The guards exchanged looks. Probably deciding if she was telling the truth or not. One finally nodded and crossed his arms. The other guard slid between the doors and disappeared inside the club.
Florence checked over her shoulders. She hadn’t expected to be left standing on the stoop, exposed, while awaiting an audience with the kingpin. Thank goodness she kept a pistol in her tiny handbag for sojourns downtown. To date, she’d never had to use it, but carrying the weapon gave her a small bit of reassurance.
Sooner than expected the other guard returned. He held open the door. “Come along, miss.”
Ignoring the fluttering in her belly, she climbed up the small steps and entered the club. The inside was huge, much larger than it appeared from the outside. Noise assaulted her, from the jeers and calls of the men watching a boxing match, to the music and laughter coming from the rear of the building. Was there a dance hall back there?
The guard veered away from that noise and led her to a staircase off to the side. They climbed two sets of ornate stairs, the walls decorated with green-and-white-striped paper. Eastern carpets lined the floors, cushioning her footfalls. Brass sconces on the walls and a fancy gasolier overhead lit the way. Quite a contrast to the Bronze House’s sparse inner sanctum.
The young man arrived at an oak door. He knocked twice.
“Enter!” a deep voice called from within.
The guard flung open the door, then stood aside to let her pass. Gripping her hands tightly, she entered the room, unsure of what she might find. What did a criminal kingpin look like? Did he have a desk resting on illegal stacks of money? Or was it worn and practical, like Clay’s?
Stop thinking about Clay.
A man rose from behind a huge ornate desk littered with papers. Not overly tall, he was sharply dressed, with a bespoke navy suit and green silk vest that had to cost a fortune. Gold watch fob and polished shoes. Goodness, he was handsome, with wavy dark hair and blue eyes. And young. Was he even over thirty?
She hadn’t expected any of this. By reputation, Mulligan was a hardened criminal who ate enemies for breakfast. The man in front of her could pay afternoon calls on Fifth Avenue.
She lowered the hood of her cloak. The young guard sucked in a breath and Mulligan seemed to freeze in his tracks. She patted her cheeks and smoothed her hair. Was there something wrong with her appearance?
Mulligan quickly recovered and approached. “I understand you are the woman caught counting cards inside Donnelly’s saloon the other night.”
“I was not counting cards.”
Mulligan jerked his chin to the guard, who tipped his derby and disappeared. The door clicked shut. Florence focused on her breathing, trying not to show her trepidation.
Show no fear until you feel no fear.
He bowed at the waist. “Enchanté, Miss Greene.”
Her jaw dropped. “You know who I am.” And he spoke French?
“I make it a habit to know things. May I?” He held out his hand, ready to escort her, as his other hand gestured toward the chair.
She placed her hand in his and he assisted her to the empty seat. When she was settled, he walked around his desk and dropped into the wide leather chair.
Who was this criminal with the manners of a courtier and the looks of an Adonis?
Shaking off her thoughts, she said, “But I never told them my name.”
“Do you honestly believe I wouldn’t try to learn the name of the uptown beauty being tutored by Clayton Madden? That is like dangling a red cape in front of a bull, Miss Greene.”
“Then you might as well call me Florence.”
The edge of his mouth hitched, softening his features, and she knew that smile must drive the ladies out of their minds. “Florence it is. Most people just call me Mulligan.” He folded his hands. “Would you care for a drink?”
“No, thank you.” She had no idea where to start. He reclined in his chair and waited patiently, seeming as if he had all the time in the world. She cleared her throat. “I appreciate you seeing me.”
“Curiosity is one of my weaknesses. I can’t imagine why a woman such as yourself would come down to my club in the middle of the night, especially seeing as how you usually spend your time at the Bronze House.”
She took a deep breath for courage. “I wish to hire you.”
“Yes, the boys mentioned as much. May I ask for what?”
Did anything rattle this man? He reminded her of Clay, both calm and methodical men. Stop thinking of Clay. “I wish to open a casino. For ladies. And I need someone to help me learn the business side of things.”
Mulligan’s eyes sparkled as if he was amused. “Hence why Clayton Madden was tutoring you. May I ask what happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“With Clay. I realize he’s a prickly bastard, generally hates people and likes to be alone. But I cannot imagine he hated you.”
Wrong. He hadn’t wanted her around. However, she couldn’t tell Mulligan that. “It seemed he was too busy and couldn’t spare the time.”
Mulligan’s brows knitted as he studied her. “Are you pulling my leg? He couldn’t spare the time for you?”
“So it seems. Now, I’d be willing to pay you for your time—”
Mulligan sat forward and waved his hand. “I have more money than I’ll ever spend. Clayton said what, exactly?”
“That I was a distraction he didn’t need.” Why was Mulligan hammering the point home? She felt terrible enough after Clay’s dismissal. “It’s understandable. I learned quite a lot from him, but it was time for the arrangement to end.” Because he’d acted like a prickly bastard, as Mulligan had described.
Except . . . there had been a point when he hadn’t acted prickly at all. He’d been tender. And sweet.
You want a bit of trouble, princess? Here I am. And I promise I’ll give it to you anytime you like.
What a lie.
He’d practically run out the door to get away from her. And he’d apologized. The whole thing was utterly mortifying and infuriating.
Mulligan watched her with a strange expression on his face, as if he could see every thought in her head. She shifted in her chair. “Clayton taught me about the games and how to spot cheaters. Now I’m mostly interested in the accounting side of things.”
“Were you there the night he was raided?”
“Um, yes. I was there.” Why was Mulligan interested in the raid?
“He’s got the tunnel going under his club to the brothel, correct? He got the idea from me. There’s a system of tunnels in this part of town. Places where the coppers can’t go. That didn’t scare you off? The raid, I mean.”
“No.” She thought back to the brothel and how uninhibited she’d been with Clay, how erotic the experience had been. Her skin heated, a condition Mulligan couldn’t have missed thanks to her pale skin. “Why would it?”
“Interesting. I think you’re tougher than you appear, Florence Greene.” He leaned forward and folded his arms on the desk. “And I’ll help you for however long you wish.”
Clay handed his ticket to the attendant and pushed through the turnstile. The Polo Grounds had been finished only last year, replacing the old stadium that now sat directly behind it. A gorgeous ballpark, the Polo Grounds was home to the New York Giants.