Chapter 27
P ulling into Dani’s driveway on Sunday morning, I observe her childhood home. It’s very small, far different from where we’ll be spending the next few days.
Should I knock? Are her parents here? This could get awkward fast. I can’t meet them.
As these thoughts raise my stress level, Dani appears out the front door, her large backpack almost comical in size compared to her petite frame.
I smile and get out to help her, loading the bag into the trunk of my Porsche.
She slides into the passenger seat, and I lean over to kiss her.
“Excited?” Her bright smile is all the answer I need. I hand her my phone. “You’re in charge of music. The drive to my place in Lincoln Park will take about two hours.”
In the city, I hardly drive, and I’d forgotten how much I love this car. As I pick up speed on the highway, Dani seems unfazed.
“We’re going over one hundred,” I say, looking for a reaction.
“And?” she teases.
“I forgot. You’re an organ donor.” She playfully swats my arm. “When will I see you on that motorcycle?”
“I’ve been thinking of selling it.” She pauses. “The money would go a long way toward helping me get back to Chicago.”
Shaking my head, I don’t like that idea. “Don’t be rash. You’re going to be up to your ears in clients soon.”
She flashes me a smile before peeking at the speedometer. “Seems like this car could go faster.”
“I have precious cargo.”
“I’d tell you to slow down if I thought it was dangerous.”
I press the gas a little harder, glancing over at her. She smiles. I love that smile. Dani came into my life at the most unexpected time, but maybe it’s the right time?
“I want to know more about you,” I say as we cross into Illinois. “Where do you see yourself in five years?”
“Running a successful communications agency, married,” she says, confident. “Maybe have a kid. What about you?”
Her aspirations to run a business and have a family resonate with me. We’re aligned.
“At twenty-five,” I chuckle, remembering, “I didn’t have such a clear plan.”
“What was twenty-five-year-old Adam Harris doing?”
“I was fresh out of Stanford with my MBA.”
She giggles.
“What?” I ask, raising my brow.
“Of course, you went to Stanford.”
I shrug, not quite sure what she means by that. “Back then, there was no time for a social life—I was grinding at McKinsey.”
“Casual,” she teases. “You have the most stereotypical finance-guy résumé.”
“Know a lot of finance guys?”
“Unfortunately, they’re everywhere in Chicago.” She laughs, and I smile, loving this time together. Really, loving all our time together.
“It gets worse.” I glance over at her. “After McKinsey, I went to Bain.”
“All work, no play,” she says with an exaggerated pout. I like how she gives me a hard time. She doesn’t care that I’m Adam Harris , and that’s refreshing.
“Exactly. It took a while before I realized that path wasn’t for me.
By the time I was ready to launch my venture capital firm, a few things had lined up.
At thirty-four …” I pause, feeling the age gap between us.
Ten years ago, Dani was in high school. I shake the thought away.
“Ten years ago, I started Harris Ventures. It’s been nonstop ever since.
Greg, who you met. He’s been with me from the start. ”
“How did you two meet?”
“Stanford. He’s my closest friend. When we went into business together, I had more money than him,” I explain, glancing at her.
“Greg took corporate jobs and didn’t have the capital to be an equal partner.
That’s why it’s Harris Ventures, not Harris-Wilson Ventures.
” Taking a moment to reflect on that time, I add, “Plus, when my dad died, I inherited a few million, so that capital got the ball in motion.” She makes a little noise.
“What?” I look over, curious about that response.
“You can say daddy’s money gave you a head start,” she sasses.
“You’re never going to let me have an ego, huh?”
“Not my style.” Her big smile beams on her face, and I squeeze her hand. I like her.
“I would have been able to start Harris without daddy’s money … But it gave us rocket fuel for sure.”
“When did your dad die?”
“When I was thirty-two … Heart attack. Since we’re on the topic,” I hesitate and decide to share, “My mom has also passed … when I was nineteen. It was a freak health thing.”
She doesn’t say anything, but her big hazel eyes signal she empathizes with the fact that I’m an orphan.
“Yeah, so for the last decade, Harris Ventures has been a main focus. I didn’t intend for it to be my entire life …” I trail off, wondering if I should share how I was hoping to be a father by now. “Plan A, let’s call it, didn’t go to plan.”
“Your marriage?”
“That was collateral damage of Plan A, for sure.” I rub the back of my neck, considering my relationship with Dani. She’s more than a fuckbuddy. If she’s going to be part of my life, we should talk about these things. “Wendy, my ex, and I tried for years to have a baby.”
“Oh,” she says, squeezing my hand.
“It was a long road of trying to get and stay pregnant.” She sighs softly and I continue, “It was mostly a silent struggle—very few people knew about that part of our life.” The look on Dani’s face reads like she’s unsure if she should say something or let me keep speaking.
“We spent years hanging on to hope, but all it did was make us angry and frustrated with each other.” I pause, deciding if I should keep sharing.
I want Dani to know me and decide to continue.
“The endless cycles of IVF—it made me feel less like a husband and more like a sperm donor trying to make our plan come to life.”
As I say it, I realize how easily that sums up four years and the downfall of my marriage.
“The uncertainty was the hardest part.” I look over at her and she’s resting her fist under her chin, giving me her full attention. “I had to be so strong. I know I wasn’t the one having the miscarriages, but I experienced a lot of loss too.”
“That’s so tough,” she softly says.
“Yeah. At the end, I was open to adoption or having an egg donor, but …” I’m pained thinking about it. “It wasn’t what she wanted.”
I sigh, letting out a huff. I’ve never shared all of that, especially how I truly felt, with anyone else. “It was challenging. It challenged my masculinity and my soul.” I’ve never said that aloud, but it’s something that’s been coming up with all the meditation I’ve been doing.
“I can’t imagine what that must have been like,” she says, leaning over to me and placing a kiss on my cheek. It’s tender, and I feel so at ease with Dani.
“I never thought I would get divorced,” I share. “As archaic as marriage can be, I believe in it, but after dating for four years and nearly six years of marriage, our journey together ended.”
“That’s so …” Dani shakes her head. “That sucks.”
“It did. The divorce …” I shake my head, not wanting to get riled up about how my ex handled the divorce.
“It was a battleground where our shared pain and unfulfilled dreams clashed quite publicly—as you’ve seen.
” Dani raises her brow, and I know she’s read all the articles.
I’m still pissed at Wendy for speaking with the press about every little thing.
I’ll never forgive her for that. “If I learned anything from it”—I glance at Dani—”it’s that if you want kids, don’t wait too long.
It seems like it’s something you can keep pushing off, until you can’t. ”
“I think my eggs have plenty of shelf life.” She nudges. Despite her light-hearted response, I sense a deeper understanding between us.
“On to lighter topics. I’m curious,” I say after a few silent moments. “If money didn’t matter, what would you do with your life?”
“Travel,” she says immediately. “I’d love to travel so much more than I have. The last big trip I went on was five years ago when I studied abroad. I haven’t been outside of North America since.”
“What else would you do?”
“I’d still do some kind of work like helping a nonprofit with their marketing and PR. I’d like to be mission-focused, working with organizations that empower women.”