She sucked in a breath, the pain lancing her insides. Anger was there, too, and she grabbed on to the emotion with both hands, unwilling to let him see the hurt. “Is this how you act with all of your conquests? Treat them like dirt afterward and kick them out?”

He winced. “I don’t mean to be cruel. I am trying to explain this to the best of my ability.”

“Well, you are doing a terrible job at it.”

“I . . .” He blew out a long breath and finally met her eyes. What she saw there surprised her. Panic. Clay was . . . scared. Of what? She was about to ask when he said, “When I first agreed to give you lessons, I thought it would be amusing to help Duncan Greene’s daughter descend into the darkness of New York’s underbelly. I was attracted to you but never thought anything would come of it. Women like you, those of your station, aren’t raised for casual liaisons. And I am interested exclusively in casual.”

Had she given Clay the impression she wanted a lifelong commitment? Was that why he’d left her in bed? “I am not asking for marriage, Clay.”

“I realize that. Even if you were, we both know it’s impossible. You’re not made for men like me.”

Why must you be different? Why can’t you fit in?

The familiar questions resurfaced at Clay’s rejection. How many times had her mother and father asked her this over the years?

She pushed her disappointment aside for a moment to focus on the future. “What does this have to do with teaching me how to operate a casino? Can’t the lessons continue even if our personal relationship does not?”

“No, they can’t. You are a distraction I don’t need.”

A distraction. He saw her as a distraction. Not a partner or a colleague. Not a mentee. Not a lover or even a friend. She was a nuisance, a bother.

God, why did that hurt so badly? Her lungs burned with unshed tears, the lump in her throat so large it was hard to breathe. She had always been the outcast, never quite fitting in with her family, but she thought she’d finally found someone who understood her. A place where she’d gained acceptance.

She’d been wrong, apparently. She didn’t fit in here, either.

Bending over, she collected more of her clothing off the floor and struggled not to cry.

Poor little society princess.

It was what Justine, her younger sister, said every time Florence complained about feeling like an outsider. There are people in this city with real problems, life-and-death struggles, Justine liked to say, not just hurt feelings. In other words, keep perspective on what really mattered and do something about whatever is bothering you.