“I’m saying you’re underestimating her. She’s trying to open a casino, Clay. She’s more criminal than society princess. And you have your ambitions beyond the Bronze House and our enterprise. People are not one thing or another. People are layered. They also change, adapt. Not to mention, you’ve made a lot of assumptions about her. Something tells me Florence wouldn’t care for your conclusions.”

No, Jack was wrong. Fundamentally, people remained the same. Though Florence wished to open a casino, she was a lady underneath the rebellion, along with the trappings that went with her status. Clay wasn’t a gentleman, hadn’t the first clue on what that entailed. He lived in a world of intimidation and revenge, pain and bribery.

“Furthermore,” Jack said, “you’re acting as if she wanted to marry you. Did she say something to imply it was more than the one night?”

Clay shook his head. “But you know how women like her think—”

“I’m hearing you say what she thinks, but that’s guesswork on our parts. I’d rather hear why you needed to push her away.”

“I just explained why. Were you not listening?”

“Oh, indeed. I was listening. What I heard was a handful of excuses, not the truth.” Jack leaned over and poured bourbon into his glass. Picking up the crystal, he rose and stared down at Clay. “Which leads me to conclude that Miss Greene has gotten under your skin, so far under your skin it scared you. Am I right?”

Yes. “Do not try to romanticize this.”

Jack lifted his glass in a toast. “Why would I bother, when you’re doing such a damn fine job of it yourself?” With that, Jack started out of the room, whistling the whole way.

Chapter Thirteen

Florence handed a stack of coins to the driver, who took the money and glanced around, his eyes darting nervously. She understood. Her nerves were dancing, as well. There was a chance this would be the stupidest thing she’d ever done.

But she had no choice.

You are a distraction I don’t need.

She swallowed the lump threatening to choke her. Clay didn’t want her around and she had to move on, find someone else to help her. She wasn’t giving up on her dreams merely because a surly casino owner no longer wished to help her.

Another man in New York City could teach her. One who ran as many, if not more, casinos, poolrooms and policy shops than Clayton Madden. Granted, most were on the rough side, places where violence occurred nightly. But this man ran gaming establishments and could answer all her questions. If she could convince him to see her, of course.

“Miss, I don’t feel right leaving you in this neighborhood at this hour,” the driver said. “Maybe you should let me take you back uptown.”