All In (8 page)

Natalia looked shocked, but David laughed. The woman was drunk, but her grudge against Michel didn't seem to be based on his ethnicity or race. She seemed to not like Michel on a much more personal level, and that made David curious. He hadn't met many women who didn't like Michel.

“More or less,” he replied, because Michel
could
be a little dull.

“Luckily no one can accuse you of being boring,” Michel said sarcastically, which was completely unlike him. “As I recall, you used to really enjoy yourself back then.”

Åsa thrust her chin up in the air, but David was able to read that the comment had stung. That was about as far from Michel's usual behavior as you could get.

“Michel . . . ,” he said in a warning tone.

“So lovely to have seen you,” Åsa interrupted him acidly. “Pardon me.” She left them with angry, clicking footsteps. Natalia watched her go with a look of concern.

“I'm sorry,” Michel said gruffly and then he too left.

“Do you know what that was all about?” David asked. “Or am I imagining it?”

“No.” She didn't have a chance to say any more before someone bumped into her from behind and she again was quickly pushed into David. He reached out with his hand on her upper arm. She blinked, and suddenly David's thoughts about Michel and Åsa were far, far away. Those two were grown-ups, they would work it out—or not work it out; that was up to them. He looked at his hand resting on her upper arm, and then he looked at her. Her lips were glossy, a little sparkly. A smile played at the corner of her mouth, and David caught himself smiling back, looking deep into her eyes, and stroking her arm with a finger.

She opened her mouth but closed it again without saying anything. He continued to run his finger over her arm, and they looked at each other, not smiling, not flirting, but more questioning. And then she pulled her arm back with an apologetic smile. “They're coming now,” she said, and for a moment David had no idea what she was talking about.

“I'm going to head home,” he heard Åsa say. And he was glad to be snapped out of it, that strange moment when he was actually dangerously close to flirting with the daughter and sister of the two men he hated most in the world. With the only woman in the whole world he had every reason to keep away from.

“Yeah,” Natalia said with a nod. She started to gather her things, the way women always did when they were about to leave.

“Where's Michel?” David asked.

Åsa shrugged. “Maybe he's calling his mother?” she snorted, but despite her scornful tone, David had to agree. Michel did call his mother a lot. He suppressed a disloyal laugh and spotted Michel pushing his way through the crowd of toasting drinkers. It was really crowded in here now, and the normally agile Michel wasn't being particularly careful.

“We should probably be going,” Natalia said apologetically, but David heard the ambivalence in her voice, sensed that she would really prefer to stay. And, strangely, so did he.

“Or why not stay for a little bit?” he said. “I'd love to hear more about the concert. Have another drink? Champagne?”

She was on the verge of allowing herself to be convinced, it appeared, and David had already summoned the bartender. A glass of champagne together, what difference would that make?

And then Michel raised his voice behind him. David didn't hear what he said, it wasn't anything particular, but the words were said in a hard tone, and a look of concern flickered through Natalia's eyes.

“We'd better call it a night,” she said. “Åsa has to get home.” David nodded. He didn't know what was going on between Michel and the beautiful but inebriated blonde, but it sounded as if an argument was about to break out.

“Come, Michel,” he said. “It's time to go. You've had enough and it's late.”

“I haven't had anything to drink,” Michel said.

“I wasn't talking about alcohol,” David said. And then in a quieter voice, “Pull yourself together, man.”

“Same here,” said Natalia with a discreet nod toward her girlfriend. “Åsa?”

Åsa nodded. She swayed a little but seemed to recover. She avoided looking at Michel, and he turned the other way.

 

Natalia followed closely behind David's and Michel's broad backs as they cut a path through the crowd. The noise was almost deafening, and even though she was concerned that the evening had taken such a sour turn, she was eager for some fresh air. Once they were out on the street, Åsa gave her a quick hug, the briefest of nods to the two men, and sat down in one of the taxis that was waiting outside the bar. Natalia helped shut the door and watched the cab drive away toward Östermalm.

She bit her lip, feeling David's presence behind her. Something had happened between them in the bar, she just didn't know what. “Åsa and I don't live in the same direction,” she explained. “I live over there.” She pointed in her direction, feeling like an idiot. What did they care where she lived?

Michel Chamoun stood glowering next to David, his brow furrowed. He didn't say anything, and Natalia thought he looked a little scary with his bulging arm muscles, his black suede jacket, and his shaved head. She glanced at David. They were big men. If they hadn't been so well dressed in designer jeans and attractive jackets and if they hadn't had that definitive air of financial men, they could just as easily have been bodyguards or mafiosos.

There was no denying that it was a somewhat uncomfortable situation. Standing at the bar, David had smiled and flirted, and for a second or two she had thought he was about to kiss her. But now he seemed so unyielding, she wondered if she'd just imagined it. But no, she and David
had
clicked in there. And maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was because she was more dressed up than she had been for ages, but she didn't want to go home, didn't want to part from David, not yet.

“You go ahead,” David suddenly said to Michel. It sounded like an order, and he wasn't smiling.

“But . . . ,” said Michel and nodded at Natalia.

She squirmed. Clearly Michel didn't think it was a good idea to leave them alone.

David nodded encouragingly at the taxi, looked at Michel, and said, “Go.”

Michel said a very stiff good-bye to Natalia and climbed into the cab, and then she and David were left alone on the sidewalk. He still wasn't smiling, just looking at her with an expression she couldn't interpret. It was a warm evening, but she was wearing a thin dress, and suddenly she felt unsure and incredibly aware of how insubstantial her dress was and how little she actually knew about David Hammar.

“I suppose I should probably be heading home too,” she said.

“Would you like me to hail you a cab?” he asked tersely, almost impersonally, and she wondered if she'd just imagined everything back in the bar. The situation was making her uncomfortable.

“I'm fully capable of waving over a cab on my own,” she replied, suddenly irritated. She hadn't asked him for anything. He could take his weird mood swings and go to . . .

He gave her a long look. “I wasn't questioning your capabilities,” he said calmly.

“Sorry,” she said. Maybe he was just being considerate. “I didn't mean to sound snappy. It was just so strange.” She looked him right in the eye and said honestly, “All of it.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

“It's such a nice evening. I think I'm going to go for a little walk,” she said.

“I'll join you.”

Natalia started walking; he matched her speed, and they walked next to each other in silence. She was still confused. And she did not like being confused. She glanced over at him out of the corner of her eye. He'd stuffed his hands into his pockets and was walking along with his brow furrowed. A purely feminine part of her couldn't help but wonder what he would be like as a lover. She was only human, and even if she never admitted it, not even to Åsa—
especially
not to Åsa—she hadn't been with anyone since Jonas. Not because of morality, just because she was pathetically awkward when it came to flirting and dating. She hadn't slept with anyone in over a year. She almost giggled at how shocked Åsa would be if she found out.

“Sarah Harvey was really wonderful,” she said once the silence began to become absurd. She glanced over at David's serious face.

“I'm glad,” he said and smiled quickly. “I have to admit I've never heard her.”

“I really appreciate the tickets,” she said, and they both slowed down at the same time. They stopped. In her high heels she came almost up to his face. She looked into his eyes. She blinked slowly. There it was again—that electric charge.

David smiled and raised his hand, as if to caress her. She was just on the verge of closing her eyes to lean in toward him when he said, “It was lovely to see you.” And she realized that he wasn't about to stroke her cheek at all. He was saying good night.

“Yes,” she said, taking a little step back. She exhaled and tried not to let the disappointment she felt show in her voice. If she'd been someone else, she would have plucked up her courage and asked him if he wanted to come back to her place. That's what people did, right? It wasn't so weird. David was single as far as she knew. She was an independent, free woman. She even had condoms somewhere in one of the drawers in her bedroom. She should be able to do that. Ask if he wanted to come back to her place for a drink.

But a taxi pulled into view, her fragile courage lapsed, and she waved it over.

David opened the door for her. Natalia slid in, felt the cool seat through the thin fabric of her dress. He was still standing there, leaning over the door. She looked up at him, determined to be cool.

David looked as if he were about to say something, but then seemed to change his mind.

“Good night,” she said, forcing herself to smile. It didn't matter that much. It wasn't like something had
happened.

“Natalia?” he said quickly, just as he was about to close the car door.

She felt a shiver down her spine, because her name sounded like a caress in his mouth. “Yes?”

“If you're free tomorrow, I'd love to see you. Can I call you?”

She couldn't think what to say, just nodded mutely.

He nodded too, as if he'd made a decision. The door closed before they had a chance to say anything else. With a soft hum, the taxi drove her the last little way through the summer night. She smiled the whole way home, and she was still smiling when she closed her eyes and went to sleep.

10

 

T
he next morning Åsa woke up full of dread. Thank heavens it was Sunday, and thank heavens there was no one next to her in the bed. She was really enormously grateful for that. On far too many mornings she had been forced to kick out a strange man who didn't get that she was serious that sex was okay, but not spending the night.

Nausea washed over her. And then the dread, of course. Oh, how she hated this hangover dread. It was worse than ever today. She couldn't remember how much she'd drunk, and that was never a good sign. She stubbornly tried to keep the thoughts of Michel Chamoun at bay, but it was futile. That man had always found his way into nooks where no one, least of all him, had any business. She flung an arm over her face, fought it as well as she could. She wasn't angry at him, if she were being honest, and she tried to be honest with herself since she lied so much to everyone else. No, she wasn't angry at Michel. She was angry at herself. She groaned into her arm.

Her behavior at the bar had been completely nuts. But she'd been so caught off guard by the effect he had on her—
her
, Åsa Bjelke, who never let anyone get to her. She hadn't had any idea that she still cared. Unbelievable. But he had really hurt her, and when she was at her most fragile. It was over a decade ago; they'd been so young, but it felt like it had just happened. She remembered every look, every word. Every single one . . .

And then Åsa permitted herself to do something she normally never would: to wallow in what never was.

Michel had changed.

The gangly student with the serious eyes and the soft black hair was gone. Åsa had thought Michel was gorgeous back then when they had met at school. But he was much better-looking now, with his shaved head and his grown-up eyes. He didn't wear a wedding ring—she'd checked—but that didn't necessarily mean anything; so many of the finance guys she'd dragged home had a wife and kids in some villa in Djursholm.

Although Michel isn't like that; you know that, Åsa
, a voice whispered.

Michel was old-fashioned, proper, and loyal. If he was married to some lovely Lebanese girl and had eight children with her, then he was faithful. That was Michel Chamoun. It was inconceivable that he'd done so well for himself in an industry that was built on deceit and backstabbing

She sat up, flung her legs over the edge of the bed, and groaned. She had to make it through this day. One more day—she ought to be able to handle that. But she hated Sundays with nothing scheduled, and this Sunday she was actually supposed to have been out in the archipelago at that weekend-long party. Surrounded by people who were divinely superficial and didn't try to see into her.

She glanced at her phone with sleep in her eyes. One text message. From Natalia.

No more messages.

Åsa set down the phone, irritated at Natalia for no reason.

But if Natalia hadn't gotten those tickets from that arrogant David Hammar, then this would never have happened. She should have been out on an island surrounded by distant friends and even more distant acquaintances, who would help to chat away the Sunday dread and fill the emptiness and silence with sound.

Thank goodness, she had her whole summer vacation ahead of her. A few weeks until she would be with people practically around the clock. There would be parties and sunshine, which would keep away this awful empty feeling that attacked her so quickly when she was alone. And she wouldn't think about Michel even once, she promised herself. Starting now, it would be as if he never existed, as if they'd never seen each other last night in Stockholm, and as if their mutual story had ended, for real, more than ten years before.

She pushed out two headache pills, filled a glass with water, and dropped two rehydration pills into it. She looked at the fizzy, murky liquid.

Suddenly and without warning, she started to cry.

 

Natalia glanced at the text she eventually got back from Åsa. It was brief, almost dismissive, but she was still relieved that her friend seemed safe and sound.

She and Åsa didn't usually get together on weekends unless they'd scheduled something in particular. They'd been friends since they were kids; their mothers had been friends. They went to the same schools, and after the tragedy, Åsa had lived with them, of course, but they still conducted very different lives. Åsa was an extrovert and kept tabs on everything pertaining to fashion and lifestyle. She had gobs of friends and acquaintances, knew practically everyone who was anyone, was always—almost obsessively—booked up with lunches and parties and drinking, while Natalia worked all the time and was uncomfortable with that circle.

Most of the women Natalia had grown up with lived typical upper-class lives, and very few of them financed their own lifestyle. Many of them were stay-at-home moms with nannies and housecleaners and catered dinners; others took a few fashion or design courses abroad and let their parents provide for them while they waited for a rich husband to turn up.

More than once, this had struck Natalia as a suffocating holdover from another era, from before women's rights. But then she'd always been an odd bird. Not even Åsa, who, to say the least, did a spectacular job at Investum, shared her passion for working. Åsa worked office hours, took long lunches and vacations, and spent her free time doing activities that focused on mingling, shopping, and glamour. It was different for Natalia. Her social life had never really recovered after her separation from Jonas. She and Jonas had socialized mostly with mutual friends, and it was clear now that a single woman simply doesn't get invited to many intimate couples dinners or cozy barbecues. As a matter of fact, none of her and Jonas's friends had invited her over this past year.

At first it stung a lot more than she'd thought, being excluded. But soon she'd gotten used to it. She'd never had many female friends, and now she mostly spent her time working.

Natalia figured she probably shouldn't be anywhere near as satisfied with solitude, but when it got right down to it, she had very little in common with most of the women she knew. Surely life had to be about something more than living at the right address and keeping tabs on who didn't have as much money as they were trying to make it seem they did, right?

Her phone chimed. She glanced at the display, sure that the text was from Åsa again.

She squeezed the phone hard. He'd asked if he could call and she'd said yes—sure. And yes, maybe she'd hoped he would get in touch at some point during the day. But already, just a few hours after they'd parted, here it was. As if he didn't care at all whether he seemed too eager.

She wrote:
Yes.
Smiled, sent it off, and waited.

Two seconds later the phone rang.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

She smiled so hard her face hurt. “Good. Thanks for calling.”

“Did Åsa make it home alright?”

Oh
. She melted a little.

“Yes, she just texted me. Thanks.”

He didn't say anything, and Natalia thought she ought to say something more. Something that sounded cool and yet charming. Jeez, she was really pitiful at this.

“Do you want to have breakfast with me?” he asked.

“When?” she asked.

“I'll send a car 'round to pick you up. In about half an hour?”

Natalia exhaled, slowly. She hadn't expected that.

But then, as if what else would a guy do besides send 'round cars to pick her up for breakfast dates, she said, “How nice. Thank you. Then I'll see you soon.”

Exactly half an hour later, Natalia saw a dark car with the Grand Hôtel logo in one of its windows pull onto her street and stop in front of her door. She hadn't given David her address. It hadn't occurred to her. But he'd known where she lived. A young, androgynous person in jeans, a shirt, and vest opened the back door and then shut it again after she'd climbed in. Natalia didn't have time to do anything more than sink down into the soft leather seat before they stopped outside the Grand Hôtel.

One of the doormen came over to her. “Natalia De la Grip?” She nodded, feeling a little like this was straight out of a fairy tale or a movie. “Can you find your way to the Cadier Bar?” he inquired politely.

“Yes, thank you,” she said, ascending the carpeted stairs into the hotel, into the realm of the Grand Hôtel's understated opulence.

David was sitting at the far end of the bar, which had been named for the hotel's founder. Sunlight poured in, and the view of the Royal castle and the water were amazing. David stood up, and Natalia was uncertain how to greet him. He gave her a quick smile and held out his hand. She shook it, thinking that she just couldn't figure him out. On the one hand, he was so proper and professional that it was ludicrous to think he had any interest in her. On the other hand, tickets to private performances, Sunday breakfast, and a car to pick her up. If he was trying to confuse her, he'd succeeded.

“I didn't know what you'd like, so I ordered everything,” he said, gesturing at the table, which was weighed down with bread baskets, cheeses, cereal, yogurts, marmalades, juices, fruit, and pots of both tea and coffee. “Aside from oatmeal. I can't imagine anyone actually liking oatmeal.”

She took a seat and allowed him to pour her a white cup of steaming coffee. “This looks wonderful,” she said candidly, setting a heavy cloth napkin on her lap. She buttered a croissant and drizzled raspberry jam over it. She bit into the pastry. Flaky golden crumbs fell onto her plate, and she almost licked her lips. Heaven.

David's gray-blue eyes twinkled. “Good?” he asked.

“I didn't have any food at home, and I was so hungry. Thank you.”

He waited while she ate, tossing in a few polite phrases, but letting her eat in peace and quiet. When she glanced over at the newspaper, he handed it to her. “Go ahead and read it,” he said. “I'm the same way.”

As she scanned through the headlines, he drank his coffee and seemed completely content with their quiet companionship. She closed the newspaper. He poured her more coffee, and she wondered what he actually wanted from her, what he was after.

He wasn't the first venture capitalist she'd had lunch with. Not even the first she'd shared a hotel breakfast with, actually. A big part of her job involved wining and dining potential clients. She was good at it, used to keeping confidences, and an expert at giving concrete advice in complex financial contexts. Natalia knew her famous last name had contributed to J-O recruiting her. Powerful CEOs and influential fund managers were way more impressed than they cared to admit by her high-society name. But she also knew that the reason she was considered one of Sweden's—maybe one of Scandinavia's—best talents now was thanks to her own expertise.

She knew all this about herself.

But it didn't seem as if David wanted to talk business.

“So, what is Sweden's most notorious venture capitalist up to this summer?” she asked casually.

He gave her an impenetrable look. “I'll be working.”

“No vacation?”

He set down his coffee cup. He was casually dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and dark jeans. No other man in the restaurant came anywhere close to his charisma. The servers kept their eye on him the whole time; pretty much every single patron had checked them out at some point. David was a force to be reckoned with. And he seemed completely oblivious about it. “I never take a vacation,” he said, and she knew he was neither lying nor bragging.

She'd never met anyone like him. Most of the big-finance guys were all cast in the same mold: sunburned and boastful, suave and superficial. David wasn't the least bit sunburned, and it struck her that he wasn't putting on airs. He wasn't a man who lounged around by the Mediterranean or on a Caribbean island. In the pictures she'd seen of him, it was easy to take him for a completely normal, albeit an unusually attractive, finance guy. But here like this, in his immediate presence, there was nothing commonplace about him. He radiated hardness and energy, drawing her in while at the same time putting her on her guard. Imagine having a man like this as your enemy. She shivered.

“You really mean that,” she said, resolutely pushing aside her very sinister thoughts. He was just a person, not some evil super villain.

She stabbed a strawberry with her fork and realized he'd probably been sitting here since early this morning working, even though it was Sunday. She glanced at the bag hanging over his chair. Yup, she could see a computer, folders, and several newspapers.