One of the girls shook her head. “I had a man once ask me to get up and make him a sandwich. Sweat hadn’t even dried on my skin.”

Katie caught Florence’s eye in the mirror. “Did you at least get an orgasm or two out of him?”

“Yes, I did.” Florence’s skin heated at the memory. Clay had been . . . inventive. Dirty. Fun.

“That’s the best you can hope for nowadays,” Maeve said. “We don’t need men half as much as they think we do.”

Florence wondered about Maeve’s background. She sensed heartache behind the dancer’s words and advice. Something they had in common, at least.

A knock sounded at the door and everyone paused. No one was allowed in the dressing room, per Mulligan’s orders. He ensured that it was a safe space for the dancers, even from his own crew. “Yes?” Maeve called.

“It’s Mulligan. Is Miss Greene in there? I need to speak with her.”

“Lucky thing,” Katie whispered to Florence before glancing at Maeve. “Please, let him come in.”

“Is everyone decent?” Maeve asked around the room. When it was clear each girl was covered, she called, “You may enter.”

The door cracked and Mulligan filled the doorway. Hair swept back and perfectly attired, he was quite a striking figure. Florence swore she heard a few sighs from the dancers. “Ladies, bonsoir.”

The women offered greetings, while Katie leaned against the table, her robe slipping to reveal a bit of shoulder. “Mr. Mulligan. Good evening.”

He ignored all the looks he received and kept his gaze fixed on Florence. “Someone’s here to see you.”

“Me?” Who in the blue blazes was here for her? A horrible thought occurred. “Is it my father?”

“We should discuss it in the hall.”

She didn’t care to wait another second to learn who’d tracked her here. Besides, the women had offered unconditional support. “It’s all right. You may speak freely.”

“It’s Madden. He’s upstairs in my office.”

Maeve sucked in a breath. “Clayton Madden? Is he the one who—” Florence shot her a look and Maeve promptly closed her mouth.

Florence exhaled slowly and tried to calm her racing heart. How had Clay learned of her whereabouts? Furthermore, why was he here? He’d made his position clear the last time she was at the Bronze House. What more was there to say? “I don’t wish to see him.”

“I think you’re going to want to hear him out.”

“Why? What did he say?”

Mulligan thrust his hands in his trouser pockets. “I think he wants to apologize.”

“Did he tell you that?”

He paused before he said, “Not in so many words.”