Page 4 of Hitched to my Boss

"Background, personality assessment, specific situations that cause you stress." Her tone is matter of fact, but there's something reassuring about her directness. "Think of it as a diagnostic tool. I can't fix what I don't understand."

The logical part of my brain knows she's right. If I want her help, I need to give her the information she requires. But the rest of me is already calculating escape routes, planning whichmountain trails I could disappear into if this conversation goes too far into territory I don't want to explore.

"How long will this take?"

"As long as it takes." She meets my eyes steadily, and there's something in her expression that makes me want to trust her despite every instinct screaming caution. "But Jason, I need you to understand something. I'm not here to change who you are. I'm here to help you present the best version of yourself to potential clients. There's a difference."

Something in her tone makes me believe her. Maybe it's the directness, or the fact that she's not trying to convince me that my preferences are wrong. She's simply acknowledging them as part of the puzzle she needs to solve.

And for the first time in years, the idea of letting someone see past my defenses doesn't feel like a threat.

"All right," I say finally. "Ask your questions."

She smiles, and for the first time since she arrived, it feels like a real smile rather than a professional one. Something warm and genuine that transforms her entire face.

"Excellent. Let's start with the basics."

As she flips to the first page of her questionnaire, I remind myself that this is temporary. A few weeks, maybe a month, and then I can go back to my normal routine. I can handle anything for that long.

Even if that 'anything' includes spending time with a woman who's already making me question why I chose isolation in the first place.

2

NATALIA

Jason 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, andthe 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."

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