All In (5 page)

5

 

D
avid leaned back in his desk chair and stretched his neck. Up here on the top floor, he could sense more than hear the noise of the city. He glanced at his designer desk, cluttered with annual reports, quarterly reports, and accounting statements, before his eyes settled on a black oil painting that an enthusiastic interior decorator had billed a fortune for. The décor at Hammar Capital's offices was primarily the product of an expensive and visionary interior design firm that had been given very loose reins. But they often had clients here and occasionally a big party, and all the stainless steel and glass always impressed everyone.

His lunch with Natalia De la Grip yesterday hadn't given him anything. And he was booked up for the whole next week with meetings from morning to night. So he didn't actually have any more time to squander sitting around thinking about her. But every once in a while a memory from their lunch would come to mind and he would dwell on it. A look that stuck with him, a memory of her pale skin and figure.

“Are you still there?”

David nodded, even though, of course, the man on the phone couldn't see the gesture. “Sorry. I'm here,” he said.

“Do we need to meet, or is my money in good hands?”

The man on the other end of the line was Gordon Wyndt, one of Hammar Capital's biggest investors and one of David's few really close friends.

Hammar Capital had considerable equity of its own. Against all odds, David had created one of the most powerful venture capital firms in the country, but for really big deals they still depended on leveraging their network of wealthy venture partners. And Gordon Wyndt, a sixty-year-old British-American tycoon, and just like David a self-made man from simple beginnings, was the richest of all and the least risk-averse.

They had met when Gordon was teaching at the Stockholm School of Economics and David was a student. They had e-mailed each other sporadically, and when David studied at Harvard, they had gotten in touch again and stayed in touch over the years. Despite the difference in their ages and their very different personalities, they had become friends as well as business partners. More than once, David had given Gordon tips about stocks or companies worth investing in, and when David started his own business, Gordon had been the first to invest.

“What's actually going on?” Gordon asked. A dog yapped in the background, and David remembered that Gordon's most recent wife was fond of little dogs.

“A big deal. I'm just a little nervous,” David responded cagily.

Gordon sniffed. “You don't have a nervous gene in your body, and you love the thrill of the chase. There's something you're not telling me.” Gordon disappeared for a little while and David heard him babbling to the dog. David rolled his eyes.

Gordon returned. “It's fine. As long as you know what you're doing. And don't run off with too many of my billions.”

“My team is in place in Stockholm,” David said. “The Swedish financial crowd will be heading off to their summer places soon. Everyone plays tennis, drinks, and sails. Everything runs at low speed over here.”

That was their weakness, taking time off. That would be their downfall—because David never let up.

“I'll meet the last of them in the next few days—brokers, fund managers, a few big shareholders,” he continued. “I have a good feeling. The two biggest AP funds are in. And you, of course.”

He wondered how many brokers and managers he'd given his presentation to in the last year. Two hundred? At least.

“Did you get anyone from the owning family on board?” Gordon wondered.

“No,” David replied. He regretted that he had confided in Gordon that he was going to try to win over one of the De la Grip siblings. He hated admitting he'd failed. “But it doesn't matter,” he said curtly. And that was true. He had never been dependent on anyone from the inner circle at Investum, not really. They were game pieces he could do without if he had to. The oldest brother, Peter, had never been discussed for obvious reasons. Alexander De la Grip hadn't taken his calls. And it had become clear during their lunch that Natalia would never go against her family. No, that route was closed.

“My wife wants to buy a castle in Sweden. Apparently all of her friends are doing it,” said Gordon. “Where is SkÃ¥ne anyway? Is there anything for sale there? Y'all have a bunch of castles for sale, right?”

“The nobility in SkÃ¥ne are as snobby as hell. They're going to hate you. You'll love it.”

“Then you'll have to come by and say hello,” Gordon said. “We'll throw a big party.”

David smiled. He and Gordon had that in common—a total lack of respect for old-money names.

“David?”

“Yes?”

“Was there anything else?”

“Maybe.” David had no idea why he was asking. There was no rational reason, but he spoke the word all the same. “I need your help with something,” he said slowly.

“More money? Should I talk to my bank?”

“No, it's something else,” David said. “You know Sarah Harvey, don't you?”

“The singer? My first wife sang in some choir with her, and we're godparents to Sarah's daughter.”

“I need a favor.”

 

Five minutes later David hung up, wondering what he was actually doing. But he shook off the sense of having set something in motion that he couldn't control and instead called out for his assistant, Jesper Lidmark, a young student from the Stockholm School of Economics. Jesper came into the office and gave David a questioning look.

“I want to send something to Mrs. Gordon Wyndt,” David said. “It needs to be really exclusive and look expensive. Call Bukowskis and ask them to pick a vase or something else we can send.”

Half an hour later, David received a call from Gordon.

“It's arranged.”

“Thanks,” David said. “Now I owe you a favor in return.”

“Can I ask what this is all about?”

David heard the dog yelping in the background, and he could picture Wyndtham Castle: green hills, a steaming pool of Italian marble, party tents and celebrity guests, an extensive renovation that had destroyed centuries of patina and reverberated through the British and American press.

“A deal,” he lied.

“Yeah, right,” Gordon said dryly and hung up.

6

“A
re you going to see him again?” Åsa asked, inspecting the red floral dress on the hanger she'd just pulled out with a critical eye. “You and the pirate?” She glanced inquisitively at Natalia before hanging the dress back on the rack. She was too curvy to get away with a pattern that big.

“Uh, no,” replied Natalia, fingering a jacket. Gray, of course. That woman was hopeless when it came to clothes. Åsa wasn't even sure if Natalia owned any clothes that weren't gray, beige, or possibly navy blue. That's what happened when you spent your days competing with testosterone-overloaded finance guys. And when your fashion advice came from a mother who thought anything that looked good on a young woman was vulgar. It killed your taste in clothes.

“But you liked him,” Åsa said. Natalia's cheeks turned pink. So, not even super cool Natalia De la Grip could withstand bad boy David Hammar.

Åsa pulled out another dress and scrutinized it carefully. This green color would actually suit her. She glanced over at the clerk hovering nervously in the periphery. “In my size?” she asked curtly. The clerk nodded and hurried off.

“Do you have to sound so unpleasant?” Natalia said, now holding up an insipid jumpsuit and looking like she was about to whip out her gold card.

“Don't you already own one of those?” said Åsa, looking at the jumpsuit with disdain. Natalia visited her mother's tailor in upper Östermalm twice a year and ordered a set of spring outfits or fall outfits, depending. Like clockwork.

“You can never have too many nice outfits,” Natalia said, inspecting the brown fabric.

Oh help, not that one
, Åsa thought.

Åsa held up a turquoise dress and gestured commandingly. Another clerk obediently scurried off. A fitting room had already been prepared, and the outfits Åsa had selected were all hanging there along with accessories, shoes, and slips. “You have to be authoritative with people; otherwise you don't get good service. They know I'm friends with the owner.”

Her second cousin—or third cousin, something distant anyway—who owned the boutique was a supremely gifted seamstress, and Åsa had coerced her into giving Åsa a family discount. Natalia was now studying a beige suit. “Would you stop pulling out brown rags and quit changing the subject. Tell me about the lunch. What did you guys talk about?”

Natalia shrugged one shoulder in a nonchalant gesture that didn't fool Åsa in the slightest.

“Natalia?”

Obediently, Natalia left the ready-to-wear business suits and walked over to a display of new designer garments. Åsa's second or third cousin was very good; a lot of these outfits would be right at home in an international fashion show.

Natalia pulled out a gold dress in a silk satin. It glimmered alluringly, like a living being. “We mostly talked about how unbelievably good I am at my job,” she said, holding up the golden dress in front of herself.

Åsa snorted. “Right.”

“Weirdly enough, it's true. He didn't say very much about himself.”

“You mean you ate lunch with a finance guy who didn't try to get ahead at your expense? He must be one of a kind.”

Natalia turned over the price tag and her eyes widened. “I thought he was quite pleasant. He was confident but not stuck up.”

“And hot?”

“That too,” Natalia admitted, averting her gaze.

“Try it on,” Åsa said, nodding to the golden dress in Natalia's hand before slipping into her own changing room, where the outfits she'd selected were hanging. She pushed aside the feeling of meaninglessness that washed over her and decided that she would buy at least two things. Shopping was supposed to cure the blues; it was bound to start working sometime.

“I don't understand why you have to drag me along to shops like this,” Natalia complained from the changing room next door to Åsa's. “Everything is so bright and sort of demanding. It makes me nervous. It's too advanced for me. I have no opinion on clothes like these.” The changing room went quiet, and only a faint rustling could be heard. “Hmm, I think some of the fabric is missing on this one.”

Åsa surveyed the green dress she'd slipped on. Her ample bosom, curvy hips, and stomach made the expensive hand-dyed silk look both glamorous and a tad indecent. This would do. “Was he alone?” she asked, starting to change into the next dress. She studied herself in the mirror: an abundance of white skin, expensive underwear. She smiled. She loved her soft, un-worked-out body.

“Yes, he was alone. What do you mean?”

Åsa adjusted the silvery silk jersey over her breasts. She'd always looked good in silver, a twenty-first-century Marilyn Monroe. “He has a partner,” Åsa said, trying to sound nonchalant, as if it didn't really matter how Natalia responded. “I was just wondering if he joined you.”

It was quiet in the next dressing room. Åsa could practically hear the gears in Natalia's mind turning. Say what you wanted about the fashion-challenged Natalia, she wasn't dumb.

“And just what do you know about his partner, Åsa?” Natalia asked in her most annoying tone of voice.

Åsa winked slowly at her reflection. If she closed her eyes she could picture him. It didn't matter how long ago it had been or where she was, she could always call up his image.

“What do you think?” she asked breezily.

“You slept with him,” Natalia said. Not as a question, not as a value judgment, just as confirmation.

Åsa cocked her head to the side. She
had
slept with a lot of people, so it wasn't so strange that Natalia should draw that conclusion. But the truth was a little more complicated than that.

“Have you slept with David Hammar, too?” Åsa suddenly heard from the next changing room. She smiled. Darling Natalia, was that a bit of a chill she heard in her voice?

“Åsa?” Natalia urged, a little more sharply now.

“Really I didn't,” Åsa answered truthfully. “Venture capitalists really aren't my thing.” That was
almost
true. She had slept with several, but they had all been terribly wooden. “Besides, your dad is my boss. He and David are archenemies, aren't they?”

She and Natalia stepped out of their changing rooms at the same time. Natalia was wearing the thin, golden evening dress, which caressed her long body and showed more back and skin than it covered. Åsa smiled encouragingly at her.

“I didn't think people had archenemies anymore,” Natalia said, stroking her hand over her hip.

Natalia was as slender as a model, and the dress was made for a person who had no chest and a tiny waist but a curvier backside than you would find on any actual model. She looked like she had stepped right out of a photoshopped ad for expensive perfume.

“Buy it,” said Åsa.

“But when am I going to wear a dress like this?”

Åsa went to every society party, ball, and wedding she was invited to. She hated to sit around at home, but Natalia said no to anything that wasn't business mingling. One time Natalia had turned down an invitation to dine with the king in favor of reviewing an annual report.

“His partner's name is Michel,” Åsa said, surprised at herself for feeling a need to talk about the one man who had rejected her. She passed a pair of high-heeled sandals to Natalia, who seemed to be having a hard time tearing herself away from the dress despite her protests. “Try these with it.”

Natalia loved her sensible Bally pumps but obediently put on the sandals and started fastening the thin straps around her ankles. She wiggled her unmanicured toes.

“It wouldn't hurt you to shave your legs once in a while,” Åsa commented.

“Yeah yeah yeah. Tell me about Michel.”

“Michel and I went to law school together,” Åsa began, her voice catching slightly in her throat. She was forced to steady it. “Peter, your brother, knows him too. We took a number of classes together.”

But unlike the mediocre Peter De la Grip, Michel had been a star law pupil. He had done his law degree concurrently with a degree in economics from the Stockholm School of Economics while Peter had barely scraped his way through law school. “They didn't like each other.”

“No one likes Peter,” Natalia said sadly, trying to see her back in the mirror.

Åsa didn't say anything since that was true. The ever-vigilant, evasive Peter De la Grip was extremely hard to like. Not that that had stopped Åsa from sleeping with him, too. She studied the price tag of the dress she had on and wondered if she should look for something even more expensive.

“I haven't actually slept with Alexander yet,” Åsa said, since they were talking about the men in Natalia's immediate family. “Where is he these days?”

Natalia's little brother was one of the handsomest men Åsa had ever seen. Speaking purely objectively, he was better looking than either David or Michel. If any man could be said to be beautiful, it would be Alexander De la Grip. Maybe someone like Alexander could cheer her up? Help her shake the awful sense that she just couldn't drag herself through another day?

“My darling little brother is marinating his liver in New York,” Natalia said. “You two would kill each other in no time.” Natalia shook her head. “And forgive me for saying it, but isn't he a little young for you?”

Alexander was one year younger than Natalia, which made him—Åsa grimaced. She didn't want to think about that.

Natalia's phone rang inside her purse. She apologized and pulled it out. Åsa disappeared back into the changing room again while Natalia took the call.

Åsa contemplated the green, silver, and other outfits. Maybe she should take them all? After all, it wasn't like she couldn't afford them.

Poor little rich girl.

That's what they called her in the tabloids. Better than the Hussy from Östermalm, of course. Even if both epithets were about equally valid.

Natalia studied herself in the boutique mirror. She glanced down at her feet. The gold sandals were very flattering. She had always liked her feet. She was only half listening, so it took a minute before she really clued in.

“I'm sorry?”

“I said my name is Jesper Lidmark. I'm David Hammar's assistant. I have a message for Natalia De la Grip,” she heard the young man with the extremely polite tone repeat. He sounded like a person who believed everything would work out if you were just friendly with everyone and spoke clearly.

“Yes?” Natalia said.

“David asked me to call and tell you that you're on the guest list at Café Opera tomorrow, Saturday. For Sarah Harvey's performance. Just let them know at the door, and you and a friend can go in.”

“I'm sorry?” Natalia said, because she felt as if her brain had just taken a detour and she hadn't gone with it. “What did you say?”

Jesper repeated what he'd said, slowly but still politely.

“Sarah Harvey?” Natalia asked stupidly.

“Yes,” Jesper replied cheerfully, without showing even the slightest irritation.

“I'm sorry... ,” Natalia said, but then she broke into an enormous grin as she finally realized what Jesper had been telling her. Sarah Harvey. In Stockholm. Natalia owned every CD and compilation disc the soprano had released. But she had never been to one of her concerts, never, quite simply because Sarah never toured, so when she did all the tickets sold out in a millisecond.

“I do apologize,” Natalia said, waving away Åsa, who had come over to the changing room and was making incomprehensible questioning gestures. “I was just so surprised. Thank you.” She paused, thinking. “Is David still there by any chance?” she asked impulsively. “Or has he already left for the day?”

There was a moment of silence, and Natalia regretted, regretted,
regretted
that she had said anything, but then the polite assistant replied, “I don't actually know. He was in a meeting a little while ago . . . Could I ask you to hold for a moment?”

She didn't have a chance to say it didn't matter. And then she heard David's voice in her ear.

“Hi. I heard you liked it.”

“Thank you, that was so nice of you. I don't know what to say,” she said. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but I was just so pleased. I had no idea she was going to perform at the Café.”

“No, it's a private show,” he said. “But I received an invitation. I'm always getting invited to things. When I saw it on my desk, I thought you might like to go.”

“You have no idea what this means to me. It was really terribly nice of you.” She was about to end the call; his responses were so clipped, she figured she was disturbing him, but then he asked, “Are you still at the office?”