Page 74 of How Not to Date a Griffin

“It makes it hard for them to say no to him. If they have no other options but to sell or go under. They choose Whittier every. Fucking. Time.”

Leaning back in his chair, Reid rubbed at his tired eyes, heart suddenly racing in his chest.

“A brick was thrown through the restaurant window earlier tonight,” he admitted. “And to be honest, fixing it is not in the realm of things I was prepared for.”

“And they know that. That’s the game they’re playing, setting you up for failure so that when they give you another lowball offer, you’ll have no choice but to take it.”

There was a knock at the front door. Usually Reid would just ignore it, since it was so late, but something made him stand and exit the office. It was like he was being pulled to the door.

“Someone’s here,” he said absently into the phone.

“What? Who? It’s past four fucking a.m.,” John grumbled. “Wait, don’t answer it. What if the Whittiers sent him?”

Through the frosted glass of the door, he could make out a build he’d know anywhere by this point, and the same fuschia shade of Nolan’s shirt.

“Something tells me he came of his own accord,” Reid muttered. “I’ll call you later, John.”

“Wait, Reid—”

Reid ended the call and opened the door, his stomach fizzing in a nauseating mix of excitement and dread.

“Nolan,” he breathed.

“Reid, something is very wrong,” Nolan began.

Reid stepped back, stomach dropping at the frantic edge to his words.

“What is it?” he asked, though he had a feeling he knew.

“My father…” Nolan locked the door behind them, collapsing against it and slamming his eyes closed. The bag around his shoulder was heavy, banging softly against the door. “He’s been—I’ve…”

“Do you want a drink?” Reid offered, already heading toward the bar.

“Okay,” he agreed, deflated.

So this was it.

Reid had to resist the urge to wrap his arms around Nolan and squeeze. Instead, he… well, his hand hovered over the basic bottle of bourbon, but at the last second swerved and grabbed the whisky. Then he turned and carefully grabbed two lowball glasses from the shelf.

Nolan watched him silently as he placed his bag on the chair, leaning against the bar, brow furrowed as his thoughts raced.

“I’m not sure this is really a cocktail occasion,” he murmured, lips quirking up sadly.

“It is if we want it to be,” Reid answered simply, ignoring the thump in his chest. He added a twist of an orange peel and three cherries before sliding Nolan’s cocktail across the bar.

Nolan took a hesitant drink and hummed in appreciation before his lips turned back down.

“I know about your dad,” Reid said softly.

“What?” Nolan asked, gaze snapping to his. “How? When?”

“Just a few minutes ago, actually.” Reid sipped his drink and set the glass down with a soft clink. It was almost funny, the celebratory cherries with nothing to celebrate, and he wanted to laugh, but the sound got stuck in his throat.

“This is… god, this is terrible, Reid,” Nolan breathed, and then he was walking away from the bar. At first, Reid thought he was heading toward the door, ready to leave, to… to what? But he turned at the last second, retracing his steps in an anxious pace.

“What are we going to do?” he asked, a shrill note to his voice that made Reid wince. Nolan dragged his palms down his face, pausing to cover his mouth as he returned on his route. His words were muffled when he spoke next. “We – we have to tell someone, right? Oh my god.” Nolan’s expression crumpled, eyes slamming shut. “Collusion? All these years. All the different cities.”

Reid stepped around the bar, hands lifting to frame his shoulders, but he stopped at the last second, hovering inches from his shirt. His lips parted, but nothing came out.