Page 9 of Hitched to my Boss (Viva Las… Oh, Sh!t #2)

JASON

M y head feels like someone used it for target practice with a sledgehammer.

I crack one eye open, immediately regretting the decision as bright Vegas sunlight assaults my retinas. The room spins gently, reminding me why I gave up drinking after college. My mouth tastes like I've been chewing cotton balls soaked in regret.

And there's something warm pressed against my side.

I turn my head carefully, and my heart stops. Natalia is curled against me, her dark hair spread across my chest, one arm draped over my ribs. She's naked. Completely, gloriously naked, and so am I.

What the hell happened last night?

I remember the cocktail reception. Marcus Hartwell buying us champagne after I'd claimed to be Natalia's boyfriend.

The way she'd looked at me when I'd put my arm around her, like she was seeing something in me she hadn't expected.

More champagne. Hartwell introducing us to other ranchers, each conversation flowing easier than the last.

But after that, things get fuzzy. There are fragments: Natalia laughing at something I said, her hand in mine as we walked through the casino, more drinks, the way she looked in that green dress under the neon lights.

The feeling that for the first time in years, I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

And then... nothing. Complete blackout until waking up in what appears to be my hotel bed with my very naked PR consultant pressed against me like she belongs there.

Natalia stirs, making a soft sound that goes straight to my cock that are apparently unaffected by my hangover. Her hand moves across my chest, and I have to bite back a groan.

"Mmm," she murmurs, then goes completely still.

I can feel the exact moment awareness hits her. Her body tenses, her breathing changes, and she lifts her head to look at me with brown eyes that are wide with shock and confusion.

“What the fu… We didn’t … did we?” Her questions come out as a jumbled mess.

“I don’t know,” I respond honestly. “But I don’t think we had sex. That is something I would for sure remember, and trust me, you would know from the lingering ache.”

Natalia rolls her eyes, but a smile breaks through her panic. "Please tell me you remember what happened last night." Her voice is rough with sleep and what I'm guessing is her own hangover.

"I remember the cocktail reception. And champagne. Lots of champagne." I try to piece together more fragments, but there's a significant gap between celebrating our success with Hartwell and waking up naked with Natalia. "After that, it's pretty much a blur."

She sits up, clutching the sheet to her chest, and I try not to notice how the morning light plays across her bare shoulders or how her hair falls in waves around her face. This is not the time to be thinking about how beautiful she looks, even hungover and confused.

"We need to figure out what happened," she says, scanning the room like it might contain clues.

That's when I notice something glinting on her left hand. Something that definitely wasn't there yesterday.

"Natalia," I say carefully. "Look at your hand."

She follows my gaze and gasps. On her ring finger is a gold band that's clearly a wedding ring. Simple, elegant, and completely unfamiliar.

I look down at my own left hand and my blood turn to ice. Matching ring.

"No," she breathes. "No, no, no. Tell me we didn't..."

I spot something on the nightstand that makes my stomach drop. A piece of paper with ornate lettering that I can read even from here: "Certificate of Marriage, State of Nevada."

"Natalia." My voice comes out strangled. "I think we got married."

She follows my gaze to the certificate and goes pale. "That's not possible. You can't just accidentally get married. There are forms, waiting periods..."

"Not in Vegas." I sit up, the sheet pooling around my waist, and reach for the certificate. "In Vegas, you just need identification, and someone authorized to perform the ceremony."

The certificate is real. Jason Wallace and Natalia Santos, married yesterday at 11:47 PM by one Reverend Elvis Patterson at the Chapel of Eternal Love. Our signatures are at the bottom, shaky but legible.

"Reverend Elvis Patterson," Natalia reads over my shoulder. "We got married by an Elvis impersonator."

The absurdity of the situation hits me all at once.

I've spent four years avoiding any kind of serious relationship, keeping everyone at arm's length, protecting myself from the complications that come with letting people get close.

And somehow, in one night of Vegas excess, I've managed to accidentally marry the one woman who's gotten past all my defenses.

"This is insane," Natalia says, running her hands through her hair. "I don't do things like this. I'm the responsible one. I'm the one who plans everything and controls variables and prevents disasters."

"Well, we're definitely in disaster territory now."

She gives me a look that could melt steel. "Not helping."

My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I reach for it automatically. Three missed calls from Marcus Hartwell, along with a text message that makes my blood run cold.

"What is it?" Natalia asks, seeing my expression.

I hand her the phone so she can read Hartwell's message: "Congratulations on the wedding! Looking forward to working with a man who clearly knows how to commit. Let's discuss the contract this morning."

"Oh God," she whispers. "He knows."

"How could he possibly know?"

She grabs her own phone from somewhere on the floor, scrolling through notifications with increasing horror.

"Social media. Someone posted photos from last night.

" She shows me her screen, and I see several pictures of us at what's clearly a wedding chapel.

Me in my wrinkled suit, Natalia in her green dress, both of us grinning like idiots while an Elvis impersonator holds a microphone.

"The tags mention your business name," she continues, scrolling through comments. "And several people have already congratulated Hartwell on finding a 'family man' to work with."

The pieces click into place with devastating clarity.

Hartwell's old-fashioned values, his emphasis on working with people he can trust, his obvious approval when I'd claimed to be Natalia's boyfriend.

He sees marriage as a sign of stability, commitment, the kind of character trait that makes someone a reliable business partner.

"We're screwed," I say, the realization hitting me like a sucker punch.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean if we get this annulled immediately, Hartwell's going to see it as proof that I'm exactly the kind of unreliable person he was worried about.

" I set my phone aside, my mind racing through the implications.

"He's built his entire business on family values and traditional relationships.

If he finds out this was a drunken mistake that we're immediately trying to undo, he'll see it as confirmation of everything negative he'd heard about me. "

Natalia stares at me like I've lost my mind. "You're suggesting we stay married? To maintain a business relationship?"

"I'm suggesting we think through our options before making any irreversible decisions.

" I run my hands through my hair, trying to think through the hangover and shock.

"This contract isn't just money, Natalia.

It's credibility. It's the foundation for the kind of business expansion that could set me up for life. "

"And what about my life? My career? I can't be married to a client, Jason. It's completely unethical."

She has a point, but there has to be a solution that works for both of us. "What if we don't get it annulled immediately? Just... take some time to figure out our options. See how the Hartwell situation plays out."

"You want to stay married."

"I want to not throw away the best opportunity I've ever had because we made one drunk decision." I pause, studying her face. "And honestly? Last night, before we got completely hammered... there was something real happening between us."

A flush creeps up her neck. "We were drunk."

"We were drunk when we got married. But before that?

When I told that asshole to back off, when we were talking over champagne, when you admitted that our fake relationship didn't feel fake?

" I lean closer, noting how her breath catches.

"That was real, Natalia. The alcohol just gave us an excuse to act on it. "

"This is insane."

"Maybe. But we're already married." I gesture to the rings on our hands. "We can panic and get it annulled, go our separate ways, and both wonder what might have been. Or we can see if the same chemistry that got us into this situation can actually make it work."

"For how long?"

"I don't know. Long enough to see if this feeling is real or just Vegas magic. Long enough to secure the Hartwell contract and figure out what we actually want." I reach for her hand, the one wearing my ring. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"Don't ask that question in Vegas," she says, but she doesn't pull her hand away. "The universe takes it as a challenge."

My phone rings, interrupting the moment. Hartwell's name appears on the screen.

"Answer it," Natalia says, decision crystallizing in her eyes. "Tell him we'll meet him for breakfast. As a married couple."

Relief floods through me, mixed with anticipation and terror in equal measure. "Are you sure?"

"No. But you're right about one thing." She leans closer, her lips just inches from mine. "There was something real happening between us last night. And maybe the only way to figure out what that is, is to stop fighting it and see where it leads."

I answer the phone on the fourth ring. "Marcus, good morning."

"Jason! Congratulations, son. I have to say, I wasn't expecting wedding news when I saw you in Vegas, but I couldn't be more pleased." Hartwell's voice is warm with genuine happiness. "A man who knows how to commit to the right woman is exactly the kind of partner I want for my ranch."

"Thank you," I manage, watching Natalia's face as she listens to the conversation. "We're both very happy."

"I'll bet you are. Listen, why don't you and the new Mrs. Wallace join me for breakfast? We can celebrate your marriage and discuss the contract details. I'm thinking this partnership is going to be even better than I originally hoped."

"We'll be there," I say, making eye contact with Natalia. "Looking forward to it."

After I hang up, we sit in silence for a moment, the magnitude of what we've just agreed to settling over us.

"Mrs. Wallace," Natalia says finally, testing the name. "That's going to take some getting used to."

"You could keep your maiden name professionally."

"I could. Or I could start thinking of this as the most unconventional business expansion strategy in PR history." She stands, taking the sheet with her, and heads toward the bathroom. "I need a shower and coffee before I face Marcus Hartwell as your wife."

"Natalia?" I call as she reaches the bathroom door.

"Yeah?"

"For what it's worth, I'm glad it was you. If I had to accidentally marry someone in Vegas, I'm glad it was someone I actually..." I pause, not quite ready to voice what I'm feeling. "Someone I care about."

Her smile is soft and uncertain, but real. "Ask me what I feel in a few hours if you still feel that way."

After she disappears into the bathroom, I lie back against the pillows, staring at the wedding certificate on the nightstand. Married. To Natalia Santos. The woman who's challenged everything I thought I knew about myself, who's made me want things I didn't know I was missing.

The smart thing would be to get this annulled immediately, chalk it up to a Vegas mistake, and go back to our separate lives.

But watching Natalia handle last night's networking event, seeing how naturally she anticipated my needs and provided exactly the right kind of support, it had felt like partnership in a way I'd never experienced.

And waking up with her in my arms felt like something I could get used to.

The shower starts running, and I close my eyes, trying not to think about Natalia naked under the spray of water. We have a breakfast meeting to get through, a contract to negotiate, and a marriage to figure out how to navigate.

But first, I need to figure out how I'm going to keep my hands off my wife long enough to convince Marcus Hartwell that this marriage is real without completely losing my mind in the process.

Because the biggest problem with our arrangement isn't going to be maintaining the facade for business purposes.

It's going to be remembering that this started as an accident when everything about Natalia makes me want it to be permanent.

My phone buzzes with another text, this one from Jude.

Jude: Zee just saw the wedding photos online. Please tell me you didn't actually marry your PR consultant in Vegas.

I stare at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard. How do I explain that yes, I did marry my PR consultant in Vegas, and no, it wasn't completely insane?

Me: It's complicated. Will call later.

Jude: That's not a denial. Holy shit, man.

Me: Like I said, it's complicated.

Jude: Complicated doesn't begin to cover this. You realize Zennika is going to want every single detail, right?

I set the phone aside without responding. Explaining this to Jude and Zennika is a problem for later. Right now, I need to focus on getting through breakfast with Hartwell without revealing that my wife and I have been married for less than twelve hours and can't remember half of our wedding night.

The sound of Natalia singing softly in the shower drifts through the bathroom door, and despite everything, I find myself smiling.

Whatever happens next, at least I'll be facing it with someone who can navigate a Vegas networking event, handle drunk conference attendees, and apparently sing off-key in hotel showers.

Spotting Natalia’s room key card on the side table, I grab it and slip out to grab her suitcase so she can at least feel normal after her shower.

I could do worse for a wife.

Even if I can't remember proposing to her.