Page 29 of Hitched to my Boss

Me: It's complicated.

Maya: Everything's complicated with you. It’s a simple question Nat. Do you miss Jason Wallace?

Me: Yes. Which is concerning given that we've only known each other for a month.

Maya: Or it's completely normal given that you're married to him and apparently made the decision to make it real.

I close the text conversation without responding because Maya's assessment hits too close to home. The decision to make our marriage real had felt obvious, inevitable, when Jason was here. But this week of solitude has given me too much time tothink, and thinking has always been dangerous for my peace of mind.

Three days into his absence, my phone had rung with the call that changed everything.

"Natalia? Thank God you answered." The voice was sharp, frustrated. "It's Rebecca. From the Morrison account."

Rebecca Martinez, my first major client, the pharmaceutical executive whose career I'd saved from a product liability scandal two years ago. She'd been more than a client, she'd become a mentor, someone whose opinion I valued more than almost anyone else's.

"Rebecca, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong is that I've been trying to reach you for three weeks. Left voicemails, sent emails. My assistant said she called your office number, and it just rang and rang." The disappointment in her voice cut deeper than anger would have. "Natalia, I needed you."

My blood turned to ice.Three weeks.Jason's project timeline, our Vegas trip, the whirlwind of getting married and making life-changing decisions. I'd let everything else fall by the wayside.

"Rebecca, I'm so sorry. I've been dealing with some personal?—"

"I don't need explanations, sweetheart. I need to know if you're still the professional I hired two years ago. Because the Natalia Santos I know would never disappear for three weeks without a word, especially not during a crisis."

"Crisis?"

"The SEC investigation. Remember? The one you were supposed to help me navigate?" Her voice was strained but controlled. "Natalia, where have you been?"

The SEC investigation. The follow-up to the product liability case, a routine inquiry that required careful media managementand strategic communication. I'd promised Rebecca I'd handle it personally, had blocked out weeks in my calendar for preparation and execution.

Weeks that had vanished while I was playing house with my accidental husband.

"I can handle this," I'd said, scrambling for my laptop to check my calendar. "Rebecca, I'm so sorry. I'll fix this."

"I had to hire someone else, Natalia. I couldn't wait any longer." The words hit like a physical blow. "The investigation expanded because we didn't have the right messaging from the beginning. My board is furious, and frankly, so am I."

"I can still help. I know your case better than anyone?—"

"You know the case from two years ago. This is different, and the consultant I hired has been working on it for two weeks already. Natalia, I trusted you, and you disappeared on me when I needed you most."

After that call, I'd spent two days frantically trying to salvage the situation, but the damage was done. Rebecca had moved on to another consultant, and word had already started spreading in crisis management circles. The SEC inquiry that should have been routine had become more complex because of delayed response and inconsistent messaging. Rebecca's company stock had dropped eight percent. Two board members had lost confidence in her leadership.

All because I'd been too wrapped up in my mountain man fantasy to honor my professional commitments.

I'd offered to work for free, to do whatever it took to fix things, but Rebecca's trust was broken. She was polite but distant, professional but disappointed. The mentorship I'd valued was effectively over, and my reputation had taken a hit that would take years to recover from.

"Natalia Santos disappeared for three weeks during a client emergency" wasn't the kind of story that built careers. It was the kind that ended them.

Now, sitting in Jason's cabin with my laptop open to three different client crises that need attention, I'm forced to confront the uncomfortable truth that I've lost myself in this relationship.

Not in the romantic, swept-off-my-feet way that feels exciting and adventurous. In the dangerous, career-destroying way that I've seen derail a dozen smart women who should have known better.

I look around the cabin I've been unconsciously decorating, at the domestic life I've been unconsciously building, and feel sick. When did I become the kind of woman who abandons her professional responsibilities for a man? When did I start defining myself as someone's wife instead of as an independent professional with her own goals and ambitions?

My phone rings, and I answer it automatically.

"Natalia Santos."

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