hell?

“You fired my sister five days before we deploy.”

I point a finger at him. “This is your fault for giving me the fucking third degree and accusing me of making a play for Jess.” I rub at the icepick driving into the base of my neck. “And technically, she quit.”

When he hits me this time, he doesn’t hold back. “Fix it.”

I look at him as if a dick sprouted from the top of his head. “How? You know your sister. She’s earned every last strand of that flaming red hair. Fuck, we haven’t spoken in years.” I huff and toss my chin to the sky. “She hates me, and I have no idea why.”

He shrugs. “Considering the two of you haven’t seen each other in years and you just threatened her job, her hating you seems validated.”

“Is it my fault I needed to assure you I wouldn’t make a move on your sister?”

“Is it my fault you’ll hump everything from a street sign to a lamp post, and I was worried?”

I gesture to the door. “Clearly you had nothing to be worried about.”

“Clearly.” Brian shakes his head. “I just needed an assurance because your libido is insatiable, and she’s not a child anymore.”

Who’s he telling?The very full-grown woman busts my balls, and it took every ounce of willpower not to kiss those full, pouty lips. Fuck, I can’t bring her back. Not while I’m here. It’s a disaster in the making.

But I also can’t not bring her back. Brian would murder me like we were in a Saw movie.

I offer a solution. “She can consider herself on paid vacation until we leave. This way, the two of you can spend some time together.” And she’ll be far away from me.

He socks me again. Playfully, but considering he gave it all he had the last round, I wince. “You find her and tell her.”

“You’re her brother. Why don’t you find her and tell her.”

“Because we have our entire deployment to clean up each other’s messes.” He winks. Smartass. He heads out. “You know my baby sis would love to bartend,” he sings.

I throw a stress ball at his head. And miss. He chuckles. “And they call you a sharpshooter,” he laments as he closes the door behind him. Fucker.

I flip through my phone until I find Jess’s number, filed under “CG.” I shoot her a text and wait her out.

Can we talk?

An hour later, after a thorough review of Josh’s new inventory system, I check my phone. Still no response from Jess, so I try again.

I really need to talk to you.

By the time I’ve finished reviewing next months menus with the staff, getting the seating arrangements for the Taylor wedding changed to accommodate nearly two-hundred people instead of one-hundred people, and reconciling the accounting for the month, my brain is fried. I blow out a breath. Not a word from Choir Girl.

I do the unthinkable. I apologize.

Sorry I was an ass-hat. Please call back.

A text pings back instantly, but it isn’t Jess. It’s Brian.

Did you talk to Jess???

He sends a screenshot. Her phone finder is pinned on possibly the worst street in Albany. I know without speaking to him, he’s about to lose his shit. Hell, my heart’s racing a mile a minute. Nothing can happen to her.

I call him and explain. “I’ve texted her several times. Nothing. Have you tried calling her?”

“Yes, dumbass. Tried that first. I’m heading that way, but I’m home.” The Bishop home is buried in a southwest pocket of Adirondack Park—at least an hour and a half from Albany. His voice raises, panicked. “I need you to—”

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