Chapter 2: Playing with Fire

After we checked into the hotel, Natalie knocked on my door. I’d just muted the news—another local Idaho scandal—when I opened up to find her in the hallway, holding a box of burn ointment, her expression all business but her voice gentle.

I brushed it off, saying it was just a minor thing and would heal soon. But she wouldn’t let it go, pointing out the blisters and insisting on treating it. Her hands trembled as she dabbed ointment on my skin, her touch gentle but her jaw set. The scent of her shampoo hung in the air—clean, a little floral.

I tried to lighten the mood: “It’s my hero’s medal for saving a damsel in distress.” She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips.

That afternoon, we met with the client. Afterward, they insisted on dinner—a steakhouse, packed and loud, the air thick with grill smoke and the clatter of steak knives.

Business dinners always mean drinking. Natalie leaned in, her hair brushing my cheek, whispering that I shouldn’t drink with my burn. Her words sent a jolt down my spine.

But backing out of a drink in business is a slap in the face. So I drank, glass after glass—beer, whiskey, even something that burned worse than the scald on my hand.

She got anxious and told the other side about my injury, but nobody cared. They just laughed and poured another round.

Soon, they told her to drink for me. Natalie hesitated, then lifted her glass, determined to stand in for me. She knocked it back in one gulp, her cheeks flushing, her eyes glassy.

After dinner, I declined the invitation for more drinks and took Natalie back to the hotel. The lobby was hushed, the kind of late-night quiet that only comes after too much fun.

She staggered as she walked, so I supported her to her room, feeling how light she was against my side. As soon as we got in, she rushed to the bathroom to throw up. The sound echoed off the tile—rough, raw, all too human.

Luckily, her clothes were spared. I handed her water, helped her to bed, took off her coat and shoes, and pulled the comforter over her. She sighed, her eyes fluttering shut before her head even hit the pillow.

I sat by her bed, teasing her for showing off when she couldn’t handle her liquor. She mumbled a protest, her words too soft to catch.

Her eyes were hazy with alcohol, mumbling that she’d only caused me trouble. She tried to apologize, her voice slurred but honest.

I told her it was fine—most people never get such an honor. If she wanted to trouble me, she could do it anytime. I tried to sound casual, but my heart thudded with hope.

She suddenly grabbed my hand, her fingers cold but strong, something flickering in her eyes.

But in the end, she just said thank you, her voice barely above a whisper.

I bent down and said, “If you really want to thank me, treat me to dinner when we get back.”

She said okay, eyelids drooping, but managing a little smile.

I turned off the light and left. The hall was quiet, just the hum of vending machines and distant city sounds.

After a cold shower, I finally calmed down. I needed the sting of the water to clear my head.

I never thought of myself as a gentleman, but with Natalie, it wasn’t just about fun. This was riskier, more important. I had to play it right.

I had to win her over completely—if anything went wrong, I’d be finished. One wrong move, and it was over.

I was figuring out how to win her. Once we got back, I’d strike while the iron was hot. The plan was coming together.

She was young, beautiful. I believed this time, I could have both love and money. For the first time, I started to believe it could actually work.