She nodded against him instead of answering. The heartache was too fresh, too consuming to discuss at the moment.

“If he made you happy, then I’m sorry for it,” Daddy said. “But I believe a man like Clayton Madden would have eventually crushed your spirit. He’s too dark for you, too dour.”

Wrong. He’d been perfect. And Clay had a lighter side, one he didn’t show to many. He had been funny and sweet, a wonderful storyteller. A man who’d understood her ambition and restlessness.

If only he hadn’t plotted and schemed behind her back.

The clock chimed three o’clock and Florence jerked. “Oh, goodness. I have to go.” She rose and shook out her skirts.

Her father chuckled. “Always on the run. Just like I was at your age.”

Grinning, she leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Love you.”

“I love you, too. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where you are off to?”

She just laughed and waved as she hurried to the front door. “You’d rather not know, believe me.”

Not that she was traveling to a rough neighborhood—quite the opposite. She planned to speak with Mrs. Mansfield, one of the city’s top architects, about designing the women’s casino. They didn’t have an appointment but Florence knew the architect spent every afternoon at the Mansfield Hotel’s construction site. Florence was prepared to steal a few minutes of the woman’s time.

Outside, she started to look for a hack when a figure stepped away from a sleek black carriage at the curb.

Bald Jack.

She was happy to see her friend, but her heart lurched at the reminder of Clay. Would this stupid ache ever go away? She walked toward the carriage, smiling at the other man.

The wariness on Jack’s face eased. “Miss Greene.”

“Hello, Jack. What are you doing so far uptown?”

“I came to see you.”

“Oh? Why?”

“He wants to see you.”

Her stomach hollowed out and dropped like a stone. “No.”

“He figured you’d say that. Hold on.” Turning, Jack reached inside the sleek carriage and withdrew a few sheets of paper. “Here you go. He asked me to give you this.”

She stared at the stack as if it were poisonous. What was Clay sending her? Had he written her a letter? “What is it?”

“Read it.”

“Jack, I cannot—”

“Florence, you’ve never been afraid before. Don’t start now.”

She inhaled a deep breath. He was right. Whatever Clay had to say would not change her mind. She would steel her heart, read whatever the papers contained then leave. Move on. He was in her past.

Holding out her hand, she accepted the papers from Jack. The tightness in her chest eased slightly when she saw it wasn’t a letter. These were legal papers.

“I don’t understand.” She looked up at Jack, her brows pinched.

“You will. Keep reading.”