“Really?”
“Yes,” Natalia said. “That’s not so weird, is it?”
Åsa’s eyes narrowed. “Considering you have a brain like a supercomputer, you’re a terrible liar,” she said. “You had time yesterday. You said so yourself. And it’s not like you have any other friends. Are you trying to avoid me?”
“No, I am busy. And I would never dream of trying to avoid you. You’re my best friend. Although I do have other friends, you know. Maybe tomorrow? My treat.”
“Busy doing what, if I might ask?” Åsa said, not letting the possibility of a free lunch tomorrow distract her.
Natalia didn’t say anything. She looked down at her buried desk. Now would be a good time for one of her phones to ring, or maybe the fire alarm could go off, she thought.
Åsa’s eyes widened as if she’d had a realization. “Aha, who is he?”
“Don’t be silly. I’m just going to eat lunch.”
Åsa’s eyes narrowed to two turquoise slits. “But you’re acting so weird, even for you. With who?”
Natalia pressed her lips together.
“Natalia, with who?”
Natalia gave up. “With someone from, um, HC.”
Åsa furrowed her light eyebrows. “With who?” she stubbornly demanded. She might have made a good cult leader, but she also would have made a terrific interrogator, Natalia thought. All that blond bimbo fluff was misleading.
“It’s just a business lunch,” she said defensively. “With no agenda. He knows J-O,” she added as if the fact that her lunch date knew her boss explained everything.
“Who?”
She capitulated. “David Hammar.”
Åsa leaned back and beamed at Natalia. “The big guy, huh?” she said. “Mister Venture Capitalist himself. The biggest bad boy in the financial world.” She cocked her head. “Promise me you’re planning to sleep with him.”
“You’re crazed,” Natalia said. “Sex-crazed. I actually wish I could cancel it. I’m really stressed out. But one of the things I can’t find in this mess is my cell phone, which has his number in it,” she added. How could you lose a phone in an office that was smaller than forty square feet?
“For God’s sake, woman, why don’t you get yourself an assistant?”
“I have an assistant,” Natalia said. “Who, unlike me, has a life. Her kids were sick, so she went home.” Natalia glanced at the clock. “Yesterday.” With a sigh she sank into her desk chair. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t look anymore. She was really done. It felt like she’d been working nonstop for ages. And there was so much paperwork she was behind on, a report to write, and at least five meetings to schedule. Actually she didn’t . . .
“Natalia?”
Åsa’s voice made her jump, and Natalia realized she’d been dozing off in her uncomfortable chair.
“What?” she asked.
Åsa looked at her seriously. Her mocking expression was gone.
“Hammar Capital isn’t evil, no matter what your dad and your brother think. They’re tough, yes, but David Hammar isn’t Satan. And he’s really hot. You don’t need to be ashamed if you think it’ll be fun to meet him.”
“No,” said Natalia. “I know.” But she’d been wondering what Hammar Capital’s legendary CEO wanted with her. And maybe he wasn’t Satan, but he had the reputation of being hard and inconsiderate even by financial industry standards. “No, I’m just going to have lunch and get the lay of the land,” she said firmly. “If he has business with the bank, he’s going to want to deal with J-O, not me.”
“But here’s the thing. You never know with Hammar Capital,” Åsa said, gracefully standing up. “And you’re underestimating yourself. Do you know anyone as smart as you? No, exactly.” She ran her hand over her completely stain- and wrinkle-free outfit. Even though she was wearing an austere suit (Natalia happened to know that this specific Prada suit had been tailor-made for Åsa), a simple silk blouse, and light-beige pumps, she looked like a glamorous movie star.
Åsa leaned over the desk. “You know very well you shouldn’t care so much what your father thinks,” she said, as usual putting her finger right on the sore spot and pushing. “You’re brilliant, and you’re going to go far. You can make your career here.” Åsa gestured to the building they were in, the Swedish headquarters of one of the world’s biggest banks, the Bank of London. “You don’t have to work at the family company to be worth something,” Åsa continued. “They have the world’s least progressive view of women’s rights and you know it. Your dad is hopeless, your brother is an idiot, and the rest of the board wins the male chauvinist pig prize of all time. And I should know, because I work with them.” She cocked her head. “You’re smarter than all of them put together.”
“Maybe.”
“So why don’t you have a seat on the board?”
“But you work there. You’re satisfied, aren’t you?” Natalia asked, avoiding the question of why she was not on the Investum board. After all, that was quite the sensitive topic.
“Yes, but I’m only there because of gender quotas,” Åsa said. “I was hired by a man who hates having to fill quotas as much as he hates immigrants, feminists, and blue-collar workers. I’m his alibi. He can point to me and say that at least he hires women.”
“Dad doesn’t hate ... ,” Natalia began, but then stopped. Åsa was right after all.
“Plus your dad feels sorry for me because I’m an orphan,” Åsa continued. “And I don’t have any ambitions to take over the place and lead the wretched show. My only ambition is to avoid dying of boredom. But you, you could go all the way to the top.”
Åsa picked up her fifty-thousand-kronor handbag and started to root around in it. She pulled out a light-colored lipstick and dabbed some on her lips.
“He asked for a discreet meeting,” Natalia said. “Actually, I shouldn’t have said anything. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
“You weirdo, of course I won’t, but what do you think he wants?”
“Must be something about financing. Maybe he’s putting together a deal with one of our clients? I don’t know. I was up half the night trying to work that out. Or maybe he’s just networking?” It wasn’t unusual that people wanted to meet with her because of who she was—a De la Grip, a woman with connections and a pedigree. She hated it. But David Hammar had piqued her curiosity. And he hadn’t sounded fawning or slick, just courteous. And she had to eat, so . . .
Åsa eyed her thoughtfully. “Actually, I should go with you. Who knows what silly things you’ll let slip if you’re left to your own devices.”
Natalia refrained from pointing out that she was considered one of Sweden’s most promising corporate finance talents. Corporate finance was one of the business world’s most complex fields, and she was one of the highest-ranked students to have earned a business degree in all of Sweden—ever. In her work with corporate finance, acquisitions, and advising, she managed literally hundreds of millions of Swedish kronor on a daily basis, and she was in the process of executing one of the most complex banking deals ever made in Sweden. Still, Åsa was of course right—who knew what silly things she would let slip today, as unfocused as she was. “I’ll call you and tell you how it went,” was all she said.
Åsa watched her for a long time. “At least find out what he wants,” she finally said. “It can’t hurt. A lot of people would do anything for the chance to work with David Hammar. Or to sleep with him.”
“You don’t think it’s too risky to be seen with him, do you?” Natalia asked, hating how unsure her voice sounded.
“Of course it’s risky,” Åsa said. “He’s dangerous, rich, and your father hates him. What more could you want?”
“Should I cancel?”
Åsa shook her head and said, “Of course not. A life without risk is no life at all.”
“That’s today’s word to the wise?” Natalia asked. It didn’t have much of a ring to it.
Åsa laughed and held out her empty coffee cup.
It was white with black lettering. “No, that’s just what it says on my coffee,” she said. “I suppose I’d better head back to the office and make a couple of calls. Maybe I can fire someone. Lawyers really aren’t any fun, huh? Where are you meeting him?”
“On Djurgården Island at the Ulla Winbladh restaurant.”
“Could be worse,” Åsa said. She couldn’t seem to find anything to criticize, despite really trying. She ran her fingers over her scarf. The last time Natalia had seen a silk wrap like that was on a shelf in Nordiska Kompaniet’s Hermès department, and the price tag had been considerable.
“You’re a snob, you know that?” Natalia said.
“I’m quality-conscious,” Åsa said, adjusting the strap of her handbag over her shoulder. “Not everyone can buy mass-produced goods. Surely you can see that.” She shivered and then flashed Natalia a brilliant turquoise glance. “Just protect yourself. Who knows who he’s slept with.”
Natalia made a face. “Apparently mostly princesses, if you believe the rumors,” she said. She wasn’t above reading gossip on the Web.
“Bah, pretenders and nouveau riches,” said Åsa, whose family traced its Swedish roots back to the 1200s. “Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Well, that doesn’t rule out very much, Natalia thought, but bit her tongue.
“Are you going to wear that?” Åsa asked, looking at Natalia’s outfit with a face that suggested there just might be something worse than wearing mass-produced consumer goods. “Where in the world did you find it?”
“It’s just a lunch meeting,” Natalia said defensively. “And this was actually custom-made, thank you very much.”
Åsa surveyed the gray fabric. “Yeah, but in what century?”
“You’re really a terrible snob, you know that?” Natalia said as she stood and walked over to the door, opening it for Åsa.
“That is certainly a possibility,” Åsa admitted. “But you still know I’m right.”
“About what?”
Åsa laughed in that way that usually made men start bragging about their summer homes and offering to buy her drinks. “About everything, darling. About everything.”
3
David strolled from Hammar Capital’s headquarters at Blasieholmen over to the Ulla Winbladh restaurant on Djurgården Island.
A host led him toward a table where he saw Natalia De la Grip. He glanced at his watch. He was early. It wasn’t quite one o’clock yet, but she was even earlier. The other patrons were mostly tourists, but Natalia had still chosen a table at the back of the establishment and was seated so that she was hardly visible. It was clear that she didn’t want to be seen with him, but that made sense. He had made the reservation out here instead of at one of the more central restaurants near Stureplan so they wouldn’t be recognized.
She spotted him, raised her hand to wave, but then quickly brought it back down as if she’d changed her mind. David started walking toward her.
She was very fair-skinned and looked quite modest, her face serious, her clothes an austere gray. It was hard to believe that she worked as an adviser to one of the world’s biggest banks, and for J-O no less. He was one of the most demanding and eccentric bosses David had ever met. But J-O had promoted this drably dressed woman to the top, saying she had the potential to become one of his best corporate finance wizards. “She’s bright, alert, and bold,” J-O had said. “She can go as far as she wants.”
David would have to be careful not to underestimate her.
When he reached the table, Natalia De la Grip stood. She was taller than he’d expected. She held out her hand. It was slender, with short, unpainted nails. She had a firm, professional handshake, and David couldn’t help but glance at her left hand, even though he already knew. No ring.
“Thanks for meeting me at such short notice,” he said. “I wasn’t so sure you’d make it.”
“Really?” she asked skeptically.
David released her hand. The heat from it lingered on his palm, and he smelled a spicy, warm, and vaguely alluring scent. So far she wasn’t anything like what he’d been expecting, and that made him more alert.
It had been surprisingly hard to learn anything more than general information about the middle of the three De la Grip siblings. David had skimmed through what had been written online, in articles, and in a few biographies of her family. What he found was mostly about her father and her two brothers, almost nothing about her, not even on Wikipedia, definitely not on the Swedish website Flashback. But then women were traditionally completely invisible in that family, even though the men always married very powerful and well-to-do society women. Natalia’s foremothers had all been rich. Her mother was related to Russian grand duchesses and the Swedish financial elite, but the men in the family wielded all the real power—Natalia’s father Gustaf, her grandfather Gustaf Senior, and on back through the centuries. Unlike both of her brothers, hereditary prince Count Peter De la Grip and jet-set prince Count Alexander De la Grip, Natalia did not have a particularly high profile in either the business pages or the tabloids. But that fit with the overall picture, of course. She wasn’t just shy of the media because of her name and her background. No one presided over as many things behind the scenes as the corporate finance folks, secretly doling out their advice. They ran things from the wings and rarely spoke to the press.
She wore her dark hair up in a fairly severe hairstyle and a strand of pearls around her neck, a mark of upper-class stuffiness that David hated. No, he thought, as he took his seat at the table, in the end Natalia De la Grip looked exactly the way he’d known she would—unmarried, almost thirty, career-focused, well-to-do but utterly ordinary.
Apart from her eyes, that was. He’d never seen anything like them.
“I have to admit I was curious when you called.” She gave him a golden look, and David felt something tingle down his spine.
He took the menu from the waiter and quickly perused it. “You must be used to people looking you up,” he said with a laugh and a consciously warm, professional smile. A big part of financial sector work came down to networking, and he could hardly remember the last time he’d eaten a lunch that hadn’t also been work-related. It was going to take more than a pair of unusually attractive eyes to distract him.
“Well, of course,” she said, “billionaires ask me out all the time.”
His lip twitched at her wry comment.
She studied her menu and then nodded that she was ready to order.
“I hear you did quite well on the Schibsted deal,” he said, to feel her out a little.
“You have good sources,” she said, cocking her head slightly. “I don’t know if I should feel flattered or alarmed.”
“Not alarmed. I did my homework,” he said. “You’re considered an up-and-coming talent, someone to keep an eye on.” She’d been described as tough, cosmopolitan, and serious. There was no reason to doubt that all were true.
“I read that article too,” she said. “I suppose time will tell.” She laughed. “You know how it is. You’re only as good as your last deal. You’re either on your way up or your way out.”
“And right now?”
“Oh, right now I’m definitely on my way up.” She said it without any trace of false modesty. He could count on the fingers of one hand how many members of the Swedish aristocracy he’d met who could talk without wrapping everything they said in false modesty and mock humility.
She ordered fish, and David automatically requested the same. It was elementary psychology to order the same dish as the person you had asked out.
“Did you always want to work at a bank?” he asked once the waiter had left them. “Or were you ever interested in trying something else?” After all, she had been working at the Bank of London for several years now. It wasn’t an unreasonable question. The young financial sector elite was a hungry gang, and most of them were always on the lookout for new challenges.
He glanced at her slender, ringless fingers again
. She was probably completely dedicated to her job. Just like he was.
“I’m happy at the bank,” she said.
“You’re the only woman on J-O’s team?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sure you’re an asset,” he said neutrally.
“Thanks.” Natalia gave him a wry smile. She drank some of her mineral water. “I’m happy at the bank, but if I’m going to be honest, my long-term career plan is to eventually take a position in my family’s company. I assume you know which family that is?”
He nodded, feeling that familiar hatred welling up. He smiled, inhaled once, and then nodded encouragingly, as if he was actually interested, not out for blood at all.
“Where I come from, people don’t have such a favorable view of your line of work,” she continued.
This honesty could be a problem. “That’s not a secret,” he said, trying to sound neutral, as if he were discussing something abstract, not the fact that the De la Grip family openly detested everything Hammar Capital stood for. Although they wouldn’t use the word “detest,” nothing so déclassé as that. They just wanted to guard their proud traditions.
She must have sensed something about his attitude because she quickly laughed, a little apologetically. “I know it’s conservative and prejudicial. I’m not saying I agree with them.”
He raised an eyebrow, because this was the crucial point. Just exactly how much did Natalia’s view differ from the rest of her family’s? “Oh?” he said.
“I don’t think you can just lump together everyone who works in private equity or even venture capitalism. But, that said, my loyalties still rest with my family.” She shrugged slightly apologetically and waved her hand dismissively. “Sometimes you have to make sacrifices for family.”
David watched her. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices for family. She couldn’t possibly understand what those words did to him.
But at least he’d learned what he needed to know. He had actually suspected it as soon as he’d seen her—Natalia De la Grip would never act against her family’s interests. She wore loyalty and integrity wrapped around herself like an invisible cloak. Lucky for him that she had misconstrued the purpose of this lunch. She thought he was networking and scoping out business opportunities, not trying to get her to sell out her nearest and dearest.
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