Page 32 of How Not to Date a Griffin

He frowned down at the lukewarm burger and limp fries, sighing as he finally lifted one and dipped it into the ketchup before taking a bite.

The door jingled as John left, and Reid let his shoulders droop.

If he did this, agreed to hang around Nolan a little bit more in exchange for hopefully overhearing something damning about his father… at least he’d get to see Nolan again.

And maybe he wouldn’t even find anything. It would suck for John, but no harm no foul.

Right?

Reid saw Nolan three more times that day.

The first was when Reid was talking to one of the city’s officials. The place had been swarming with them after lunch, and Reid made his move.

The city wasn’t that large. Apparently big enough for its fifth mega hotel in the area, but small enough that he remembered this guy coming into his restaurant. He’d looked like a stuffy, black-tie asshole, and at first Reid had even thought he was a critic, but he’d had a genuine laugh, and most importantly, he’d loved Reid’s food.

Reid was doing his best to remind the man of that fact. Lots of shoulder slapping and belly laughs, to the effect that Reid couldn’t understand how this guy could support taking out his business – a whole block of them – if he loved the place so much that his recommendation had reached his sister-in-law’s hairdresser.

“—who said she loved the crème brûlée,” he finished proudly.

“Well, I appreciate that. Just because it sounds fancy, doesn’t mean it has to cost fancy, too. That’s why Essie’s Place is so special,” he said, meaning every fucking word and willing this man to pick up on his underlying desperation.

Don’t back the hotel, man.

Everyone deserved to be able to treat themselves to a nice meal. Between the location of Reid’s place and the prices he refused to raise, everyone could.

“It is special,” the man assured him, and Reid smiled. He wanted this man’s word, but that wasn’t how you played this game. Politics and whatnot.

Reid hated every bit of it.

Reid shook his hand again, but his gaze got caught over the other man’s shoulder.

Nolan’s smile was blinding, aimed at a photographer off to the side as he posed with his father. But upon a second—and maybe a third—glance, Reid could make out the frame of tension around his lips, the tightness in the crinkles by his eyes.

The man in front of Reid took his hand back, and Reid snapped back into the moment like a rubber band against skin. Fuck, how long had Reid been staring?

“It was nice catching up with you. Maybe I’ll see you in soon?” Reid suggested. He’d comp this guy’s whole meal. Reid wasn’t above bribery. He could make crème brûlée all day for his cousin’s whoever.

As the man walked away after saying goodbye, Reid analyzed the interaction. Was what he’d said enough to make an impression, enough to make this guy think twice before investing in a hotel that would take Reid’s business out?

God, he hoped so.

But he wouldn’t know until the end of the week.

His gaze darted back to Nolan at the same moment they stopped posing. His father took a pointed step away from him, murmuring something to the assistant that was usually glued to his side. Nolan’s smile faded instantly, lips twisting in a grimace before he was pulled back to attention at his father’s words.

A pang of sympathy shot through him, and Reid turned away before he could give in to the urge to whisk Nolan away from all of this.

John’s right. George Whittier looks like he’d kick a dog.

See? Reid should help John, if only to expose a possible dog kicker. Did the Whittiers even have a dog? He’d have to remember to look that up later.

You could just ask Nolan, a little voice in his head supplied.

It sounded a little too much like John’s for comfort.

The second time he saw Nolan, however, was his deciding factor.

Nolan was at the front of the huge conference room, seats filled with more business suits than Reid had ever seen. The lights were harsh and cast Nolan in a pale glow that did him no favors, or maybe it was the tight frame of tension as he fake-smiled out at the crowd.