Fine. If Clay didn’t want her then she wouldn’t chase him. She had her pride. Never mind what had occurred in his apartments tonight. She would forget about it—and about him, in time. There were other casinos in the city, other men who were experts on how to operate outside the law. She’d find one and continue on with her plans.

Because she was in charge of her own future. No one else.

She drew on that strength, nurtured it, until her armor was back in place. Straightening, she faced him. “Don’t let me keep you. I am able to find my way out.”

“No, I should . . .” He looked around as if just realizing where they were. “Help you into a hansom.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. One of the guards at the door will see me off. I don’t need your help any longer.”

He bent to snatch his shirt off the floor and threw it over his head. “I know you’re angry and I’m sorry. Trust me, you’ll thank me later on.”

“Trust you?” She gave a bitter laugh as she crossed to the washroom. “Indeed, I’d rather not. I tried it once and didn’t care for the results.” When she reached the washroom door, she paused. “Please be gone when I come out of here.”

And fifteen minutes later, the bedroom was empty.

Clay slapped the stack of papers in his palm and narrowed his eyes on the deliveryman. “You shorted me fifteen bottles this week.”

The young man, probably not older than twenty or twenty-one, started visibly shaking. “No, Mr. Madden. That can’t be right. I double-checked the order myself. Everything was accounted for.”

“And yet,” Clay said with icy detachment, “we are missing five bottles of rye, four bottles of whiskey, three bottles of burgundy and three bottles of brandy.”

“I—I don’t know what to say.” The young man began backing up toward the door they used as a loading dock. “Bald Jack himself counted it when it came off the truck.”

“Is that so? You watched him count every bottle?”

The man’s throat worked as he swallowed, his skin gone pale. “No, I didn’t but I’d never try to cheat you. Neither would my employer.”

“Someone cheated me—and I hate cheaters.”

“Whoa, what’s going on here?” Jack was now at Clay’s side. He reached over and began dragging Clay away from the delivery boy. “No one cheated anyone. There’s no reason to get upset.”

Clay gritted his teeth. “We are fifteen bottles short.”

Jack tossed an envelope of cash to the delivery boy. “We’re fine. Thank you for your hard work. We’ll see you next week.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jack.” The young man scurried for his cart, not sparing Clay another look.

“What the hell?” Clay asked.