Meanwhile, Lance seethed with barely contained rage. Gripping the steering wheel, he sped straight to his regular dive bar.
The whiskey burned going down, momentarily taking the edge off his anger. But it wasn't Isabella's drama gnawing at him—no, the mental image of Clara wrapped around that Lancaster heir, James, set his teeth on edge.
This couldn't stand. He had to intervene—but how? Then a vicious idea took shape. Snatching his phone, he dialed an old contact, cashing in shady favors until he finally secured Lori White's number. His fingers flew across the screen.
If he couldn't tear Clara and James apart himself, surely James's fiancée would leap at the chance. The phone rang into eternity before a voice crackled with barely restrained fury answered. "Who is this?" Lori's mood was
