Page 150 of All We Need

My arms and legs are stiff.Notfrom sleep but from the ravenous and sensual wayBoothtook control of my body last night.Theache is welcome.Itwist out of his hold and stare down at his sleeping form.Helooks younger like this; brown hair disheveled with sleep, one arm slung over his face, lips parted as he snores softly.

My hand strokes down his cheek beforeIstand and walk toward my bag.

Each step is cumbersome.Thethud of my feet hitting the solid floor is a bitter reminder that today is it.

WhenIpull out my phone, the screen is blank, but the vibration continues.Thenoise is coming fromBooth’scell.Wantingto check it’s no one important,Iflip it over, and the callerIDhas me doing a double take.

Curiosity might kill the cat, but why isPedro—the executive chef of theSilverGoddess—calling him?AsIstare at hisphone, the call drops, but a text quickly follows.Myfinger hovers above the four digitsIknow to beBooth’spasscode.

It’s a huge invasion of privacy.Onethat would make me livid.Whichis whyIreturn the device and head to the bathroom instead to run through my morning routine.Ireturn to the main space to findBoothstirring awake. “Morning, beautiful.”

I’m so lost in my denial that today is our last,Ialmost forget aboutPedro’smysterious call.Whateversuspicions brew in my brain, he can easily put to rest.

“Why isPedrocalling you?”Iask calmly.

Like a shot of caffeine into his veins, his eyes turn to saucers, voice stricken. “What?Whendid he call?Whatdid he say?”

“I didn’t answer.”Imove closer until our knees touch, him sitting and me standing. “Yourphone was vibrating—Ithought it was mine.Howdo you know him?”

He sighs heavily. “It’snothing.”

I gesture over his rigid body, muscles straining tight. “Thisdoesn’t look like nothing.Talkto me.”

Rough hands skim up the backs of my bare thighs as he drops his forehead to my stomach. “Please,drop it,Aly.I’mtelling him no.”

We don’t push one another, but he’s keeping something from me.Hecan be mad at me later, becauseIneed an explanation.

My hands bracket his face, raising his gaze so he can’t avoid eye contact. “Whatdo you have to say no about?”

His shoulders slump in defeat. “Ajob.Hewants to meet inNewYorkto discuss the launch of a new restaurant.He’slooking to bring someone on board for six months to assist.”

This doesn’t add up.Hisbody language and flat tone shouldn’t pair with the news he’s revealing.Notjust any news.Somethinghe’s always dreamed about.

“Wait?Hewants to work with you?Andyou’re saying no?”

He stares at me likeI’mdeluded. “OfcourseIam.”

I step back, and his arms drop to his sides.Nothingmakes sense. “Whywould you turn it down?”

Booth rises, in nothing but tight gray briefs that should be distracting, butIcan’t seem to tear my gaze away from his dithering expression. “Areyou serious?Ican’t just up and leave.It’snot even permanent.Yourdad was kind enough to put in a good word withPedro, but c’mon,I’mhardly qualified.”

“My dad doesn’t blow smoke up people’s asses for the sake of it.Heobviously saw something in you.Youwant to say yes, it’s written across your face.Sowhy aren’t you giving it a shot?Youshut down wheneverItry to broach the topic of you leavingOurPlace.”I’maware my voice is rising, but my irritation is difficult to contain. “I’mnot stupid,Booth.Youhate your job.”

Pain flashes on his face. “Idon’t have a choice.”

My eyes narrow. “Thechoice is all yours.Noone is stopping you.You’rewasting away in that restaurant.Ipromised myselfIwouldn’t say anything, butIcan’t hold my tongue anymore.Thatnight in your house when you told me about your dreams, the excitement and passion in your voice were unmistakable.I’venever seen you like that before.”

His chest rises and falls rapidly. “Myfamily is relying on me.”

My hand lands over his heart.Thenext wordsIspeak are harsh, butIhope the touch reassures him they’re spoken with care. “Yourfamily wants you to be happy.They’dbe sad to lose you, but they’d be devastated if you lost yourself.Lostsight of your dreams.Youthink you’re good at hiding your emotions?”

He doesn’t answer.

“You’re not.Johannasees the truth.Florencedoes.Yourbrothers.Andso doI.”Histroubled gaze falls, the tempo of hisheart thumping hard against my palm. “Youdidn’t even correct me whenIsaid you hate your job.”

Realization dawns on him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

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