Page 72 of How Not to Date a Griffin

The doors parted, opening to his floor, and he stepped out, not bothering to hide the silly, dopey grin on his face as the night replayed in his head, as hope twined through his ribs, as he began making hasty plans.

“—that business!”

Nolan slowed as he exited the elevator, and his gaze cut to the ice and vending machine room, where he’d heard the familiar voice of his father’s assistant.

What was Chance doing up so late?

Trailing closer to the door, he listened carefully to the short, snappish words. Chance sounded very upset, and there were few things—besides Nolan—that upset the man.

“—by Nolan’s fucking boyfriend! Do you realize how you’ve possibly just complicated this for us?”

Nolan’s heart pounded at the sound of his name. Boyfriend. Chance had to be speaking about Reid – there was no other option. How did he know?

Even as he hovered outside the door, Chance lowered his voice, and Nolan could only hear mumbles. Then a huff. “Fine!” More muffled words, but Nolan picked up the most damning ones.

Money. Account. Tomorrow.

Then the door was opening, and Nolan froze like a deer in headlights. At the last second, he reached his hand out as if he’d been moving to open the door.

“Oh! Hello, Chance. You can’t sleep either?”

He sneered. “What are you doing here, Nolan?”

“I came for some ice chips,” he lied. “Helps me focus on rehearsing for presentations. How’s your night?”

“It’s… normal. And you?” he asked in a tone that suggested he did not care how Nolan’s night was.

“It’s been rather eye-opening,” he admitted, heart racing almost as quickly as his mind.

Chance’s eyes narrowed.

“And a little scary,” he continued, dedicating himself to the bit. “You know, I was having drinks at a bar earlier this evening, and someone threw a brick through the window! Can you believe that?”

Chance tried very hard to not stiffen. He did not succeed. “Sounds tragic.”

Nolan sighed. “Oh, no one was hurt; thank you for your concern. But, goodness, can you believe the time and repairs that go into something like that? Almost enough to want to shut the doors and never open them again.”

Chance’s eye twitched.

“Then again, I suppose that would be a relief for the Whittiers, wouldn’t it? One more business ready to sell. Makes it easy to just… swoop in and take it.”

“Yes, that would be convenient, wouldn’t it?” Chance said, eyes dark and harsh and scarier than Nolan had ever seen them.

Bingo.

Despite the victory, Nolan’s stomach twisted.

“Well, have a good night, Chance. See you in the morning,” he said, and stepped past him to go into the ice room.

“Nolan,” Chance called, and he turned, trying not to let his worry show on his face. “Where’s your ice bucket?”

Nolan glanced down as if surprised not to find the item of reference in his hand.

Playing dumb, he frowned. “I assumed they would be in the ice room. Are they not?”

Chance rolled his eyes. “They’re in your room. You’re supposed to bring it with you.”

“Oh. That’s kind of silly, isn’t it? Why wouldn’t the ice buckets be in the ice room?” he rambled, changing direction and following Chance past the elevators as if to retrieve it.