“Because I am your mentor and I’m telling you to do it. If you’d rather learn from someone who cannot teach you a fraction of what I know, then by all means refuse me. I’ve lots of other tasks I should be doing.”

Heat washed across her neck, an anger that spread to the roots of her hair. His employees must absolutely hate him. If this was how he treated people, no wonder his assistant handled everything below during club hours.

She forced her eyes closed. The sounds from the casino floor sharpened, as did her awareness of the man next to her. He smelled . . . manly, like faint cigar and a forest. Was it pine? The unusual combination appealed to her, dash it. She heard his shoes squeak ever so softly as he moved closer. His elbow brushed hers.

“What do you hear?”

“Voices.”

“What else?”

She didn’t understand. Was this a test of some kind? If so, was she already failing? “Lots of voices.”

“Florence, try harder. You need to hear all of it. Take a moment and think.”

She exhaled and cleared her mind. She and her sisters had often hid outside from one another in the summers. The first person to find the other two would win. Florence had triumphed nearly every time. She’d keep perfectly still and listen until the familiar sounds fell away and she could discern the unnatural ones. Then she’d hurry to where Mamie and Justine hid and reveal them.

The same thing happened tonight. The voices drifted to the background and she could hear the underlying noises. “Dice, more than one set. From directly below us. One roulette wheel spinning, a ball dropping in another.” A tiny ivory ball clanged against the metal. “Champagne cork popped. The stacking of chips.”

“Is that all?”

“Cards being shuffled.” She held her breath, hoping for more. “A scraping of some kind.”

“Now open your eyes.”

She blinked in the dim light and let her eyes adjust. “How did I do?”

“You tell me.”

Refraining from frowning at him, she glanced at the floor. A waiter poured champagne in one spot; roulette players collected their winnings in another. Craps games rolled on. An older man with one lame leg slowly made his way toward the exit, his foot dragging on the wooden floor. She cast Clay a satisfied grin. “I’d say pretty well. It’s not hard when you put your mind to it.”

All of his attention was now focused entirely on her mouth. The intensity of his stare sent a bolt of heat through her, rooting her feet to the floor. What was he thinking? Something to do with his attraction to her? Her heart pounded as the moment stretched, the surroundings drifting away in their darkened and secluded spot. His features were sharper at this distance, angles and scars that fascinated her. They told a story of a life much different than hers.