Page 11 of Hitched to my Boss (Viva Las… Oh, Sh!t #2)

This is tricky territory. I can't claim to be uninvolved in Jason's business without undermining our credibility, but I also can't admit to being his paid consultant without raising questions about our relationship timeline.

"Public relations and communications strategy," I say carefully. "I help professionals in specialized fields communicate their expertise to broader audiences. Jason and I met when I was researching the wildlife management industry for a project."

"And you saw something worth pursuing in this mountain hermit?" Hartwell teases, clearly enjoying the story.

"I saw someone who was passionate about finding solutions that most people wouldn't even consider," I reply, and realize I'm telling the absolute truth. "Someone who cared more about doing the work right than doing it quickly."

Jason's hand covers mine on the table, his thumb tracing across my knuckles in a gesture that looks affectionate but feels like a promise. "She convinced me that hiding my expertise in the mountains wasn't helping anyone."

"Including himself," I add, meeting his eyes with what I hope looks like loving exasperation. "He's brilliant at what he does, but terrible at letting people know about it."

"Well, he's lucky to have someone who can help him navigate the business side of things," Hartwell says. "Speaking of which, let's discuss the contract terms."

The next hour passes in detailed negotiation about timeline, payment structure, and deliverables.

Jason handles the technical discussions with impressive confidence, while I provide strategic input about communication and reporting requirements.

We work together seamlessly, anticipating each other's points and building on each other's suggestions in a way that clearly impresses Hartwell.

"Excellent," he says finally, signing the contract with a flourish. "I have to say, this feels like the beginning of a very productive partnership. And congratulations again on your marriage. It's clear you two make a good team."

"Thank you," Jason says, his hand tightening on mine. "We're looking forward to working with you."

After Hartwell leaves, Jason and I sit in the restaurant's quiet aftermath.

"We did it," I say, hardly believing how smoothly everything went. "You got the contract."

"We got the contract," he corrects. "I couldn't have handled the business development aspects without you."

"That's what partners do."

"Is that what we are? Partners?"

The question hangs between us, loaded with implications I'm not ready to explore.

Because somewhere during that breakfast, I stopped thinking about maintaining a professional facade and started thinking about how naturally we worked together.

How Jason's expertise balanced with my strategic thinking created something stronger than either of us could achieve alone.

"I don't know what we are," I admit. "But I know we work well together."

"Even when we're pretending to be married?"

"Especially then." I meet his eyes, seeing the same uncertainty and attraction that I'm feeling. "Jason, we need to talk about what happens next."

"You mean the ground rules you mentioned earlier."

"I mean the practical realities of maintaining this arrangement." I pull out my phone, opening the notes app. "Living arrangements, public appearances, financial responsibilities, professional boundaries."

"You're writing a contract for our marriage."

"I'm establishing parameters so we both know what to expect." I start typing. "Separate bedrooms when we're in private. Scheduled public appearances to maintain the facade. And a clear timeline for how long we maintain this arrangement."

Jason reaches across the table and closes my phone. "Natalia, stop."

"Stop what?"

"Stop trying to turn this into a business transaction." His voice is quiet but firm. "We're married. Accidentally, temporarily, whatever you want to call it. But we're married. And if we're going to make this work, even for a few months, we need to treat it like something real."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean separate bedrooms and scheduled appearances aren't going to convince anyone that we're actually together. If people see us acting like business associates who happen to wear matching rings, they're going to figure out that something's wrong."

He has a point, but the idea of blurring the professional boundaries makes my stomach clench with anxiety. "What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting we act like a married couple who are figuring things out as they go. We live together, we support each other professionally, we see what develops naturally instead of trying to control every variable."

"And when it ends?"

"If it ends," he corrects. "If we decide this isn't working, we get divorced like adults and remain professional colleagues. But we don't plan the failure before we even try to make it succeed."

The logic makes sense, but everything about it terrifies me.

"This is insane," I say finally.

"Maybe. But we're already committed to insane.

" He brings my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles that sends electricity up my arm.

"The question is whether we're going to be miserable while we're insane, or whether we're going to see if being insane with you is actually the best decision I've ever made. "

The conference announcement for the end of day two interrupts us.

I sigh, suddenly realizing the logistical nightmare I'm about to create. "I need to make some calls before we leave."

"Calls?"

"I have an apartment in Atlanta, Jason. Plants that need watering, mail that needs collecting, a life that I apparently just decided to abandon for a man I met three weeks ago.

" I pull out my phone, scrolling to Maya's contact.

"Give me five minutes to figure out how to not completely destroy my existing life while building a new one. "

Maya answers on the first ring. "Please tell me you're calling to say this Vegas marriage thing is an elaborate joke."

"Maya, I need a huge favor."

"Oh God. You're serious about this."

"Completely serious. I need you to apartment-sit for me. Water my plants, collect my mail, maybe check on things once a week?" I pause, realizing how insane this sounds. "I'm moving to Nevada."

"You're moving to Nevada. For a man you've known for three weeks."

"For a man I'm married to and want to stay married to."

There's a long silence. "Natalia, this is the most out-of-left-field thing you've ever done. You have a five-year plan. You have backup plans for your backup plans. You don't just abandon your life for a mountain man."

"I'm not abandoning my life. I'm... restructuring it."

"By moving to the middle of nowhere for someone you barely know."

"Maya, I know this sounds crazy, but I need you to trust me on this. Can you help me or not?"

Another pause. "Of course I can help you. I just want to make sure you're not making a decision you'll regret when the honeymoon phase wears off."

"The honeymoon phase involved waking up with no memory of getting married. I think we're past that."

"Fair point. Okay, give me your apartment keys when you get back to Atlanta, and I'll keep your plant babies alive while you figure out if mountain life suits you."

"Thank you. Really. I owe you big time."

"You owe me the full story when this either works out brilliantly or crashes and burns spectacularly."

After I hang up, Jason is watching me with something that might be relief.

"Feel better?" he asks.

"Feel like less of a crazy person who abandons all responsibilities for a man," I admit. "Though I'm still questioning my sanity."

"So what do you say, Mrs. Wallace?" Jason stands, offering me his hand. "Ready to go home and figure out how to be married?"

I look at his extended hand, at the wedding ring that matches mine, at the signed contract that represents both our professional success and personal complication.

"Ready," I say, taking his hand and trying to ignore how right it feels. "But I'm keeping my own credit cards."

Jason laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "Deal. Anything else?"

"I'm not cooking every night."

"I'm actually a decent cook. Anything else?"

"No country music in the truck."

"That's a hard no. Country music is non-negotiable in Nevada."

As we go through the early check-out process, hands joined and wedding rings catching the afternoon light, I realize I'm about to embark on the most unprofessional, impractical, potentially disastrous arrangement of my career.

And for the first time in my carefully planned life, I'm looking forward to seeing what happens when I stop trying to control the outcome and just let myself experience what it feels like to be Jason Wallace's wife.

Even if I have no idea what that actually means.