Frustrated, he drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. Was she so eager to enter the lion’s den? This was no place for her. Gambling made men desperate, stupid. Just last evening a man who’d lost everything tried to strangle a croupier. It was dangerous here, and his staff needed to pay attention to their jobs, not watch over this woman.

“It would be a waste of your money. You’ll never get past the police and politicians to even open your doors.”

“Precisely why I need guidance from you. The type of casino I wish to open is exactly like the Bronze House.”

He wanted to roll his eyes at her naivete. It had taken him fifteen years to achieve something as grand as the Bronze House. He’d scraped and hustled for half his life in alleys and taprooms to sit here. His scars were a daily reminder of his struggles. And she thought to snap her fingers and get whatever she wished?

Unbelievable, this woman.

He ought to throw her out. Refuse her request and bar her from ever returning.

And yet . . .

The idea of helping Duncan Greene’s daughter descend into the city’s underworld was appealing. Her father would hate it. The family would be humiliated, their social credibility ruined. Perhaps that might sour some of Greene’s business deals, cause him to lose money. That Clay would help to orchestrate the Greene downfall made the proposition all the sweeter.

It wouldn’t satisfy Clay’s need for revenge, but it was a good start.

“I would require only two to three hours of your time once or twice a week,” she said, her voice impatient. “I hardly see how that is an inconvenience for you.”

He didn’t answer right away. Negotiating was much like gambling. One had to possess patience. Otherwise, you never got what you wanted.

And what he wanted right now was to see how far she’d go. To discover just how badly she wanted this casino of hers. What was she willing to trade for it? Because he’d decided he liked her enough to keep her around. If she planned to ruin herself, then he would be more than happy to assist her in the endeavor.

“Name your price, Mr. Madden.”

He threw out an obscenely high amount. “One hundred dollars an hour.”

“Done. When may we start? Tonight?”

“You didn’t even attempt a negotiation. Perhaps I’m wasting my time in trying to teach you anything.”

Her lips twisted into a wide smile, her eyes sparkling from across the desk. The effect was an arrow through his chest to steal his breath. Goddamn, she was beautiful. He stared at her so often from a distance that he hadn’t prepared himself for witnessing her joy up close. He was destroyed. Slain. Unable to speak as his brain struggled to take it in.

“You won’t regret this, Mr. Madden. I swear.”