Page 3 of Hitched to my Boss (Viva Las… Oh, Sh!t #2)

NATALIA

J ason Wallace is nothing like what I expected.

I've been in crisis management long enough to develop a sixth sense about difficult clients. Most of them fall into predictable patterns of arrogance and entitlement, believing their success in one area makes them experts in everything else.

But the man sitting across from me in this mountain cabin doesn't fit any of those categories.

For starters, he's gorgeous in a way that catches me completely off guard.

Tall and lean with the kind of muscle definition that comes from actual physical work rather than expensive gym memberships.

Dark hair that's just long enough to be interesting, and green eyes that seem to see everything while revealing nothing.

There's a scar along his left temple that disappears into his hairline, and his hands show the calluses and small scars of someone who works with tools and wild things.

He looks like he stepped out of an outdoor magazine, but there's nothing posed or artificial about him.

He's also nervous, though he's trying to hide it. The way he grips his coffee mug, the slight tension in his shoulders, and the careful distance he's maintaining between us give him away. This isn't arrogance or hostility. This is someone who genuinely struggles with letting people into his space.

Which makes him exactly the kind of challenge I live for.

"Let's start with the basics," I say, flipping to the first page of my assessment questionnaire. "How long have you been running your wildlife management business?"

"Four years, officially. But I've been doing this kind of work for longer."

His voice is deep, with a slight roughness that suggests he doesn't use it much for casual conversation. Everything about Jason Wallace screams competence and self-reliance, but there's something underneath that feels carefully controlled.

"And before that?"

"Military. Two tours in Afghanistan." The answer is clipped, final, like a door closing.

I make a note on my tablet. Jason's military background explains his hyperawareness, his preference for isolation, and the way he positioned himself so he can see both the front door and the windows. These are classic signs of someone who's learned not to trust easily.

"What made you choose wildlife management when you got out?"

He's quiet for so long that I start to think he won't answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is carefully controlled. "It's work that needs to be done. I'm good at it. And it doesn't require dealing with people more than necessary."

"Except now it does," I point out.

"Apparently."

I study him, taking in the way he holds himself. "Jason, can I be direct with you?"

"I'd prefer it."

"You're not antisocial. You're selectively social. There's a difference, and it's one we can work with."

His eyebrows rise slightly. "Meaning?"

"Meaning truly antisocial people don't make eye contact, don't offer coffee to strangers, and don't arrange their living space to be welcoming.

" I gesture around his cabin, taking in the comfortable furniture, the warm lighting, and the way everything is clean and organized without being sterile.

"This place tells me you're capable of hospitality.

You just choose to limit who receives it. "

"And that's a problem because?"

"It's not a problem. It's a feature we need to learn how to market." I pull up a fresh screen on my tablet. "Tell me about Marcus Hartwell. What specifically does he need from you?"

Jason's posture shifts slightly, becoming more confident.

This is safer territory for him. "He's got a pack of wolves that have been taking livestock.

Fish and Wildlife won't relocate them because they're not technically in violation of any regulations, but the losses are significant enough that Hartwell's considering lethal control. "

"And you can offer a better solution?"

"I can trap and relocate them to an area where they won't conflict with ranching operations. It's more expensive than shooting them, but it's sustainable long-term and maintains the ecological balance."

The passion in his voice when he talks about his work is unmistakable. This isn't just a job for him; it's a calling. And that passion transforms him completely. His shoulders relax, his voice becomes animated, and for the first time since I arrived, he makes sustained eye contact.

The change is striking. When Jason talks about wildlife management, he becomes magnetic. Confident, articulate, completely in his element. It's like watching someone shed a disguise.

"That's what we're going to lead with," I tell him. "Not your technical credentials, though those are impressive. Your passion for finding solutions that work for everyone."

"Hartwell doesn't care about passion. He cares about results."

"He cares about both, or he wouldn't have specified that he needs professional representation.

" I lean forward, catching his attention.

"Think about it. He could hire someone cheaper who'd just come in and eliminate the problem.

But he's looking for someone with your specific expertise and approach.

The issue isn't your competence. It's your presentation. "

Jason considers this, his fingers drumming silently against his coffee mug. I find myself watching the movement, noting the strength in his hands, the careful precision of every gesture.

"So, what do you propose?"

"First, we need to understand exactly what makes you uncomfortable in professional situations. Then we build strategies to manage those challenges while highlighting your strengths."

"You mean what triggers my discomfort?"

"Poor choice of words," I acknowledge quickly. "I mean the situations where you feel most out of your element. Large groups, formal presentations, and networking events. The stuff that feels artificial."

"All of it feels artificial."

"Even this conversation?" I ask, a bit too quickly.

He pauses, seeming genuinely surprised by the question. "No. This feels... different."

"Because?"

"Because you're being direct. You're not trying to sell me something or manipulate me into being someone I'm not.

" His eyes meet mine again, and I feel a little jolt of awareness that has nothing to do with professional interest. "You're treating this like a problem to solve rather than a personality flaw to fix. "

Heat creeps up my neck. This is exactly why I have a strict rule about not getting personally involved with clients. Jason Wallace is the kind of man who could make me forget all my professional boundaries if I'm not careful.

"That's because it is a problem to solve," I say, keeping my voice steady. "And you're not flawed. You're specialized."

The corner of his mouth twitches in what might be the beginning of a smile. "Specialized."

"Absolutely. Think of it like wildlife management. You wouldn't use the same approach for relocating wolves that you'd use for dealing with problem bears, right?"

"Right."

"The same principle applies to business relationships. Different situations require different strategies, but the core competence remains the same."

I can see him turning the concept over in his mind. Jason strikes me as someone who approaches everything analytically, breaking complex problems down into manageable components. If I can frame reputation management in terms he understands, I might actually be able to help him.

"So what's the first step?" he asks.

"We need to identify your optimal operating conditions. The types of interactions where you feel most confident and effective." I pull up a new document on my tablet. "Then we figure out how to recreate those conditions in business contexts."

"I'm most effective when I'm working alone."

"That's not entirely true, or you wouldn't have built a successful business that requires client interaction." I tilt my head, studying him. "Tell me about your best client experience. Someone you enjoyed working with."

He thinks for a moment. "There was a rancher in Montana. Tarah Chen. She had a problem with coyotes getting into her chicken coops."

"What made that experience different?"

"She understood the situation. She didn't expect me to perform or put on some kind of show. She showed me the problem, asked direct questions about my approach, and then got out of my way to let me work."

"And how did you initially connect with her?"

"A phone call. She'd heard about my work from someone else and called me directly. No intermediaries, no sales pitch required."

"What about the actual job? Did you have to interact with her ranch hands, provide progress reports, deal with unexpected complications?"

"Some. But it felt natural because we were all focused on solving the same problem." His voice warms as he remembers. "She actually joined me for part of the tracking work. Said she wanted to understand how the coyotes were getting access so she could prevent future problems."

"And you were comfortable with that?"

"Surprisingly, yeah. She was competent, asked good questions, and didn't slow me down."

Jason's comfort level appears to be directly tied to competence and shared purpose. He doesn't dislike people; he dislikes incompetence and artificial social dynamics. This is valuable information.

"What about the business side? Contract negotiation, payment, follow-up?"

"All handled professionally. She paid on time, provided references when I asked, and called me back six months later for a consultation on preventing future issues."

"Perfect." I lean back, pieces of a strategy already forming in my mind. "That's exactly the kind of client relationship we want to replicate with Marcus Hartwell."

"Except Hartwell has already made it clear that my reputation is a problem."