Page 7 of Hitched to my Boss (Viva Las… Oh, Sh!t #2)

NATALIA

" I can't believe I actually agreed to this."

Jason stands in the middle of his hotel room at the Bellagio, staring out at the Vegas Strip like it might personally attack him. He's been muttering variations of this sentiment since we arrived three hours ago, and I'm starting to wonder if bringing him here was a catastrophic mistake.

"It's going to be fine," I tell him for the tenth time today, though I'm not entirely convinced myself. Vegas is a sensory overload on the best of days, and for someone who considers a trip to town an ordeal, the constant noise and crowds have to be overwhelming.

"Fine." He turns from the window, and I can see the tension in every line of his body. "Define fine."

"Fine means you survive the next three days, make connections with potential clients, and walk away with your business transformed." I pull up the conference schedule on my tablet. "Starting with cocktail hour tonight."

The look he gives me could freeze the Nevada desert. "Cocktail hour."

"Networking event," I correct. "It provides a casual atmosphere, small group conversations, and the perfect opportunity for you to demonstrate your expertise without formal presentations.

" I keep my voice calm and professional, the same tone I've used to talk CEOs off ledges during major crises.

"I'll handle the introductions and social navigation.

All you have to do is answer questions about wildlife management. "

"In a room full of strangers."

"In a room full of potential clients who need exactly what you offer."

He sits on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his hair. The gesture makes him look younger and more vulnerable than the confident expert I've come to know over the past week.

"What if I freeze up? What if I can't think of anything to say?"

The admission surprises me. I've seen Jason light up when discussing his work and watched him analyze complex problems with the kind of passion that's impossible to fake.

But strip away the familiar environment of his cabin and put him in an unfamiliar social situation, and suddenly, he's questioning abilities I know he possesses.

"You won't freeze up," I say, sitting in the chair across from him.

"You know more about this field than anyone else in that room.

When Marcus Hartwell asks about wolf relocation strategies, you're going to forget you're nervous because you'll be too busy explaining why his current approach isn't working. "

"You really think Hartwell will be there?"

"I confirmed it this morning. He's registered for the full conference and listed as attending tonight's event." I lean forward, meeting his eyes. "Jason, this is our chance. Not just with Hartwell, but with a dozen other ranchers who could become long-term clients."

He nods slowly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Okay. But if this goes badly, I'm blaming you."

"Fair enough." I stand, checking my watch. "We have two hours before the cocktail event. I suggest you take a shower, get into conference mode, and try to remember that these people need your help."

"What are you going to do?"

"Final prep work. Confirm our meeting schedule for tomorrow, review the attendee list one more time, and make sure I know exactly who to introduce you to and in what order." I gather my materials from the desk. "My room's next door if you need anything."

As I reach for the door handle, his voice stops me. "Natalia?"

I turn back. "Yeah?"

"Thank you. For all of this. I know I'm not the easiest client to work with."

Something warm unfurls in my chest at the genuine gratitude in his voice. "You're not difficult, Jason. You're just particular about who you trust."

The words hang between us for a moment, carrying weight I hadn't intended. Because somewhere over the past week, I've realized that his trust means something to me. More than it should for a purely professional relationship.

"See you at seven," I say, escaping to my room before I can analyze that thought too deeply.

Two hours later, Jason opens his hotel room door, and I have to remember how to breathe.

Gone are the flannel shirts and work boots I've grown accustomed to.

Instead, he's wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that emphasizes his broad shoulders and lean build.

His hair is styled just enough to look polished without appearing overly groomed, and he's traded his usual work boots for dress shoes that probably cost more than my monthly car payment.

He looks like he stepped out of a magazine spread. Sophisticated, confident, and devastatingly handsome.

"Wow," I manage, my brain struggling to reconcile this polished version with the mountain man I've been working with.

"Too much?" He adjusts his tie self-consciously. "I haven't worn a suit in four years. Wasn't sure I remembered how."

"Not too much. Perfect, actually." I smooth the emerald green dress he'd somehow arranged to have delivered to my room with a note about fitting the Vegas atmosphere. "You clean up well."

"So do you." His eyes take in my appearance with an appreciation that makes heat pool in my stomach. "That dress..."

"Thank you for arranging it. Though I'm still not sure how you managed to get my size right."

A flush creeps up his neck. "I may have called in a favor with someone who knows about these things. Told them it was for someone professional, elegant, and..." He trails off, looking embarrassed.

"And?"

"And beautiful," he finishes quietly.

The compliment sends warmth through my entire body. Jason doesn't strike me as someone who throws around empty flattery, which makes the simple statement feel more significant than elaborate poetry.

"Ready?" I ask, trying to ignore the way he's looking at me.

"As I'll ever be."

The elevator ride to the conference level passes in charged silence, both of us acutely aware of how we look together. Like a power couple. Like we belong with each other.

"Remember," I say as we approach the reception area, "I'll handle introductions and keep conversations moving. All you need to do is be yourself when people ask about your work."

"Be myself," he repeats. "Right."

"Jason." I stop walking and turn to face him fully. "You're brilliant at what you do. These people need your expertise, even if they don't know it yet. Trust that."

He nods, squaring his shoulders. "Let's do this."

The cocktail reception is being held in one of the hotel's smaller ballrooms, designed to encourage mingling rather than formal presentations. Soft lighting, scattered cocktail tables, a bar along one wall, and maybe seventy-five people in business attire engaged in animated conversations.

It's exactly the kind of environment where Jason's expertise can shine in small group settings, assuming I can navigate him through the social minefield successfully.

"There's Hartwell," I murmur, spotting the rancher near the bar. He's exactly what I expected: tall, weathered, expensive suit that doesn't quite hide his rancher background. "But I want to warm you up with a few easier conversations first."

I guide Jason toward a group discussing predator management policies, people who'll appreciate his technical knowledge without the pressure of a potential contract negotiation.

"Dr. Martinez," I say, approaching a woman I'd researched earlier. "I'm Natalia Santos, and this is Jason Wallace. I believe you two have some common ground regarding non-lethal wildlife management strategies."

Dr. Martinez turns, her interest immediately piqued. "Jason Wallace? I've heard excellent things about your work from Fish and Wildlife contacts."

And just like that, Jason relaxes. Because this is familiar territory, a professional conversation about the work he's passionate about. Within minutes, he's explaining relocation protocols and answering technical questions with the kind of authority that comes from years of hands-on experience.

I step back slightly, letting him take the lead while keeping a watchful eye out for opportunities to steer the conversation toward business applications.

This is what good support looks like: being present without being intrusive, ready to intervene if needed, but smart enough to stay out of the way when things are working.

"Impressive," a voice says beside me.

I turn to find Marcus Hartwell himself, drink in hand, watching Jason engage with the wildlife management group.

"Mr. Hartwell," I say, extending my hand. "Natalia Santos. I believe we have a meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning."

"We do indeed." His handshake is firm and assessing. "I have to admit, I wasn't sure what to expect. Wallace's reputation for being difficult to work with is well-established."

"What do you think now?"

Hartwell watches Jason for another moment, taking in his confident explanations and easy rapport with the other professionals. "I think maybe the problem isn't that he's difficult to work with. Maybe the problem is that most people aren't worth working with."

It's such a perfect assessment of Jason's approach that I have to hide my smile. "Perhaps we should introduce you."

"Perhaps we should."

But before I can approach Jason's group, someone else approaches me from behind, close enough that I can smell whiskey on his breath.

"Well, hello there, gorgeous."

I turn to find a man in an expensive suit who can't hide the fact that he's had too much to drink. He's standing closer than appropriate, his eyes focusing somewhere south of my face.

"Can I help you?" I keep my voice polite but cool.

"You can start by telling me your name, sweetheart." His hand moves toward my arm, and I step back automatically.

"I'm here on business," I say firmly. "If you'll excuse me..."

"Come on, don't be like that." He moves closer again, blocking my path. "A beautiful woman like you shouldn't be wasting time talking business. Let me buy you a real drink."