Clay stared at the other man and struggled for calm. He had to act reasonably. No one could ever suspect what Florence meant to him. “I understand you’ve met Miss Greene.”

“I have had the pleasure.” Mulligan leaned back in his chair. “Remarkable young lady. I predict big things ahead for her.”

“How long has she been coming here?”

“Let’s see. She showed up three nights ago and has been visiting every evening since then. What can I say? We seemed to hit it off.”

Clay’s hands curled into fists. Seemed to hit it off? The idea of Florence and Mulligan together made Clay want to smash something. What was Florence thinking? Mulligan didn’t have her best interests at heart. He wouldn’t protect her and teach her. He wouldn’t care for her.

He wouldn’t hurt her feelings, either.

True, but Clay would apologize for that the first chance he got.

“I want her back.”

Mulligan smiled, not even bothering to hide his amusement. “She’s not a toy or a piece of property, Clay. We are talking about a strong-minded woman who has an uncanny ability with cards.”

“Let me rephrase that, then. I want you to stop tutoring her.”

“Don’t see why I should. She’s amusing, easy on the eyes. Livens up the place.”

The back of Clay’s neck tingled, anger sweeping over him. Mulligan was obviously baiting him, but Clay couldn’t stop from fantasizing about flipping this desk and punching the other man in the jaw. It would be so fucking satisfying. “You’ve taken her into the club?”

“Of course. Some of us actually leave our offices. Tonight I plan to take her to a little place I own on Mott Street—”

“Absolutely not,” Clay snapped. “The only thing you’re going to do is tell her you can’t tutor her any longer.”

A hard edge crept into Mulligan’s gaze, the blue of his irises turning to ice. “Not many have the stones to come into my office and order me around. You may wish to rethink your approach.”

Clay exhaled slowly and tried to reclaim some of his sanity. He couldn’t outmuscle Mulligan, not on the man’s own turf. No, he had to negotiate logically, with a clear head. “What do you want in exchange?”

Mulligan lifted his glass and sipped his beer. “What are you offering?”

“I’ll buy a hundred barrels of that beer for the club.”

Mulligan snorted. “Don’t insult me. By the way, I really like her perfume. It’s . . . orange and some spice I can’t quite place. Lingers for hours after she—”

“I’ll give you the policy shop on Canal.”

“The one Paddy O’Murphy runs?”

“Yes.”

Mulligan stroked his jaw, his lips twitching. “You must really have your knickers in a bunch over this girl. How low the mighty have fallen.”