Chapter 2
I’ve made it my goal to reach the office by seven a.m. each morning to have uninterrupted focus time.
Sitting at my desk in an old brick warehouse building that has been converted into modern offices, I’m reminded why I love adaptive reuse spaces.
While my office doesn’t have a view of the city skyline, it does have personality.
The worn bricks and warm colors make it feel inviting, unlike the cold, steel-heavy construction of the new buildings.
“Adam Harris emailed. He wants you to meet with a PR firm,” she says. “Do you want to reply directly, or should I send a general?—”
I cut her off. “Why is Adam Harris emailing me about a PR firm?” It’s a rhetorical question, and I scoff in annoyance. Fucking prick.
Jessica was smart to flag this to me. Unfortunately, he’s one guy we have to keep happy. Is he suggesting I need PR? I don’t need it.
“I’ll email him. Thanks, Jess.” I force a smile—she’s just doing her job. I’m not mad at her. I’m mad at myself. I never should have taken Harris Ventures on as a venture partner. He’s always in my business.
A calendar invite acceptance pops up on my screen: PR Meeting with Dani Sommer, 1:00 p.m. After this meeting, I’m telling him to get the fuck out of my business.
Curious, though, I google Dani Sommer. Skimming her website, I spot her headshot. Shit. She’s a gorgeous brunette with big hazel eyes. Then I search her again, clicking on the image results. I wasn’t expecting her to be so beautiful.
“No fucking way.” I chuckle, staring at a photo of her next to the one and only Adam Harris.
It’s from the Sun-Times, captioned: “Adam Harris and Dani Sommer attend Kent Dubois’s annual birthday extravaganza at his Geneva Lake home.
” They’re in 1920s costumes, and his arm is around her in a way that screams “girlfriend” more than “business associate.”
Interesting. Everyone knows he’s divorced. It was messy and all over the press last year. Of course, he’d rebound with a girl half his age. This man, who’s treated as a goliath by everyone, is just as normal and human as the rest of us.
“No more distractions.” I huff and hit my desk, focusing back on the marketing materials for properties we’re considering.