Page 2 of Hitched to my Boss

"What's this PR person's name?"

"Natalia Santos. And before you ask, yes, she's aware that you live in the middle of nowhere and have the social skills of a feral cat."

"Thanks for the ringing endorsement."

"She's perfect for this, man. Trust me. Zen vouches for her completely."

I stare out my office window at the mountains surrounding Whisper Vale. Snow still caps the peaks even though it's mid-April, and the forest stretches in every direction without a single sign of human habitation. This cabin is my sanctuary. The one place where I can breathe without feeling like the walls are closing in.

The one place that belongs entirely to me.

"How soon can she be here?"

"Tomorrow, if you're serious about this." Jude pauses, and my sister Zennika hijacks the call.

"You have to actually work with her," Zen insists. "No disappearing into the mountains for days at a time. No refusing to answer your phone. She can't help you if you don't let her."

"I get it."

"Do you? Because your track record with people trying to help you isn't exactly stellar."

The comment stings because it's true. In the four years since I moved to Whisper Vale, I've gone through three different cleaning services, two handymen, and a succession of delivery drivers who've all given up trying to work with me. I don't meanto be difficult. I just prefer things done a certain way, and most people don't understand that my specific requirements aren't arbitrary. They're necessary.

"This is different," I tell her. "This is business."

"Everything is business with you, Jay. That's part of the problem."

After we hang up, I spend the rest of the afternoon researching Natalia Santos online. Her website is sleek and professional, showcasing success stories from clients whose reputations she's managed to rehabilitate. A former tech CEO who overcame sexual harassment allegations. A professional basketball player who recovered from a gambling scandal. A pharmaceutical executive who survived a product recall lawsuit.

All people whose problems were worse than mine, according to her case studies. All people who are now thriving in their respective careers.

Maybe Jude and Zennika are right. Maybe I can work with someone long enough to clean up my image and secure the Hartwell contract. After that, I can go back to my normal routine of minimal human contact and maximum wilderness time.

I'm still tellingmyself this when my motion sensors alert me to a vehicle coming up my driveway the next morning. I check the security camera feed on my phone, expecting to see Natalia Santos in some compact car struggling with the dirt road that leads to my cabin.

Instead, I see a sleek black SUV navigating the ruts and rocks like the driver actually knows what they're doing. The vehicle stops in my clearing, and the driver's door opens.

Holy hell.

Natalia Santos is not what I expected.

She's maybe five-foot-five in heels that have no business being worn on a mountain, but she moves across the uneven ground like she was born to it. Dark hair falls in waves past her shoulders, and even from this distance, I can see curves that her professional suit does nothing to hide. She looks like she stepped off the cover of a business magazine, all polish and confidence.

She also looks like trouble.

The kind of trouble I've spent four years avoiding. The kind that makes men do stupid things and forget why they chose isolation in the first place.

But as I watch her approach my front door, her stride purposeful despite the challenging terrain, something unexpected happens. Instead of the usual anxiety that comes with strangers invading my space, I feel... curious. There's something about the way she carries herself, confident but not arrogant, professional but not cold, that intrigues me despite my better judgment.

The knock on my door is firm and confident. Not the tentative tap of someone who's intimidated by my reputation or the remote location.

I take a deep breath, reminding myself that this is temporary. A necessary evil to secure the contracts I need. I can handle one small woman for however long it takes to fix my image problem.

I open the door, and my carefully prepared greeting dies in my throat.

Up close, Natalia Santos is devastating. Warm brown eyes meet mine without flinching, and her smile is both professional and genuinely friendly. She's beautiful in a completely naturalway, even with the obvious effort she's put into her appearance. But it's more than that. There's an intelligence in her gaze, an assessment that feels thorough but not invasive.

"Mr. Wallace?" Her voice has a slight accent, something that makes my name sound more interesting than it actually is. "I'm Natalia Santos. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

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