All In (32 page)

“Fuck you,” she said.

She stared at him and their eyes met.

“I'm going to fight,” she said. “Don't you think I'm going to make this easy for you, not in any way.”

And suddenly she knew what it felt like to want revenge, to retaliate for unforgivable wrongs. He had pulled her into this. He had made this personal, for
her
. It no longer had anything to do with Investum, not to her. She was planning to fight for herself, for her unborn child. “It isn't over until it's over,” she said and if it sounded like a line from a bad movie, so be it.

She took a deep breath, gathered the remnants of what had been her self-esteem. David hadn't even gotten mad about the slap; it was as if he hadn't felt it. He was undoubtedly used to worse. Surely she wasn't the first hysterical woman to slap him.

He handed her her scarf, which had fallen on the floor, and she snatched it out of his hand. He watched her, and for the life of her she couldn't interpret the look on his face.

“You know what?” she said angrily. “The rape, the assault, and what your family was subjected to—no one should have to go through that. Justice should have been served; they should have been punished, all of them. But this, what you're doing now, isn't this just as bad? This is
now
. You can't change the past, but what you're doing is going to destroy your life
now
.”

“That's a naïve argument,” he said.

“Maybe,” she continued. “But isn't it better to be naïve than to be dead inside? You're completely stuck in the past. I don't know how I would be able to move on after something like what you went through. But I know that people
have
to move on. Otherwise it's like the perpetrators won.”

“No,” he said. “I'm going to win this, and don't you believe otherwise.”

“You're going to destroy my family.”

“Yes.”

And it was at that moment that Natalia realized she was never going to tell David about the pregnancy. There was no future for them. Before she had thought that the board meeting would be the end of it. But she'd been wrong, she realized as she tied her scarf, hands trembling, and straightened her clothes. Because this was just the beginning. From here on out things were only going to get worse.

All those years ago, David's family had been broken up. Now it was her family's turn.

Chaos and hatred would follow. Maybe it would even continue into the next generation.

She struggled for breath. She'd made up her mind. This was enough.

“Good-bye, David,” she said.

44

I
t was Friday afternoon, and David had vanished from the office, without a word, wearing black like a burglar or something. Michel got up from his desk and took out his gym bag. He had no idea what David was up to. Instead, he opened the bag and checked to see that he had everything he needed, zipped it shut again, and then headed to the refrigerator in the kitchenette to get a bottle of water.

“I'm going to the gym for a while,” he told Malin, who was standing in the lobby leaning over a stack of paperwork.

“Things are starting to calm down,” she said. “Everything's ready for Monday.”

“I'm coming back,” he explained. “I just have to clear my head.”

Malin nodded.

“Where's Jesper?” Michel asked.

“He left,” Malin said with a shrug.

Michel shook his head. Something was going on. David, who was the most reliable, levelheaded, and disciplined man Michel had ever met, was acting increasingly irrational. Acting on his feelings, afflicted with doubt, like a goddamned rookie.

As Michel drank his water, took the stairs down, and started strolling toward his gym, he thought in all seriousness that they should maybe think about getting out of all this. David had been going at an almost inhuman pace ever since the School of Economics. Maybe it was too much for him in the end? They could cut their losses and pull out if they wanted. After all, this wasn't nuclear physics. They would hemorrhage money, of course, but it was hardly life or death they were talking about.

Michel emptied his bottle, tossed it into a recycling bin, and opened the door to one of Stockholm's most exclusive gyms. He greeted the receptionist and put his thoughts aside. He changed, and ten minutes later sweat was pouring out of him.

 

Åsa couldn't remember the last time she'd still been at work past four o'clock on a Friday, but today was the last weekday before that stupid goddamn general meeting, so she was still at Investum like some common drone.

She had been at work early on Thursday (hungover after her shocking evening with Natalia) and even earlier this morning (actually hungover today as well, but she was going to stop drinking soon, any day now).

She was doing her best to deal with this mess. Natalia talked about fighting, but the problem was that the takeover was devilishly well planned. Natalia was rightfully pissed at David Hammar, that fucking traitor, but Åsa didn't actually have it in her to be quite as pissed at Michel any longer.

The financial sector was brutal. People were sharks, and as soon as someone started to bleed, they attacked. And a little part of her felt that Gustaf only had himself to blame. This was what happened when your board consisted of mediocre middle-aged yes-men. The level of expertise sank like a Baltic share price on a Black Monday. David Hammar might be a ruthless and arrogant businessman, but he knew what he was doing. He was well organized, whereas Gustaf always thought he knew better than anyone else and therefore never took any advice or listened to anyone else. Now Peter, Gustaf, and all the other Investum employees, high and low alike, were running around alternately panicked, furious, or utterly exhausted.

Åsa yawned widely and closed her eyes for a moment. Peter was out in the corridor bawling about something she couldn't have cared less about. He really wasn't handling this crisis well. If she'd had a shred of sympathy for him, she would have been worried. She wondered how he would react to this business about Natalia not being Gustaf's child. Jeez, what a shocking evening
that
had been. Åsa had no doubt that Gustaf really meant it when he said he wanted nothing more to do with Natalia. Natalia was still hoping they would reconcile, but Åsa doubted that would happen.

Since her own parents had died, Gustaf had functioned as a sort of stand-in father for her. It was always uncomfortable because Åsa felt that Gustaf liked her better than Natalia. She hadn't discussed it with anyone; she'd just known it, which had been really hard. Her solution had been to keep her distance emotionally and to act out. If you acted out, the inevitable always happened and people left you. It was easier than math or Intro to Common Law. And drinking a little too much was a solution to most other problems, in her expert opinion. Acting out and being drunk a lot—those were the two pillars her existence rested on.

Åsa put her feet up on her desk and closed her eyes again. She knew that Gustaf and Ebba had really wanted her and Peter to get together so that she, the girl with Sweden's finest pedigree, would marry and produce little De la Grips with crown prince Peter. That was how it was done, after all. You married the inner circle, swapping fiancés and girlfriends with each other in an almost incestuous way. But she would rather stick a barbecue fork in her eye than have any more to do with Peter.

She scratched her forehead and sighed loudly. It was hot and she wanted to go home. If she didn't tell anyone, then she could take a night off and spend it at home with her TV and a couple of sleeping pills for company. She didn't have the energy to date, to get dressed up, flirt, and send more pictures to Michel. He didn't want her; she gave up. It would never have worked anyway.

 

A while later, Åsa was walking home from work, swinging her briefcase and watching people. Purely on impulse she decided to take a detour on the way to her apartment. Instead of her usual Östermalm route, she would walk along the water.

There were a lot of people down by the pier, and her high heels kept getting stuck between the cobblestones. As she leaned down to pry a heel free again, her phone rang.

She answered without looking to see who it was. “Hello?”

“Åsa?” said a familiar voice.

Fuck. There she stood, bent over, with her briefcase under her arm, holding her phone under her chin, unable to think of the smart things she'd planned to say if he ever called.

“Hi, Michel,” was all she said, tugging on her heel, which finally came free.

“Hi,” he said; it sounded like he was smiling, and her mind went blank. She started walking again. The sun was hot, the pier full of people, and she had to push her way along. She tried to force herself to think of something witty to say, hated that she wanted him so much. Couldn't stand this need to see him, to hear his voice. It
hurt
.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She looked around. People everywhere, sticky children and tourists pointing at stuff. “I'm just meeting a friend for a drink,” she said. Thank heavens he couldn't see her like this.

The heel on her shoe was loose, so she was limping a little. Her white suit—she loved white—hadn't held up well to the chaos of her day at work, so it was both dirty and wrinkled.

“Where are you?” he asked.

She brushed the hair out of her face. She was also sweating, and she hated that. The day menopause started giving her hot flashes, she was going to kill herself. Her bra slipped, and she held onto her phone and briefcase in one hand and tried to push her breast back into the cup.

“In the city.” A boat leaving the pier tooted its horn, and she heard an echo over the line. She furrowed her brow. “Michel?”

“Yes?”

“Where are
you
? I thought I heard a boat horn.”

“Here,” he said and then he was standing in front of her, smelling good, with a bag over his shoulder and wearing aviator glasses.

Her heel got stuck again.
Goddamnfuckingshit.

 

Michel had spotted Åsa as he left the gym and hadn't been able to resist the impulse to follow her for a bit. With her white suit and blond hair, she looked like an angel—if angels had four-inch heels and curves that would make a twisty, turny Italian mountain road seem straight and uneventful.

She didn't look happy to see him, but then Åsa had never liked surprises. She blew a blond lock out of her eyes and glared.

“Where are you
really
going?” he asked, holding out his hand to her. She seemed stuck, the heel of her shoe wedged between two cobblestones.

With a wary look on her face, she put two fingers on his arm, used him for support, and pulled her heel loose. “I hate cobblestones,” she said, letting go of his arm. She smoothed her skirt, and he snuck a glance at her hand as she ran it over her hip. The white fabric was taut over her buttocks and thighs, and Michel almost had to resort to violence against himself to keep from staring. He dragged his eyes back up to her face, lingering at her mouth, and then looked into her eyes.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked.

“I'm just coming from the gym,” he said. “I saw you.”

“And then you decided to stalk me?”

He shrugged. “Where are you headed?”

“Home.”

He raised an eyebrow. “This way?” He knew exactly where she lived, at one of the quietest and most exclusive addresses in Östermalm. He'd stood outside her building more times than he would ever care to admit.

“I decided to take a stroll along the water. Rotten idea. I'll never do it again.”

He laughed. “No, you've never been a fan of strolls,” he agreed. He'd always loved her for that, her decadent attitude toward physical activity.

She studied him. “You're looking awfully good. Are you going on a date?”

“I just worked out,” he said. When she looked at him like that, running her eyes over his muscles and openly studying his body, he had to force himself not to start flexing and clenching like some idiot. She affected him, and he had to hold on tight to maintain control. Åsa could nose out weakness, and if she had any idea of the effect she had on him, she would crush him under one of those heels of hers.

“What do you want, Michel? What are you doing?”

“I'm just having a conversation,” he said.

“You know what I mean. I don't want to talk anymore.”

“No,” he said. “I know.” But he refused to be one of those men she slept with and then got rid of. He thought for a moment. “I think I'm courting you.”

“Courting?” She made a snorting sound. “Does that word even exist anymore? Are you drunk?”

“No,” he said.

“You can't decide what our relationship will look like,” she said. “You can't come into my life and just point at things and think I'll care.”

“I can point however much I want. You just need to choose whether you're going to follow or not.”

She glared at him. Her pale skin had some color now; light-pink patches flared up on her cheeks. “You're an asshole,” she said. There was fear lingering in her eyes, curled up there like a scared child.

He leaned over and kissed her quickly on the lips and then released her again just as quickly. “In seventy-two hours all of this will be over,” he said. “Then I'm coming to see you. Then we'll be done talking.” He glanced at his watch. “But now I have to get back to the office before the market closes,” he said. “I'll see you.”

“Just go,” she said. “I'm doing fine without you. I hope that's clear to you.”

“Åsa?”

“Yes?”

“Stay away from cobblestones.”

He turned around again and walked away, whistling.

“I hate you,” she called after him.

He laughed.
And I love you.
But he didn't say that out loud. In spite of everything, he was no fool.