Ignatius Leclair narrowed his phoenix eyes, temporarily assuming that the second son of the Land Family was jealous of him. The man spoke indifferently, his voice cold and deep: "Mr. Wilbur Turner, don't you think you should sober up, change your clothes, and then join us?"
The dignified and aloof man had a deeply ingrained sense of cleanliness. As he caught a whiff of the faint smell of alcohol on Cassius Turner, he frowned slightly, his gaze betraying subtle displeasure.
Cassius Turner's momentum suddenly faltered. After being dragged into a night of drinking by Yeats Howard, he had slept in his car all night and rushed over, flooring the accelerator. There was no time for him to shower or change his clothes.
The man immediately felt a bit defeated. Delphine must have seen him in this sloppy state already. He really didn't usually drink; it was all Yeats Howard's fault, that scoundrel.
