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Anger makes the sting of the cab fare barely register. My mind is focused on separating Tinsley from any male that dares step into my territory. I hurry across the street and then stop abruptly at the door. There’s a discreet little sign that says “Sim” next to the door, and in front of it is a guy dressed in slacks and a gray windbreaker who looks vaguely familiar.
“Bryan Thompson?” I ask.
Thompson, a man I’ve fought at the docks before, swings in my direction, his eyebrows shooting up. “Hey, Leo. What the hell are you doing here? Spending all your money on dinner here at Sims?”
I shake his outstretched hand while craning for a peek inside, but the windows are all covered by curtains and the door’s glass is leaded. “I dunno,” I lie. “What kind of food are they serving?”
“The expensive shit. It’s good, though.” He smacks his lips. “I got to eat before the dinner service started. Have the lamb.”
I’ve never had lamb before. I can’t decide if Tinsley is having a meeting or a hookup. What do people do over lamb?
“The food here is too rich for my blood. I was actually in the neighborhood and needed to use the john. Google said this was the closest public place.”
“Sure, but go straight in and come back out because my boss will kill me if he knows I let in someone who isn't a customer.” Thompson opens the door and waves me through.
The interior is tiny, dimly lit, and crowded. A narrow hallway is formed by lattice screens so that servers can navigate their way from the kitchen to the dining room without being noticed. A quick survey of the room tells me that Tinsley is sitting at one with an older man who I remember from the wedding. Edwards, I think his name is, her lawyer. The papers that she shoved aside when I entered her room spring to mind. Is she there discussing those or the Howard Sterling donation? Is she trying to figure out how to get out of the marriage? Is she there because she likes him? He’s old enough to be her father, but, hell, maybe that’s what she finds attractive.
“Sorry, Thompson,” I mutter under my breath and head straight for Tinsley’s table. Once there, I pull out a chair and sit before anyone can say a word. “Hey, babe, sorry I’m late. Traffic sucks.” Tinsley’s mouth forms a small circle. I turn to an equally stunned Edwards. “Thanks for the invite. We talking about the Sterling donation or something more?”
Edwards recovers first. He leans toward Tinsley. “I can have him removed.”
Edwards is going to have to go.
Tinsley lays a hand on Edwards’ suitcoat. A growl rumbles in my throat. Edwards grows alarmed and snatches his hand back. Tinsley presses her lips together, but it almost looks like she’s trying not to smile.
“It’s fine,” she assures the lawyer. “I would’ve invited you to ride with me had I known you were going to come.”
“It was a last-minute decision.” I pop a piece of bread in my mouth. It’s damned good. “Are you having the lamb? I heard it’s good here.”
“It’s very good, and yes, I did order the lamb.” A waiter shows up with a place setting and asks me what I will have. I reply the lamb and he gives a subtle nod of approval. I’ll have to be extra nice to Thompson the next time we fight since he gave me that insider tip.
“I don’t think I ever asked you what you did for a living,” Edwards says.
He’s trying to show Tinsley I don’t belong here, but we both already know that. “I’m a dock worker and have been for the last three years. Did a year of community college, but my parents died and Sol would’ve been sent to a foster home if I didn’t get enough money to support us.”
“I see.”
“Edwards, Sol and Leo are good people,” Tinsley says gently.
A warm sensation creeps through me. I don’t think I’ve ever been defended like this in such a gentle but firm manner. It makes me feel guilty for all the shit thoughts I’ve had about Tinsley and her wanting only money. She’s right that she could do some major good with it. Better that it stays in her hands than anyone else’s, and why shouldn’t she fight for it when that’s her legacy? It doesn’t mean she’s only about money. She wouldn’t be friends with Sol if that were the case.
“I just have your best interests at heart, Tinsley,” Edwards replies.
“Do you?” I ask.
Edwards’ brows crash together. “Of course I do.”
“Why the fuck—screwed-up will provisions then? Tinsley’s not been a happy camper with those.”
“Her father insisted.”
“But you’re the lawyer. You could have told him it was a shi-crap idea and not drawn it up.”
