Chapter 5 Willa
WILLA
My throat is tight as I end the call with Everly and pocket my phone.
I’ve been putting off calling my best friend, scared to admit how bad things have gotten.
She has her own life in Chicago, and I don’t want her worrying about me, but I just couldn’t carry it alone anymore.
I needed to tell someone. I hoped it would make me feel better, but after hearing how devastated Everly sounded, I feel a million times worse.
She tried to offer me all of her savings, even though I know she worked her ass off for the ten grand in her bank account. I said no way.
With a last look at the creek flowing lazily through the trees, I turn around and head back toward the office, my mind racing with thoughts.
The auction ends tomorrow. Listings never stay up for long—it’s meant to be a quick transaction.
Quick enough to stop people having time to second-guess themselves.
But it’s not working. I’m definitely second-guessing myself.
It’s not nothing. With nearly ten grand in a single night, I could start making loan repayments.
Maybe even make a dent in my debt. It’s not enough to save me, but there’s still time.
A lot of auctions start snowballing on the final day.
If I could make it to twenty-grand, it would clear my debt with the loan company.
The phone calls would stop. The outrageous interest rates would stop.
I’d still be left with a mountain of credit card debt, but it would be a start.
I take a deep breath when I reach the door to the office, steeling myself to go back inside.
Flint is waiting in there. I can hear him shifting in his desk chair, the groan of floorboards beneath him, and my heart flutters wildly.
My body keeps betraying me with my new boss around.
Every time those gray eyes meet mine across the office, my skin prickles with heat, insides turning to mush.
It’s a distraction I can’t afford right now.
I wasn’t expecting Flint to spend so much time in the office with me.
He’s clearly not made for life behind a desk—he’s a lumberjack, built like the mountain itself, a body carved from physical labor.
Part of me wishes he’d leave me to work alone.
Anything to stop my stomach doing backflips when I look at him.
I’m not the kind of girl who gets to have a crush on her boss.
This job is a lifeline, and I need to keep things professional.
But it’s hard to remember that as I step into the office and feel those eyes burning into me.
Flint is watching me intently, his expression unreadable as I shoot him a polite smile and take a seat behind my desk once more.
“You okay, Willa?”
His question catches me off guard. There’s a kind of fierce warmth in his voice, a protectiveness that makes my chest tighten.
I meet his gaze. We stare at each other for a beat too long, and I have the crazy urge to tell him everything.
Spill my guts and lay it all out for Flint to see.
The auction. The debt. There’s something about this man…
something that makes me think he’d know what to do.
Like those big, strong hands could fit my life back together like a jigsaw puzzle.
“I’m fine,” I lie, forcing a smile. “Thanks.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “You got a night shift after this? Fireside Lodge?”
“Yes.”
“What hours?”
“Seven until five in the morning.”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “What about the diner? Your morning shift?”
I could lie. Make it sound better than it is. But instead, I mutter, “Seven until two.”
Flint’s scowl deepens. “Let me get this right. You work at the diner all morning. Then you come here. Then you go straight to the hotel and work all night.”
“Yes.”
“When do you sleep?”
Something about the way he asks breaks me wide open. He sounds furious at the idea that I’m not sleeping enough, like my well-being is the most important thing in the world to him.
“I…I get a couple of hours after my hotel shift. My manager lets me crash in the back before I leave for the diner. Sometimes, if it’s a quiet night at the reception desk, I can snatch a half-hour here and there.
” My cheeks burn. I feel embarrassed for reasons I can’t quite explain.
Embarrassed that my life is such a mess and I can’t seem to fix it.
“I catch up on weekends, though. I only have the diner shifts on weekends.”
Flint looks at me for a long time, and it suddenly hits me that I’ve said too much. He doesn’t want a tired employee. A tired employee makes mistakes, and I’ve just admitted that I’m doing this job on two hours’ sleep.
Idiot, idiot, idiot.
“It’s fine,” I say hurriedly. “I don’t need much sleep anyway. It doesn’t affect my work.”
Panic claws at my throat as Flint stands up, hulking over me, that permanent scowl fixed in place.
I have a horrible feeling he’s about to fire me.
He doesn’t want a burned-out employee. Heck, maybe he thinks he’ll be doing me a favor.
He has no idea how desperate I am, and I can’t bring myself to tell him.
“Come with me,” he grunts.
It’s not what I was expecting him to say. I stand up from my desk on shaky legs, convinced I’ve blown it as I follow Flint out of the office and into the woods. He strides with purpose, moving easily through the trees, and I struggle to keep up.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer.
Bewildered, I keep following him, the creek running alongside us.
We walk for a few minutes, then a building emerges from the trees—a giant log cabin.
Heck, it’s more like a log mansion: a sprawling structure made of the same honey-colored oak as the office but twenty-times the size, with vast windows and wooden gables.
Stone chimneys dot the shingle roof, at least four of them, and I count three balconies on the upper level.
“Wow…” I breathe. “What is this place?”
“Home.”
My eyebrows shoot up. I never imagined Flint would live somewhere like this. I pictured a modest little cabin, like our office but with an extra floor.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Thanks,” Flint grunts. “Was falling apart when I bought it. Took ten years to fix it all up.”
We climb the stone steps toward the cabin’s front door. Now that I’ve taken it all in, the confusion is creeping back.
“Um…why are we here?” I ask.
“I want you to do something for me.”
His vague answer doesn’t help, but I follow his lead as he pushes open the double doors and steps inside.
The cabin smells like Flint—pine and woodsmoke.
It’s just as impressive on the inside. Wooden beams crisscross the high ceilings, plush rugs carpet the floorboards, and rustic furniture fills the space.
There are windows everywhere. It feels like we’re still outside as the trees sway all around and Sugar Creek glints on the other side of the glass.
Flint leads me down a wide corridor and opens the door at the end to reveal a bedroom that’s bigger than my entire apartment.
Giant four-poster bed. Stone fireplace in the corner.
I look around, pulse quickening. It feels intimate being in Flint’s home, inhabiting his space.
I like it more than I should…even if I still don’t understand why I’m here.
“This room okay?” Flint asks.
I join him in the center of the room, frowning. “Okay for what?”
He gestures to the bed. “I want you to get some sleep.”
“Uh…what?”
“You heard.” He crosses his arms stubbornly over his chest. “You need some rest, Willa.”
“But I’m at work. It’s my first day. I can’t just—”
“I’m your boss. I’m saying you can.”
My head spins as I try to figure out what’s happening. Does this mean he’s firing me? Is he letting me sleep because he’s decided he doesn’t need me after all?
Crap.
Why didn’t I lie about my hours?
“Flint, I…I promise I can do this job,” I tell him, hating the desperation in my voice. “If you give me a chance—”
“What are you talking about?” He frowns in confusion. “The job’s already yours. I’m not firing you, Willa. I’m just telling you to get some sleep.”
“But I’m on the clock…” I say weakly. “You can’t pay me to sleep.”
“Sure I can. It’s my company.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I just stare at him. The silence lasts a beat too long and Flint’s eyes soften.
“I’ll be in the office if you need me, okay?” he says. “I’ll come wake you up at the end of your shift.”
Before I can say another word, he leaves the bedroom, his heavy footsteps retreating down the corridor.
I stand in the middle of the room for a few moments and try to decide what to do next.
My body is crying out for sleep. Always.
I’m in a constant state of exhaustion, and if I get in that bed, I know I’ll be asleep the second my head hits the pillow.
But I’m worried that this could be some kind of test.
Maybe Flint is waiting to see what I’ll do next—waiting to see if I take him up on his offer.
Waiting to fire me if I actually fall asleep.
I’ve had plenty of bosses who wouldn’t hesitate to do something like that.
Bullies, guilt-trippers, drama queens, manipulators, control freaks—I’ve worked for them all.
But I know in my gut that Flint isn’t like that.
There’s a kind heart beneath that grumpy scowl.
I’m just so used to bracing for the worst that I can’t recognize a good thing when it’s right in front of me. And Flint Calloway is definitely a good thing.
I stop thinking. Stop rationalizing, calculating, weighing up the risks.
Instead, I collapse onto the bed. My body sinks into the mattress, and I curl up with a sigh.
But before I close my eyes, I can’t resist reaching for my phone.
Checking the auction has become a nervous habit, an impulse I can’t ignore, and I open First Encounters, watching the loading icon spin round and round.
I’m about to give up and let sleep carry me under, when suddenly, the page flashes onto my screen all at once.
I stare at the new number under my profile.
$100,000.
My vision narrows to a point, fixing on those six digits until my eyes blur.
It must be a mistake.
A glitch.
I hit refresh again. Again. Again. But the number remains the same.
There’s a (1) at the top of the page. A message. I open it with trembling hands.
32 minutes ago: Congratulations! Your listing has hit $100,000.
Everything goes very still. I check again. Double-check. Triple-check. But it’s not a mistake. Not a glitch. Someone has bid $100,000—enough to clear all my debts with money to spare.
I burst into tears. Heaving, ugly sobs that rip through my whole body. It hits me all at once, an avalanche of emotions. Relief. Terror. A kind of grief I don’t have words for.
This is really happening.
There’s no turning back now.
Suddenly, it all feels too real. I can almost feel it, the crawl of a stranger’s hands on my body, and I hug myself tight, sobbing so hard that no sound comes out.
I should be happy. This is so much more than I ever could have hoped for, a number bigger than even my wildest dreams. But all I can think about is what comes next… what I have to do.
My thoughts turn to Flint.
I don’t know why.
And suddenly, I’m crying harder than ever.