Blossom in Winter (Blossom in Winter #1)(36)

I leave my desk, my research folded under my arm, and look around for him.

Ah, here he is! I find him standing with colleagues next to the coffee machine.

I take a deep breath, clear my throat, and poke him. “Andrew? I’m sorry to bother you, but do you have a minute?”

“What’s up?”

“I think you should check the research I’ve done about potential returns in the art sector.” I hand him the sheet with stats and returns. “Some artists even achieved fifteen hundred percent growth in less than eighteen months. This one, for instance, started selling his paintings at one thousand dollars, and one year later, some of his artwork was valued at fifteen thousand dollars. With all the exhibitions he’s doing worldwide, he could achieve at least one hundred thousand dollars per piece within three to four years, based on the performance of similar artists.”

“I’m hungry. You want to talk about this over lunch?”

He paid attention. That’s amazing! “Yes, sure. Let’s grab lunch.”





We go to a small bistro just across the street. “They make amazing pasta,” he guarantees as we sit, and before I can say anything, he orders for both of us.

I hand my research to Andrew, who scans the pages attentively, asking questions as he goes.

“Alright, Williams, convincing numbers. What do you want from me?”

“I’d like to pitch a fund for emerging artists to the management.”

He bursts into laughter, shaking his head. “Yeah, right…” But I remain serious. I’m not kidding, dumbass. He clears his throat and straightens his posture. “It’s a little early, Williams. You’ve just arrived.” I look suspiciously at him until he glances again at my file, more precisely at the financial forecast. “Who exactly do you think would be interested in your idea?” He takes a sip from his glass.

“Alexander Van Dieren.”

But he nearly chokes on it. “The CEO? Wow, you aim high. Look, he’s quite busy, you know. I’m not sure if he has time for that.”

“I’m sure he has time to test some new revenue lines.”

“This is a super-risky type of fund. I don’t know if he would be interested,” he insists.

“I saw you invest in emerging markets. Why not emerging artists?”

Andrew sighs. “Alright, look,” he starts. “I admire folks who have the guts to pitch new ideas, but getting a fund as an intern is nearly impossible. And even if by some sort of divine intervention you manage to convince Van Dieren to open a fund for emerging artists, you’ll need someone to supervise it, and you being on my team, this someone would be me…” He smirks. “Therefore, I would want a commission.”

“Well, I imagine if the fund profits are for Gatt-Dieren Capital, then I’m probably entitled to a percentage, and you too.”

“Right. But just to make it clear—I want a percentage on your percentages.”

“What? That’s not fair.”

“The world isn’t fair, darling. You’ll need my help for the intro and the pitch.”

What about telling you he is my godfather, idiot? No, cool down, Petra. You wanted to play by the rules; you play by the rules. “You know, I’m just looking for a small fund to start, two hundred and fifty thousand as a test. I might leave the company after this internship, but you can easily replace me with someone and continue to grow the fund and make further returns. So, in the long-term, you’ve already won.”

“Alright, alright…” He mumbles, staring at the beautiful waitress as she places our lunch on the table. Right, he probably didn’t hear a thing.

We start eating.

Ugh. This meeting is going nowhere. I have to try harder. “When are you calling Van Dieren?”

“You mean, you want me to call him now?” he garbles while chewing.

“Of course. I want to pitch the fund as soon as possible. I thought you were a hustler.”

And Andrew is one. He takes the bait, picks up his phone, and finally calls Van Dieren’s office.

“Hi, Cate. It’s Andrew Sullivan. Is Mr. Van Dieren available this afternoon? I’d like to talk to him… Just ten minutes would be enough… It’s about opening a new fund… Alternative investments… Perfect. After lunch is fine.” He hangs up. “After lunch I can talk to him for ten minutes. See? I’m a real hustler. That’s why I make seven figures a year.”

I roll my eyes. Such a pathetic ego. So easy to manipulate.





Andrew seems visibly nervous as we walk down the hallway to Van Dieren’s office. I follow closely, trying to contain my amusement.

“Okay, look, you stay behind me, and don’t talk unless he asks you something.”

“Are you alright?” I ask, quite entertained.

“He can be scary sometimes. He has this annoying habit of looking you straight in the eyes with a serious stare and no smile whatsoever. I never know what he’s thinking—maybe he likes what I’m saying or maybe he hates it. Anyway, let me do the talking, and you’ll be fine.”

We step into an open room with a desk and a well-groomed receptionist smiling at us. But I find myself staring at the glass wall behind her instead, which offers a splendid view of the city.