A working girl’s day was never truly over. She counted each coin with her eyes, frowned, double-checked, triple-checked. Her gaze lifted to his eyes again, then back to his hand with pursed lips. Birds of a feather flocked together, so it wasn’t like a good reputation with him would bring in moneyed friends.

Mast problems. She crossed her arms, squinted at his hand as though to make more coin materialize, then made a disappointed sound in the back of her throat.

“I need this room,” she said, holding out her hand, “but I can tell your buddies you were an impressive race horse for a beautiful woman. Happens all the time, dear.”