Page 11 of Jingle Belle's Biker

“Lance?”

“Lance.”

“The fucker,” she says, all murderous. Then she nods. “Tell me you got the signatures handed over. I’m still working on finding a lawyer who’ll take on the Hastings at a fee we can afford.”

“I can do it.”

She glares and leans forward, grabbing my white wine and shifting it out of the way. “I know that. Just like I know you’ll probably find the best lawyer, but two smart brains working together is better than one, Belle. Besides, you saved my library. I owe.”

Hannah sits back and crosses her arms.

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

“Belle—”

“I was planning a Christmas for the poorer families in my neighborhood,” I say as I sip my wine. “This year’s been hard, and I’ve been thinking of trying to come up with something.”

“People have pride.”

“I know. But if it’s for the kids, a dinner, or gifts, or something . . . I don’t know, we can work out the details.”

“Count me in,” she says, then picks up her beer. “But I got one of the guys here, Mason,” she waves her hand back toward her adoring crowd, “to dig into the company who owns your building.”

I shrug. “It’s some hardcore management company that owns places all over the eastern States.”

“Ever wonder why the Hastings own everything else around you but not that building?”

I’m about to make a flippant answer when I stop. “Not until right now.”

“Mason found out one of the owners in that company was Esther Hastings.”

“Lance’s Gran?”

“And the company handles the payments and management, but your Secret Gardens belongs solely to Esther.”

“To Lance, then.”

“No, Mason did some diggings and said a number of her properties fall into his hands only if met by certain criteria. If not, they’re run by that company.”

A frisson of electricity sparks up my spine. “Like what?”

“Not sure, that he couldn’t find out.” Hannah’s gaze flicks to the door. “Don’t look now, but the Grinch on Karmic steroids walked in and is heading our way.”

Lance. I don’t need to look. And his aftershave, expensive and manly-according to him—hits me. “Isabelle.”

Being Lance, he only glances at Hannah, who makes no move to vacate her seat. That is, until I give her a slight nod.

“Watching you, rich boy,” she says as she shifts past him.

“I really wish, Isabelle, you’d choose a better place to go to.”

I count to ten, slow and silent. “Lance? What do you want?”

“You.”

Once that would have melted me. Once.

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