He turned to find a stiff drink when he heard heels on the wooden floor. He knew better than to give in to the hope, however. Florence wanted nothing to do with him. Which meant this could only be one person.

Anna appeared out of the darkness, her silk skirts dragging the ground as she made her way to where he stood. Clay hadn’t seen her since the night of the supposed intruder. Still, he offered no greeting. He wasn’t fit for company.

She studied his face, one delicate brow arched. “Hello.”

He dipped his chin once but kept his gaze trained on the craps table below. Jack prowled the floor, always at the ready to solve problems and handle their members. Clay should have been in his office all night to work on the books. But his office reminded him of her.

“How are you doing?”

Were they really doing this? “I am not in the mood, Anna.”

“I see that. You look terrible, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t, actually.”

“Jack is worried about you. I’m worried about you. This isn’t like you, Clay.”

“What isn’t like me? Standing on the balcony to check on the floor? Pretty sure I do that every night.”

She reached over and pinched the back of his arm through his suit. He winced but didn’t pull away. “Do not deliberately provoke me,” she said. “I am here to help you.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“Badger you until you talk to me. You cannot retreat behind this thick wall you’ve built around yourself.”

He almost laughed. The imaginary thick wall was doing a poor job at protecting him, if that was the case. “There’s nothing to say, and I am not a problem that requires solving. I want to be left alone.”

“We care about you too much to allow you to wallow.”

“Wallow? Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Yes, I do,” she answered. “You thought she’d fall into your lap when you returned her grandmother’s deed. Seeing as that one effort failed, are you really ready to give up? Jesus, you spent twenty years plotting and scheming against her father. One attempt to win her back and that’s it?”

“One has nothing to do with the other. She said she couldn’t forgive me for the past. She doesn’t want to see me again.”

“I thought you loved her.”

He pressed his lips together. It was pointless to say the words now. Florence didn’t want to hear them. But he could admit the truth, that he felt more than affection for her. It was bone-deep, this craving for her. All-consuming and raw. Ugly and uncompromising. Was that love? If so, he hoped never to experience it again.