Page 83 of How Not to Date a Griffin

If he said no, Nolan knew there’d be no judgment from Reid. In fact, they’d probably just turn around and spend the afternoon at Reid’s place, watching his phone flood with notifications as the business imploded.

“No, I—I want him to know it was me.”

His final fuck you to his father. Was it dramatic? Yes.

Was it terrifying, to be led through the lobby, clutching Reid’s hand and his lanyard, knowing in just moments it would all be over? Abso-fucking-lutely.

Was it all a little easier with Reid by his side? Nolan squeezed his hand. Yeah, it was.

Reid released his hand as they drew closer to the party, the hum of cheerful murmurs spilling into the carpeted hallway. Nolan put the lanyard over his neck and sucked in a deep breath.

“You’ve got this. And if not, I’m right here,” Reid promised, low in his ear.

His father’s eyes latched onto him as soon as Nolan entered the room. George Whittier’s gaze was intense and angry, despite the smile he put on for the person in front of him.

Nolan steeled himself as he approached, stuffing his fear down deep, pulling on his frustration and fury like a set of armor.

“Nolan, glad to see you’re feeling better,” his father said after breaking away from his discussion. He lifted his hand to grip Nolan’s arm, but Nolan shifted away first, feeling Reid at his back in silent support.

“Have you heard the news?” his father asked. “It’s everywhere, it’s—“

Nolan smiled. “It’s fine. Don’t worry, I’m gonna take care of everything,” he said. “That’s what this brunch is for, right?” he asked his father, whose brows were bunched in confusion. “To celebrate the business? Let’s fucking celebrate.”

He patted his father on the shoulder, a shitty, patronizing touch, and it felt good to be on the opposite end of it for once. “Is Chance here?” he asked. “Wouldn’t want him to miss the big speech.”

“He’s over there.” His father motioned to the side, where Chance was hissing into a cell phone. Nolan pitied whoever was on the other line. “Trying to salvage this shit show.”

“Leave it to me,” Nolan said, and ignored Reid’s chuckle, terribly disguised as a cough.

Reid took the flash drive and motioned to the projector, while he headed over to the table stacked with tech stuff. Nolan took to the stage without a glass to toast with and picked up the microphone, which screeched at his touch, bringing the room’s attention to him.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted, voice light and friendly, casual. “I’m Nolan Whittier, and if you didn’t just sneak in for the free drinks and food, you’ll probably recognize me from some of the presentations this week.”

The crowd chuckled appropriately, and Nolan smiled, stomach swirling. “It’s good to see you all here, and I want to thank you for giving us your time and attention this week. This project is quite a big undertaking, but rest assured, we’ve done this before. Hundreds of times, in fact. And it’s all thanks to my father, George Whittier.”

The crowd cheered, though he recognized the unsure glances a few of them shared. Good.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for giving one last presentation, but this one might even be the most important of the week.” He had the room’s full attention now, and sucked in a breath to steady himself before speaking. “George Whittier, of Whittier Hotels,” he began. The projector clicked, and the first slide appeared on the screen behind him. He moved out of the way, standing stage right.

“Born in 1955. Father to one – you’ll never guess who.” The crowd chuckled at the photo that appeared with the next slide, controlled by Reid. He caught Reid’s gaze, strong and wide and proud from behind the computer at the tech table.

Nolan steeled himself, wondering if everyone could hear the deafening thump of his heart.

The photo was old, one of the many fake, staged photos of Nolan, his father’s arm around his shoulder as they grinned at something off-camera.

“George raised me to believe in integrity,” he continued, voice tight, heart racing. “Hard work and perseverance. You know, all that good stuff. Never giving up, working toward a goal with single-minded focus.

“The first branch we ever opened—” He paused as the slideshow transitioned, a clipart skyscraper rising up from the screen to rip the photo of him and his father apart. It was stupid and dramatic and silly and perfect, and confused murmurs rose throughout the crowd.

“—was a huge success,” he carried on over them, speaking louder. The slideshow transitioned again, coins falling from the top of the screen to pile over the bottom, filling the pixels with gold. Then a photo of the first hotel. “Some might call him ruthless, doing anything he could to get to the top. No matter who –” His gaze flicked to Reid, softening at the fierce pride glowing from his eyes. “– or what stands in his way.”

Again, the photo changed, this time to the happiest photos he could find of the first businesses they’d ever bought out. A little girl on the shoulders of the owner, with his giant grin at the line hovering outside the door of his candy shop. “This is the first business my father ever purchased, bulldozed over –” At this point, a clipart bulldozer rolled onto the screen, pushing aside the photo of the happy father-daughter duo. “–to make room for…” Again, the photo of the utilitarian hotel, all steel and glass and heartlessness. “This,” he said, clear disdain in his voice.

Disappointed gasps sounded throughout the room, and his father stiffened where he stood. If hadn’t caught on thus far, he was about to.

“This is another business that stood in the way of my father’s hotel,” Nolan announced, and Reid flashed another family-friendly photo. Then another, like polaroids landing in a pile. One after another. “These are all businesses that had to be bought and torn down, their roots pulled up and tossed out in order to make room for hotel after hotel.

“That’s sad enough as it is,” Nolan said, filling with disbelief that he’d been so blind for so long. It spilled out in exasperation. “But the worst part is… he didn’t even do it legally!”