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“What was that?” Hunter looks up from his phone, having not heard a single word of our conversation.
Barrett motions to me. “You could get Emma and Griffin a first look at the condos at Gramercy Square.”
“Yeah, of course. Easy.” Hunter’s attention is still on his phone when his expression turns grim. “Fuck. Well, there goes my good mood.”
“What’s up?” Barrett asks.
“I told you Walt Barrows is looking to retire in a few years, so we’re interviewing associates that will work alongside him, so he can bring them up to speed on all our projects. With our expansion, there were two positions open.”
“I remember. Tanya Ellis was my recommendation,” Carl says.
“Tanya’s been great. But the other candidate we offered it to didn’t work out, so we’re looking again.” Hunter looks to me. “Walt is Premier’s in-house attorney. Finding his replacements has been an effort.”
“I can only imagine,” I say.
Carl nods toward me. “Griffin, what are your job plans? I’ve got plenty of connections, so let me know if you need any help in that regard.”
I don’t know how to respond. I’m not looking for a job here, I’ll be back home in a few weeks, but I can’t say that so I nod. “Thanks. I’ll let you know.”
Barrett motions to me. “Hunter, don’t you need someone with knowledge of Nevada law for the Las Vegas project you’re starting?”
Carl chimes in. “You’ll eventually get your New York accreditation and, in the meantime, with Premier’s new development in Las Vegas, it’d be beneficial to have an attorney familiar with Nevada laws.”
Hunter looks to me. “I want it to be equitable for the other candidates, but you should apply for the position.” He pulls out his wallet and hands me a business card. “Send your resumé over to me. I’ll get it in the hands of the hiring manager.”
I take the card. “Thanks.”
These guys don’t know me that well, but they know and love Emma. They’d do anything to help her, and it seems by association, me. Having that kind of network, a safety net to fall into in times of struggle or change is new to me. It took me years to get comfortable with Rita and Terrence offering any kind of help. I never wanted to take advantage and honestly, having no experience being able to rely on others, it felt like slowly walking out onto a frozen lake. One small step at a time, holding your breath as your weight settles, for fear that the ice would crack underneath you.
For a moment, I let myself imagine a life here with Emma. An apartment of our own. Date night at the pool hall, or cuddling up on the couch to watch one of the black and white movies Emma loves. Hanging out with other couples. Saturday morning playing tennis with the guys. But then the guilt settles in. I’ve already committed to working at Terrence’s firm. And the thought of leaving Sophie on her own doesn’t sit well with me.
No, I need to remember what the goal is here. To play my part as Emma’s husband, then leave.
Barrett tosses his towel on the bench. “All right. Let’s go best of five.”
* * *
Back at Emma’s parents’ apartment, I find Emma in her closet. The way she jumps when she sees me, you’d think I interrupted a private moment. She was asleep when I left earlier, now she’s still dressed in her pajamas on the floor of her closet with a large box and several three-ring binders scattered around her.
“How was tennis?” she asks, snapping the binder in her hand closed.
“Good. Hunter and I won. Carl said he wasn’t playing his best. Barrett wasn’t pleased.”
“Ouch. If Barrett celebrates when we break up, I guess I’ll know why.”
She drops another binder into the storage box.
“What are these?” I point at the collection of binders scattered on the floor around her.
“Nothing. Just some old stuff.” She reaches for the one closest to my foot, but before she can grab it, I snatch it up.My Weddingis scrawled across the front.
“Griffin,” Emma looks up at me, her big brown eyes wide with panic, but in the next moment, she sighs and drops back to the carpet. “Fine, go ahead and look. It’s completely embarrassing but you already know about the registry so what’s the point in hiding it?”
I open the binder to find a collection of sketches, magazine clippings and diagrams. Wedding venues, dresses and floral arrangements. It’s clear from the vintage of some of these clippings that Emma’s been collecting them for a while.
“Is that Cindy Crawford?” I ask, staring at the photo of a couple on a beach, the leggy supermodel in a short white dress.
“Yes. She married Rande Gerber on Paradise Island in a short wedding dress by John Galliano, and it set off the beach bride trend of the late nineties and early two-thousands.”
