“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.
Sweet little Natalia. You like him.
“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.
Ah, Michel.
“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 th
ese 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?”
“No, I’m out shopping. How about you? Your assistant said you were in a meeting. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
“We’re done. I was just about to leave.”
“Yeah, it’s late,” she said. She pictured David about to walk out the doors of his office building—the HC building was like a white castle on Blasieholmen, a brash newcomer at one of Sweden’s most exclusive addresses. She couldn’t help but wonder where he was going, whom he was going to meet. “Well, I just wanted to thank you personally,” she said.
“I hope it works out at such short notice. It’s tomorrow . . .”
“Yes, it will definitely work out,” she said and managed not to blurt out that she didn’t have anything planned all weekend. “Thank you.” She should really hang up now that she had thanked him. Repeatedly. Surely he was going out with some glamorous, leggy model tonight.
“Natalia?”
“Yes,” she said breathlessly.
“You were so quiet,” he said. “I was starting to wonder if you’d hung up.”
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s been a long day. I have to go back to the office to check what the market’s doing before I head home.” She could have bitten her tongue. Why couldn’t she have hinted that she was on her way somewhere too?
“Well, then, I hope you have a pleasant evening,” he said politely. “Both tonight and tomorrow night.”
“You too,” she said lamely. “To both.” She made a face because she sounded like an idiot. Åsa was staring at her, goggle-eyed.
“Thanks,” she added, for what was probably the fifth time, but he had already hung up by then.
She noticed Åsa’s raised eyebrows. “What happened? Was that him?”
Natalia nodded. She quietly returned her phone to her purse and pulled out her wallet.
“Nat? What are you thinking?”
Natalia smiled. She was definitely going to buy the golden dress. “I think I just found a reason to shave my legs.”
7
David hung up the phone, not completely comfortable with how impulsively he’d acted. But she’d sounded so happy about the tickets—genuinely happy—that he didn’t regret having gone to the small trouble. Nor having taken her call.
David spun his desk chair back around. He had forgotten he wasn’t alone and found himself looking at a bemused Michel Chamoun. Michel, who was sitting on the low sofa with his feet on the coffee table and his laptop on his knees, raised his eyebrows at David.
“What?” David asked.
“What was that all about?”
“What do you mean?”
“It sounded like you were talking to Natalia De la Grip,” Michel said slowly. “A private little conversation with one of the members of the family that owns the company that we’re planning to hostilely take over. A deal we’ve been working on for more than a year. A deal that will define our whole future.”
“That was her,” he said. “But it was no big deal.”
He could be nice to Natalia even though she was a De la Grip. As long as it was no more than a meaningless gesture.
Michel gave him a distrustful glance, as if he hadn’t quite bought David’s explanation. “I suppose you see that you can’t just have your own personal agenda on the side. Didn’t you give up on that tangent?”
David felt a flash of anger. He rarely got mad—and definitely not at Michel—so the emotion made no sense. But Michel was right, of course. It was very close to unprofessional. But he had it under control, there was no cause for alarm.
“It’s totally harmless,” he said, the anger already gone. “It doesn’t mean anything. I was just finishing something I started. She’s done.”
And that was true. Because David knew what he wanted. No one and nothing could make him lose focus on what was most important in his life.
“No distractions now,” Michel said, but David saw that Michel had already moved on.
“No risk of that,” he replied. No risk at all, he repeated silently to himself.
He couldn’t bring himself to hate Natalia De la Grip; she had seemed far too decent for that. But he hated her family. What they stood for, what they’d done . . .
“I don’t feel anything for her,” he added and knew that was the truth. It didn’t matter if she was nice or attractive. Despite that, she was still a typical example of her upper-class, blue-blooded background, born with a silver spoon in her mouth. With her perfect table manners and her well-heeled gentility, she had always been surrounded by the best life had to offer without having to worry about a roof over her head, money, or the future—the things most other people struggled with. She had been fun to talk to, and she was obviously just as fond of the sport of finance as he was, but apart from that they had nothing in common.
Michel nodded. David handed him the paper he had been tallying numbers on before the phone call. Michel scratched his bald head as he checked the columns of numbers a second and then a third time.
They had been on an incomparable journey: a poor guy from the wrong side of town and a second-generation immigrant. Together they had challenged the whole Swedish establishment again and again. Hammar Capital’s unparalleled success in the field of venture capitalism was due to a number of factors: timing, hard work, and a bold but sound business idea.
But at the same time David would be the first to admit that sheer luck was an important factor in their success. Several of his crucial turning points had been ninety-nine percent luck, a fact that he had never made any secret of.
The media always pointed to his ability to connect with financiers as contributing to his success. Through his network he had access to just about any important global player. But the path here, to becoming a venture capitalist who was on a par with most of his European competitors even though he operated from one of the smaller nations, had been lined with potential catastrophes.
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