“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.
