All In

by Simona Ahrnstedt

  Natalia studied him closely, her eyes skimming over his unbelievably attractive features, his intense eyes and well-built body.

  Probably.

  “Thanks,” she heard herself say. “Thanks for a lovely lunch.”

  She shook his hand, let his big, warm palm surround her own, and then walked outside into the broiling heat, not one iota wiser than before she’d come.

  4

  The lunch with David Hammar had raised more questions in Natalia than it had answered. But at least it had woken her up, she decided as she quickly walked back to her office at Stureplan. She took the elevator up to the fourth floor, nodded to the receptionists, and then shut herself in her office. She decided she needed five minutes for herself before she started working.

  During those five minutes she thought about David and the lunch and how she felt confused, fascinated, and, well, attracted to that charismatic but also contradictory venture capitalist.

  Natalia leaned back in her desk chair. She actually couldn’t figure him out. At times he had been chivalrous and even funny. He had teased her, and she had been drawn into something that felt like a force field of masculine charm.

  But apart from that, she had found him to be a person with a very hard core. She knew he’d grown up in some of the toughest areas around Stockholm. It was no secret that he came from a really rough past. But something had happened since then because first he went to boarding school, then the Stockholm School of Economics, and finally Harvard. Probably on a scholarship, but still, talk about pulling yourself up by your bootstraps.

  Yes, he was full of contradictions, Natalia thought, and with that her five minutes were over. No matter what she thought about his charisma and appearance, she was sure the lunch was a onetime occurrence. For some reason he had written her off—she had sensed that very clearly. She’d do best to get back to her real life: her work. Because no matter how, uh, interesting lunch with David Hammar had been, it had robbed her of valuable work time.

  Natalia devoted several intense afternoon hours to a never-ending stream of paperwork. She and J-O were in the final stage of a really big and, for Natalia personally, prestigious bank deal, and she was pushing herself and her team hard. No one slept more than absolutely necessary. It was all hands on deck. In another few hours when the banks and the stock market opened in the US, this already long workday would keep going, its pace not slowing at all.

  Natalia glanced at the time. They were still asleep in Hong Kong, and Los Angeles was three hours behind New York. Somewhere in the world there was always a bank opening or a stock market closing. Trade and business continued around the clock, and her boss drove his employees harder than anyone she’d known.

  She wondered if David Hammar worked like this. He was also known for being a hard worker. No one could stay at the absolute top, where he’d been for years, without being indefatigable. Without being unrelenting. That was both the appeal and the downside of finance.

  She glanced up when someone knocked on her door frame.

  “Do you have a minute?” J-O asked.

  “Be right there,” Natalia said, glad to be forced to focus on something other than the impression David Hammar had made. Åsa was right. She needed to get out more. Oh, but dating was such an enigma, she thought as she gathered her folders, papers, and iPad. She didn’t get it at all. Other women did, Åsa did. They went out with men, slept with men, dated men. But Natalia had never really gotten the hang of what you were supposed to do. There was something about the subtle, modern, essentially un-Swedish rules that she couldn’t fathom despite the time she had spent living in New York and London. She was pretty much useless at this stuff with men, as history had shown. On the other hand, she was exceptionally good at her job, she reminded herself as she followed J-O. At least there was that.

  Natalia maintained her focus throughout the meeting. There was no room for anyone on J-O’s team operating at less than one hundred percent. They were the best of the best. One miss and you were looking for another job. Natalia had been handpicked two years ago by J-O himself when he started the bank’s Nordic team. The rest of them, all men, were unique specialists in their fields, just like her. Natalia was an expert on banking and financial institutions. J-O liked to say that he could call Natalia De la Grip in the middle of the night and she would sit up and rattle off the big, listed banks’ index rates and their share prices from when the markets closed.

  And he wasn’t joking.

  He’d done it several times.

  J-O wrapped up the meeting and thanked those who had participated by phone. Natalia and the rest of them gathered up their things.

  “It’s almost four o’clock,” J-O said to her. “Do you have time for a quick chat before New York opens?”

  Natalia nodded, waiting quietly as the conference room emptied.

  “Nice work,” he said when they were alone.

  She smiled at the rare praise. “Thanks.”

  He drummed one finger on the table. “What are you doing this summer?” he asked.

  Natalia tried not to raise her eyebrows, but it was hard. Throughout the finance world, J-O was known for three things: his extremely expensive tastes, his weakness for giving long interviews in glossy magazines, and for never discussing personal matters.

  As far as Natalia knew, he had no private life. Not like other mortals. He worked, traveled, and flew so much that people said he spent more time in the air than on the ground.

  During the just over two years they’d worked together, first in London and then in Stockholm, they had never discussed anything other than work. What little she knew about J-O she had read in the tabloids or industry papers and since her own family was one of the most widely discussed in Sweden, she assumed that he knew pretty much what everyone else knew about her. At least once a year, whenever her younger brother, Alexander, was caught up in some new scandal, often involving a woman, the tabloids carefully reviewed the details of her family, so it wasn’t that hard for people to keep up to date on her. But J-O never said a word about it. J-O hadn’t even said anything when her breakup with Jonas hit the papers. He just dispassionately noted her bloodshot eyes and then got down to business as usual. In the middle of all that misery, that had actually been a relief.

  “I’m going to keep working until we’re done,” she said in answer to his question. “Aside from that, I don’t have any fixed plans. Aside from maybe Båstad.” She managed not to sigh.

  Everyone was going to Båstad. Of course her parents had invited her down to the summerhouse—her mother had practically ordered her to come—but Natalia didn’t know if she could bear to spend the summer with them. Last year, when her separation from Jonas was still fresh, it had worked, but yet another summer? When she was almost thirty? There were limits to how pathetic a person could be.

  Unbidden, her thoughts flitted back to David Hammar again. Was he going to Båstad? If she joined her parents at the villa, would she run into him there?

  That bothered her. She had met the man once and she was fantasizing about him already? What was she, twelve or something? At least she hadn’t googled him after lunch. Although she was still wondering what he was after. What did she have that he could be interested in? Her father hated him, she knew that. Until today she had never had any particular opinion of David Hammar. They moved in completely different circles. He was a handsome corporate pirate, mingling with American movie stars and British princesses, wreaking havoc on traditional companies. For her part, she was pretty much a bank woman.

  “Hello?” J-O said.

  “Oh, sorry,” she said. “If you need me, I’ll be here, of course. I haven’t decided on anything. I’ll take some vacation when I can.”

  “I may need you in Båstad.”

  Natalia nodded neutrally. Of course he would.

  J-O stood up from the highly polished conference table. Their office was in a historically listed building, built in the 1800s with period details, high ceilings, crystal chand
eliers, and art in gilt frames. He glanced out the window at Stureplan and the roofs surrounding them. “I know you have your own plans for the future,” he said slowly.

  Natalia’s ears perked up. This was about something else, about her. Her most recent annual review had been about her long-term career goal being to eventually work for the family company. She’d always been open about that, that she wanted to build a career on her own merits, but that then she wanted to move on.

  “Yes?” she said guardedly.

  She admired J-O, but they weren’t actually friends. Everyone had their own agenda in this world, and trust was a perishable commodity.

  “I heard you met with David Hammar today,” he said. “Is there anything you haven’t told me?”

  “It was just lunch, nothing else,” she replied, completely caught off guard.

  J-O had a reputation of knowing everything that happened in the gossipy finance world. But still. How the heck did he know this? So quickly? “I hope you’re not spying on me,” she said, only half kidding.

  J-O shook his head. He crossed his arms in front of himself. “This is Stockholm. You can’t do anything without everyone knowing about it. What did he want?”

  “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “You know him better than I do.”

  “He’s up to something.”

  Natalia nodded. “Presumably.”

  “Keep me posted. And plan on Båstad.”

  Natalia stood up, still a little taken aback. As she left the room, J-O turned back to the window again. His eyes locked onto some point outside.

  They spent the rest of the evening focused on work. Someone fell asleep on the sofa. Someone ordered pizza. The interns, assistants, analysts, and other business folks came and went. Natalia chatted with clients and drew diagrams and yawned when no one was looking.

  She took a taxi home late in the evening. She slept for a few hours, showered, changed, and was then back in the office again just after dawn.

  J-O came in at 9:30, greeted her with a quick nod, and disappeared into a meeting. Phones rang, an assistant yelled, and her work once again took over Natalia’s thoughts.

  “Natalia!” one of her colleagues called, and then suddenly the whole workday had passed. “We’re starting the conference now!”

  She grabbed an apple and a pad of paper. “Coming,” she replied.

  It was already six o’clock, and they were far from done. It was going to be another long day of work. Just the way she liked it.

  5

  Friday, June 27

  David 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 Skåne anyway? Is there anything for sale there? Y’all have a bunch of castles for sale, right?”

  “The nobility in Skåne 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 Stockho
lm 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

  “Are 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.