Jack retreated a few steps and frowned. “Anna needed more booze this week. I gave her the bottles and forgot to mark it down. And I should be asking you what the hell. You just caused that boy to piss his pants in fear.”

Frustration and remorse throbbed in his temples. Damn this eternal headache. “Send him an extra fifty with my apologies. I didn’t know about Anna.”

“That’s the last time I let you handle deliveries, at least until Florence Greene returns.”

Clay didn’t comment, merely turned on his heel and started for the stairs. Heavy footsteps behind him signaled he wasn’t alone. Jesus. He hurried in the hopes Jack would give up.

“She is going to return, isn’t she?” Jack asked. “It’s only been three nights but your mood is worse than a wounded bear’s. Not sure how much more we can take around here.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” At the landing, he headed for his office. His empty office, without delivery boys and nosy partners.

“Too fucking bad. The deliveryman was the last straw. Tell me what’s going on with you.”

Clay tried to shut the door on Jack, but his friend was quick for a man over two hundred pounds. “Don’t bother trying to outrun me,” Jack said as he pushed right through. “You should know better by now.”

“I have a headache. Can’t I drink alone?”

“No.” Jack grabbed a bottle from the sideboard along with two glasses. He slapped everything on Clay’s desk right before dropping into a chair. “Talk.”

Clay sighed and sat down. He hadn’t slept since that night with Florence and exhaustion weighed heavily in each part of his body. You were a prick to her. You hurt her, you goddamn coward.

Yes, a coward.

Because fucking Florence Greene hadn’t been anything like he’d expected. His usual encounters were fun, mutually satisfying. A release and nothing more. But with Florence, he’d actually felt something for her. Something deeper, meaningful. A connection no other woman had ever triggered inside him.

And it had scared the ever-loving shit out of him.

He reached for the bourbon. It was his favorite, from a tiny distillery in the mountains of Kentucky. He normally savored it, but not tonight. By the time he was done pouring, the glass was nearly full.

“Why bother with a glass?” Jack muttered.

Clay ignored him and took a long swallow. Perhaps if he drank himself into a stupor, he’d get some rest. Too bad he hated the loss of control that came with being drunk. Plus, overimbibing never solved anything.

Might as well spill the news. “She isn’t coming back.”

Jack’s dark brows rose and he studied Clay’s face. “Did something happen?”